I’M FOREVER YOUR GIRL – 2000
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl...
My earliest clear memory of Paula Abdul is watching her dance in the black & white video of FOREVER YOUR GIRL. She was a toy-sized Jewish goddess from Van Nuys wrapped in an oversized leather jacket; henna, mousse and hoop earrings. But unlike the other stars on MTV, Paula was real. Had she missed that Laker Girl tryout, or messed up on Janet Jackson’s choreography, she could have just as easily been working a desk at William Morris like I was; living her life to get invited to parties put together by other agents’ assistants where everyone told each other long stories in exacerbated tones about how hard their jobs were, while actually talking about their bosses’ jobs and pretending that they ever did more than answer the phone. We were a pack of 25-year-olds, each making $365 a week, while being annoyed that Rob Lowe wouldn’t stop calling. As if any of us had ever really said anything more to Rob Lowe other than, “I’ll try him in the car for you, Mr. Lowe.”
Baby just remember I gave you my heart
Ain’t no one gonna tear us apart…
But in Paula’s case, it wasn’t all made up. We really were almost connected. My roommate, Peter Rothstein, had gone on a blind date with Paula. She was friends with his sister. So in a sense, I knew Paula… we were buddies… sort of… through close association. We traveled in the same circles, our births were months apart. She was fully Jewish, I was sort of Jewish, and really liked Jewish girls, especially nubile ones that could dance. The only difference between us was that she had already made it, and I was still on an agency desk.
Hell, I’d even hung out with her once… at Alzado’s in West Hollywood, when I was out with a group of fellow “Did-you-get-a-desk-yet” wannabes. Paula walked off La Cienaga, and through the door right past us. She had an entourage of leather clad friends surrounding her like a strolling rugby scrum. And at the moment that she was just by me, she turned back, looked directly into my eyes, and grinned. She looked me up and down, at my oversized Italian leather jacket, Lambada-ish chinos, and Hawaiian shirt. I smiled back and nodded confidently sharing the moment with her, but she turned away… and in the end, I wasn’t actually sure if she’d ever really been looking at me, or had she been looking at Roxanna Zal, the star of SOMETHING ABOUT AMELIA, who was standing just behind me.
The next day, when relating what happened to other agents’ assistants and mailroom hopefuls, I said “Yeah, last night I went to Alzado’s. Paula was there.” I said this in a strong, “I really don’t care that much” tone, as if I might have been saying that my brother was there. When you worked on an agency desk one of the first things you learned was to refer to stars on a first name basis as if they were part of your clique and seeing them was really no big deal whatsoever.
Straight up now tell me
Do you really want to love me forever oh oh oh
Or am I caught in a hit and run…
But then suddenly ten years flew by and everything changed. Lyle Alzado died, and with him Alzado’s closed. Instead of working a desk at William Morris, I was a Vice President at New Line, where I was admired and respected by the folks upstairs (which at New Line was actually downstairs on the 2nd Floor). Paula essentially vanished after no one bought her third album. Occasionally, I might catch a glimpse of her starring in a TV movie or making a guest appearance on SPIN CITY.
Meanwhile, I was living large in a spacious office with two leather chairs, a leather couch, a glass coffee table, and a view of the Pacific Design Center. My job was watching television; I watched dailies, directors’ cuts and final cuts. I watched pilots that my assistant had managed to trade for in the secret society of pilot-tape-traders that would one day run Hollywood themselves. I watched English television shows, for which I was so important that I had a separate English VCR that could play the PAL format. My life was a dream for a kid whose mother had once screamed at him, “What are you going to do with your life? You can’t watch TV for a living.”
I also took pitches and general meetings. People appeared at my office with a look of panic in their eyes, like starving omega wolves waiting for the alpha wolf to let them have a taste of gristle. After all, getting a meeting with a New Line Vice President was a coup, a chance of a lifetime. So much so, that writing these words right now, I’m thinking what I wouldn’t do to get a meeting with a New Line Vice President… and I used to be one.
Do do you love me
Do do you love me
Many of these meetings were set up by agents and managers as “favors,” and involved spending a half-an-hour here and fifteen minutes there with the detritus of Hollywood; washed up writers, directors and actors with leather cases full of ideas for TV shows. Sometimes I’d get a truly desperate one, sitting on my leather couch, squeaking the cushions and squeaking his leather bag, forcing himself to smile, holding his legs tightly together and responding to my, “No one’s buying woman-in-jeopardy stories right now…” by yelping out, “Oh, I’ve got a terrific woman-in-jeopardy story that Jaclyn Smith is attached to.”
“I love her cologne,” I’d sputter back and then just smile, trying to look like a therapist does when your hour is over.
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl.
So when Paula Abdul’s name appeared in my Outlook one day, it was both exciting and troublesome. I realized this would be my chance to tell her all about my obsession with her and how I’d come so close to meeting her back when she was famous. I could ask her if she had really looked at me that night at Alazado’s. Then, I thought better of all that.
Five minutes before Paula was supposed to arrive, I got up to use the bathroom, as I always did five minutes before any meeting was about to arrive. This was probably a vestige of my parents making me go pee before we got into the car. As I walked towards the men’s room, the elevator opened, and Paula Abdul stepped out, all by herself. She aged well. She looked almost exactly the same, only thinner and more cultured. Now, I had a standing rule that I didn’t talk to my meetings if I passed them on the way to the men’s room, and I decided I should keep to this. I walked past her and did my business.
When I came out of the men’s room, I saw Paula, way down at the other end of the hallway, way beyond my office, reading the little signs on each office doorway. She had walked right past the first door after the elevator, my door. Now I was in a quandary. If I yelled out to her, “Paula, it’s down here,” I would lose my New Line Vice President superiority, as it would look like I was some silly obsessed fan searching for her. Or worse, if she had actually noticed me the way I noticed her when she got off the elevator, she would wonder why I hadn’t said anything then, before I let her walk all the way down the hall like an idiot. I did what anyone in my situation would do. I went back into my office suite and waited for her to find it.
Two more minutes passed. I went back out into the hallway, and found that Paula had worked her way back towards the elevator, reading all the signs for the offices on the opposite side.
“Paula?” I called out, as if not only seeing her for the first time, but also not 100% sure who she was. She looked up; the way stars look up when you call their names, expecting to see a fan asking for an autograph. “I’m Charles Freericks,” I said. She looked at me blank. “Um, your manager Mitch set up a meeting for you to see me?” She nodded, that sounds right, and followed me in. “Mitch will be here in a minute,” she told me. “Great, I responded. “My colleagues Ernie and Roberta will be sitting in too.”
When everyone arrived, we began with the requisite pre-pitch chit-chat, all but Paula smiling falsely as we discussed my three-year-old’s ability to count to twelve, and Roberta’s son’s trip to Tokyo, and Mitch’s new offices that was just around the corner from a great dim-sum place. I was quite proud of myself that I didn’t mention once that I’d ever heard of Paula before that day, utilizing one of the standard development executive ways to disarm a star.
Then, again in standard studio mid-level honcho behavior, I finally threw her a bone by saying I was honored to meet her, and I enjoyed her music.
Straight up now tell me
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl...
My earliest clear memory of Paula Abdul is watching her dance in the black & white video of FOREVER YOUR GIRL. She was a toy-sized Jewish goddess from Van Nuys wrapped in an oversized leather jacket; henna, mousse and hoop earrings. But unlike the other stars on MTV, Paula was real. Had she missed that Laker Girl tryout, or messed up on Janet Jackson’s choreography, she could have just as easily been working a desk at William Morris like I was; living her life to get invited to parties put together by other agents’ assistants where everyone told each other long stories in exacerbated tones about how hard their jobs were, while actually talking about their bosses’ jobs and pretending that they ever did more than answer the phone. We were a pack of 25-year-olds, each making $365 a week, while being annoyed that Rob Lowe wouldn’t stop calling. As if any of us had ever really said anything more to Rob Lowe other than, “I’ll try him in the car for you, Mr. Lowe.”
Baby just remember I gave you my heart
Ain’t no one gonna tear us apart…
But in Paula’s case, it wasn’t all made up. We really were almost connected. My roommate, Peter Rothstein, had gone on a blind date with Paula. She was friends with his sister. So in a sense, I knew Paula… we were buddies… sort of… through close association. We traveled in the same circles, our births were months apart. She was fully Jewish, I was sort of Jewish, and really liked Jewish girls, especially nubile ones that could dance. The only difference between us was that she had already made it, and I was still on an agency desk.
Hell, I’d even hung out with her once… at Alzado’s in West Hollywood, when I was out with a group of fellow “Did-you-get-a-desk-yet” wannabes. Paula walked off La Cienaga, and through the door right past us. She had an entourage of leather clad friends surrounding her like a strolling rugby scrum. And at the moment that she was just by me, she turned back, looked directly into my eyes, and grinned. She looked me up and down, at my oversized Italian leather jacket, Lambada-ish chinos, and Hawaiian shirt. I smiled back and nodded confidently sharing the moment with her, but she turned away… and in the end, I wasn’t actually sure if she’d ever really been looking at me, or had she been looking at Roxanna Zal, the star of SOMETHING ABOUT AMELIA, who was standing just behind me.
The next day, when relating what happened to other agents’ assistants and mailroom hopefuls, I said “Yeah, last night I went to Alzado’s. Paula was there.” I said this in a strong, “I really don’t care that much” tone, as if I might have been saying that my brother was there. When you worked on an agency desk one of the first things you learned was to refer to stars on a first name basis as if they were part of your clique and seeing them was really no big deal whatsoever.
Straight up now tell me
Do you really want to love me forever oh oh oh
Or am I caught in a hit and run…
But then suddenly ten years flew by and everything changed. Lyle Alzado died, and with him Alzado’s closed. Instead of working a desk at William Morris, I was a Vice President at New Line, where I was admired and respected by the folks upstairs (which at New Line was actually downstairs on the 2nd Floor). Paula essentially vanished after no one bought her third album. Occasionally, I might catch a glimpse of her starring in a TV movie or making a guest appearance on SPIN CITY.
Meanwhile, I was living large in a spacious office with two leather chairs, a leather couch, a glass coffee table, and a view of the Pacific Design Center. My job was watching television; I watched dailies, directors’ cuts and final cuts. I watched pilots that my assistant had managed to trade for in the secret society of pilot-tape-traders that would one day run Hollywood themselves. I watched English television shows, for which I was so important that I had a separate English VCR that could play the PAL format. My life was a dream for a kid whose mother had once screamed at him, “What are you going to do with your life? You can’t watch TV for a living.”
I also took pitches and general meetings. People appeared at my office with a look of panic in their eyes, like starving omega wolves waiting for the alpha wolf to let them have a taste of gristle. After all, getting a meeting with a New Line Vice President was a coup, a chance of a lifetime. So much so, that writing these words right now, I’m thinking what I wouldn’t do to get a meeting with a New Line Vice President… and I used to be one.
Do do you love me
Do do you love me
Many of these meetings were set up by agents and managers as “favors,” and involved spending a half-an-hour here and fifteen minutes there with the detritus of Hollywood; washed up writers, directors and actors with leather cases full of ideas for TV shows. Sometimes I’d get a truly desperate one, sitting on my leather couch, squeaking the cushions and squeaking his leather bag, forcing himself to smile, holding his legs tightly together and responding to my, “No one’s buying woman-in-jeopardy stories right now…” by yelping out, “Oh, I’ve got a terrific woman-in-jeopardy story that Jaclyn Smith is attached to.”
“I love her cologne,” I’d sputter back and then just smile, trying to look like a therapist does when your hour is over.
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl.
So when Paula Abdul’s name appeared in my Outlook one day, it was both exciting and troublesome. I realized this would be my chance to tell her all about my obsession with her and how I’d come so close to meeting her back when she was famous. I could ask her if she had really looked at me that night at Alazado’s. Then, I thought better of all that.
Five minutes before Paula was supposed to arrive, I got up to use the bathroom, as I always did five minutes before any meeting was about to arrive. This was probably a vestige of my parents making me go pee before we got into the car. As I walked towards the men’s room, the elevator opened, and Paula Abdul stepped out, all by herself. She aged well. She looked almost exactly the same, only thinner and more cultured. Now, I had a standing rule that I didn’t talk to my meetings if I passed them on the way to the men’s room, and I decided I should keep to this. I walked past her and did my business.
When I came out of the men’s room, I saw Paula, way down at the other end of the hallway, way beyond my office, reading the little signs on each office doorway. She had walked right past the first door after the elevator, my door. Now I was in a quandary. If I yelled out to her, “Paula, it’s down here,” I would lose my New Line Vice President superiority, as it would look like I was some silly obsessed fan searching for her. Or worse, if she had actually noticed me the way I noticed her when she got off the elevator, she would wonder why I hadn’t said anything then, before I let her walk all the way down the hall like an idiot. I did what anyone in my situation would do. I went back into my office suite and waited for her to find it.
Two more minutes passed. I went back out into the hallway, and found that Paula had worked her way back towards the elevator, reading all the signs for the offices on the opposite side.
“Paula?” I called out, as if not only seeing her for the first time, but also not 100% sure who she was. She looked up; the way stars look up when you call their names, expecting to see a fan asking for an autograph. “I’m Charles Freericks,” I said. She looked at me blank. “Um, your manager Mitch set up a meeting for you to see me?” She nodded, that sounds right, and followed me in. “Mitch will be here in a minute,” she told me. “Great, I responded. “My colleagues Ernie and Roberta will be sitting in too.”
When everyone arrived, we began with the requisite pre-pitch chit-chat, all but Paula smiling falsely as we discussed my three-year-old’s ability to count to twelve, and Roberta’s son’s trip to Tokyo, and Mitch’s new offices that was just around the corner from a great dim-sum place. I was quite proud of myself that I didn’t mention once that I’d ever heard of Paula before that day, utilizing one of the standard development executive ways to disarm a star.
Then, again in standard studio mid-level honcho behavior, I finally threw her a bone by saying I was honored to meet her, and I enjoyed her music.
Straight up now tell me
Is it gonna be you and me together?
oh oh oh
Or are you just having fun?
Now in my mind, I was desperate to buy Paula’s project and work with her on it and have it become a success.
I wondered, if I would leave my wife if Paula asked me to. No, no, I was quite sure I wouldn’t… but I would certainly be flattered. It could be the start of wonderful friendship… Thirty years later we’d be having dinner at her house when I’d say, “Oh, do you remember the day you asked me to leave my wife?” “I do, I do… you were so flustered and precious…,” Paula would respond.
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
Then things went bad; really bad. Paula began to talk as if we were all intimately familiar with her video for OPPOSITES ATTRACT. She talked about how it was based on Gene Kelly in ANCHOR’S AWEIGH, and how it had been her most popular video. When she mentioned MC Skat Kat, Ernie and Roberta both nodded, indicating that they not only knew the video, but also knew, who, or what, MC Skat Kat was. I was screwed. I was the only person in the room who didn’t know what Paula was talking about. I couldn’t even think what the song sounded like. My mind did what it always does when I’m in trouble. It went somewhere else. I wondered if the dry cleaner would still be open when I drove home. Would it be better to take Pico or the freeway? I thought I might get a BMW for my next car. I liked the five series.
Hey baby
You gotta remember
Damn, I was a blank. The conversation had received a clear for takeoff and I was still standing at the gate. Mitch, Ernie, Roberta and Paula discussed the intricacies of the OPPOSITES ATTRACT video, MC Skat Kat, and how it would all make for a wonderful children’s series, MR. ROGERS meets BOYZ IN THE HOOD. Forced to say something so I didn’t look like a complete idiot, I did the playbook move for when you have nothing intelligent to say, I parroted the person’s pitch back to them, “It was inspired by ANCHORS AWEIGH,” I said, as if pulling a kernel of knowledge out of the ether. Paula nodded… and wasn’t it amazing how everyone knows the great scene with Gene Kelly, Tom & Jerry?
I didn’t know that scene. I didn’t know what anyone was talking about. I tried another standard executive question from the TV executive playbook. “What do you see happening in episode 22?” This question always floored whoever was pitching and gave me back the power.
Paula looked directly at me and said, “MC Skat Kat and Paula break up, and we leave it hanging if they’ll get back together until the next year.” Just as I was about to sink into complete idiot-hood, Paula turned to me and handed me a video tape. It was NTSC, so I put it in my American VCR. Had it been a PAL I could have turned the conversation to why I had two VCRs, but it was no help here. Thank God, however, it was the video for OPPOSITES ATTRACT. It began to play and I saw Paula from ten years earlier, standing on a cartoon staircase, as the music began. I immediately recognized it and I immediately knew why it had slipped my mind. I hated that song and I hated the video even more.
I take—2 steps forward
I take—2 steps back
We come together
Cuz opposites attract.
MC Skat Kat was Paula’s dance and singing partner in the video. He was a cartoon cat, drawn to look like a sinewy street thug hanging out in a junkyard. I hate sinewy. I hate the word and I generally don’t like sinewy people. They’re the ones who even when they’re five five, can still beat the crap out of you. Beyond that, I don’t like cartoons, I don’t like junkyards, and I don’t like rap when it’s bleached and dyed for white people. MC Skat Cat was a sinewy cartoon rapper, doing Caucasian-friendly rapping that my mom could dance to. Everyone in the room smiled at Paula to let her know how great the video was.
Paula’s idea was to do a show that took place in the world of the video. It would be a live version of her living in the cartoon world. She opened her incredibly expensive leather portfolio and pulled out painstakingly executed ink drawings of each of the other characters, including MC Skat Cat and his sinewy arms. As an aside, MC Skat Cat wore a wife-beater, which I thought would be nice in a children’s show. As Paula pulled each new drawing out, she cradled it, and then watched nervously as it was passed around, before she protectively took possession of it again and put it back in the portfolio.
I glanced over at the television, where the video stood paused… and I realized what bothered me the most about it. It was Paula, all by herself, the only human, in this cartoon world of sinewy junkyard cats. This was a hardened and lonely Paula who liked to make out with a cartoon character. This was not the girl who sang to me…
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
This was a girl I didn’t want any part of. And because of that, I became scared of the real Paula Abdul sitting on my leather chair too. So, I did what any television executive would do in the situation. I said, “I love it. It’s fantastic. I can totally see it. Thank you so much for bringing it to me. I’m going to take it upstairs (which was actually downstairs) as soon as you guys leave.” I felt like a total shit.
All throughout this, from when I first saw her in the hall, until she got up and shook my hand goodbye and I asked her if she needed validation, Paula Abdul never once smiled a single smile. I guess I’d already received the only Paula Abdul smile I would get in my life ten years earlier… that, or I’d witnessed Roxanna Zal’s only Paula Abdul smile. I’ll never know.
Still, I didn’t really lie to Paula, no matter what you may think. I did take her project upstairs (which at New Line was actually downstairs), but I didn’t get any response. No one cared about Paula Abdul at the time. A few weeks later, I heard from her manager that he’d fired her. No one wanted to buy the MC Skat Kat idea, and he needed to give more time to his other clients, like Don Knotts.
And in that moment, I felt horrible… I felt like scum… having somehow helped push Paula down a hill she was already rolling down. My career was soaring. I’d be a Senior VP some day soon and Paula would be forgotten forever.
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
About a year later, a new reality show came on the air. It was called AMERICAN IDOL. For the next few years, my bosses at New Line kept asking me why we didn’t have a show like AMERICAN IDOL. One day in a crowded elevator, one of the top guys actually screamed at me, “Find me an AMERICAN IDOL.” Those aren’t so easy to find, and I never did actually locate one. I never made Senior VP either. After six years, I was “let go” when my contract came up. No matter how hard I tried, I could not find another television job anywhere, because all of my successes were in TV movies and no one was making them anymore.
Careers are funny things. In a way, Paula and I were on a seesaw ride, with one of us soaring to the clouds, while the other was hitting the macadam. And like all seesaw rides, this one leaves it up to the person on the bottom to push off to keep things going. The person on the top was helpless. I may push off soon. I just need a project that will let me push off again… that I can sell… and make myself big. What do you guys think of a series based on MC Skat Kat?
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
Now in my mind, I was desperate to buy Paula’s project and work with her on it and have it become a success.
I wondered, if I would leave my wife if Paula asked me to. No, no, I was quite sure I wouldn’t… but I would certainly be flattered. It could be the start of wonderful friendship… Thirty years later we’d be having dinner at her house when I’d say, “Oh, do you remember the day you asked me to leave my wife?” “I do, I do… you were so flustered and precious…,” Paula would respond.
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
Then things went bad; really bad. Paula began to talk as if we were all intimately familiar with her video for OPPOSITES ATTRACT. She talked about how it was based on Gene Kelly in ANCHOR’S AWEIGH, and how it had been her most popular video. When she mentioned MC Skat Kat, Ernie and Roberta both nodded, indicating that they not only knew the video, but also knew, who, or what, MC Skat Kat was. I was screwed. I was the only person in the room who didn’t know what Paula was talking about. I couldn’t even think what the song sounded like. My mind did what it always does when I’m in trouble. It went somewhere else. I wondered if the dry cleaner would still be open when I drove home. Would it be better to take Pico or the freeway? I thought I might get a BMW for my next car. I liked the five series.
Hey baby
You gotta remember
Damn, I was a blank. The conversation had received a clear for takeoff and I was still standing at the gate. Mitch, Ernie, Roberta and Paula discussed the intricacies of the OPPOSITES ATTRACT video, MC Skat Kat, and how it would all make for a wonderful children’s series, MR. ROGERS meets BOYZ IN THE HOOD. Forced to say something so I didn’t look like a complete idiot, I did the playbook move for when you have nothing intelligent to say, I parroted the person’s pitch back to them, “It was inspired by ANCHORS AWEIGH,” I said, as if pulling a kernel of knowledge out of the ether. Paula nodded… and wasn’t it amazing how everyone knows the great scene with Gene Kelly, Tom & Jerry?
I didn’t know that scene. I didn’t know what anyone was talking about. I tried another standard executive question from the TV executive playbook. “What do you see happening in episode 22?” This question always floored whoever was pitching and gave me back the power.
Paula looked directly at me and said, “MC Skat Kat and Paula break up, and we leave it hanging if they’ll get back together until the next year.” Just as I was about to sink into complete idiot-hood, Paula turned to me and handed me a video tape. It was NTSC, so I put it in my American VCR. Had it been a PAL I could have turned the conversation to why I had two VCRs, but it was no help here. Thank God, however, it was the video for OPPOSITES ATTRACT. It began to play and I saw Paula from ten years earlier, standing on a cartoon staircase, as the music began. I immediately recognized it and I immediately knew why it had slipped my mind. I hated that song and I hated the video even more.
I take—2 steps forward
I take—2 steps back
We come together
Cuz opposites attract.
MC Skat Kat was Paula’s dance and singing partner in the video. He was a cartoon cat, drawn to look like a sinewy street thug hanging out in a junkyard. I hate sinewy. I hate the word and I generally don’t like sinewy people. They’re the ones who even when they’re five five, can still beat the crap out of you. Beyond that, I don’t like cartoons, I don’t like junkyards, and I don’t like rap when it’s bleached and dyed for white people. MC Skat Cat was a sinewy cartoon rapper, doing Caucasian-friendly rapping that my mom could dance to. Everyone in the room smiled at Paula to let her know how great the video was.
Paula’s idea was to do a show that took place in the world of the video. It would be a live version of her living in the cartoon world. She opened her incredibly expensive leather portfolio and pulled out painstakingly executed ink drawings of each of the other characters, including MC Skat Cat and his sinewy arms. As an aside, MC Skat Cat wore a wife-beater, which I thought would be nice in a children’s show. As Paula pulled each new drawing out, she cradled it, and then watched nervously as it was passed around, before she protectively took possession of it again and put it back in the portfolio.
I glanced over at the television, where the video stood paused… and I realized what bothered me the most about it. It was Paula, all by herself, the only human, in this cartoon world of sinewy junkyard cats. This was a hardened and lonely Paula who liked to make out with a cartoon character. This was not the girl who sang to me…
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
This was a girl I didn’t want any part of. And because of that, I became scared of the real Paula Abdul sitting on my leather chair too. So, I did what any television executive would do in the situation. I said, “I love it. It’s fantastic. I can totally see it. Thank you so much for bringing it to me. I’m going to take it upstairs (which was actually downstairs) as soon as you guys leave.” I felt like a total shit.
All throughout this, from when I first saw her in the hall, until she got up and shook my hand goodbye and I asked her if she needed validation, Paula Abdul never once smiled a single smile. I guess I’d already received the only Paula Abdul smile I would get in my life ten years earlier… that, or I’d witnessed Roxanna Zal’s only Paula Abdul smile. I’ll never know.
Still, I didn’t really lie to Paula, no matter what you may think. I did take her project upstairs (which at New Line was actually downstairs), but I didn’t get any response. No one cared about Paula Abdul at the time. A few weeks later, I heard from her manager that he’d fired her. No one wanted to buy the MC Skat Kat idea, and he needed to give more time to his other clients, like Don Knotts.
And in that moment, I felt horrible… I felt like scum… having somehow helped push Paula down a hill she was already rolling down. My career was soaring. I’d be a Senior VP some day soon and Paula would be forgotten forever.
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
About a year later, a new reality show came on the air. It was called AMERICAN IDOL. For the next few years, my bosses at New Line kept asking me why we didn’t have a show like AMERICAN IDOL. One day in a crowded elevator, one of the top guys actually screamed at me, “Find me an AMERICAN IDOL.” Those aren’t so easy to find, and I never did actually locate one. I never made Senior VP either. After six years, I was “let go” when my contract came up. No matter how hard I tried, I could not find another television job anywhere, because all of my successes were in TV movies and no one was making them anymore.
Careers are funny things. In a way, Paula and I were on a seesaw ride, with one of us soaring to the clouds, while the other was hitting the macadam. And like all seesaw rides, this one leaves it up to the person on the bottom to push off to keep things going. The person on the top was helpless. I may push off soon. I just need a project that will let me push off again… that I can sell… and make myself big. What do you guys think of a series based on MC Skat Kat?
Hey baby
You gotta remember
I’m forever your girl
