Pookeyâs late. But so am I, striding along Melrose Avenue through the great saucy mix of hipster Los Angelenosâevery size, color, and flavorâtattooed and pierced, the young women showing all that skin between their ya-yas and their lowslung jeans. I fall in behind oneâa long artistic tat running across the girlâs back right above her ass crack. I slow my pace and stay behind her for a block. Grrrrwl.
I find the entrance to Pookeyâs office, 7551 Melrose, pound up the ratty stairs and stick my head into a threadbare office. A beautiful, exotic, tawny-skinned, long-limbed creature sits sorting press releases at a desk. I can just imagine the tat across her lower back.
âAre you Maya?â
âNo. Are you?â
âNo.â I stare at her. She stares back with big black serious eyes.
âI must be in the wrong place,â I say.
âAgain?â she asks.
âYeah, again,â I say, then add, âMy whole life.â
She suddenly smiles wide, revealing a great set of white teeth and a glint of braces. âIâm Rasha,â she says. âSheâs Maya.â
I step inside the office and spot a second beautiful exotic woman. A couple years older perhaps. A couple inches shorter. Straight black hair, copper skin. Sheâs talking into a headset, typing on a laptop. Sheâs wearing a white shirt with that one extra button undone that can make a manâs day. Sheâs got a cast on her foot. She looks over and sees my eyes move from her buttons to her cast.
âWild sex,â she says by way of explanation, and I know Iâm in the right place. Look, people have to work for a livingâwe all know that. But it takes a guy like Pookey to understand letâs at least put some juice in it. Spice it up a bit. Rasha turns out to be Egyptian, Maya, Indonesian. Welcome to L.A.
Pookeyâs got it going on. African-American, five foot three, literally, and one of the best ballers to ever come out of SoCal. He played at Ventura Juco with Cedric Ceballos, then went on to Seton Hall before blowing out his knee.
Now heâs back on his home turf, hustling for a living. Travel, real estate, entertainment. Heâs been producing an event called âChocolate Sundaesâ at the Laugh Factory on Sunset every Sunday night for a couple of years now. Hosted by his childhood friend Chris Spencer. Yeah, that Chris Spencer of the talk show Vibe who was the best example of how tough it is to host a talk show until Magic Johnson came along and made Chris look like Johnny.
Anyway, years ago in my never-ending search for basketball players for the movies, Iâd been given Pookeyâs number. Iâd call him from Charlotte (Eddie)âheâd give me a couple names. Iâd call him from Seattle (The Sixth Man)âheâd give me a couple names. Iâd call him from Santa Monica (White Men Canât Jump)âditto. Like I said, Pookeyâs got it going on.
Thatâs why Iâm sitting in his office. Iâm trying to revive my last-gasp screenwriting career. And Pookeyâs gonna help me. (Only he doesnât know it yet.) So are Maya and Rasha. âCause theyâre sharp, these two. Theyâre impressive, and so is Pookey for hiring them.
Maya hits Pookey on his two-way. Heâs 20 minutes out, finishing up a renegotiation on a TV deal. Iâm happy to waitâin the company of these two women; Pookey can take his sweet black-ass time. Rasha and Maya and I hit a nice riffing rhythm between phone calls, fax replies, birthday reminders, and ticket requests.
And these things I learn; Pookeyâs got an LLC (limited liability company). Heâs got a lawyer, but does a lot of his own negotiating. Heâs just finished talent-producing two TV variety shows. Heâs working on something new with the William Morris Agency. Heâs a true showbiz entrepreneur with great connections to black entertainers. Heâs also into real estateâowning houses in South Central and New Jersey and points in between. Heâs working on an elite, all-inclusive L.A. travel package. Heâs looking to launch his own comedy club. And heâs still the same old Pookey.
Then we hear him on the stairs, shouting up, âHoney, Iâm home!â He appears in the doorway. I rise to greet him. He truly is five foot threeâwearing a sleeveless denim shirt, baggy jeans, a big smile. Heâs rough, Pookey. Heâs not some smooth-polished dude. But Iâve had enough of them the last few years, black and white. Iâm looking for an ally who gets things done.
We shake hands and share the obligatory one-shoulder hug. Then he pulls back and looks me up and down.
âRob, my man, whatâve you got?â
âTwo things,â I say. âLetâs sit down.â
Pookey leans back, face neutral, as I start my spiel. âFirst, a screenplay. Itâs a sex comedy, ensembleâfour black actors, three whiteâa young black woman gets dragged along by her friends on a river rafting trip. Paramount optioned it, but then passed and I got it back and it deserves to get made.â
âWhat do you want me to do?â asks Pookey.
âLook, hereâs a list of potential actors.â
I hand him a couple dozen namesâJamie Foxx, Gabrielle Union, LL Cool J, Jada Pinkett Smith, Marlon Wayans, BeyoncĂ©âlike that.
Pookey peruses.
âI personally know more than half the people on this list.â
âCool,â I say. âHelp me put together a cast and youâll get a producer credit.â
RashaâPookeyâs exotic Egyptian-American assistantâsits listening to my pitch, taking notes. Maya, Pookeyâs exotic Indonesian-American assistant, keeps working the phones in a hushed voice.
âAnyway, hereâs the script. First youâve got to read it and like it. Then if youâre interested, weâll do a handshake agreementâyou attract some meaningful actors, youâre in as a producer.â
âIâll read it this weekend,â says Pookey, and a little bell in my head goes offâhow many times have I heard that?
Rasha speaks up, âYou said you have something else?â
âYeah,â I say. âAnd this oneâs more immediate. Think the Harlem Globetrotters married to the street feel of the And 1 Mix Tape Tour, throw in Drumline and Bring It On and itâs gold, man. Plus Iâve got a mystery element thatâs gonna blow everyoneâs minds.â
Pookey looks puzzled.
âI donât get it. What is it?â
âItâs a basketball, music variety show. Iâm callinâ it Hoop de Ville. Itâs a live show. You stage it in arenas or bring it right into a theater. Plus we might create some reality TV out of it.â
Pookey considers.
âYeah, but, the GlobetrottersâŠRob, man, thatâs like one of the strongest brand names in the world. And And 1? They created that street credâit didnât just happen. They worked it.â
âYeah, right.â
âSo what makes you think anyoneâs gonna give a shit about another basketball show?â
âBecause Iâm introducing new elements. Stuff the Globetrotters and And 1 donât have. Look, I started working this idea way back on Blue Chips. You saw that, right? Shaq, Nick Nolte, Pennyâcollege hoops.â
âYeah, yeahâŠâ
I feel myself suddenly sliding off balanceâBlue Chips, Blue Chips. Bad memories come swirling back like giant nasty locusts. What a nightmare job. First off the director, Billy Friedkin, was the guy who directed The Exorcist, and it was like he hadnât gotten it out of his system. Plus my buddy Ron Shelton (who directed White Men Canât Jump) wrote the Blue Chips screenplay and was producing, and he and Friedkin didnât see eye to eye and I knew Iâd get caught in the middle. (Ron was letting Friedkin direct it because it was the only way to get it madeâseeing as how Friedkin was married to Paramount president Sherry Lansing.)
Blue Chipsâthe job from hell.
Exampleâin the middle of the movie Nolte suspects that one of his players may have shaved points; so he goes back to the videotape to review the game. Which means itâs a game weâve got to shoot. Piece of cake, right? I do a couple of casting calls at the Hollywood Y, hire 20 players, a great mixâmost of them are black, most of them played college ball, even some D1 in there. Nice size, theyâre in great shape, they look like college guys, and I figure theyâre just whatâs required for the ten seconds of videotape we need for the scene.
I tell Friedkin weâre good to go, but no, he wants to see them. Not only that, he wants Red Auerbach and Pete Newell to check them out as well. It turns out that Friedkinâs brought on the two octogenarian basketball Hall-of-Famers to guarantee the verisimilitude of the basketball. So we rent a gym, we bring in the players, plus Red and Pete (Red as crusty as Pete is gentlemanly). And I run a 10-minute scrimmage. After which Friedkin turns to Red Auerbach. âSo Red, whaddaya think?â
âThese guys canât fucking play,â says Red. âThey stink, the whole bunch of âem.â
Oh, man. From behind, I see Friedkinâs neck flush with anger. His head swivels, his eyes lock on me, and Iâm thinking here comes the projectile vomit.
âCan you handle this job?â he asks in a steady voice.
âYes,â I answer.
âThen get the fuck out of here and bring me some real ballplayers.â
I stagger out of the bleachers thinking, Thanks a lot, Auerbach. This ainât the NBA, man. Weâre re-creating one mediocre college basketball team here for Godâs sake. Ten seconds of videotape.
Two weeks later we get the wordâRed Auerbach has suffered a heart attack and wonât be able to stay with us for the duration of the movie. Was I relieved? Yes. Did I feel guilty about that? No. Because Red, who tormented many a soul during his lifetime, wasnât done yet. He recovered nicely, but thank God slowly. A couple weeks later we shot the scene using the exact same players (Friedkin never knew the difference) and it all played great.
Where was I? Oh, yeah, pitching Pookey Hoop de Ville.
I jabber on, âSo anyway, in Blue Chips we created several college gamesâpep bands, mascots, cheerleaders; Shaq, Penny, plus 14 first-round draft picksâand I realized, this isnât just sports, this is theater, this is an incredible show.â
âYeah, college basketball,â says a skeptical Pookey.
âBut this is showball. And weâre bringing it to the next level,â I say.
âLook, the financials are very promising. Itâs cheap to produce. You can travel it, you can find a permanent home. Like Branson, Missouriâyou know, the mecca of country music, itâs whereâŠâ
I see Pookeyâs eyes begin to glaze over.
âIâm thinking of calling Yakov Smirnoff,â I plow on. âYou know, the Russian comedianâheâs got his own theater in Branson. Itâs the Midwest, man, they love their hoops out there andââ
Pookeyâs two-way buzzes and he checks it and Iâm thinking, TMI (too much information)âŠKeep it simple, man, and get out the door. Or better yet, lie.
âLook, Iâm raising some money,â I say (immediately reclaiming Pookeyâs attention without actually lying). âI want to workshop it here in L.A. Iâm gonna need a choreographer, a musical director, an M.C.â
âThat I can get you.â
âThatâs all Iâm asking. So, hereâs a three-page description of the show. And hereâs my screenplay.â
âIâll read it this weekend,â says Pookey.
We say our good-byes and I flush back out onto the Melrose Avenue sidewalk, where the hipster parade marches onâall sorts of sweet young things, showing skin and thong baitâbut all Iâm thinking is, Man, I gotta refine that pitch. Look, Hoop de Ville has great promise. I believe in it as much as in anything Iâm doing. I remind myself that sometimes the best ideas are the hardest to convey. Can you imagine the blank stares the creators of Avenue Q got the first time they tried to pitch itââSee, there are these kind of Muppet puppets, but theyâre all real horny, and they like sing and stuff and the actors are onstage with them andâŠâ
Monday morning I call Pookey. He doesnât return. I send him an email. No response.
Same thing Tuesday. And Wednesday.
I ...