Which Lie Did I Tell? Read Online Free

drama.
    I went running to my new agents, CAA. “Listen to me,” I told them, “there’s going to be a train wreck and I’m in the middle.”
    Here’s what they said: “Bill, you’ve been away a while, things are a little bit different now. Ivan is represented by us. Chevy is represented by us. It is what we at CAA specialize in. It is called ‘a package.’ And there will be no train wreck. Just write the script. It will all sort itself out.”
    I met with Ivan. “Chevy is kind of interested in investigating the loneliness of invisibility,” I told him.
    His reply? Total unruffled calm. “Let me handle Chevy.”
    Off we go into the wild blue yonder. Ivan had some ideas for how to make the second draft better than the first. Terrific for me to work with. “Let’s try this, let’s see if that works, it’s going to be a very funny movie.”
    Back to Manhattan, and I tried this, saw if that worked, wrote for weeks and more, because I knew certain absolute truths: Ivan was one of the three hottest directors on Planet Earth, he wanted this to be his next picture, Chevy was a huge star and a bright fellow, so fret not, this would indeed all sort itself out. Good. Because the most important thing, for me anyway, was this: after my years in the desert, this picture had to happen.
    The second draft is sent off. Ivan likes it better, feels we have made strides, still need to make more.
    I hear from Chevy, too—he had thought by this draft the loneliness of invisibility would be a little more clearly set out.
    Back to CAA I go. “Listen to me,” I inform them again. “ There’s going to be a train wreck and I’m in the middle. ” (In point of fact, there was a little reality here in addition to my paranoia: Ivan had met withBruce Bodner, Chevy’s manager, partner, and protector, and pretty soon it was not a love nest.)
    Here is what CAA told me. “Bill, do you know how many packages we have made? Do you realize we have changed the industry with our packaging skill? Just go write the third draft and we promise you this: it will all sort itself out. ”
    Round thr—ooops, draft three. Talk with Ivan, hopefully make things better, chat with Chevy about the loneliness of invisibility, back to New York and write and write, and in truth, whenever there was a chance to toss a little loneliness into the flick, I did so.
    And do you want to know why? Because Chevy had a valid point. How could you deal with this material without discussing the awful reality of what it would be like if no one could see you? If you were, I guess, the ultimate freak on Earth?
    But this had to be considered too—Olivier was not playing the lead. Young Brando was not playing the lead. Or Cagney. My truth was this: I had no problem investigating the loneliness of invisibility, I just didn’t want to investigate it with Chevy Chase. Bright as Chase was, he had not gotten famous playing drunks or scientists or death-row convicts, he had become so playing a goof who had trouble with stairs.
    Draft three made its way to both powers. Ivan wanted to go into production. Chevy stood his ground.
    I made my standard run at CAA. “Have I ever mentioned a fucking train wreck to you guys?” I inquired. “Well, run for cover.”
    They smiled and chortled and reassured but I could see in their eyes I was not the loony of a few months before.
    Ivan went to the Brothers Warner. Your pick, he told them, knowing they had to pick him. Me or Chevy?
    They picked Chevy.
    I think I quit first but I really don’t remember; it was probably a dead heat. Half a dozen years later, Chevy came out in the flick. My name is mentioned among the writers. I have no idea if it should have been, since I never saw the movie. I have blocked out so much of that period, but a couple of things I do remember.
    One is that I was cheated for the first time in decades of movie work.
    Understand this: all the sleaze you’ve heard about Hollywood? All the illiterate scumbags who scuttle