CRISPIN ROTH'S ART OPENING by Edward L. Woodyard

CRISPIN ROTH'S ART OPENING

I didn't order dinner from room service but instead left the hotel and walked to an In-N-Out Burger down the street. The Double-Double alone was worth the trip to L.A.

When I returned to the Wilburn, I took a power nap, showered and dressed in the all-black clothes which had been chosen for me to wear that evening. Even though I was from New York, I was still Phil the Hack, merely a screenwriter and thus incapable of making sartorial decisions of such magnitude for this upcoming mysterious social event. Sylvia texted me that she would be there in fifteen minutes and for me to meet her out in front of the hotel where I should make sure that I wasn't mistaken for one of the valet parkers. That comment was so typically Sylvia.

Sylvia was known in the Industry by her first name; no one even bothered with her last name of Maxwell. She had landed in Hollywood almost by accident. Having dropped out of college to hitchhike across Africa, she had traveled up the Congo, took a safari through the Serengeti, climbed halfway up Kilimanjaro, marched through Pretoria, and smoked hashish in the Casbah. She could never explain her attraction to Africa, saying only that it was something she had to do. She had grown up in Chicago proper, and had gone east for college, to Walmsley, a prestigious woman's finishing school north of Baltimore known for its classes in dressage and equestrienne deportment. A break-up during sophomore year with her then boyfriend was the catalyst for her escape from America.

When she returned to the States and discovered that her former boyfriend had married her now-pregnant college roommate, Sylvia decided to go back to Chicago where she finished up at Lake of the Woods College, her father insisting that she get her undergraduate degree. There she met Oriana Sterling, the daughter of a Hollywood production designer, for whom Sylvia helped write her senior thesis on women screenwriters in the 1930s, which meant it was basically a biography of Anita Loos with cameo appearances by Lenore Coffee, Elinor Glyn and Frances Marion. Sylvia became fascinated by these women and vowed to become one. She put her efforts into a script about a woman who leads a safari across Africa to reach the man she loves who's stranded on Kilimanjaro, only to find him in the arms of another woman. Oriana got the script to her father who got it to an agent who wondered what else did Sylvia have. The agent said Sylvia needed to move to L.A. if she wanted to be involved with the movies and then offered her a job doing coverage on scripts his other clients wrote. The spot-on ideas for revisions and rewrites in her coverage were so good that she got the attention of a story editor at Paragon Studios who suggested her to Peter Valerian as a script doctor. A powerful producer, Peter read three of her coverages and hired her. Sylvia then moved out of a monthly motel rental in Silver Lake and into a small wooden bungalow in Laurel Canyon where she was adopted by a feral kitten whom she named Dinah for the cat in Alice in Wonderland.

Sylvia and I became instant friends; like Dinah, I too had adopted her. My agent in New York had connected me with Sylvia on a movie project that evolved eventually into a concept for an anthology series. Our initial meeting had included the show runner, a prematurely graying millennial named Ethan who immediately excused himself from the script meeting after our introduction. Sylvia was older than Ethan by about fifteen years or so, which was a relief to someone my age. She would be my contact and point person. After years of dealing with recent college graduates in positions of influence they hadn't earned but had been given merely because of their youth or relation to someone in the company, I was glad to be dealing with someone who didn't consider me a geriatric. Still younger than I by several years, Sylvia was soft-spoken and known to enjoy a single malt or two after work – neat. Her easy smile let me know she was confident and not out to impress anyone. When she asked me to refer to her as my story editor, not the head of the production office, I knew we'd have an agreement soon. We shook on the deal two hours later and her people would get in touch with my people.