Elvis Presley gets turned down; From my novel Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

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Georgia arrived at MGM in Culver City. She drove to the main gate in her MG with the top down.

The guard had her name and directed her to Stage Fifteen where Elvis was shooting his new musical.

Georgia had changed her clothes. She wore a bright blue tight sheath dress, cut low in the front. The color matched her blue eyes. Her hair fell around her shoulders. Clint stood waiting outside the stage door when she arrived. Georgia parked her car, and joined him.

“You’re absolutely gorgeous, baby. Elvis is going to flip when he sees you.”

“Thanks, she said, as Clint opened the stage door for her. They walked into the brightly lit stage. Elvis stood in the center rehearsing a dance number with a big group of dancers and singers in the background. His costume was powder-blue western in style, with white fringes hanging down from the sleeves. The other dancers and singers dressed the same, but Elvis’s costume had more glitz.

The part Georgia came to read for was small, but the chance to be in an Elvis Presley picture mattered more than the part. Elvis had to be the biggest star in Hollywood. His pictures made big money. Elvis’s entourage of guys made all the work seem like a party.

Georgia and Clint watched the rehearsal from behind the large camera boom, as it moved in on Elvis for the final close up.

A couple of Elvis’s boys spotted Georgia and approached her.

“Hi, there pretty girl. You in the picture?” One of them asked.

“Oh, hi, I’m Georgia Evans. I don’t know yet. I’m here for an interview,” she said.

“You got the part, honey. I’ll take a bet on it.”

“Oh, are you the producer?”

“Naw, I work for Elvis, and if I know Elvis and I do, he’s my country cousin, you got the part.”

Elvis had finished the production number. His attention had taken him where Georgia stood on the set talking to one of his guys and walked over to them.

“Elvis, this pretty little girl is Georgia Evans,” said the cousin.

“Pleased to meetya.” Elvis took Georgia’s hand up to his mouth and flicked the tip of his tongue between Georgia’s fingers, which raised goose bumps all over her body.

Georgia was taken back by him; she could hardly get words out of her mouth. “It’s a … pleasure to meet you, Mr. Presley.”

The assistant director came up to Elvis. “Mr. Presley, they’re ready to shoot the dance number.”

“Thanks, Charlie. Well, pretty girl, don’t you go away,” he said as he left for the set. He stopped by a man wearing a fedora hat and smoking a cigar and spoke to him as they looked toward Georgia.

Clint recognized the man as the producer, Sam Katzman. Clint said.

“You got the part.”

“How do you know?” she asked.

“Let’s say I’m chalking it up to experience,” he said with confidence.

Sam Katzman came over and shook Clint’s hand. Clint introduced him to Georgia.

“Elvis told me he wants your little girl here for the part of “Traci, says he knows her work. I’ll get back to you tomorrow about the money and billing. It’s a nice part for her. Should get her some recognition.” He tipped his hat to Georgia and went back to his position on the stage.

“Quiet on the set. Ready to roll.” yelled the assistant director. The bright klieg lights switch on. Everyone quieted down. Elvis and the dancers stood in their places. Someone yelled “speed”. The director yelled “action” from up on the camera boom. The music started; the dancers went into their routine. It was to be the usual Elvis number with lots of pretty girls dancing around him. Elvis, playing his guitar, sang a country western song in a barnyard set.

“That’s a take.” said the director.

The crew set up for the next shoot.

Elvis’s cousin came over to Georgia after the shot. “Isn’t Elvis great? I love my old cousin. He told me to tell you that he’s havin’ a party tonight at his house. Wants you to all come. Here’s his address.

He says about nine o’ clock,” said the cousin as he handed Georgia a small piece of paper.

Georgia stiffened.

“What’s the matter? You act like someone said a dirty word. Don’t tell me you didn’t like what happened here?”

“Of course I did, but I can’t go to his party.”

“The hell you can’t, girl. His party is the most important engagement you have ever had to attend. Do you realize how many girls in this town would trade places with you? What ever you have planned, you’re going to cancel. I insist on it.”

Georgia was near tears. They left the stage to return to their cars.

When they got outside Clint could see that Georgia had been crying.

“You should be the happiest actress in town, you just got a good part in an Elvis Presley picture, for God’s sake. You should be kissing my ass. Shame on you … You’re crying. Where have I gone wrong?”

Clint threw his hands into the air.

“Clint, I can’t tell you now. I’m sorry.”

“Georgia, it’s one of those situations. “No ticky, no washy.” Georgia nodded her head as she got in her car. She looked up at Clint with tearrimmed eyes.

“I’m sorry, Clint. I can’t do it.” She started her car and drove toward the gate.

Clint stood in disbelief as she drove away.

Find out the rest in the thrilling hollywood novel Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

Dorothy tests for Bonnie in “The Battered Spouse”

Clint arranged for Dorothy Winters to test for the part of Bonnie in “The Battered Spouse”. It was a big day for Dorothy. She arrived at Columbia at six o’clock for make-up and wardrobe. The make-up man had to put bruises and a create a swelling and a cut over her right eye for the scene. When he finished, Dorothy examined her face in the brightly lit mirror. What she saw looking back was a dumpy, nervous looking woman with a face that had been almost deformed from a supposed beating. The image put her into the character she was playing.

The wardrobe lady helped her slip into a plain-looking housedress, and she walked on the set. The scene took place inside a house trailer on the sound stage. They had taken out a wall to open the trailer up so they could move the camera around for the action that was to take place.

Dorothy walked over to Hal, the director, a middle-aged, old-time Hollywood master-maker of woman’s pictures. He said to Dorothy. “I like it. Stay with the feeling you have.”

Dorothy nodded and went to her position on the set. Campbell, who played her husband in the scene, came on the set dressed in a tee shirt and jeans. His hair was uncombed, and he wore a four-day beard. A cigarette hung from his crooked mouth. The prop man handed him a fifth of whiskey, which was half empty.

Clint had gotten up early that day to come to the studio to watch his new client Dorothy Winters in her test and to give her moral support.

He walked on the set and stayed in the background as he heard the assistant director call out. “Lights! Quiet on the set!” the sound man yelled, “Rolling”. Hal said, “Action.”

The sound of a radio blared. Dorothy stood at the small sink washing up some dishes. She was crying and picked up a cloth and applied it to the cut on her face.

The door to the trailer opened and Campbell walked in; he picked up some kids clothes off the floor and said. “This place looks like a pig-sty. What the hell did ya mother ever teach you about keeping a place clean?” he yelled.

“I’m sorry Kip, I didn’t feel like doing much and I couldn’t go to work today. It’s my eye. I can’t see out of it. Does it look bad?” She held her face for him to see.

“Nothing wrong with ya that another good beating wouldn’t cure.

Ya know you are the laziest old woman I ever had the privilege to meet.

My ol’ daddy told me when I married ya you’d be trouble, cause you ain’t educated … yer stupid. Dinner ready yet?”

“It’s in the oven.”

“Where’re the kids?” he asked.

“I sent them to ma’s for the evening.”

“You’re always sending them to your ma’s. Who in the hell’s kids are they anyway, mine or your ma’s?”

“I’m sorry Kip. I didn’t think you cared,” she said as she opened up the oven and took out a casserole of macaroni and cheese, put it on a plate and set it in front of him.

“What! This crap-a-do again. Can’t ya feed me anything else? Why are ya always giving me this shit?”

“It’s all I can afford on what you give me for household.”

Kip got up from the table and hit her with his fist. She fell back against the stove. The teakettle turned over and hot water spilled on her.

She let out a scream. Kip punched her in the stomach. She collapsed on the floor groaning with pain. Kip went back to the table and sat down.

He poured whiskey into a glass and gulped it down. He continued eating his dinner.

Dorothy crawled to the back of the trailer. The camera followed her on the dolly. She reached under the bed and pulled out a paper bag. She reached in and pulled out a .38 caliber handgun. She stared at it and turned her head toward Kip. She got to her feet and walked back into the small room. Kip sat with his back to her. She pointed the gun at the back of his head. With no expression on her face, she pulled the trigger three times. Kip’s head fell onto the table, and Dorothy stood over him in a daze.

Hal, the director yelled. “Cut.” He went on the set to Dorothy and said:

“Perfect for me. How was it for you?” Dorothy nodded.

“How about you, Campbell?”

“I’m happy.”

“Good,” said Hal. To the cameraman. “Set up for close-ups.”

Clint walked up to Hal.

“What do you think of my new star?” he asked.

“She’s got a lot going on behind that sweet face.”

“You mean she has talent.”

“There’s no question about that. She is a very talented young lady, but there is something else. That girl is capable of almost anything.”

Clint quizzed him further. “Could she murder someone?”

Hal peered at him. “What an odd question. Are you worried she might kill you? I heard a few actresses tell me they like to kill their agents but I haven’t heard anyone who has. Don’t push it,” and walked away. Clint laughed to himself as he did.

Clint found Dorothy in her dressing room.

“Great scene. Where did you learn to act like that?”

“I’m so glad you got to see it. I studied with Michael Chekhov. He taught me the Stanislavski method. Marlon Brando uses it. It’s called method acting.”

“It’s strong. You’re constantly full of surprises. If you don’t get the part, it’ll have nothing to do with your acting. It will be politics.”

Dorothy smiled at him and said. “Maybe I can do something about that too.”

“What does that mean?”

“You’ll see.”

“They’re ready for your close-up, Miss Winters,” said the assistant director.

Dorothy gave Clint a strange smile and walked onto the set.

Hollywood Agent Reveals Casting Couch Secrets

An article written about my novel Confessions of a Hollywood agent

Clint gets an Agent

Gale stood on the set of a Bob Hope picture, when Bob’s agent, Mel, a little man with a pear-shaped body, small sloping shoulders, and a large waist, walked on wearing elevator shoes. “Look what’s left over from the “House of Wax,” Bob cracked when he saw Mel. Everyone laughed, but the remark didn’t seem to bother Mel. A few jokes were exchanged, then Mel spotted Gale. She wore a long gown that gave her the vision of a New York society girl. The set was decorated like the New York nightclub, El Morocco, complete with zebra-skin covered-booths.

Mel walked over to Gale, who kept adjusting the front of her dress, showing her large breasts, while giving him a flirtatious smile. As Mel approached he tipped his small brimmed fedora, which he never removed from his baldhead. “Hello, I’m Mel Cantor.”

“Pleased to meet you Mr. Cantor, I’m Gale Lawrence.”

“Have you considered getting out of extra work and going for speaking parts?”

“All the time, Mr. Cantor, but as an agent you know it’s not easy. I studied acting and have tried to find work as an actress, but it takes a good agent to get you in the right doors,” she said, giving him a sexy smile.

“I have a script in my office. It’s a new feature that starts in a month. Come by tonight after you finish here and we can discuss a part for you. Here’s my card.”

Gale took Mel’s card and put in down the front of her dress. Mel’s eyes followed the card lustfully as it disappeared into depths of her bosom. He cleared his throat.

“I’ll see you about seven,” said Gale as Mel again tipped his hat and walked off the set.

Gale was excited about the fortunate encounter. This could be the break I’ve been waiting for, she thought. Mel Cantor can get me in any studio in town. He knows everybody.

“I’m thrilled,” said Gale into the phone. “I’m going to see Mel Cantor tonight. You know who he is? The big Hollywood agent. I’ve been thinking all afternoon how to get you to meet him. Call Candy, and have her call Jean. She’s a showgirl at the Sands, in Las Vegas.

She’s been a customer for my hot furs and is in town looking to get in the movies. I’m going to get Mel to take me to the Brown Derby. You be there with the girls and I’ll introduce you.”

“I don’t get it,” said Clint. “What does you seeing Mel have to do with me?”

“Mel Cantor is an notorious lady’s man. I’ll tell him you have a string of gorgeous girls that would do almost anything for you. I won’t come right out and tell him you’re a pimp. He’ll know that when he sees you with the girls. This is a perfect way of getting into his confidence. If I read him right, and I know I do, he’d do almost anything for some new nooky. You can book it for him, and if I’m right he’ll be booking you and me.”

“So now I’m a pimp?”

“Darling. You want to be in the movies, don’t you?”

“Yeah.”

“Well?”

“What time do you want me there?”

“Between eight and eight-thirty. Make sure you wear a suit. Leave everything to me, and sweetheart, be nice to me. I love you.” Gale hung up the phone.

Killing Kennedy The End of Camelot

Bill O' Reilly's new book, "Killing Kennedy" is out with huge numbers of books. It seems to have lots of sex that JFK went through. I was there and can vouch for it in the 60'. Check out "Confessions of a Hollywood Agent", its a page turner.

A Day With Mickey and Judy

JUDY called Mickey and asked him if he would help her. She has a TV show at CBS and the bosses wanted to see her. Her ratings where slipping and they wanted to meet at her home later in the day. She knew Mickey would help with some ideas. He was filming at MGM that day but she knew going to the studio would be a big problem. She hadn’t been there in eighteen years since they fired her. She blamed MGM for all her problems.

Mickey told me to pick her up at her home inBrentwood. Judy was panicking when I got there. She had five cars and told me to put a case of Blue Nun wine in the back seat. It turned out I never got any of her cars to start. We left in my car with the Blue Nun in my back seat. As we drove out of the driveway, she popped a pill. When we got to MGM I drove through the studio gates, she popped another pill. I felt like it was Gloria Swanson arriving at the gates ofParamountin “Sunset Boulevard”.

She said, ”Mickey and I worked every day on three musicals at the same time for the “Andy Hardy Films” it was making MGM a fortune and exhausting us. They gave us uppers and downers to keep up our energy for the dance numbers and long hours. We didn’t know we were being hooked”. Later in life, they both were under the influence. Mickey found Jesus and got the cure but Judy never got over the drugs or booze.

Mickey told me he was working at hotel in Reno, Nevada, sitting in a coffee shop when a blonde bus boy came up to his table and said; “Jesus loves you Mickey Rooney”. He was shocked and felt he had been saved. He jumped up from the table, rushed to the cashier, and said; “Where’s that blonde bus boy that was at my table?” “We don’t have a blonde bus boy, Mr. Rooney”.

Judy adored Mickey and he her, but there was no romance. Mickey had many girls he dated but he felt Judy was like a sister. We stopped at stage 15 where Mickey was filming. I took the case of Blue Nun from the back of my car and we went to his dressing room. Judy opened a bottle of wine and settled down and said; “Find Mickey”. I went on to the stage; Mickey was working on a RodSterling, “ Twilight Zone” show playing a gambler who owned money to a bookie who threatens him. Mickey was acting into the telephone the whole time, no other performer was in the show. He finishes the scene, and the crew applauds him. “Judy is here, we’ll meet you in the commissary for lunch”. I said.

I went back to the dressing room. Judy had found a French actor, with a French Poodle and was kissing and hugging the dog and drinking the wine. She was already high. I told the actor we had to leave for an appointment; to get rid him.

When we got to the commissary, it was packed with people, Judy was shaking. I opened the door and we walked in. The room went silent and then, whispers. We see Arthur Freed, the producer of “Meet me InSaint Louis,” of her best movies. “Look, its Arthur Freed, he’s not coming over here?  Ah, he is.  I, I, can’t stand him. What will I do?” she asked. “Relax. He’s smiling. Smile back. He just wants to say hello.” I said. Arthur says; “Judy, so good to see you, working on something again?” “Good to see you Arthur. No I’m seeing Mickey for lunch.” Judy looks and sees Mickey at table waving at us. We go to his table.  Judy began to relax and looked like she was having a good time.  I brought up to Mickey. “Do you have some ideas for her show?  Judy looked like she wasn’t interested so I gave up.  We went back to the dressing room and Mickey had to go back to the stage to finish the TV film. I loaded Judy into my car, she was drunk.  As we left the Studio she pooped another pill. She said; “I hated every moment. You cannot imagine how terrible I feel. It brought back all those bad memories. I should have never come back.”

When I got on the freeway going back to her house, she was silent and looked over at the car next to us where a cat was sitting on a man’s shoulder. She let out a scream and said, “That cat is driving that car”. She dived to the floorboard of the car and stayed there until I got her home. The cars of the CBS Bosses were there in her driveway waiting. I thought, are they in for it. I thought, I said, “Good bye and good luck, Sweetheart”. I was glad she didn’t ask me to be in her meeting and drove off.

At work in Hollywood with Mickey Rooney and Jonathan Winters

In the 60's with the two great comedians Jonathan Winters an Mickey Rooney on a set in Hollywood. Check out my Novels, The Games End about elephants and the people in Africa, the Confessions of a Hollywood Agent about Hollywood in the 50's and 60's.

[youtube http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=jnclaqZ7SeE]

Chapter 10 From My Novel "Confessions of a Hollywood Agent"

Chapter Ten

Clint's bright red 140 Jaguar roadster swung into Thorton North’s curved driveway and parked under an expansive portico. As he buzzed the front door, a bright light flashed on and a tiny television camera focused on him.

A cheery black maid opened the door.
“Hello, Mister Clint. Mr. North is in his office.”
“Thanks Maisie. Is Marge home?”
“No, she’s out shopping”. Maisie left for the kitchen.
Clint went behind the bar and fixed himself vodka. He peered out to the expansive view of Los Angeles and Beverly Hills below as Thorton entered and sat at a tool at the bar.
“Hello, Thorton, what will you have?”
“Fix me a double.” Clint thought Thorton looked sober so he fixed him a weak scotch. He watched Thorton pick up the drink and gulp it down.
“What kind of calf piss is this?” asked Thorton as he pushed the glass back for more.
“Thorton, are you racing in Havana?”
“Yes, we’re getting the Ferrari ready. I’ve been on the phone with Havana. I got a couple of suites at The Nacional. We can watch the race from our balcony. Don’t have to go near the damn track”.
“I’m going too. My client, Marty Fallon, has a club date at Meyer Lansky’s Riviera, and Fangio’s racing. That I gotta see”.
“Make me another double.” Thorton pushed his empty glass toward Clint. “A little girl Jimmy introduced me to has been calling. I told her to come up.”
“Do you think that’s wise with Marge here?”
“Hell, she’ll never know.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure about Marge”
They heard the door latch open and Marshall, Thorton’s business manager, walked in. His open shirt revealed lots of gold around his neck; a chunky gold watch hung from his wrist and a heavy linked gold bracelet on the other.
Gifts from Marge, thought Clint.
“Marshall, I’m glad you’re here. Thorton is about to call one of his whores. Talk him out of it. You can’t fool Marge.”
“Clint’s right. Wait till we get to Cuba. I’ll get you all the whores you want down there,” said Marshall.
“Hell, I woke up this morning with this big throbbing hard on. It won’t go away. I even put on the air-conditioner,” said Thorton as he got up and left the room.
“We’re in for it,” said Clint.
“I’m leaving,” said Marshall.
“No, you’re not. It could be fun,” said Clint.
When the doorbell rang, Clint yelled out, “I’ll get it, Maisie. It’s for me.” Clint made his way to the front door. He checked the monitor and saw a young girl and let her in.
“Hi, I’m Shirley,” said the blonde as she extended her hand. She was sexy, about twenty with big breasts and a cinched small waist. She wore a black and white large polka dot dress, open in the front. A young Mae West, thought Clint. “I’m Clint,” he said. Thorton is in his room. Follow me.”
He opened the door to Thorton’s bedroom. Thorton sat on the large bed in a pair of long boxer shorts looking like he had just gotten out of a concentration camp. His stick legs were crossed as he peered into a glass of scotch. Clint knew the white plastic dish placed by his feet was used for spit and vomit.
“Hello Mr. North,” the girl said. “I’m Shirley, remember?”
“Why sure, honey. Sit down next to me. I want to tell you a story.” he said. Shirley sat down.
“Thorton, why don’t you and Shirley go to the office? S0MEBODY will be here soon. Have you forgotten?”
“Now that’s a pregnant thought. Why didn’t I think of it?” said Thorton as he pushed himself to his feet while Shirley steadied him.
Clint called into the bar. “Marshall, go to the kitchen and keep Maisie busy. I don’t want her to see Shirley.” Marshall went off to the kitchen.
“Thorton, you lead the way,” said Clint.
“Clint, you’re such a good friend,” he said as he moved slowly toward the rear of the house.
Shirley stayed back and pulled Clint aside. “Is he okay? He’s a
no-go to me.”
“You’re in for a big surprise,” said Clint.
“What’s that mean?” she asked.
“You be the judge.”
Shirley was puzzled and caught up with Thorton and followed him into the office.
“Honey”, said Thorton. “Did I tell you, you’re the best looking piece of poontang I ever did see?”
Shirley closed the door behind them.
Clint went back to the bar and poured himself a big drink. Marshall came in from the kitchen.
“The last hooker he had here he wouldn’t pay. So she cleaned the steaks out of the deep freeze before she left,” said Marshall.
“You mean he does this all the time?”
“Yeah, but never with Marge in the house.”
The sound of a latchkey in the front door was heard followed by Marge’s entrance. She was dressed in a light green silk Pucci top with bright fuchsia slacks. Her white blonde hair was done up in a smart do. “Why Clint, I didn’t know you’d be here. Will you stay for dinner? I picked up some divine lobsters at Jurgensen’s. Where’s Thorton?” she asked, as she glanced into the living room for him.
“He’s around, isn’t he, Marshall?” asked Clint uncomfortably.
“Look!” She put her hand forward to show off a large diamond ring. “Thorton bought me this for my birthday. The girls at Saks just died when they saw it.”
“I don’t blame them, its a queen’s ransom,” said Clint.
“I wanted to go on this cruise to New Zealand, but Thorton thought it was too expensive; I’m sure this ring cost a lot more. Anyway, we’re going to Havana, have you heard?”
“I’m going too,” said Clint.
“How divine! We’ll have so much fun. Fix me a drink. I’ll tell
Maisie you’ll be staying for dinner,” said Marge as she left the bar and went into Thorton’s room on her way to the kitchen.
Clint poured himself another strong drink.
A few minutes later Marge was back. She picked up her drink. She stared at Clint and then Marshall suspiciously.
“I went by the office. The door is locked. I smell whore!”
Clint and Marshall exchanged looks.
“I’ve got to go.” Marshall said getting up to leave.
“You’re staying right here,” said Marge. “Thorton has a whore here, doesn’t he?”
Clint and Marshall said nothing.
“I knew it. That dirty old man has brought a whore into my house. That horrible creature.” She moved fast and left the room for the office.
Clint and Marshall could hear her pounding on the door with
her fists.
Clint worried she might hurt herself or have a heart attack.
“I know you’re in there you dirty old man,” she yelled. “Let me tell you. You’re going to stay there. I’m going to sit in front of this door. I don’t care how long it takes. I’ll stay here all night if I have to. There’s no bathroom in there and no windows. You’re going to start stinking soon. How’s that going to go over with your whore, you old bastard?” Marge came away from the door exhausted. She went to the terrace and picked up a chair and brought it to the door and planted it. Clint joined her. Marshall had disappeared.
“The years I have put up with that old sonofabitch. All the horrible things he’s done to me. I saved his life many a time. I spent years watching out for him. Saw to it that he had proper care when he’d go on a drunk. I kept him alive through it all. I’m so mad I could spit.” She sat in the wrought-iron chair.
Clint handed her a fresh drink. “Marge, this incident could work out for you”.
“What the hell does that mean?”
“You’ve never had Thorton in a more compromising position.”
“Yes,” she said interested.
“You can take that cruise to New Zealand. See your sea-captain friend. Who knows, you might just stay.”
“What would I do for money? Thorton had me sign a quitclaim
deed on all his property. I’m screwed.”
“Here’s your opportunity. Get a blank check. Write it for a hundred thousand dollars, paid to you. Push it under the door for his signature. If he signs, you’ll let him out.”
“Why didn’t I think of that?” She asked excitedly.
“You’re too upset.”
“Do you think he’ll do it?”
“Does he have a choice?” ... to be continued...

Confessions of a Hollywood Agent

Read an except from the book

Bald Eagle Publishing is proud to publish William Louis Gardner’s novel “Confessions of a Hollywood Agent”. This a fast, fun read. The tone has the casual air of a veteran Hollywood insider, neither awestruck nor jaded, just a friendly”here’s what my neighborhood is like” attitude. Brisk pacing and believable coincidence (such as the coming together of so many characters in Cuba) make this a page-turner.

Mr. Gardner has an additional published book: "The Games End" available for sale at  www.thegamesend.com  -The Games End is a story of Hollywood and Africa.