Agent to the Stars | Page 7

(she insisted) of 30, which made her a perfect
candidate to host her own talk show or infomercial. Tea called about once a week and
threatened to get other representation. I wish.
Tony Baltz, a character actor who was nominated for a Best Supporting Oscar a decade

ago, and had since refused to consider anything that's not a lead role. Which was a shame,
as the romantic lead market for 50-something short, bald guys was pretty much already
sewn up by Danny DeVito and Dennis Franz. We managed to get him the occasional
"Lifetime" movie.
The rest of my clients were a collection of has-beens, never-weres, near-misses and
not-there-yets, the sorts of folks that fill out the bottom half of every junior agent's dance
card. Someone has to play the second spear-carrier on the left, and someone has to
represent them. Be that as it may, going over the list with Carl, I realized that if it wasn't
for the presence of Michelle, my client roster was of the sort that makes for a lifetime of
junior agenthood. I decided not to bring it up.
"So, to recap," Carl said, after I had finished, "One superstar, two average-to-mediocres,
two marginals and a bunch of filler."
I thought about trying to sweeten up that assessment, but then realized there wasn't a
point. I shrugged. "I suppose so, Carl. It's no worse than any other junior agent's client list
here."
"Oh, no, I wasn't criticizing," Carl said. "You're a good agent, Tom. You look out for
your people and you get them work -- and, as today proves, you can get them what
they're worth and then some. You're a sharp kid. You're going to do well in this
business."
"Thanks, Carl," I said.
"Sure," he said. He pushed back his chair a bit and plopped his legs on the table. "Tom,
how many of your clients do you think you can afford to lose?"
"What?"
"How many can you lose?" Carl waved his hand. "You know, farm out to other agents,
drop entirely, whatever."
The little man in my head had escaped from his hole and was running around frantically,
as if on fire. "None!" I said. "I mean, with all due respect, Carl, I can't lose any of them.
It's not fair to them, for one thing, but for another thing, I need them. Michelle's doing
well now, but believe me, that's not going to last forever. You can't ask me to cut myself
off at the knees."
I pushed back slightly from the table. "Jesus, Carl," I said. "What's going on here? First
the science fiction, now with my clients -- None of this making much sense to me at the
moment. I'm getting a little nervous, here. If you've got some bad news for me, stop
twisting me and just get to it."
Carl stared at me for the fifteen longest seconds in my life. Then he put his feet down,
and moved his chair closer to me.

"You're right, Tom" he said. "I'm not handling this very well. I apologize. Let me try this
again." He closed his eyes, took a breath, and looked straight at me. I thought my spine
was going to liquefy.
"Tom," he said, "I have a client. It's a very important client, Tom, probably the most
important client we as an agency will ever have. At least I can't imagine any other client
being more important than this one. This client feels that he has a very serious image
problem, and I'd have to say that I agree with him there. He has a special project that he
wants to put together, something that needs the most delicate handling imaginable.
"I need someone to help me get this project off the ground, someone that I can trust.
Someone who can handle the job for me without my constant supervision, and who can
keep his ego in check for the sake of the project.
"I'm hoping you'll be that someone for me, Tom. If you say no, it won't affect your role at
the agency in the slightest -- you can walk out of this office and this meeting that we've
had simply won't have happened. But if you do say yes, it means you're committed,
whatever it takes, for as long as it takes. Will you help me?"
The little man in my head was now pounding on the backsides of my eyeballs. Say NO,
the little man was saying. Say no and then let's go to TGI Fridays and get really, really
drunk.
"Sure," I said. The little man in my head started weeping openly.
Carl reached over, covered my hand like it was his computer mouse, and shook it
vigorously. "I knew I could count on you," he said. "Thanks. I think