The building I visited used to house the Schubert Theatre West, fountains fronting the two Century City Towers that were the exterior shot for the offices of "Remington Steele". (Remember that?). I sat in the old complex oh, many a year ago with Mr. Anonymous of the Deluxe Furnished Barbara Judith Apartments, feeling like I'd never find a job in California in the six weeks I had allotted myself. In the morning I'd look for a job. In the afternoon, for the two weeks he spent here, long prior to his move to LA, we'd see the sights in my rented car. It was in that old demolished complex that I saw Joan Rivers, one of many times.
Long ago, and far away. The new building looks toward the still extant twin towers, unchanged, should Remington wish to make a re-appearance, all glass and steel and glitter. I had a moment when I almost did not see where the doors were amid all the shiny-ness. Valets only and in I went into the vast expanse and deep and long stairwell downward. Business people buzzed about-I used to buzz like that, but in a far less glitzy building downtown. It being the holiday upcoming formerly known as "Christmas" there was a large, and I think real, "Christmas" tree in the courtyard decorated with tasteful elegance. The fashionability of the place was sealed with a Mickey Fine, a pharmacy/everything else known to celebrity-dom and wanna-bes, and former-be's.
I was early for my appointment and the only thing to look at was "Forbes", which I have never read before, and I perused with apparent interest so that I might not appear an orphan Annie among Daddy Warbucks'es. I did note that two of the articles I scanned had the absolute opposite predictions about the outcome of our national financial affairs. Expensive shoes clicked around me. I noted that one of mine had been chewed by one of my cats, and crossed my feet discretely.
I don't know that my appointment was a success--it was kind of a touch base sort of thing. I realized that black was the color of the day in all the offices around me, and never mind my shoes, but the bright red Chico's jacket-blouse marked me like one of the characters in red in "Sixth Sense". My parking was validated, a sure sign, like the mints Len Speaks seeks in restaurants, of the best establishments.
And then I was outside. I waited for my Toyota. A new Toyota, recently leased, to be sure, but still a Toyota. And noted the two Range Rovers one behind the other, the Porsche directly in front of me, the various Mercedes, and Audi's, and the several men seriously communing with their cell phones.
And I felt. . . good. Great in fact to be here,and have a reason to be here, the shiny fantasy land that is the business world.
And my Toyota really isn't bad, I mean with the Bluetooth, and the USB ports, and the two glove compartments.
1 comment:
I remember.
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