The Director*

He hit me with a cheesy opening line that I regret I don’t remember. Followed by several self-deprecating ones that I’m sorry he felt necessary to tell. All before, unsolicited, he revealed that he was a director, and immediately I went from borderline annoyed to interested.

I say opening-line because I think calling it a pickup line would be presumptuous. But perhaps that’s what it was – I don’t know. It’s such a rare occasion that I get a pickup line, I don’t even remember the last time. It had to have been over a decade ago.

I’m not big on subtlety. If you’re trying to hit on me and you use some kind of passive-aggressive language, that shit will go right over my head.  I won’t realize it until hours, perhaps even days later, if at all. Oddly enough the same goes for an insult. People will underhandedly insult me, and I will be like ha, ha, ha, that’s so funny. Then the next day I’ll be like wait a minute, that bitch, I mean child of God, was talking about me.

Anyway, let me tell you how it all went down. I’m in this restaurant for the afterparty of the LA premiere of a new show soon to debut on a streaming service. The restaurant is about two miles from the screening location and traffic was so heavy, it felt like it took 30-minutes to drive that short distance. By the time I arrived, the restaurant was packed. Once I got my food, I had to hunt out an empty place to sit. That’s when I happened upon an open spot right next to him.

As I approached, it was like I saw him, but I didn’t. What I primarily saw was an empty seat, not to mention, ya girl was hungry, and nobody comes between me and my food, especially me and my free food. The seating was bench-style – one continuous bench along the wall—with small, low tables in front of it. Space was so limited, there wasn’t even a table for me. I ended up pulling up a little cylindrical ottoman to rest my plate on.

Finally, I started eating and was only a few bites in when I hear this dude next to me say something that was so…what’s the word I’m looking for…nonsensical perhaps…that I was like what the fuck is he talking about?

Like the Rude Boys sang back in the day, I guess my thoughts were written all over my face, because he quickly said something different, though equally lacking in substance, and hella corny. You know, something like, “the sky is really blue today wouldn’t you say?” Just some completely random shit that would make you want to answer, muthafucka I don’t know, we’re inside a windowless restaurant at night. But I’m not mean like that. Instead, with a quizzical look on my face, I gave a short closed-ended response.

“I’m just an old fifty-something dad out here,” he engaged me again.

It was such a short remark, yet so much was revealed in it about this total stranger that I only know exists because he’s talking to me– he’s a dad, he’s in his fifties and he’s self-deprecating – all before I even knew his name, though somewhere along the conversation he would tell me that too, again, without me asking.

What do you say to a comment like that? I stuck another forkful of food in my mouth.

“I’m a director,” he finally landed on.

That, too, came out of nowhere, but I must admit, now, I was intrigued. Have you ever seen a flower in a pot that’s slumped over, then you water it and immediately it stands up straight? That’s how I imagine the change on my face seemed once I heard him utter those words. Instantly, he went from being a total bore, to me thinking, tell me more, tell me more.

From there he rattled off a bunch of projects he’s worked on. As of late, it’s mostly been TV, but back in the day, he directed a few movies, including a black cult classic that he made sure to mention several times. I’ve never seen it.

I’d heard of most of the shows he named; I’d never seen most of them either, though. One he seemed to be particularly proud of was called…well, let’s call it Cape Crusaders. It’s a pretty popular show that’s also gotten a lot of critical acclaim. I’ve only seen a couple of episodes of it and couldn’t bear to watch the rest. I wanted to be honest, so I told him I wasn’t into it. He was surprised, but offered up another show. This time, it was one I watched regularly.

“Which episodes did you direct?” I asked.

“I did a few from earlier seasons. You know that one when (insert actor’s name) nuts in (insert actress’s name) face?” he replied.

“Ummm,” I said, trying to recall the episode with a confused look on my face. I genuinely couldn’t remember that episode, which was upsetting, because I thought I knew this show pretty well. I was so wrapped up in trying to remember the episode so I could discuss it with him, that I didn’t even think to be insulted by the fact he just cavalierly talked about a man nutting in a woman’s face. It wasn’t until I got home and thought about it later that I took offense. It’s like dude, you don’t know me, you just met me, show some respect. Like Sheneneh says, I’m a lady.

“I also did the one that featured the dream sequence, “he ended up saying after the other episode wasn’t coming to me. Perhaps he misread my confusion for being uncomfortable and saw the error of his ways.

“Oh, I like that one. What was you’re creative approach to it?” I love asking that question. He gave me an answer, but with the music and all the other chatter going on, it was kind of hard to hear him. I don’t know what he said.

Now for some it may be off-putting that our conversation centered around him. Not me, I was perfectly fine with it. The more you talk about yourself, the less I have to talk about myself. Especially since I don’t work in the industry, I try to keep the focus off of me. So, I was more than happy to hear everything he had to say about himself. Matter of fact, I was even trying to keep it going that way. Then, the conversation took a turn for the worst.

“Did you work on this show?” he asked.

“No,” I said.

“So what do you do?”

DUN, DUN, DUNNNN!!!!

Or, to put it in more modern terms: Oh no. Oh no. Oh no, no, no, no, no!

By now, I should be prepared for this question. It’s pretty ubiquitous at these events. People use it to determine if it’s worth it to continue to talk to you. I should probably practice answering with confidence, but I haven’t, so I gave him what was on the surface – my own form of self-deprecation.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Are you rich?” he inquired.

“No.”

“You must go to Stanford,” he nudged on.

I shook my head.

“A student?”

Okay, does he think I’m being modest, or is he just trying to flatter me? Rich? Stanford? Student? Really? Though now that I think about it, perhaps he was just wondering what was my connection. Like how the fuck did I get in there.

“I’m a writer,” I finally owned up to. “But like I don’t have anything written in the industry, but I’m a writer.”

“What genres do you write?”

“Dramady, fantasy,” I dragged out.

“You must like Octavia Butler.”

I was impressed. The mere fact that he knew her name was notable to me, but he also got cool points for making the connection between me, a black woman who said she writes fantasy, and Octavia Butler, a published black woman author famed in literary circles for writing fantasy. Though the fantasy I write is more like The Wiz. I think Octavia Butler is more sci-fi, but still.

When I used to live in New York and went to professional networking events – it was for journalism back then – the conversations were often so erudite. I remember this one group of people casually discussing Shakespeare like most people would discuss reality TV. And it wasn’t even like your Romeo and Juliet Shakespeare, it was like Henry VIII and The Taming of the Shrew. People used big words and could talk about economics and politics in a way that sometimes made me just shut up and listen. There was a running joke amongst those Big Apple dwellers that people in LA were vapid. Being from LA, I disagreed because I knew smart people. I mean these people weren’t discussing Shakespeare at parties, but they were smart people. But there’s a difference between LA and Hollywood. It wasn’t until I started going to these Hollywood events that I began to understand what those New Yorkers meant. Most conversations at these shindigs skew towards what other events they’ve attended and what celebrities they’ve encountered, or worked with. And here this man was mentioning Octavia Butler to me – nice.

“I haven’t read anything by her,” I had to yet hated to admit.

“Toni Morrison?” he went on.

“Mmmm,” I said, wondering how I should put this, because I admire her work but I’m not a huge fan. “I like ‘Sula.’”

“Oh, I haven’t heard of that one.”

“I’m not really into the slave narrative.”

“I get it. It’s almost been trendy lately in Hollywood to exploit black trauma.”

What is this? He was saying something that I actually agreed with, something substantive. It just goes to show, you can’t judge a book by an opening cheesy line.

Then out of nowhere…

“I’m mixed,” he tossed out there.

Um, okay, I thought, but “mixed with what?” was what I managed.

He told me and that was that. I guess once a random statement blurter, always a random statement blurter.

A bit more small-talk was exchanged as we ate our food at our respective tables…well, he at his table, me at my mini ottoman. I never paid attention to his plate – how far along he was when I first sat down, nor what was left when he eventually got up, ending our little conversation just as abruptly as he started it.

“Well, I’m going to go up to the rooftop,” he said as he stood.

“Okay,” I replied.

“You really should check out Cape Crusaders, it’s a good show,” were his final parting words.

I have to admit, I was a little taken aback that he left me so suddenly, so soon after our conversation began. I couldn’t help but wonder why. Maybe it was because I didn’t like his show. Maybe it was because my hot, beet salad, ravioli, and white fish breath was getting to him – we were sitting pretty close. Or maybe it was because he was just ready to leave. My mind can create an endless list of maybes.                                                                                                      

After I finished my food, and a trip to the bar for one of the night’s specialty cocktails, I went up to the rooftop as well. I was told there was pizza there, and, well, I love pizza. Not long after I emerged from the stairs, I saw him, embroiled in a conversation with a couple other men. He saw me too, yet neither of us acknowledged the other. I figured when he got up and left, he was done, and I wasn’t going to beg the question.

The rooftop was even more crowded than the dining room below. Instead of being square, it was more of a straight line, like a long, wide balcony. Again, I had to hunt for a seat. But first, I got my pizza. I ended up finding a spot midway along the roof. I pretty much stayed there the rest of the night, save for the times I got up to catch a server with a tray of dessert, get more pizza – oh, and manage a quick convo with the creator of the show that brought us all there. 

But everybody seemed to already know somebody, already huddled in their own little cliques. I met no one else new for the rest of the night.

After a couple hours or so on the rooftop, I left. Once I got home, I googled the director. His IMBD page confirmed everything he said. He directed a few movies back in the late 90s, early aughts. Since then, he’s had steady work directing TV episodes for different shows up to the present.

How crazy was it that I actually hobnobbed with a Hollywood director? All the more I wish I would have talked to him longer.  I would have asked him how he feels the industry has changed since he first got in it? What does he feel the difference is between directing a feature film and TV? Does he want to direct more movies? Why hasn’t he directed any more movies since his last one? What has his experience been like as a person of color in Hollywood? On and on and on and…it was not meant to be.

Still, I couldn’t help but think about how we started talking in the first place. His cheesy opening line coming at me when I wasn’t even looking his way. How he went from that to calling himself an old dad. Then telling me he was a director, and enumerating his film and TV credits like I was an executive producer who could get him on his next set.

It reminded me of that time Dave Chapelle was on Oprah trying to explain why he walked away from $50 million. He mentioned how Mariah Carey and Martin Lawrence both had breakdowns. To make his point he asked the question, “what is it about this business, that makes people breakdown?”

Now I’m not saying the director was breaking down. What I am saying is there seems to be a palpable pressure in Hollywood to be an “it” person in one way or another. In addition to talent, skill and experience – in some cases, maybe even instead of those things – there is also a social currency one must possess that, interestingly enough, is also perpetuated and circulated by the very people who are affected most by not having enough of it. It’s that social currency that makes so many of the conversations you hear and engage in in these settings center around who they know and what they do.

One’s proximity to big name shows, films and stars are all proffered in exchanged for being treated like, and therefore feeling like, you matter.

Perhaps that’s why the director felt the need to name his accomplishments even in an inconsequential conversation with a stranger. Like Dave Chappelle’s question, I too wondered what is it about this business that a steady working TV director would still not feel good enough? Of course there’s always the possibility that he was just running game. But in any case, the point is it’s the same thing that makes any of us not feel good enough. I’ve been a Hollywood outsider long enough to know that this shit ain’t relegated to that business.

Sometimes I think if I could just get a job as a staff writer (the lowest writing position on a TV show) I’d be more confident at these events when that inevitable question comes along, “what do you do?” But it’s like the saying goes, new level new devil. If anything, this encounter with the director is just a reminder to me that if I ever get into this business, if I ever make it in Hollywood, I’m really going to have to have a strong sense of self. I’m really going to have to know that my worth is not determined by my credits or lack thereof, even though I will be treated as if it is.

__________

*The conversation retold here is not an exact transcript of what was said, but rather I tried to capture the essence of what was said. I’m going strictly from memory.