Naked in Dangerous Places - Cash Peters [9]
By sheer good fortune, my partner and I also live next door to an important Hollywood TV executive. You won't know him—he's Vice President of Overseas Sales (Pacific Rim) for one of the major studios. But if you ever travel to Bangkok and see an episode of According to Jim and hate it, then, chances are Matty had something to do with it. He and his glamorous wife are immensely smart people. Worldly, practical, no-nonsense. Not like us on our side of the fence, whose disorganized, schemeless lives they watch play out from their upstairs window with dismay, if not outright disdain. Basically, they're the Kravitzes to our Darren and Samantha. But because he's in showbiz, Matty's a good guy to know, especially if you want free According to Jim DVDs. So when crunch time came for agreeing to do the show, naturally I went over to gauge his reaction.
The verdict was swift and cruel: “You're going to die,” he said.
And this was before I'd even sat down.
“How long will the series take to make?” Pouring himself a glass of wine.
“By the time we're done,” I said, “up to a year.”
“A year?” He shook his head. “And what's your job on the show? What are they asking you to do?”
“Well, of course I'll be traveling, and hosting it, writing the script…”
“That's too much.”
“… logging the tapes, coproducing it, doing the voice-over …”
“Oh God.”
“… coediting it, supervising the sound mix, and representing the network at various junkets to promote it. The whole thing's my show, so a lot of jobs fall to me.”
Off the back of a long sigh, the Vice President of Overseas Sales (Pacific Rim) took another sip of merlot, easing back into the couch while he weighed up all the options. Then, conclusively and with the kind of conviction that got him where he is today, he declared: “Yup—you're going to die.”
“Oh, great. Thanks.”
“I'm serious. You can't be traveling around the world each week like that without destroying your body, your health, your relationship, and your social life. It's too much pressure on one person. Nobody wears that many hats in TV and survives. And if you're allergic to foreign food …”
Which I am. Some. Mostly stuff with preservatives and additives in. Plus shrimp, crab, lobster—the bottom-feeders. Also, I touch gluten or dairy products at my peril. And as for oil—if I eat oil of any kind in any way, my body begins to break down. It's like I'm being consumed alive from the inside by a virus. Which is why I go to enormous lengths never to touch it. Easy to do when I'm at home, of course, and in control of my environment, but out on the road visiting distant lands, particularly in the Middle East or the Mediterranean, where oil's practically all they eat, that was going to be a whole lot trickier.
“Nothing is worth killing yourself for,” he continued. “For God's sake, you're a radio journalist.” Which is his shorthand for saying, You don't do anything. “This will be like going from zero to one hundred in ten seconds. You're taking on way too much. If you work this schedule for a year,” he concluded, “you'll end up on coke, or in the hospital, or both. Nobody works that hard.”
“Maybe I'll be the first.”
“No.” He was adamant. “No, no, no.” Looking me straight in the eye, he said with great gravity, “Trust me, Cash, this is going to kill you.”
1 Huge mistake, this. When someone in Hollywood asks you how you are, you never tell them. Only a total novice would mistake an idle inquiry for real concern. Best thing: say nothing. The other person will not notice. Nobody in the entertainment business has any interest in how you are, only what you can do for them.
2 Which wasn't a total lie. There were offers. The first was a cooking show called Recipe for Disaster, suggested by a TV producer in Nashville. His idea was for a half-hour program in which I would break into a different celebrity's home each week while they were out and rustle up a three-course meal before they got back. Then we'd eat, presumably while we were waiting for the cops to arrive. The second show idea was from the same