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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

Here’s the first thing you need to know about me: I was raised as a Hasidic Jew in an ultra-Orthodox community in Brooklyn. Among the Hasidim, there was no greater crime than going into a cinema, yet there was nothing I loved more than movies. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

I returned home vowing to never see another whore again. I needed to shower to cleanse myself of my own depravity. Fumbling with my house keys, I heard somebody approaching from behind. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

That night, I slammed tequila and 7-Up until the bottle was empty. Then I searched the back pages of the LA Weekly. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

Rattled, I played Matt’s message five more times. I called his house, but of course there was no answer. Just his machine. This left me wondering: what in God’s name did Matt Steele get himself into? …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

“As you know,” Leslie Schur told me, “I’m looking for a development executive to help Darcy read scripts, write coverage, and meet new writers. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

Dreams are harder to kill than cockroaches. That was my new mantra. I had my dreams, and they would not die. Wearing a suit and tie, I headed back to the film studio where I was formerly employed before being kicked off the lot by security. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

Fuji was the beginning. She showed me that for a mere $200, you can have a mind-blowing experience. After she fingered my prostate, something inside me changed. I visited the Tokyo Acupressure Massage Parlor three more times that week alone. Then I began hitting the other massage parlors and wank houses Matt told me about. For the next two months, every dollar I made as a temp went into my new sexual compulsions. I ate cheap instant ramen so I could afford rented twat. I learned more about boobs, ass, and pussy than most men ever know. Or even want to know. For example, I became an expert on breasts. The sheer variety amazed me. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

1992 started hopefully. Through Matt Steele’s efforts, Glamourville crawled slowly into the hands of development offices around town. All was not lost.

Then the responses trickled in. Wildwood Entertainment said Glamourville wasn’t right for Robert Redford, Mariposa claimed Clint Eastwood was looking for more edgy material, and Tig Productions felt my script was not the best avenue to express Kevin Costner’s love for Americana, though they did encourage me to keep them apprised of my future writing projects, especially if I did anything with cowboys. HBO passed, but told me if I ever secured production financing, they would welcome the opportunity to review the finished film for possible licensing. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

The first week of September, a cream-colored envelope arrived in my mailbox from the Nicholl Fellowship contest. I held the envelope in my hands, trying to guess the outcome. …


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AUTHOR’S NOTE: Three years ago, I received an email from an old college classmate. He wanted me to write a memoir about the time he spent in Hollywood from 1988–1992 trying to become a screenwriter. He felt his experiences might help anyone who migrates to Los Angeles chasing dreams. I was skeptical at first, but as we talked, I became fascinated by his sordid adventures. What you’re reading is a serialization of his story.

The devastating news came on July 1, 1991. I was watching television, per Matt Steele’s suggestion. Entertainment Tonight was my new favorite source of Industry gossip. The chatty hosts announced the big story of the day: Michael Landon had lost his battle with cancer. …

About

Eric Coyote

Eric Coyote earned his Master of Arts degree in critical theory from the University of Southern California. He writes about movies, Hollywood, and culture.

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