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Name
Dropper
I can't remember what name I had lobbed at him, but I do remember fighting back. "I really think that's a little presumptuous of you to characterize me as such so early in the game," I said, puffing up like a blowfish. "I have worked extremely hard in this business for many years and have met a lot of well-known people during that time." After I ran through my resume, making sure to include my years as an actor on Broadway, as well as the time I worked with Kathy Bates, he apologized, I accepted, and we went to dinner. Months later, with an unspoken contract in place that I would continue to name drop and he would continue to ignore it, we were channel surfing and came upon Funny Face, a film starring Fred Astaire, Audrey Hepburn and the indefatigable Kay Thompson. Kay was this gangly Renaissance woman who wrote the children's classic Eloise at The Plaza, starred in movies, wrote songs and screenplays, had a very successful nightclub act in New York, and was Judy Garland's acting coach at MGM. As if that weren't enough for one human being, she was also Liza Minnelli's godmother. As it just so happens… I met Kay while working with Minnelli in 1996. I had been hired in a "creative capacity" on a play aptly titled Not A Well Woman. The play was written by a blonde, fifty-something British actress named Sadie, whose claims-to-fame included some bad British television, a murky stage career in Australia, and an affair with Jimi Hendrix. (So far, that's Astaire, Bates, Hepburn, Thompson, Garland, Minnelli, and Hendrix, if you're keeping track.) Sadie was Liza's childhood friend, and theirs was a co-dependent relationship. Liza showered Sadie with gifts to alleviate her feelings of longstanding guilt that she had become a star and Sadie hadn't. But instead of just getting her something useful like, say, a whiskey flask and a Value Pac of sippy straws, she paid for, and produced, a production of Sadie's play in New York City. Unfortunately, that's where I come in. For one solid month, with the purpose of working on the play, we holed up at The Essex House Hotel on Central Park West. As I tried to steer the meandering conversations in the direction of the play -- script changes, casting, design, etc. -- an endless stream of fawning men, with names like Bruce and Brad, came and went. I watched as Sadie disappeared into her room for "rewrites" on the play that never came to pass. And finally, I watched as work on the play gave way to one big soggy trip down memory lane. I sat transfixed as a rambling, sweating Liza did jazz layouts in the living room, called me her "mentor," reminisced about Mama, talked incessantly about her love for Mylar, and organized 4:00 a.m. raids on the Korean market on 7th Avenue to get the ingredients for s'mores. I knew some sort of hazy deadline was approaching for the play, but I had become distracted myself -- by the ice cream sundae menu provided by room service. Oh, and did I mention the helicopter? There were helicopter rides to Atlantic City. I love helicopters! I'm a total whore for a chopper, a man with nice arms, and good luggage.
continued...
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"Oh
my God! I'm dating a guy who's a name dropper!" my boyfriend
Peter said on our second date, as I stood in his living room, hot
and flushed with embarrassment. 
