by Omar Tyree
I laughed at her and said, “You really do need to run for politics. I’m dead serious.”
“And who is going to teach my classroom of kids when I do?”
“Someone else,” I told her.
“Yeah, someone who doesn’t care as much.”
When she said that, I felt guilty, thinking about the students that I left back home in Philadelphia. I said, “Girl, I have to stop talking to you. You make me feel like a midget trying to take on a lion sometimes.”
“And you’re afraid of that? What do you think you’re up against out here in Hollywood?”
She had a point. Kendra never let me forget about the odds.
She asked, “So, are you still friends with that New York girl, Juanita?”
I smiled. “Heck no! She went right back to ignoring me. And guess who dug up my phone number and left two messages.”
“Reginald?” Kendra guessed.
“Of course he did. I guess he thinks that I’m going to call him back too,” I told her. “He called up talking about how he has an East Coast project that he thinks I would be interested in.”
Kendra laughed and said, “Girl, you asked for it. You should have left his behind alone as soon as you read him at the party that night.”
I started daydreaming on the phone. I had one class left at the UCLA Extensions program before I stepped out into the unknown marketplace of Hollywood employment. However, I did learn how to write scripts, I just didn’t know how acceptable they would be.
“What are you thinking about, Tracy?” Kendra asked me. She knew by then that my silence meant I was thinking something deep.
“I’m just wondering how hard it’s gonna be to find a Hollywood job, that’s all.”
“Have you spoken to Yolanda lately?”
“I’m trying not to bug her too much, you know. I don’t want to seem desperate. And she hasn’t called me.”
Kendra laughed at me again. “There you go again with that ego of yours. Let me tell you, if you really want to make it in Hollywood, you’ll have to eat a big piece of that humble pie you keep trying to avoid,” she advised me. “So if I were you, I would get on the phone and call Yolanda Felix up right now before you miss out on something. Because from what I understand, Hollywood moves fast!”
I hung up the phone with Kendra and thought about calling Yolanda. She was the only real contact that I had out there, but I didn’t really know how connected she was in the business. I was still wondering what she thought about my book, if she even had a chance to read it. I was as nervous as I was when I first met her. I was reaching the moment of Hollywood truth (employment), so Kendra was right, I had to call Yolanda regardless.
I dug up her number in my new, relatively empty, Hollywood phone book and took a deep breath. “Here we go,” I told myself as I dialed her seven digits.
“Hello, is Yolanda Felix in?”
“Yes, this is Yolanda.”
I didn’t know if she knew me by first name alone, so I hesitated with my introduction.
“Hi, this is Tracy ...Ellison.”
She got excited and said, “Haaay, girl, just say Tracy! I finished reading your book just last night. You were a wild little something. I thought that I was bad. Girl, you took the cake and put new icing and decorations on it.”
I guess that was a good thing. I was smiling.
I said, “Well, you do realize that I’m older now. I’m not that reckless anymore.”
“I know how it is. You were just testing out your new womanhood,” she responded. “We all go through that stage sooner or later. You just did yours a lot sooner than most.”
I said, “You know next week is my last week at the UCLA Extensions program for screenwriting and television.” I wanted to change the subject away from my juvenile years and get down to the mature business of my present.
“And it’s right on time, too,” Yolanda told me. “Are you into science fiction at all?”
“Science fiction?” All I could think of was Star Wars with Billy Dee Williams playing Lando Calrissian.
Yolanda said, “There’s a wrap party that I want you to go to with me this Saturday night. So if you have any other plans, cancel them. You need to be there.”
Science fiction? I was still thinking. “What movie is it for?” I asked her.
“Black Hole Films just finished a project called They’re Here, slated for release this spring.”
“What is it, a Martian movie?” I was smiling again. Did Yolanda really think that I had come all the way out to Hollywood for some science fiction shit? I found that idea comical.
Yolanda said, “Tracy, let me tell you something. The smart people in this business, like every other, stay two and three steps ahead of the game.” She sounded very serious about it too.
“If you came out here trying to poke your way into this little black stuff, you’re gonna end up having a tedious, half-lit career,” she told me. “That little black stuff doesn’t last, girl. It’s all trendy and cute, but you’ll be hanging out with the same crowd of people and basically going nowhere.
“What you want to do is latch onto something that’s going to be here,” she told me. “As we get closer to the year 2000 and beyond, science fiction is where you want to be. Mark my words.”
She paused and gave me a minute to think about it. “Well, you make up your own mind, but if you want to go, make sure you let me know before Saturday,” she said.
When we hung up, I sat and thought about science fiction. George Lucas was moving forward with his next series of Star Wars movies and re-releasing the old ones. E.T. was the biggest hit of the eighties. Terminator was Arnold Schwarzenegger’s breakout movie which led to Terminator 2. The Batman movies were big hits in the nineties, just as the Superman movies were big hits in the eighties. Jurassic Park led to the production of The Lost World. Danny Glover played the hero in Predator 2. Angela Bassett costarred in Strange Days, and Will Smith had just hit pay dirt with Independence Day. Not to mention all of the hype about the television series called The X-Files.
That was all the thinking I needed to do. I had to at least see what the opportunities would be in science fiction, whether I was interested in it or not. So I nodded my head and said out loud to myself, “Let me go pick out an outfit.”
$ $ $
Yolanda picked me up Saturday night around nine-thirty in her silver Jaguar.
She looked at my townhouse from the outside and said, “It looks nice. You’re gonna need some rent money, aren’t you?”
I smiled as I climbed onto her leather interior.
“I don’t plan to be without a job for too long,” I told her.
She said, “Good. That’s the right attitude to have.”
Yolanda was dressed in a black business suit, as sexy as a model, but was strong as a male executive in her demeanor.
“That’s a nice suit you’re wearing too,” she told me.
I was wearing deep blue with tiny gray pinstripes.
I smiled and said, “Thank you.”
She said, “When you want business, you dress business. When you want to schmooze, you dress the part you want to play, but tonight is business for both of us, so we look good.”
I wondered again how old Yolanda was.
“How long have you been in the business?” I asked her. It was a roundabout way of finding out how old she was without asking.
“About eight, nine years now,” she answered. “I actually started off in the music business, but I like film and television a lot better. Let’s just say that it’s more accessible to me. The music business tends to have too many damn hands in the way.”
“So, you’re about thirty-six then?” I assumed.
Yolanda chuckled without looking at me. We were on our way north to West Hollywood.
“Tracy, if you want to know how old I am, just ask me.”
I smiled and was still hesitant. “How old are you?” I asked her.
“None of your business,” Yolanda answered and star
ted laughing. “I’m thirty-four,” she told me, “and that’s between me and you. I like to use my age to my advantage. If they think young, I let them know that I’m older than what I look. And if they think old ... then I’ll get offended,” she added with another laugh. “I keep ’em all off guard that way.”
“What about the men out here?” I asked her. It was a roundabout way of asking if she was happily with someone, because every once in a while I got lonely out there in Cali.
Yolanda looked at me and said, “Okay, let me tell you the rules of Hollywood. Number one: You never fuck anyone without protection. Double protection if you can, because as you can imagine, these Hollywood types can get around. Number two: If it’s business, then make sure they know it’s business. That means you have to know if your friend is connected the way you need them to be, and that they will still help you to get there whether you continue to sleep with them or not. That’s important, because if they’re going to screw you over and not help you, then you can’t sleep with them. Period! Number three: Keep your personal business to yourself. Some people think that Hollywood types like to brag about their partners to make the news, but trust me, there’s a lot more fucking going on out here than that couple shit you see on TV and read about in these gossip magazines. So don’t believe the hype, and keep it to yourself.”
I said, “What about just regular relationships that are not business related?”
Yolanda looked at me and shrugged her shoulders. “You do whatever you want, just keep it to yourself.”
I guess that romance wasn’t too high on her list of importance, so I made a note to keep my mind on more business-related aspects as well. Like Yolanda said, I had rent to take care of, and with my own money instead of counting on the generosity of some man.
We arrived in the lobby of a ritzy Hollywood hotel where the dress code varied from jeans and sneakers to suits and ties. However, the style of dress did not determine who really had the money and the power in that place. Some of those science fiction people just didn’t like to wear suits, or groom for business purposes. As expected with science fiction, there were not a lot of colored faces in the room either. Maybe Yolanda was really onto something, fresh opportunities.
There was a soft piano playing in the background and plenty of private conversations going on. Everyone looked fully into themselves. I was wondering how you even broke in for a word.Yolanda showed me that skill right away.
“Calvin! Good to see you,” she said.
A silver-haired white man in his fifties turned and faced us with a smile.
“Yolanda,” he responded, taking her hand. His previous conversation seemed to fade away into thin air. I guess it wasn’t that important to him.
“Has the buzz been good so far?” she asked him about the upcoming film.
“So far, but we’ll see when the time comes.”
He looked to me, and Yolanda introduced me on cue.
“This is Tracy ...Ellison.”
I was hardly on first-name terms. Yolanda seemed to forget that herself for a second.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding to me.
“Hi,” I responded and nodded back with a grin.
“She’s an upcoming writer, hot out of UCLA. And she moves fast,” Yolanda filled him in.
He said, “Fast is the only way to move. So you’re into science fiction?” he asked me.
Before I answered him, I took in his casual dress code of a dark sports jacket, dress shirt, and no tie. He had the relaxed confidence of big business and not the nervous energy of small business, so I decided that I had better not say no, especially since he was the first person that Yolanda spoke to. I figured that meant something.
“I like to stay abreast of opportunities in all fields,” I told him. “Besides, growing up as a black girl in the inner city, whenever I saw space movies and no people of color in them, I always wondered if we would even make it to the future.”
Yolanda and Calvin laughed big-time at that one. It was a good opening line. I could tell right off the bat that Yolanda was proud of me by the way she pulled me into her.
“Tracy’s out here to make sure that we add some color to the future,” she joked.
“Do you have any ideas developed yet?” Calvin asked.
Shit! I was thinking. They’re not lying about how fast Hollywood moves. I thought fast myself and answered, “Well, I’m looking to knock a few ideas around to see if mine are on point or if I need to redirect them.”
Calvin raised his head a touch and smiled at me. Did he know that I was bullshitting? He didn’t seem to care. Maybe he just liked my answers.
Yolanda said, “You know how some of these writers are. They’re protective of their work right up until they get it green-lighted for production.”
“Well, make sure that you stay in touch with me, Tracy. I might want to take a look at what you have. Yolanda has my number.”
We moved on, and Yolanda nudged me in my ribs with her elbow.
“That’s how you do it, girl! You don’t tell these people you’re not interested in science fiction. And you always use whatever angle you can to keep them interested.”
We approached a group of white women, some old, some young, and all dressed differently, from dresses, to suits, to jeans.
“Yolanda,” one of the older women turned and addressed my new mentor.
Yolanda said, “Ladies, this is Tracy Ellison, script doctor extraordinaire, just out from the East Coast.”
“Well, we need more,” one of the other women commented. “These scripts are horrible!”
Yolanda was pumping me up, but I didn’t feel as confident in a group of women. Women were a lot more sensitive to conversations than men were. I knew I had to be very careful and let Yolanda take the lead.
“I’ll be gentle,” I told them.
“No-o-o! You can’t be gentle. They’re used to gentle,” someone said. “You need to take a sharpened ax to their work.”
“Then she’ll be writing a book about how she was run out of Hollywood,” Yolanda joked.
It was too much for me to focus on any one of them, so I just rolled with the flow.
“That’s why I plan to be gentle,” I reiterated with a smile. “You’re in charge, and you’re the creator. I’m only here to make you look better. However, if you don’t want my help . . .”
The women laughed at my role-playing and added lines of their own.
“I don’t need your help, woman! I’m out of grade school now. Go find yourself some other schoolboy to try and educate. I do things my way around here!”
“I should just ignore all of the misspelled words then?” I continued with them.
Yolanda decided to jump into the fun. “On second thought, correct the misspelled words before you leave,” she concluded.
We all laughed again like civil women, fully understanding that the business of Hollywood, like many others, was a man’s playground that could use a woman’s touch.
“So what school did you go to?” the first older woman asked me.
I answered proudly, “Hampton in Virginia. It was one of the first Historically Black Colleges and Universities in the country, established after the Civil War.” Hampton was much older than many white institutions, particularly those established on the West Coast.
“What part of Virginia?” I was asked.
“Hampton, Virginia,” Yolanda answered for me. I’m sure she was as proud of HBCUs as I was, even with the rivalries between Hampton and Howard. We were all family like Sister Sledge.
“Are you from the Los Angeles area?”
“Philadelphia,” I answered.
Women often asked a lot more questions too. Did any of it get around to business? Maybe next week sometime. That’s why I preferred to talk to men. Men showed you two interests, business and sex, and not necessarily in that order, but at least that gave me a much easier focal point when talking to them. Women, on the other hand, could get really competitive, per
sonal, and petty, so I couldn’t wait to get the hell away from them.
Yolanda said, “Girl, you are workin’ it! You hear me?! If you keep this up, you should have no problem in Hollywood.”
Shit, I was tired already! Yolanda had no idea how hard I was working to make sure I said the right things. That was a lot of pressure. What ever happened to just being yourself?
Yolanda looked clear across the room and snapped her fingers like a woman possessed.
“Perfect!” she told herself and looked at me. “Have you ever watched the show The Outer Limits on Showtime?” she asked me.
I nodded. “Yeah.” I was only familiar with The Outer Limits because my brother Jason watched the show religiously. They even had marathons on Showtime where they would air two and three of them in a row.
Yolanda said, “Good. I want you to meet Tim Waterman. He’s the producer of a knock-off cable show called Conditions of Mentality. It’s in the same vein as The Outer Limits and other psychological, science fiction shows.”
Oh, goody! I thought to myself with a sly grin. Now I get to talk to a guy who produces a B- or C-grade science fiction show for cable.
Nevertheless, Yolanda was pumped about it.
She said, “Tim, are you still looking for new writers to fill out your show?”
Tim was a tall, blond guy with silver, wire-framed glasses. He let his hair grow long to his shoulders. He looked more like a romance show producer than science fiction, but what did I know?
“We’re just about booked up now. The new season’s in full swing and we’re rocking and rolling, baby!”
On second thought, he sure spoke like a science fiction guy. He was all energy. Two sexy young women were standing by him, creating eye candy for Tim’s sexual allure, or maybe I was reading too much into things. They could have been his sister and her girlfriend . . . Not hardly!
Yolanda said, “Well, what about assistant writers?”
He grimaced. I don’t think he was up for talking business with his candy in the way.
“Writing assistants? Ah—”
Yolanda cut him off. “This is Tracy Ellison, she has a master’s degree in English, and she’s just about finished her screenwriting courses at UCLA, and she has a big interest in science fiction, particularly since there’s not many African Americans involved.”