A Friend In Need

Brad Pitt called me last Saturday night.  Was I busy? he asked.  No, Brad, this is fine I said, putting down the shoe I was shining.  Then he just launched right into it.  He said he thought he might have made a mistake being with Angelina.  He said he was so confused and felt directionless.  Listen, I said, maybe you just need a little time for yourself.  Get out of the limelight for a bit I suggested.  I told him the best thing he could do is put the movies on hold and volunteer in a sanatorium in South America where no one would recognize him.  Once he cleared his head of all that Hollywood-hype garbage he would regain his equilibrium and with any luck maybe Angelina would be a little easier on him when he got back. 

Around noon the next day I got a call from Martha Stewart.  I had just finished putting the laundry on when she rang.  She said that while she was in prison she was thinking about the crowd she used to hang out with, wondering if maybe she should move on, you know, start anew so to speak.  I told her that was a good idea.  Martha, I said, get to know some real people.  Who gives a hoot about how big So and So’s estate is or if Mr. Ego Manic’s company is valued at $50 billion?  And another thing, I said, take some of your dough and do something for underprivileged women who have had a tough time making ends meet.  She wanted to jabber, but I told her I had to reply to a long list of emails that were flooding my account.  She went silent, so I softened up and said we could have lunch in the city where she could have my full attention.

Then, just before dinner, as I was replacing a burned out light in the kitchen, my wife told me that Barry Bonds was calling from San Francisco.  Barry had first connected with me four or five years ago when he learned I was a huge Willie Mays fan growing up.  Mays, of course, is Bonds’ godfather.  He said with all the confessions going on he wondered what he should do or say about the whole steroids controversy.  I said, Barry, you have to address it because otherwise you will be forever known as Mr. Asterisk, and he didn’t want that.  Fess up, I advised, and take his medicine like a man.  I could tell he didn’t like what I had said, but he mumbled something back and I thought I detected a sob.

Monday I was watching the late night news when Bill Clinton called for a second time.  I hadn’t talked with Bill in a while.  He had left a message on the answering machine earlier in the day saying that he needed to talk with me about a proposition he was considering.  Now that he had me on the line he explained that he was being offered the presidency of Yale and wondered if he should take it.  I reminded him of Eisenhower running Columbia and Wilson at Princeton, and said it would be a good thing.  He insisted on going over all the pluses and minuses in gory detail, so I just cradled the phone on my shoulder and listened while ironing a pile of shirts.

Bright and early Tuesday morning, I mean really early, like 5:10, I was awakened by the harsh ringing of our bedside phone.  It was Prince Charles.  He apologized about the hour, but said he desperately needed some advice.  Camilla was driving him nuts.  So he’s thinking of divorce.  How would the public react?  Blah, blah, blah.  I told him he should try some counseling and not worry about all the bloodthirsty press hounds that trip over themselves covering the Royal family.  The Royals are simply the longest running reality show I said.  And while we’re at it, I added, get Harry into something productive.  Anything really.  You know, work at a local department store or fast food restaurant.

Wednesday I was at the car dealership having the oil changed when one of the attendants told me that Woody Allen was holding for me on the manager’s private line.  I said you’re kidding and stepped into the small office.  Woody apologized for the crazy call and explained that my wife told him where he could find me.  Anyway, Woody told me he was working on a new movie project about what else, love and death, and wanted to know if he should use Meryl Streep or Anjelica Huston in the lead role.  He had to make a decision in the next hour.  I told him I was always partial to Streep, but hoped that for once Tony Roberts would not be in the film.  The way he said no made me think he was planning to put Roberts in it, but now I think he’s going to look for someone else.

On Thursday evening I had just dropped into my favorite chair in the den to thumb through some magazines when, wouldn’t you know, my youngest daughter came in and with a quizzical look said someone named Jeff Bezos was on the phone.  Taking the handset, I asked if he could call me back over the weekend, but he said not really, it was urgent.  I just smiled, shook my head toward no one in particular, and said fire away.