Guinness = New Agent
2010 February 18
Meeting with Maverick – Part 1
It’s January 4th, and my manager is likely twelve seconds away from killing me.
After moving to Los Angeles post five years of Serious-Actors-Train-Here Manhattan, my manager (the utterly and mystically fabulous Robyn Bluestone — whom we shall reverently refer to as Fabulous Manager) attempted to begin setting up agency meetings.
Agency meeting after agency meeting rolled into my inbox! How delightful! Glorious! Perfect for the actor who’s 101,369 on IMDB!
My first week of agency meetings occur in June 2009. I make the mistake of not only cutting — but dying — my entire head.
Enter the bombing of all agency meetings that week. I felt like I looked like a really tall groundhog with an equatable hairstyle. They were all small and boutiquey, thank God… but it’s not good to bomb, regardless.
The next two months I spend BACK in New York, filming Nelson George’s Left Unsaid with Bridget Barkan and Chyna Layne. No agency meetings.
September rolls around — and I get an offer to sit on a cruise ship around the world for two months. And do a little ballroom, sometimes. I take the gig. No agency meetings.
November and December roll around, bringing with them the holidays and an unexpected weight gain of 14.5 pounds. Damn good thing I’m 5’9… but I still notice the lack of six pack (okay, let’s not kid ourselves, I haven’t had a six pack since I was sixteen). and cringe. No agency meetings.
At 12:54 a.m. on JANUARY 3rd — I open up my iCalander just for the hell of it. There, in green, and listed under the obnoxious orange tab of the IMPORTANT STUFF category…
MEETING AT MAVERICK. 4pm. West Hollywood!
Maverick… Maverick Maverick Maverick… right! MAVERICK ARTISTS was the agency that Fabulous Manager had rescheduled for me four times. The first was an audition conflict. The second was a Nelson George project / NYC conflict. The third was a Fly-Back-To-LA-JUST-For-the-Meeting-And-Get-Delayed conflict. The fourth? I don’t even remember.
But there it was… in electric sunset orange… Meeting with Maverick. Attempt number five with the strong boutique that holds a Twilight star.
I immediately drank a glass of wine and went to sleep.
Meeting with Maverick, Part 2
We catch up with Ashley six hours after she remembers she has an agency meeting tomorrow.
The next morning, I threw on clothing (oh — by the way — I’m living in a HOTEL at this point, that’s another story) and attempted to wash my mane via the decrepit pipes that inhabit the Marina International Hotel’s bathroom structure. To no glossy-haired avail, I threw on a swipe of eyeliner and called it a day.
[ NOTE: When living out of a hotel: There is absolutely no point in trying to do the "pretty LA actress" thing. Let the under-eye circles and escape from the Lesbian Landlords fly. ]
After stepping out of the closet-bathroom (and battling the sliding door, which didn’t shut — or fit on the hinge), my helpful significant other shook his head gently. He always does this when I successfully choose a really, really bad outfit. Usually his horizontal head bobbing is paired with a fondly snarky comment about my recent association with a Star Wars character.
I don’t LAYER well. I can’t help it. ”Hip fashion” is not the utmost of my general concerns. The only thing I can accessorize properly is a freakin’ ballgown.
I change, smear on more eyeliner to appear brooding (I am brooding at this point) and trot out to my tiny silver Saab. Significant Other follows. I inquire if we should obtain a beer before my agency meeting, and if he’d wait for me. They never usually take long. Significant Other agrees.
We make the nausea-inspiring trek to Hollywood (after living there, and then relocating to Venice, I try to avoid the traffic and hair extension lifestyle as much as humanly possible). After thirty minutes in traffic, we finally pull up to North Vine street, and spot an Irish Pub across the way.
Forty-two minutes to The Agency Meeting. We both eyeball The Irish Pub, mutually salivating. The light turns green. With a silent nod between us, we park the car, throw the keys to the valet, and sprint into O’Malley’s or O’Faddey’s or whatever the place was called. It’s huge, and they have Wannabe Actresses in knee-highs and school girl kilts running around with 40s.
We’re not in Manhattan anymore.
We find a seat, order a round of Guineuss, and are assured that turkey burgers can be out to us in a record 12 minutes. We consume our feast, and order another round.
Twelve minutes to agency meeting.
The stress of the day — the escape from 29th Avenue Lesbianism (again, another story) — coupled with the natural I Have To Do Awesome paranoia — began melting away. Now, I have the tolerance of an Irish person anyway when it comes to Beverages, so it wasn’t like I was anything close to drunk. I wasn’t even tipsy. I was just… nicely… relaxed.
The gigantic turkey burger helped, too.
“Ash, you have three minutes to your meeting,” suddenly exclaimed Significant Other. I nodded, grabbed one last steak fry, and darted down the pub staircase. The building was directly across the street. I made it to the 17th floor exactly on time.
Forty-five minutes later, I was skipping out of the building.
I’d nailed the meeting.
It’s not for the sake of over-confidence or back-patting that I say I nailed the meeting… but compared to the recent meetings of ’09 that Fabulous Manager had so graciously set up… with this one, I felt different.
I didn’t spend an hour trying to pick out a “this is me in six different ways” outfit. I didn’t spend another hour doing stage makeup to cover up the fact that I’m perpetually a little bit tired. I didn’t curl my hair, I didn’t wear a gigantic LA push-up bra, I was just… me.
The Sci-Fi loving, Poe Shadow reading, slightly disenchanted but still infatuated with the industry and all it boasts — me.
And two days later? Fabulous Manager forwarded the email.
I was signed.
Delighted by the Winning Guineuss and Lack of Sleep Combination,
Ashley Avis
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