Naked in Dangerous Places - Cash Peters [8]
My favorite idea of all was a broad copy of the CBS hit reality game show Survivor, only I called it All Washed Up and changed things around a little: made it more personal, got rid of the game element. And, just to be on the safe side, the survival element as well, turning it into more of an entertainment show. I had this notion that the host could be dumped, literally, out of a boat, and washed up with no money on a series of faraway islands, forcing him to coexist with the indigenous culture, brave the elements, and live on his wits, which he would do very successfully due to his ample reserves of strength, determination, and tenacity.
Wow, how brazen of me, you're thinking, ripping off someone else's idea like that. But wait. The only reason I felt okay about doing this was because:
a. I never imagined in my craziest nightmares that any network would go for it. Most cable channels are run on a shoestring. No way would they be able to afford something as epic and ambitious in scale as All Washed Up; but on the other hand …
b. If the show did, against the odds, get made, I was convinced that The Thumb would come to his senses and bring in a real TV host to present it. Someone with experience. Celebrity lawyer Star Jones, for instance. Viewers would love to see her dumped on a faraway island and left there, I'm sure. Or that guy who used to be in The Partridge Family, the angry one who seems hell-bent on hurting himself. He'd do. A professional, basically. A man's man. Someone who'd be unafraid to rough it a little, and wouldn't mind, if the job called for it, getting eaten by wild animals. After all, who in their right mind would want to risk big money on a show as elaborate as All Washed Up, then have it feature a complete unknown who lacked every quality necessary to carry the idea off—including, but not confined to, personal strength, determination, and tenacity? It didn't make sense.
Although, having said that, you know what did make perfect sense? Being removed as host but seeing the show get made anyway. In other words, selling the idea to a network with deep pockets for a boatload of money and then, if it turned out to be a smash hit, coining in the residuals for the rest of my life. Brilliant!
With that in mind, I confidently e-mailed my list to The Thumb, then sat back and waited.
And waited.
In the lengthy gap that followed, I confess that the initial rush of enthusiasm (masquerading as cool detachment) I'd been feeling started to wane a little. Obviously, he hadn't liked what I'd sent. Or, worse, he'd liked it, but saw no point wasting money remaking programs that were currently showing on other networks, or wasting valuable time telling me so.
But then, just as I was on the verge of giving up and moving on, the phone rang.
“Hey, is that Cash?” It was The Thumb—bursting with enthusiasm, as ever. “I've been talking to people around here and we like the All Washed Up idea very much. Really, man, we think it's gonna be great and you'd be the perfect host. LET'S DO IT.”
What? Me? Go traveling again? Oh … er …
Simultaneously elated and depressed, I thought, “Fabulous!” and also, “Hell, no!” both at the same time. This was certainly not the career breakthrough I was hoping for.
“Are you okay?” he said. “You don't sound thrilled.”
“No. No, it's fine. I'm fine. Really.”
Yippee! Oh crap!
I've lived in Hollywood for eleven years, in one of the leafier, more upscale neighborhoods close to Griffith Park, an area that seems to attract a wide range of media types, including studio executives and celebrities. Ours is a seductively peaceful enclave, where the only real sound you hear all day is ecstatic birdsong, the hum of distant traffic, and, just occasionally, when you least expect it, the thunderous roar of SUVs filled with paparazzi as they take off up the street, letting us know that one of our celebrity neighbors has just left his house and