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Chapter Nineteen - Cannon - |
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The weirdest things happen around Christmas. The independent film company where I worked, the infamous Cannon Films, home of classics like the Death Wish saga, Texas Chainsaw Massacre II, and Breakin’, had this habit of firing people the last day before Christmas break. When it didn’t happen to you, it was alternately a shame, a blessing, and a laugh. I always survived the holiday blood letting because I flew under the radar. No one knew exactly what I did, but thanks to the Biggest Bitch in the company, they knew I was not to be fired. Biggest Bitch, for all her bitchiness, found me indispensable. Since she made the company a lot of money and knew where all the bodies were buried, they took her for her word and I was safe, even after she left the company. I had become a Mr. Fix-it at the place though I had no title and no real office. But every time someone had a problem and didn’t know where else to turn, it ended up in my lap. I had a knack for digging around and asking the right questions of the right people and finding the solution to their problem. They thought I was a genius. Who was I to argue? It was all really simple stuff that anyone with half a brain could do, but there was a lot of money on the line and that made the problems seem daunting to them. I wasn’t privy to budgets yet, so I felt no similar intimidation. I just figured the crap out and moved on. I proved to be a fearless, fast learner with a lot of common sense. How cool if I had been able to carry those qualities over to other aspects of my life.
•••
At Cannon (which Charles Bukowski renamed Firepower in his book -- he had something to lose) we had a boatload of the afore-mentioned attractive women. A frightening percentage of them landed their jobs bouncing off a few executives’ mattresses. The head of production had a knack for picking up these great looking, loose girls, feeding them drugs for sex, and giving them jobs -- sometimes very high-ranking. Of course, the ones who got the good jobs with no talent other than taking off their tops went nowhere fast, but a surprising number of talented women gained entree into the industry taking that shortcut. I always admired the one who turned the tables and made her male underlings run through her own personal gauntlet. I say right on. If I could make my career by sleeping with the right women, count me in. To be fair, there were a number of male staffers without a clue. That happens at any mom and pop operation. But the closer Cannon came to being a real film company, the more important it was that all employees actually know what the hell they were doing. Even then the good-looking boatload kept filling and spilling over. Scattered among them were the occasional Passives, a handful of Aggressives and the rest, P/As. One girl in the international sales department was such an Aggressive that I imagined you could sleep with her for six months before you’d ever see her without makeup. Most of the girls came from temp agencies and started out as receptionists before moving up. The bosses were good about promoting from within. As the company grew, so did the number of girls passing through the receptionist chair. Though it was hard to keep up with the changes, I made it a point to introduce myself to each of them soon after they arrived. Nothing I hated worse than missing messages because I didn’t register in the new girl’s memory. Shortly before Thanksgiving, the new New Girl arrived in the reception area. All the men in the company were going ga-ga over this tremendously attractive blonde with great legs. I introduced myself, but must have been the only man to do so without drooling. Blondes have never been my type and I was too consumed with my impending date with old age to entertain those thoughts. Entertain those thoughts? I wouldn’t offer them so much as a cracker or after dinner mint.
•••
Everyone at Cannon drank and did drugs. Everyone. Everyone with an office kept a five o’clock drawer in their desk stocked with a bottle or two. Office parties were frequent and wild affairs. Birthday cakes were never served without copious amounts of champagne. After hours cocktails were an extension of the workday. This was not a politically correct work environment. We were frequently drunk during business hours, always drunk or high after hours, and basically everyone was screwing everyone -- frequently at the office. Those poor cleaning people. The first day New Girl showed up, she was invited out to drinks at the Hard Rock with a bunch of us. By the time I showed up, almost all the guys had surrounded New Girl like a pack of dogs fighting over a roast dropped from a butcher’s truck. I avoided that mess and got into a conversation with a fellow employee I had long suspected to be insane about his tour of duty in Viet Nam. He swiftly confirmed my suspicions with anecdotes of the Vietnamese who lost their lives at his hand. Casually, I eased my way into the group surrounding New Girl without incident. Insane Coworker stared darkly into his drink. New Girl had a gregarious personality and a short skirt -- a winning combination at any table. She was groomed with understated taste, which took her out of the Aggressive range. She was too immediately attractive to be dangerously Passive, but you can’t dismiss a Passive too quickly. For now, I designated her a Passive/Aggressive, withholding the right to change her status at some future date. She and I became friends in an offhanded way. As Christmas neared, I had begun to come out of my shell somewhat, though I had lied to Wiener about my intentions -- I wasn’t ready for dating yet. The more I got to be my old self, the more biting and caustic my wit became, especially when talking about my separation. New Girl got my humor and turned out to be pretty darn quick witted herself. She was intrigued that I was separated and asked a lot of relationship type questions -- arming herself to deal with whatever boyfriend she had at the time. There was a day I waited for the elevator in front of her reception desk and we carried on a fairly normal conversation. A male co-worker approached and started the lame flirtation they all attempted in her presence. Immediately, she cocked her head, flipped her hair, and let out a squeal/laugh/giggle sound that I had never heard her make till then. I stared at him, then her. He held the elevator for me. I waved him off. “What was that?” I asked. “What was what?” New Girl asked back. “The thing you just did there -- the blonde thing” I shook my head and giggled to illustrate. “Oh,” she said, “it’s just easier.” “Easier?” “People expect me to behave a certain way. I’d rather just give them what they want than to go into a big long conversation with someone I don’t like about why I’m not what they expect.” “Why haven’t you ever done that with me?” I asked. “Never had to,” she said. I looked confused, at this point in my life a comfortable expression. “You don’t expect me to be that,” she explained. She was definitely a Passive/Aggressive. Though we never went out for lunch or talked at after-work cocktails, New Girl and I became fast nine-to-five friends. Cannon shut down for Christmas break. Having survived another round of firings, I left a few days early for Milwaukee, confident my job would be waiting on my return. There’s no place more depressing than Los Angeles at Christmas. I returned after New Year’s to find the Human Resources Witch installing yet another new receptionist to replace New Girl. “What happened to New Girl?” I inquired. “She had some personal problems and couldn’t work anymore,” the Witch hissed through her warty tongue. “Oh.” I introduced myself to the new receptionist. |
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