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...