The Fez (Pt 2)

​The Fez (A Cautionary Tale of Hollywood with Hats) Pt 2
 
No I'm never gonna do it without the fez on 
Oh no 
No I'm never gonna do it without the fez on
Oh no 
That's what I am 
Please understand 
I want to be your holy man – Steely Dan
 
“Get that fucking thing off your head!!”
 
I could be jumping directly to the punch line, or I could be simply stating what everyone in the office was thinking when they saw me with the Fez perched atop my head. Keep in mind, I did partake of a few practice runs before my performance at Raleigh Studios. I wore the Fez at a couple of movies (much to the chagrin of the person sitting directly behind me) and had even managed to wrangle a date at a party thanks to the exotic chapeaux. But, at an honest to god, actual pitch session, was still anyone’s guess.
 
The day of reckoning had finally arrived. I had my pitch down, the Fez was atop my head and my strategy was to ignore it and pretend it wasn’t there. I was ushering in a new age; gone were the days of writers in the distinct blue Los Angeles Dodger caps. As was my custom, I arrived at the lot at least fifteen minutes early walked through the check point and moved my way toward the Kennedy Marshall offices which were the furthest point away from Melrose. As I recall, there was a little bistro coffee shop about halfway and I stopped off there for a quick latte. 
 
The midsized lot once was the home of everything from Perry Mason, to Gunsmoke and Let’s Make a Deal and is considered one of the oldest in Hollywood. The Kennedy/Marshall partnership, an alliance that assisted Steven Spielberg with some of the biggest motion pictures in history, occupied and entire bungalow and was much larger office than I expected. 
 
The staff was young, attractive and friendly and, so far, had paid no notice to the Fez. There was a sign above the hallway to the inner offices that basically stated that even though the occupants were in showbusiness, it was no reason not to be nice to people. I appreciated the friendly vibe immediately and considered ditching the “topper.” Before I could snatch it off my head, I was asked whether I’d prefer coffee or water and answered with my usual, “neither.”
 
When you search on IMBD for Jonathan A. Zimbert (he always insisted to include the initial A), nothing much comes up. He was at Morgan Creek for a while, moved to Kennedy Marshall for a brief stint as President before racing back to Morgan Creek. I’ve had lunch with Zimbert, smoked cigars with Zimbert, even met his father and I’m quite sure, he’d have absolutely no recollection of who I am. Or, as we refer to that in Hollywood land, situation normal. This particular meeting took place the tail end of our four-year relationship so, while he still remembered who I was, there was a good chance he might not remember if a Fez was a regular accessory to my wardrobe. I was ushered into the office of a man who produced a number of Peter Hyams’ films as well as a personal favorite, Monster Squad, and sat down to talk Puff the Magic Dragon.
 
“Get that fucking thing off your head!!”
 
At least he said it with a grin, but deep down I knew he meant business. He had once admonished me for the use of my Darth Vader conference phone during a meeting. I am sure it was sound related and had nothing to do with the Sith Lord.  In all honesty, he did like my pitch of Dennis Hopper as the crazed Record Store owner and the magic, transporting listening station. But the Fez spent the rest of the short meeting perched on the arm of my chair. Several years later, in the mid-nineties, I happened to be Fe- less at another meeting at Warner Brothers. Jonathan had gone back to Morgan Creek and his office happened to be nearby. I stopped his office to say hello.  It had only been a few years, but I checked in at the receptionist desk and left a message saying I was in town and I was not wearing a Fez. I never heard back.