A Lesson in Hollywood Brutality

Dom DeLuise in “History of the World, Part I.”

My first job out of college was for a production company known for making celebrity television specials. My duties were typical for a show business newbie. I brewed coffee, photocopied scripts, sent faxes, picked up dry cleaning and did everyone’s drudge work without complaint.

My boss was a producer named Dennis Goldstein. He was a bloated brute with greasy gray hair and glasses that made his eyes bulge. When he spoke, spittle shot out of the side of his mouth like a broken beer tap. The receptionist Tammy told me his bark was worse than his bite. Maybe so, but his bark was brutal.

Goldstein despised me the moment I walked in the door. His first words were, “Hey fuckface, get me a cappuccino.” I laughed, thinking he was joking. Big mistake.

“What are you laughing at you imbecile? And where’d you get that schnozz? I thought Jimmy Durante was dead and buried. Get me a cappuccino you dumbass prick.”

I staggered out of his office as if I’d been punched in the stomach.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Tammy advised. Too late.

I drove into Beverly Hills in search of a coffee house. Those were the days before Starbucks so I settled on an Italian restaurant on Canon Drive. I ordered a $6 cappuccino and hurried back to the office. Goldstein was waiting.