The Majestic


© James C. Hess

Several years ago, during a trip to Los Angeles, to meet with a movie producer regarding a screenplay I had written, I encountered, met, and eventually befriended an actor who had all but disappeared from the pop culture landscape.

To make a long story short I encountered this actor in what, relatively-speaking, was the most unlikely of places: A bookstore.

Understand: I know many actors read. But this particular actor (who has since passed away) never struck me as the sort who read, much less frequented bookstores. Magazine stands in front of a movie studio, yes. Gift shops in such places as The Four Seasons, sure. But a bookstore?

Anyway, I had arrived to L.A., had checked into MY motel (a one-star rathole even rats avoid), had called the producer in question to let him know I was in town per our previous telephone conversation, and was told by the squeaky-voiced woman on the other end of the line that said producer was out of town.

In other words: I had flown several thousand miles for no reason.

I gently, politely explained that said producer and I had previously talked about a screenplay I had written. I explained that he was the one who wanted this meeting. I explained that all she needed to do was check his date book and she would no doubt find there that, yes, I DID have an appointment.

Lil' Miss Squeak put me on hold, came back about five minutes later, and informed me that there was nothing in his date book even suggesting I had an appointment.

Curious, I replied. Seeing how he paid for me to fly to L.A.

Back onto hold I went. About five minutes later The Squeak returned and informed me that the producer was at lunch with a client and would call me back.

He didn't. To this day he hasn't.

When it became obvious that day that something was screwy I decided it best I spend the night in Motel Mouseturd, and fly home the next day. (If it was important enough said producer could fly me back to L.A. or he could come to me.) In the meanwhile, though, I should find something to do.

Whenever I am in a strange place (including L.A.) I seek out bookstores. Not the chainstores, but the mom-and-pop outfits. I found one not too far from the hole I was checked into. A lovely little place: Chairs and couches to sit on, among the floor-to-ceiling stacks, while considering the merchandise.

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The copyright of the article The Majestic in Film & TV Reviews is owned by James C. Hess. Permission to republish The Majestic in print or online must be granted by the author in writing.

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