Pookeyās late. But so am I, striding along Melrose Avenue through the great saucy mix of hipster Los Angelenosāevery size, color, and flavorātattooed and pierced, the young women showing all that skin between their ya-yas and their lowslung jeans. I fall in behind oneāa long artistic tat running across the girlās back right above her ass crack. I slow my pace and stay behind her for a block. Grrrrwl.
I find the entrance to Pookeyās 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.
āAre you Maya?ā
āNo. Are you?ā
āNo.ā I stare at her. She stares back with big black serious eyes.
āI must be in the wrong place,ā I say.
āAgain?ā she asks.
āYeah, again,ā I say, then add, āMy whole life.ā
She suddenly smiles wide, revealing a great set of white teeth and a glint of braces. āIām Rasha,ā she says. āSheās Maya.ā
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. Sheās talking into a headset, typing on a laptop. Sheās wearing a white shirt with that one extra button undone that can make a manās day. Sheās got a cast on her foot. She looks over and sees my eyes move from her buttons to her cast.
āWild sex,ā she says by way of explanation, and I know Iām in the right place. Look, people have to work for a livingāwe all know that. But it takes a guy like Pookey to understand letās at least put some juice in it. Spice it up a bit. Rasha turns out to be Egyptian, Maya, Indonesian. Welcome to L.A.
Pookeyās 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 heās back on his home turf, hustling for a living. Travel, real estate, entertainment. Heās been producing an event called āChocolate Sundaesā 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, Iād been given Pookeyās number. Iād call him from Charlotte (Eddie)āheād give me a couple names. Iād call him from Seattle (The Sixth Man)āheād give me a couple names. Iād call him from Santa Monica (White Men Canāt Jump)āditto. Like I said, Pookeyās got it going on.
Thatās why Iām sitting in his office. Iām trying to revive my last-gasp screenwriting career. And Pookeyās gonna help me. (Only he doesnāt know it yet.) So are Maya and Rasha. āCause theyāre sharp, these two. Theyāre impressive, and so is Pookey for hiring them.
Maya hits Pookey on his two-way. Heās 20 minutes out, finishing up a renegotiation on a TV deal. Iām happy to waitāin 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; Pookeyās got an LLC (limited liability company). Heās got a lawyer, but does a lot of his own negotiating. Heās just finished talent-producing two TV variety shows. Heās working on something new with the William Morris Agency. Heās a true showbiz entrepreneur with great connections to black entertainers. Heās also into real estateāowning houses in South Central and New Jersey and points in between. Heās working on an elite, all-inclusive L.A. travel package. Heās looking to launch his own comedy club. And heās still the same old Pookey.
Then we hear him on the stairs, shouting up, āHoney, Iām home!ā He appears in the doorway. I rise to greet him. He truly is five foot threeāwearing a sleeveless denim shirt, baggy jeans, a big smile. Heās rough, Pookey. Heās not some smooth-polished dude. But Iāve had enough of them the last few years, black and white. Iām 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.
āRob, my man, whatāve you got?ā
āTwo things,ā I say. āLetās sit down.ā
Pookey leans back, face neutral, as I start my spiel. āFirst, a screenplay. Itās a sex comedy, ensembleāfour black actors, three whiteāa 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.ā
āWhat do you want me to do?ā asks Pookey.
āLook, hereās a list of potential actors.ā
I hand him a couple dozen namesāJamie Foxx, Gabrielle Union, LL Cool J, Jada Pinkett Smith, Marlon Wayans, BeyoncĆ©ālike that.
Pookey peruses.
āI personally know more than half the people on this list.ā
āCool,ā I say. āHelp me put together a cast and youāll get a producer credit.ā
RashaāPookeyās exotic Egyptian-American assistantāsits listening to my pitch, taking notes. Maya, Pookeyās exotic Indonesian-American assistant, keeps working the phones in a hushed voice.
āAnyway, hereās the script. First youāve got to read it and like it. Then if youāre interested, weāll do a handshake agreementāyou attract some meaningful actors, youāre in as a producer.ā
āIāll read it this weekend,ā says Pookey, and a little bell in my head goes offāhow many times have I heard that?
Rasha speaks up, āYou said you have something else?ā
āYeah,ā I say. āAnd this oneās 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 itās gold, man. Plus Iāve got a mystery element thatās gonna blow everyoneās minds.ā
Pookey looks puzzled.
āI donāt get it. What is it?ā
āItās a basketball, music variety show. Iām callinā it Hoop de Ville. Itās 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.ā
Pookey considers.
āYeah, but, the Globetrottersā¦Rob, man, thatās like one of the strongest brand names in the world. And And 1? They created that street credāit didnāt just happen. They worked it.ā
āYeah, right.ā
āSo what makes you think anyoneās gonna give a shit about another basketball show?ā
āBecause Iām introducing new elements. Stuff the Globetrotters and And 1 donāt have. Look, I started working this idea way back on Blue Chips. You saw that, right? Shaq, Nick Nolte, Pennyācollege hoops.ā
āYeah, yeahā¦ā
I feel myself suddenly sliding off balanceāBlue 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 hadnāt gotten it out of his system. Plus my buddy Ron Shelton (who directed White Men Canāt Jump) wrote the Blue Chips screenplay and was producing, and he and Friedkin didnāt see eye to eye and I knew Iād get caught in the middle. (Ron was letting Friedkin direct it because it was the only way to get it madeāseeing as how Friedkin was married to Paramount president Sherry Lansing.)
Blue Chipsāthe job from hell.
Exampleāin 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 itās a game weāve got to shoot. Piece of cake, right? I do a couple of casting calls at the Hollywood Y, hire 20 players, a great mixāmost of them are black, most of them played college ball, even some D1 in there. Nice size, theyāre in great shape, they look like college guys, and I figure theyāre just whatās required for the ten seconds of videotape we need for the scene.
I tell Friedkin weāre 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 Friedkinās 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. āSo Red, whaddaya think?ā
āThese guys canāt fucking play,ā says Red. āThey stink, the whole bunch of āem.ā
Oh, man. From behind, I see Friedkinās neck flush with anger. His head swivels, his eyes lock on me, and Iām thinking here comes the projectile vomit.
āCan you handle this job?ā he asks in a steady voice.
āYes,ā I answer.
āThen get the fuck out of here and bring me some real ballplayers.ā
I stagger out of the bleachers thinking, Thanks a lot, Auerbach. This aināt the NBA, man. Weāre re-creating one mediocre college basketball team here for Godās sake. Ten seconds of videotape.
Two weeks later we get the wordāRed Auerbach has suffered a heart attack and wonāt 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, wasnāt 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, āSo anyway, in Blue Chips we created several college gamesāpep bands, mascots, cheerleaders; Shaq, Penny, plus 14 first-round draft picksāand I realized, this isnāt just sports, this is theater, this is an incredible show.ā
āYeah, college basketball,ā says a skeptical Pookey.
āBut this is showball. And weāre bringing it to the next level,ā I say.
āLook, the financials are very promising. Itās cheap to produce. You can travel it, you can find a permanent home. Like Branson, Missouriāyou know, the mecca of country music, itās whereā¦ā
I see Pookeyās eyes begin to glaze over.
āIām thinking of calling Yakov Smirnoff,ā I plow on. āYou know, the Russian comedianāheās got his own theater in Branson. Itās the Midwest, man, they love their hoops out there andāā
Pookeyās two-way buzzes and he checks it and Iām thinking, TMI (too much information)ā¦Keep it simple, man, and get out the door. Or better yet, lie.
āLook, Iām raising some money,ā I say (immediately reclaiming Pookeyās attention without actually lying). āI want to workshop it here in L.A. Iām gonna need a choreographer, a musical director, an M.C.ā
āThat I can get you.ā
āThatās all Iām asking. So, hereās a three-page description of the show. And hereās my screenplay.ā
āIāll read it this weekend,ā says Pookey.
We say our good-byes and I flush back out onto the Melrose Avenue sidewalk, where the hipster parade marches onāall sorts of sweet young things, showing skin and thong baitābut all Iām thinking is, Man, I gotta refine that pitch. Look, Hoop de Ville has great promise. I believe in it as much as in anything Iām 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 itāāSee, there are these kind of Muppet puppets, but theyāre all real horny, and they like sing and stuff and the actors are onstage with them andā¦ā
Monday morning I call Pookey. He doesnāt return. I send him an email. No response.
Same thing Tuesday. And Wednesday.
I ...