The Kid Has Entered The Picture

“Boychik! You’re late!”

I’m sorry, what is this?

“Lemme tell you something about our business, which is known in the parlance as ‘show.’ Time is everything. Hits, they come and go. Same with money, although in my case, more of it went then ever came. Even wives. They all came, and they went. But not time. You’ll never get it, not even on the back end.”

What are you doing here, legendary Hollywood producer Robert Evans?

“A new gig! Last few years, your pal Bobby’s been rolling snake eyes, but this morning I made my point. The call I’ve been waiting for. My English butler, Roquefort, had just brought me my breakfast: two grams of Merck cocaine and a surreptitiously-obtained nude photo of Adreienne Barbeau. They don’t call it the most important meal of the day for nothing!”

Uh-huh.

“I picked up the phone and gave ’em the old Brooklyn shpritz. Ello, gov’nor? The voice on the line says, Evans, how did you ever convince anyone you were an actor? That was terrible. I knew that staccato song! It was my old friend DT calling from D.C.”

Trump?

“The one and only! Hell of a guy. Funny story: once watched him piss himself out of fear when he saw Sidney Korshak. We were playing tennis here at my great home Woodland. We were both gritty, trash players, but neither of us would ever concede a point. We played like we lived. I was down two matches to nothing, and had gotten Donny to double the bet. Also, I had gotten him to produce the cash and give it to Dustin Hoffman to hold. Sometimes, Donny made bets his pocket couldn’t cover, and then you had to chase him down for months and you’d only get half.”

Sounds right.

“I’m about to serve when here he comes. The Sphinx from Chicago. Black suit, shantung cut, elegant like you’ve never seen before. It’s 85 degrees, and he’s cooler than Chet Baker in February. Korshak! He winks, and I-95 shits down. He shrugs, and Panama goes back to belonging to Colombia. Animals instinctively feared him. He was my padron, my mentor, my big scary buddy. Everyone there is pretending not to stare at him when, from the referee’s chair, we hear Dustin Hoffman yell out DONNY PISSED HIMSELF! It was true. We watched the yellow stain grow. Was it disgusting? Absolutely. Could anyone take their eyes off it? Not on your life.”

What does this have to do with anything?

“I’m setting the scene! If you weren’t such a schmuck all the time, you might learn something about life.”

Sorry.

“Yes, Mr. President, I said. What can Robert Evans do for his country? I’ve always been a patriot, and been beholden to power. And D.C. has real power, unlike Hollywood. We may make bombs, but they drop ’em. And their budgets! Donny gets right to his point, by which I mean he babbled about his favorite teevee shows for 45 minutes. Then he got to his point.”

Which was?

“I’m producing the migrant crisis.”

Oh, this makes no sense.

“It makes all the sense. I’ve worked with children before.”

Child actors, Bob.

“True. And, if I can be candid, none of them turned out okay. Most were sold off to wealthy foreigners. That’s what Cannes is for, you know.”

Really?

“Absolutely. I personally bought Sarah Jessica Parker there.”

Wow. Bob, this is not the job for you.

“That’s what they said when I took over Paramount Pictures at the age of 28! That’s what they said when I wandered into the operating room at Ceders-Sinai off my tits on toot and wielding a scalpel!”

Well, they were right about the second one.

“I firmly believe I could have performed the nephrectomy. That’s what you need in the business, kid: faith. Faith, and Charlie Bluhdorn’s private number.”

No one knows who Charlie Bluhdorn is.

“This kid thing is gonna be my big comeback. I can smell the long green! Towne is gonna give us pages, and then me and Irish are going down to Texas to do some location scouting.”

Irish?

“Nicholson.”

Sure.

“First, we’re going to Louie Mendel’s to get cowboy outfits made up, though.”

Stay away from those kids, Robert Evans.