It was this past summer when I took an old friend up on an offer to come out to L.A. and work for his photography business. My prospects were pretty dim for the summer when I accepted. So I packed up my old Honda Accord and made the drive west (always helps to have friends willing to pay for your gas money). When I finally saw the skyline of Los Angeles and the "Hollywood" sign, I knew I was in another world. My friend Chris had a burgeoning business doing promotional photography work and my experience with computers really helped him. We'd known each other for years and he gave me the nickname of "Hollywood Jim", mainly because of my love of films and show biz in general. After just a few days there I knew this was where I wanted to be. The idea that I was actually part of the place I'd only read about before, If only on the peripheral edge of it, was incredible.
One day Chris told me about a super secret assignment he'd accepted doing some new promotional photos. He couldn't tell me of whom, just that it was a secret and if it got out the world would be encamped on his property. I was intrigued but with a town like Hollywood this could be anyone.
When the day arrived I came to work as usual, but noticed several SUV's in our parking lot loaded with guys toting long lens cameras, jabbering into cellphones and looking at me with a mix of suspicion and envy. It was as if we'd suddenly opened a used car lot. I was forced to park behind the studio by the garbage dumpster, how un-Hollywood.
"Hey Chris, what's with the extra trucks out front?"
"Did you tell anyone about today?" he sternly asked
"Of course not! What's going on?" I asked again
"OK, I guess I can tell you now. The shots are for Paris Hilton, she's got a new perfume line coming out and needs photos taken, so she hired me for the shots. I kept it a secret because of what's outside. I've seen how those guys operate and it's not pretty."
"Paris? Really, wow!" I said
"Yeah, yeah you get to do some star gazing today. Just don't drool on the merchandise" Chris said with a touch of world-weary cynicism as he checked his watch.
"Well, what time does the princess arrive?" I said with the same tone
"Right about...now," he said as his cellphone rang "She said she'd call when she was pulling up so we could get her in fast."
Chris grabbed me and we dashed to the door amidst a chattering of cameras and flashbulbs and let Ms. Hilton in. She struck me as a little shorter than I imagined, a little bit thin, perhaps. But with every possible detail taken care of in the looks department. She was definitely rattled by the crush of paparazzi. Her assistants followed her in and brushed me aside and went off with Chris to do the preparations for the shoot. I think I heard her say "hi" to me with that typical Paris smile. But that was the extent of my encounter with the heiress.
Or so I thought!
Over the next 2 hours I could hear music booming on our sound system, scattered chatter from Chris and the assistants and the "pop-pop-pop" of the flashbulbs and strobe lights. I poked my head in a few times and could see Paris in several slinky outfits. Among them a hot pink mini-dress and a white silk nightgown that seemed to ooze romance. But my job was to watch the doors and make sure no prying eyes got in, other than my own. The shoot seemed to be going well from what I could hear.
When I finally heard Chris yell; "OK everybody that's a wrap!" I could tell he was excited. He dashed over to me and said
"Hollywood, we've hit the big time! Suit up pal, we're partying tonight!"
One of Paris' assistants then called him over and said;
"We've got a problem."
"What?" Chris said in fear
"Ms. Hilton's car cannot get out of your lot, the paparazzi are all over. Either you make proper arrangements or this shoot is history."
Chris was panic-stricken. Here he had the biggest photo shoot of his career about to blow up in his face. He turned to me and pleaded
"What do I do, man?"
I thought for a minute,
"Don't you have a basement entrance?"
"Yeah."
"OK, my car is down there I'll take her out in the trunk. Is that OK?" I asked her assistant
"Is it at least clean?" she asked skeptically
Before I could answer Chris jumped in and said
"Are you kidding? He has a hazmat crew clean it every week, right Hollywood?" Chris said like a true con artist.
"Right." I said
The assistant agreed to our plan and went to get her client.
Paris reappeared wearing a grey hoodie, baseball cap, big sunglasses, a crew of minders, and me escorting her down to the basement. Once we got there, I pulled my car up to the door and popped the trunk.
"I'm going out in the trunk? Oh how cool!" she laughed
"I'm sure my trunk is honored too." I muttered
We then drove out of the back, past the paparazzi that had no idea the object of their lenses had just driven away, not in a Mercedes, but in a '97 Honda. As I glanced back in my mirror I could see an assistant taking care of Paris' car.
Our plan was to drive a few blocks away to a nearby pizza place, then I'd pop open the trunk, she'd get out and I'd drive her home. Once I'd extracted Ms. Hilton, we drove on. Paris giggled as she got out but said very little to me, she was chattering into her cellphone as we drove. I was embarrassed to ask her for directions.
"Oh, 1214 Bravo Drive, its a few blocks up." she said
I was trying to act cool about this entire escapade but I had a real celebrity I'd only seen in magazines sitting next to me, simply dressed, as un-glam as possible. I knew an opportunity like this was never going to repeat itself but I had no idea what to say at this moment. "Hollywood Jim" had suddenly become "Tongue-tied Jim".
"Um, you like the Yankees?" noticing her cap
"Oh, it was given to me. I really don't follow sports much, why? Are you a fan?"
"Uh, no I'm a Red Sox guy. But then again I just moved out here so I guess I'll have to become a Dodgers fan."
"Really? From where?"
"Connecticut"
"I went to school there, down in Greenwich."
When we reached her house, the gate slowly opened revealing a Spanish style house. At the top of the winding driveway there was a 3 car garage, one bay's door was open and a black Jaguar convertible peered out.
"Is that a Jag?" I asked
"Uh-huh, I just got it yesterday. I'm still trying to figure it out, you want to see it?"
"Sure, I, well, uh I really should get back to Chris'. He's a friend and I don't want to let him down. You know, make him think I'm all "Hollywood Jim" and all"