Robin's-Eye View

The Buzz

Sami stared out the fake French door. The trim was peeling. It looked out on the redwood deck and the swimming pool. The Hollywood sign looked close enough to grab this morning. Just another perfect day in paradise. She sighed and turned her back on the glorious Technicolor view. She'd seen so many of these mornings - promising something wonderful just around the bend. She put the tea kettle on the stove and walked down the front stairs to unlock the gate and pick up the Times. By the time she got back to the kitchen, David was already in the shower. Better not run the faucet just now. She had made that mistake once. Scalded poor David. She set the table.

Well, just a peek at her horoscope before breakfast. Maybe this was The Day. Nope. Not today. Vague as always. "Focus on significant love relationship. Organize loose ends. Travel in your future". Nope. Not today.

She and David had just sent out a new package of their tunes. Their last package two years before had been all dance tunes - a carefully thought out blend of Madonna and Paula Abdul-like arrangements of songs that were purely their own. Sending out tapes was like putting a note in a bottle and setting it out to sea. The chances of a reply, she had learned, were about the same. Sami had pushed her chest voice up as far as it would go trying hard not to sound too Joni Mitchell-like. She had also pushed her hemline up as far as it would go without revealing too much of her not-totally-perfect body.

The problem was - she was old. Oh, not old by the usual standards. Not old compared to George Burns. Not old compared to her parents. Not old compared to David, even. (He was ten years her senior). She was forty-two. But by Hollywood standards, we're talking ancient. Of course, when Sami had first begun singing with David, she had been thirty-seven. She could pass for twenty-seven. Maybe. On a good day. Back then. Now, she didn't know anymore. She remembered her most telling experience with ageism in the business.

A friend had sent her to see a casting agent. Sami had actually been twenty-seven years old. The casting agent looked at her. Looked at her pictures and her resume. Leaned back in his black leather chair with his hands locked atop his bald pate.

"How old are you, anyway?"
Sami improvised. Smiled sweetly. Even shuffled her feet a little under the chair. "How old would you like me to be?"
Agent released his fingers. Rubbed his eyes wearily. "Let's not play this game. I don't really care how old you are. Just curious."
Sami relaxed. Big mistake. "I'm twenty-seven".
"TWENTY-SEVEN?! I RETIRE MY GIRLS AT TWENTY-SEVEN!!"

Essentially, this was the end of the interview, except that the agent advised Sami that she was hardly the leading lady type, even if she were seventeen, and that if he were her he would try for character roles.

Sami was crushed. She wiped her eyes with the back of her hand as she headed out for her broken down Renault. She got mascara all over her hand. She looked like a racoon with pink-eye. It was her first and last interview with a casting agent. After that, she had given up on acting. She concentrated on being a singer-songwriter, figuring that the age/looks bias was less of an issue in that arena. It was around that time that MTV was born. Live and learn.

She had knocked around Hollywood as long as she could stand it, sitting at beer-soaked pianos with half their keys missing, doing her best to bring across her heartfelt lyrics as sensitively as possible while trying to drown out the drone of the noisy and largely uninterested audiences. She played at restaurants during cocktail hours, but they only wanted "covers" of the "top forty" tunes and "standards". This made her sick, but it paid. She played at the "clubs" that graciously allowed her to play original tunes, but of course, she lost money on these. Finally, she had stopped playing altogether for nearly ten years. She had found a job as a secretary. At last, all that manual dexterity was going to pay off.

David was another story. He had begun his career as a musician at seventeen and had never stopped. He had started playing in the Marines, and since he had been stationed in Southern California, he had begun to make a living as a professional guitar player with an early surf band and somehow, had just kept on going. Of course, he was one of those people who was legitimately gifted. His playing was strong and clean, tasteful. He had enjoyed a reputation as one of the "heavy" studio players for many years. Then he'd simply gotten bored with the success that had come relatively easy to him and gave up playing to have his own studio. Again, he had been quite successful. Again, he had gotten bored with that, too, and decided to give up the studio to concentrate on simply writing and producing. This is the stage where Sami Applebaum and David Jorgensen met.

If it was love at first sight, it was a different kind of love than either had expected. It was more as if they had recognized each other right away; as if when they came together for the first time, each had found their other half, and they hadn't known up to that moment that there was another half.

When they had been seeing each other for several months, Sami had gathered up her courage and presented David with a home-made cassette of some of her tunes. She had been much too shy to play anything for him on the piano. She was somewhat awed by his great experience and success in the music business. Besides, she felt that showing her songs would be like giving him instant access to all the secrets of her soul - the ones she had so desperately and futilely tried to conceal in the first blush of courtship. The songs were extremely intimate, delicate. Folksy in their style and delivery. "Not hip", she knew. What if he didn't like what he heard?

David had listened to her self-conscious little tape and realized that, although it was very rough and she obviously hadn't sung much in some time, there was something endearing and genuine about the overall quality of her songs. He loved her more for it.

In exchange, he had given her a copy of his solo album which he had produced himself. He hadn't gotten a deal on it yet, but it was polished, professional, avant-garde, fully fleshed out, mostly with synthesizers, and of course, guitars. He had done everything himself.

She was struck dumb by his obvious talent. She was also a little frightened. Who was this person? Nothing at all like the quiet, gentle boy-like man she had been dating for the past three months. Each looked at the other with new eyes.

After a year of dating, they decided to live together. After a year of living together, Sami brought up marriage. David was reluctant at first, but he warmed to the idea enough not to cancel the rabbi on the morning of the wedding. Sami's mother worried that it was a "mixed marriage", but she was wrong. They shared a common religion -- music. The rabbi was a drummer from one of David's bands. The ceremony was scheduled for eleven o'clock on a Sunday morning by the swimming pool in back of the house. At nine o'clock the bride and groom were taking their last walk around the neighborhood as an unmarried couple. Sami stopped in her tracks:

"Are you sure, David? We can call this off right now. Really."
"Yeah. I'm sure. Let's do it."

To Sami, this was the most romantic speech she had ever heard. So, here it was. They had been married now for three years. They had written and recorded at least an album's worth of material that they both felt wonderful about. All the while, they had kept themselves going financially with their "day gigs". David had begun a mail order business for bulk recording tape. Sami had been doing secretarial work out of their home. They lived together and worked together. They were in love and happy. There was only one thing missing. It was the next logical step in their relationship. The next phase in their development as human beings. The cornerstone of their maturity and committment. A record deal. It started quite by accident.

Holly Mossback rang their doorbell one Thursday afternoon. She had come over to pick up a few tapes. She was an old friend of David's from way back and in fact, had recorded many of her own tunes in David's studio. She too was searching for the big deal in the sky. Her answer to the practical question of 'How do you eat in the mean time?' was to drive people around. She had been a driver at all of the major studios at one time or another. Usually, she just had to have a running car of her own. Today, however, she had a surprise for Sami and David. She ushered them to the front of the house.

When they looked out by the curb, all they could say was "WOW!". Holly had driven up in a huge, white Cadillac stretch limo. It was just too divoon. She slipped on her sunglasses and a chauffeur's cap. At five-foot-ten in her black jeans and black turtleneck, Holly looked like a force to be reckoned with.

"Wanna go for a ride?"

Holly insisted that David and Sami "experience" the back seat of the limousine, although it made them both a little uneasy to be driven around by an old friend. Still, it was an amazing ride. There was a small working television and a portable bar in the back seat, as well as a telephone. The carpeting was thick, luxurious and spotless. Holly slipped one of her own tapes into the cassette deck in the front seat and immediately, they were awash in full throbbing bass and screaming guitars. Holly's voice wailed above the din in a soulful soprano gospel lick - "ba-ay-ay- ay-ay-ay-ay-be-ee-ee-ee, ye-ah!" Sami whooped with approval and delight. They all felt like they were playing hooky from school. Of course, Holly was breaking all the rules - that's what made it so much fun.

They were back home in about fifteen minutes. They hugged Holly and thanked her for the ride.

As Holly drove off, David saw that Krystal Waterford was standing at the front door. David and Sami had a fleeting secret look when they noticed her. They had spent some time debating over her name. Was it her real name or had she invented it? Either way, heaven help her.

Krystal was one of those somewhat successful, somewhat peripheral industry people who had made the rounds of most of the major labels. She had started out very young as a receptionist, and somehow, had managed to work her way up to "Artist and Repertoire". To be an A&R person her official duty would be to find unknown songs for an artist who is already established and/or to find unknown artists for the label to sign. It is important to realize, however, that what a person does officially and what they actually do in the music business are very often at odds. In truth, when Krystal was working, her most important function was to look good at power lunches with the industry "suits". In fact, her last boss at Quasimoto Records had been a frustrated and disillusioned writer cum executive. He was extremely gay, but extremely frightened of having his sexual preferences known. Mostly, Krystal tagged along with him and let people assume what they would. She learned quickly that this was what was expected. Nothing more, nothing less. However, when Quasimoto had been bought out by the F.U.N. Group, there had been the usual purge, and now, Krystal was an "independent". (Translation: She was out of work).

David greeted her in his usual good-natured way. "Hey, Krystal."
"Hi, David. Sami."

Sami didn't quite trust Krystal. At the same time, she realized it was her own bias. Sami had a hard time with beautiful petite blondes with bobbed noses. She always imagined they were flirting with David. Besides, Sami and David had sent one of their tapes to Krystal. She had called politely to say she didn't "hear anything". Sami chided herself silently for what she was thinking.

"How ya doin, Krystal."
They walked in and David went to get the tapes for Krystal.
"Sorry we weren't here when you got here. David must have forgotten. . ."
"No, I just happened to be around so I thought I'd drop by instead of waiting till tomorrow. It's my fault. Anyway, I was only here for a minute. . .Noticed the limo."
Sami didn't know why, but she felt like being vague. "Oh, yeah."

There was an uncomfortable moment while Krystal waited for an explanation and Sami refused it. David arrived with the tapes.
"There you go, Krystal. It comes to fifteen dollars even."
Krystal wrote out a hurried check and dropped it on the desk. She looked at David and then at Sami.
"Well, you two. Uh. Thanks, again. Bye".
Sami looked after her. "How can she say 'Thanks again'? She didn't thank us the first time."
David laughed and shook his head. He understood his wife so well. "Sami, Sami, Sami". The next morning Holly showed up again. She was driving the "Big Car". The vulgar display of wealth didn't seem to bother her a bit. As a matter of fact, she rather enjoyed it. David opened the door groggily. He was in his bathrobe.
"Holly! It's 8:00 a.m. Wazza matter? Did you forget something yesterday?"
Holly grinned and stepped to the side. "I brought you a surprise". Standing behind Holly was a diminutive middle-aged man in sunglasses that covered two-thirds of his face. David recognized him at once. "IAN THOMAS" The two men hugged. David was beaming. "I haven't seen you in a lifetime, man. Thought you disappeared off the face of the earth!"

Ian Thomas had been a huge success as a singer/songwriter in the seventies, and David had spent several years touring with the band and playing on his records. Although Ian's popularity had waned in the recent years, he had made enough to last a lifetime in royalties from the standards he had written back then. From time to time he still shown up in Las Vegas, doing a benefit, or even an occasional cameo on television. He had written a theme for a movie that had just been nominated for "Best Picture", so he was on a "natural high", as he liked to say. Once, he had looked for his highs in other ways, but through sheer force of will he had pulled himself out of the mire of a nasty cocaine addiction. David hugged Holly and then hugged Ian again. David, Sami, Holly and Ian were in a holiday mood, so they went to L'Express for breakfast. They spent two hours while David, Holly and Ian reminisced. Sami was quiet. She couldn't believe she had actually met Ian Thomas. She had the distinct impression that someone was looking at her. Across the room she found the source of the laser beam gaze: it was Krystal.

The phone rang later that day. David picked it up. It was Krystal. She was having a meeting on Monday with a friend of Whitney Houston's manager. She was wondering. She wondered if she might listen to one of the tunes on Sami and David's tape again. There might be something there after all. Could they drop off another tape?

They dropped off the tape. The maid took it from Sami and did not ask her inside. Both Sami and David tried not to get excited. They had no idea, even, which tune Krystal had in mind. They were stumped. Why now?
"It's the limo."
"What? What are you talking about?"
Sami gave a little laugh.
"It's the limo! Remember? She got there when Holly dropped us off in the limo! And then she saw us this morning at L'Express when we were with Holly and Ian."
"She did? Do you think? Oh, Sami. I can't believe it!"

"David. Do you really believe in your heart of hearts that she even listened to our tape the first time we gave it to her? And if she did listen, how do you think she listened? I mean, look. She's been in this business a long time. It would be too much of a risk for her to stick her neck out for us. Let's face it. We have no clout. But she saw us in the limo and then this morning and --
"Yeah, and she thought -- No, it's too crazy. I refuse to believe it. Anyway, who cares. It will probably all come to naught anyway."
"Yeah."
"Yeah."

And that was that. They went to the movies on Saturday and walked around Lake Hollywood on Sunday. It was a music- free weekend. They forgot all about Krystal Waterford.

Wednesday afternoon Krystal called. She sounded out of breath.

"Sami? Are you sitting down?" (Her voice made a high- pitched squeal on the word 'down'.)
"I played 'Heaven's Fallin Down' for my friend? you know, the one who's friends with Whitney's manager? And she really liked it? She wants to take it to Whitney's manager? And they're getting together like next week? Sami?" (Krystal had acquired that Valley-girl cadence so that when she was excited, her voice went up in a question mark after all of her declarative sentences, and Sami didn't know if she was making a statement or waiting for an answer).

"Really? That's so great?" (Oh, God. Now Sami was doing it).
"So, like, when can I come over so we can talk about it? You know, we have to talk about the publishing?"
"Uh -- Oh, yeah. Um. Listen. Why don't I have David call you when he gets back. He just ran out to do some errands. What's your number?" Sami wrote the number down carefully. She noticed her hand was shaking. She realized that all of this was just "pie in the sky", but it had caught her off balance. She needed a few minutes to catch her breath and digest what she had heard.

By the time David got home she was relatively calm and she reported the phone call matter-of-factly.
"Krystal called. We might have a nibble on 'Heaven'. Here's her number".

David looked at the number and laid it down on the desk.
"Thanks, honey".
"Thanks, honey? David, aren't you kind of curious? I mean, don't you think we ought to call her back? I mean -- Her friend is meeting with Whitney's manager next week and..."

David looked at his wife with a mixture of compassion and amusement.
"Oh, it's 'Whitney' now, huh? Sami. Don't worry. I'll call her back. I've got other things to do right now. Besides, why look too anxious?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, I don't exactly know why, but right now Krystal seems to think we've got a little 'buzz' going on, so she told her friend. Let's play along. Let's let her think we really do have a buzz. I think I'll put a call in to our friend, Bernie Rosenzweig."

Bernie was actually Sami's cousin. He was a fairly well-known entertainment attorney. He knew "everyone". Obnoxious, but sweet. Sami and Dave had deliberately avoided asking any favors of Bernie. First of all, they were pretty sure he wouldn't have done any. Second of all, they were afraid he might, and then they were afraid of the "payback". Finally, they did not want to get involved in business with family. Bad policy. David called on the pretense of just "staying in touch". He let the information about Krystal be coaxed out of him. Bernie seemed mildly interested, but quickly changed the subject. Bernie was very "hyper". He could only stay on one subject for about thirty seconds. That was all it took.

Bernie's secretary called David the next day. Mr. Rosenzweig would like to set up a lunch date. Say for Monday? How about 'The Palms'? One o'clock? Great, she'd let Mr. Rosenzweig know.

Monday rolled around. David finally called back Krystal. He apologized for being so late. She said that was okay. The meeting wasn't until Wednesday. He said he had to call her back on Tuesday. He was having a meeting today with "some of his people". Krystal sounded stung, but she recovered.

Lunch with Bernie was a singular experience. He talked about his colon a lot. It had been giving him trouble for two years, now. "Probably the business", he laughed. Bernie ordered the Chinese chicken salad with the dressing on the side. He ate a basket of bread dipped in olive oil and downed two glasses of Chardonnay. David stuck with a cheese sandwich and a Coke. Then they both had decaf- Cappucinos.

"So, how's my cousin. How come she's not here?"
"She was a little under the weather. She said she was sorry she couldn't make it".

It was true. Sami had prayed for a stomach ache. Her prayer had been answered. It wasn't that she didn't like Bernie. She just had no idea what to say to him. They had not been close as children growing up in Pittsburgh, and since she had moved to California, she had seen even less of him. They had absolutely nothing in common except their connection to the "industry", but they operated at different levels. He was a "suit". She was an "artist". In layman's terms, that means he was God. She was a peon.

"Sorry to hear it. Send her my regards. So, what's this I hear about Whitney holding one of your songs?"
"It's called 'Heaven's Fallin Down'. Well, she's not exactly 'holding' it. In fact, she hasn't heard it yet, but this guy who's a friend of Krystal's is tight with her manager and. . ."
"Oh, sure. I know who that is. I mean, the friend. That must be -- Oh yeah. It's on the tip of my tongue. Sure, sure. I went to school with the guy. I know who you mean." (This meant he had no idea in the world).
" Well, then", Bernie raised his Cappucino cup," Here's to your imminent success. May you need my services soon!"
David raised his cup. "Soon. Thanks, Bernie".

David drove home wondering what had just happened. He shrugged his shoulders. Probably nothing. Oh, well. Krystal called at 8:00 the next morning.

"So, David. I hear you're like really tight with Bernie Rosenzweig? I mean, is he running the tune or what?"
"Hi, Krystal. No, no. We just had lunch, that's all. Why don't you just tell your friend to go ahead with the meeting and let me know what happens. Don't worry about the publishing. If Whitney Houston decides to do the tune, I'll let you and her fight it out. Okay? Fair enough?"
"Okay, cause David, you know, I really want it to be, you know, up front? 'Kay?"
" 'Kay".

By the time Krystal's friend and Whitney's manager had their meeting, "everyone" was talking about the new Sami and David tune that Whitney really wanted, but Bernie Rosenzweig had already promised to Madonna:
"I'll try to get it for Whitney, but I'm not guaranteeing anything. It's a dynamite tune. You wanna hear it?"
"Naw. I'll just take a copy to Whitney. Bernie's got golden ears. Just do your best." (Of course, Bernie had never heard it.)

Well, that was that. Somehow, Krystal's friend wrested the song away from the Madonna people, who were surprised to get the call in the first place. Whitney loved the song. It climbed to Number One on the Billboard charts. Sami and David called Holly and invited her out for Indian food on the eve of the MTV Awards. "Heaven's Fallin' Down" was up for best song. This time, they went in David's Honda.

"So, you guys. What's next for you?" David answered.
"Well, after the Awards, we figure we'll take a little time off and write a few more tunes. Reba McIntyre wants to do "The Door is Always Open". Sami and David squeezed each other's hands under the table. It was really a dream come true.
"What about making an album, Sami. You gonna go for it now?" Sami laughed.
"What? An old lady like me?"

The truth was, Sami and David were so delighted with their life as it was, that neither of them wanted to change a thing. They repainted the trim on the fake French doors. David continued his bulk tape business on the side. Sami kept doing her secretarial work part-time. Now, though, they had just a little more time for their writing, and their phone calls were returned. The Hollywood sign was still there. It was Tuesday.

THE END

Please remove! No spam! from address when responding.

Copyright © 1998 Robin Munson