Carlos Hollywood
On What Happens If Rock Stars Live Next to Fatburger
The summer I was nineteen, I was lucky enough to get a job as a production assistant on a movie called Jimmy Hollywood, starring Joe Pesci and Christian Slater. Before production started, I was working in the office. I was the office gopher boy, making copies and such – and once I had to clean pigeon turd off the production manager’s car. But all of that changed on a Friday, when the director asked if I knew who Victoria Abril was. I had no idea. The director said, “Well, you’d better find out. I’ve cast her as the female lead, as Joe Pesci’s love interest. She’s flying in from Madrid on Monday. I don’t want to worry about her. That’s going to be your job -- you’re going to be her assistant. You’re picking her up at the airport and from that moment on, whatever she needs -- take care of it.”
It turns out Victoria Abril was a big star in Europe, especially Spain and France. She was the sexy, younger Meryl Streep of European cinema. Not that Meryl Streep isn’t sexy. Are you kidding? I’ve had many a fantasy… anyway… The weekend before Victoria Abril arrived, I tracked down one of her movies, High Heels, and drove to San Diego to watch it with my parents.
I was very excited to show my parents my new boss. I told my parents, “I’m going to work for the actress in this movie. She arrives on Monday.” We watched the movie together. I thought High Heels was going to be about shoes and fashion. I didn’t think there would be a scene where Victoria Abril hangs from a coat rack while a man performs oral sex on her. But there was a scene like that. Victoria was very convincing.
My mother turned to me during this scene and asked, “You’re going to work for this lady?”
My dad smiled and said, “That should be fun.”
I went to the airport on Monday, picking her up in a large Lincoln Town Car, on loan from the transportation department. Victoria greeted me with a burst of energy. The moment I met her, she was off and running. She listed a million things she needed me to do for her as I carried her luggage to the car.
She spoke in Spanish, which I can speak. But she spoke it in lightning speed and in my nervousness I couldn’t understand anything she was saying, except for the word spaghetti. I just kept saying, “Sí, sí” to her. We arrived at the car. It was a hot day. Everything inside the car was blistering, especially the steering wheel and the leather seats. When Victoria sat down, she yelped at the sensation of her burning bum and exclaimed in English, “Ay, what strange happiness!”
I dropped her off at the hotel. By this point, I calmed down and was able to better understand her. She instructed me to return in a few hours to start helping her memorize her lines. I would be playing the part of Joe Pesci. Just as I was told to, I came back a few hours later and sat down on the couch of her luxurious hotel suite.
She sat next to me, but quickly hopped to her feet, explaining she needed to get more comfortable. When she sat back down, she was wearing much less clothing. Much less. I started to get nervous again. To be clear: I did not have sexual relations with that woman, and in my case, this is actually true. If anything, I was terrified by Victoria’s lack of wardrobe. Over time, I got used to it. Not wearing clothes was her default mode. She wasn’t trying to seduce me. She was simply following her bohemian/nudist principles.
In keeping with those artistic values, Victoria liked to party all the time. If I didn’t know better, I’d assume Eddie Murphy’s breakout hit Party All The Time was an ode to Victoria. But I don’t think they ever met. At least she never mentioned him. Nevertheless, Victoria did like to party all the time. Being on set with Victoria was a vacation. I would stand in between her and the director. He would occasionally say something to her like, “Slower.”
Victoria would look to me for clarification. I would tell her, “Más despacio,” and my work would be done for the day.
There was no telling where we’d end up when we were off the set. Generally speaking it would involve a lot of dancing and loud music and it would be dark. Since I was born with the soul of an elderly man who yells Get Off My Lawn! the dancing and loud music weren’t my cup of tea (the darkness was okay). But I danced and listened to the loud music. Because it was my job. Victoria often remarked that she wanted to shake me. She felt that I was too quiet and timid. It came as no surprise then that one night we went to a party in the Hollywood Hills and as we walked into the packed house, Victoria turned to me and said in Spanish, “This would be the perfect time to separate.” Then she bailed. She wasn’t being mean. It was just her way of forcing me to be social.
The house belonged to an actress friend of Victoria’s. It was a nice house, a fancy house. I inconspicuously made my way through it. In the kitchen there was a large group of people standing in a circle talking about something. I squeezed into the circle, folded my arms, and nodded a few times. Then I moved on to the living room. I saw another fellow, standing by himself, looking almost as uncomfortable and out of place as I was. We started chatting. He was friendly enough, telling me that he made guitars for people. “Oh, that’s cool. Who do you make guitars for?” I asked. He informed me he made guitars for Van Halen and a few other people. So he was probably pretty good at making guitars.
As I was about to ask the guy more about Van Halen, he sighed and sarcastically declared, “We can die now. Madonna’s here.”
“What? Where?” All of a sudden I got super excited. The host of the party walked by, a woman named Beverly. The guitar guy stopped her. He told her I thought it was a big deal that Madonna was there. Beverly smiled and said she’d introduce me, offering her hand. I took Beverly’s hand and she led me to the grand piano, where Madonna was sitting. She was blond that night as she greeted her various subjects. I waited in line. Before long Beverly introduced me to Madonna. I did a little curtsy. Beverly left us and Madonna looked me over.
Madonna asked, “Do you live in this house?” I explained to Madonna that I lived in a one-bedroom in West LA, next to a Fatburger. Madonna nodded and responded, “It was very nice to meet you.” She was very polite. Feeling we had run out of things to talk about, I said good-bye and continued walking aimlessly through the house.
At the end of the night I found Victoria – or rather she found me – and I took her back to her hotel. She asked me if I had a good time. I told her I did. I mean, I guess I did. I became friends with Madonna so that was pretty cool. Although I haven’t seen Madonna since, so she hasn’t been a very good friend. I also never saw Victoria again after production ended on Jimmy Hollywood. But I look back on that summer with fond memories. It was the summer I partied like a rock star. If rock stars lived next to a Fatburger.