Free Going Down in La-La Land by Andy Zeffer

Hollywood’s creepy obsession with youth was getting out of control at this time, with programs on the WB Network such as Dawson’s Creek and Buffy the Vampire Slayer the happening thing.
    Kaylee Reston was supposedly nineteen years old and had just landed a two-year half-million-dollar contract to develop and produce shows for television. That fact in itself was disturbing enough for me, who after four years of college was answering phones for peanuts while a nineteen-year-old gets to write fun scripts for half a million dollars. Was there no justice in the world?
    What rocked the agency was when a story broke in one of the trades and on Entertainment Tonight that Kaylee Reston was really a thirty-two-year-old who had been in Hollywood for years working under a different name.
    For a week everyone made jokes about it, and it was the main conversation by the elevator bank.
    “ Dude, I can’t believe she pulled that off!” junior agents would joke in amazement.
    The gay guys in administration took particular pleasure in the episode, walking around the office and pronouncing with glee, “Tomorrow I turn sixteen!”
    They thought it was just hilarious. As if lying about one’s age was something new in Hollywood. Christ, even Nancy Reagan lied about her age. What the hell did people expect in a town where at age twenty-eight a person is considered the equivalent of a geriatric patient?
    It was like coexisting in a town full of pedophiles.
    From my perspective Kaylee Reston was a hero that duped the business. And the business deserved it. She should have gotten a gold medal. She was just giving Hollywood what it wanted—youth, youth, and more youth. I hoped that Acclaimed Talent Agency was thoroughly humiliated, but I doubted it. They probably enjoyed the publicity.
    I also hoped, at the very least, that Kaylee Reston was able to keep the money from her development deal, or at least some of it.
    It was also amusing to observe the behavior of some of the agents when it came time to meet with clients or potential clients. One day a flashy black girl came through the elevator doors with a few huge thugs trailing behind her. She asked to see Ben Fassas, one of the egotistical pricks who had reamed me out for nothing.
    Ben Fassas was the worst stereotype of a sleazy Hollywood shark, fat and ugly with an inflated ego. He handled all the rappers and hip-hop people, so I knew the moment she walked in she was probably going to ask for him before she even opened her mouth.
    “ Hello. Tasty Jones here to see Ben Fassas,” she said sweetly. I thought she was a pretty girl as well. After complimenting her on her very noticeable diamond watch, I asked if she and her friends (homeboys, really) would like a bottled water. Taking me up on the offer, she grabbed a seat while I called up the asshole and let him know she was there.
    “ Tell her I’ll be right out!” he barked over the phone, as usual sounding like I had inconvenienced him by letting him know his appointment had arrived.
    “ I’ll be right out,” meant let them sit there for ten minutes before coming to get them.
    When their meeting was over and she’d left the office he lingered at the front for a minute or so to talk crap with a few of the other agents who had seen her come in.
    “ Man! Her face was wrecked!” he exclaimed, laughing like a jerk with his cohorts.
    I thought this was ironic coming from a fat, hairy, greasy-looking eyesore with such a heavy beard that he could shave and have a five o’clock shadow ten minutes later.
    Since I have canine hearing I heard a lot of dish while sitting with my ass glued to the front desk chairs. Which client was difficult, which one was demanding, and so forth. Some clients hung around way too much.
    One child actor, who had been chosen for the role of a lifetime in a big-budget thriller over hundreds of other hopefuls, was always in the office. He ran around the place like bull in a china shop, pestering basically