Over the Rainbow
OVER THE RAINBOW
Be fearless in your pursuit of what sets your soul on fire.
—JENNIFER LEE
May 1983
Jamie Garland liked to say that Judy took her name. Frances Gumm was performing on the vaudeville circuit when George Jessel asked Jamie’s father, a stagehand, “Who’s up next?” “The Gumm sisters,” her father replied. “What kind of name is Gumm?” Jessel snarled to himself, and then, turning back to the stagehand, asked, “What’s your name?” “Henry,” her father said, “Henry Garland.” It had been Jamie’s brush with greatness, until she’d found her own.
Nicknamed “Gidget,” for her tiny countenance and adorable face, Jamie Garland was not to be discounted. And Beanie certainly wasn’t discounting her. This wasn’t just a desk: it was a gift, a sign, providence dressed as a miniature ballsy ex-casting director who had been hired to become not only an agent, but the head of the motion picture talent department in search of a secretary to help her navigate. And that, Beanie believed, was her destiny; to work for a woman of influence who could influence the world to see Beanie not just for who she was, but for who she could be.
While Beanie was supposed to have kept it confidential, everyone needed an inner circle whom they could tell the things they weren’t supposed to tell, and Ella was hers.
“Maybe if I make some kind of welcome packet,” she said that night, thinking aloud. “Like nothing anyone has seen.”
Ella nodded, focused, driven. “We’ll do it together,” she told her.
At first, Beanie neither expected nor anticipated Ella’s assistance. But oddly, given her access to accounting information, and commissions paid, her roommate was able to provide insider information that few outside the board of directors even knew about. Ella quickly and easily projected the agency’s top money earners for the rest of ’83 going into ’84, and also provided historical context for legacy clients, filmmakers, touring groups, and broadcast journalists, giving a simple and clear overview of who’s who, who’s where, and how much they’re fucking worth to Sylvan Light. Clients like Dionne Warwick, for example, might actually mean more to the agency than red-hot Steve Guttenberg. Ella’s report was succinct, enlightening, and one of a kind.
“It’s a work of art,” Ella told her proudly.
Beanie just had to figure out if Jamie was a collector.
That Monday, Army Archerd announced that the old guard was ushering in a new decade with the hiring of Jamie Garland to the Sylvan Light agency. Change, even for the good, can be unnerving. While the corridors of power at the other agencies and the studios shook with gossip and intrigue, the corridors at Sylvan Light shook with fear and uncomfortable silence. There was speculation as to which office she’d occupy, which clients she’d bring, which agents she’d fire.
But most of the internal gossip centered around Mike Barron, who kept his mouth shut and his door closed, signaling his displeasure. This was a position he had been promised. There were already rumors he was meeting with the head of ICM, a competing agency.
For Beanie, the news meant that she was now in a race with any other secretary smart enough to pay attention. She needed to implement her plan quickly.
“I have a welcome manual,” she told Rose Liu, presenting her the booklet just after the news about Jamie Garland’s hire went public.
Rose, sitting behind what once was Ollie’s desk in what once was Ollie’s office, stripped now of all things Willie Nelson and decorated in floral chintz with pictures of hummingbirds, took the booklet, thumbed through it, and then looked at Beanie who, holding her breath, braced herself for judgment, or criticism, or total rejection.
But to her surprise and relief, Rose smiled and looked at her anew. It was almost as if the Burns stink had finally lifted and Rose was able to see Beanie’s brains, fortitude, and her willingness to help.
“ This is remarkable,” she said. “How in the world did you know to do it?”
Beanie, prepared for the question, explained that she did one for Ollie and had been keeping one current for Rose. “I could walk it over to Ms. Garland’s office, as a gift from Personnel,” Beanie offered, “if you can spare me?”
Rose, excited, not only jumped on the idea, but made it her own.
“Yes, yes,” she agreed. “Let Ms. Garland know that this was something I prepared. Go now. I don’t need you here.” Instantly regretting her words, she apologized and told her she didn’t mean it that way.
Beanie nodded, smiled, took the booklet, and headed out.
Of all the scenarios that had played out in her head, she never anticipated one where Rose would be nice, let alone grateful—in fact, Beanie had toyed with the idea of calling in sick and flying solo, seeking out Jamie on her own. But that was too risky and could result in instant termination, should Rose find out. It was much more cunning to bring Rose in, making it her idea.
The Little No Ones casting offices on North Beverly Drive had a small, nondescript reception area filled with actors, some of whom Beanie recognized. Up-and-comers, she’d call them, and they were all obviously waiting to audition. On edge, they stared at Beanie.
She stared back. Someday I might be representing one of you, she thought as she walked up to the receptionist and told her that she had papers from Sylvan Light that needed to be hand-delivered to Jamie Garland.
A few minutes later, Beanie was ushered into Jamie’s elegant office, currently unoccupied. Beanie looked around. Everything was white, new, and modern: the couch, the desk, the walls, the upholstered expensive- looking chairs—all white. There were pops of red and orange in the pillows and artwork. A few Nagels hung on the wall, along with a cartoon of a crying woman with the caption, Nuclear War, there goes my career, signed by artist Roy Lichtenstein. To Jamie, it read. Not even a war could stop you .
But most overwhelming to Beanie were the avalanche of flower arrangements, also all white, that kept arriving every few minutes, from well-wishers who wanted to be counted as well-wishers lest they fall out of favor.
The industry was paying homage.
A few minutes later, Nancy Barlow, Jamie’s attractive, long-standing secretary, walked in. Nancy was, Beanie guessed, twenty-six or twenty-seven. She was slim, pretty, blond, well-dressed in a fitted burgundy skirt just above her knees and a Perry Ellis blouse. Honey-brown shoulder-length hair was tied with a Burberry ribbon, pulling out the burgundy in her skirt and matching pumps. Her only jewelry was a Cartier watch. She was perfectly and elegantly appointed.
Beanie, in clogs and a red sweater, which she thought made her look thin and secretarial, felt self-conscious and dumpy next to Nancy. She chastised herself silently for believing that she could actually get to meet, much less work with someone like Jamie Garland. What was she thinking? That they would have lunch? Chat? Do each other’s nails? Of course, Jamie would want a secretary that looked like Nancy, if not Nancy.
That thought sickened her as well. Nancy was probably a part of the package. Well, it was fun for a minute, Beanie thought, pulling out the manual and showing it to Nancy who, instead of dismissing Beanie, asked if she could stick around and go through it with her in a bit.
“We have one more role to cast in The Big Chill, ” Nancy told her, explaining that Lawrence Kasdan, the director, was in the other room with Jamie, and she needed to take notes.
Beanie, who was happy to be out of Personnel, even if this was a bit of a fool’s errand, followed Nancy to her office which, also white, was a smaller version of Jamie’s, except instead of original artwork on the walls, there were eight-by-ten glossies with the cast so far, Beanie guessed, of The Big Chill. Glenn Close, Jeff Goldblum, Tom Berenger, Kevin Kline, and Mary Kay Place all hung in wait for the call to action.
“We just have to find the guy who dies,” said Nancy, ordering Beanie a salad from La Scala and promising it wouldn’t be long.
Forty-five minutes later Nancy, who was walking an actor down the hall, popped her head into the office, telling Beanie that they had cast the film, and she would be right back.
Beanie, recognizing the actor, extended her hand. “Beanie Rosen. Sylvan Light,” she said to him, smiling, “Congratulations.”
He smiled back. She melted.
Kevin Costner was one of the up-and-coming hot actors that Sylvan Light had targeted. If Beanie could sign him, she thought, maybe they’d promote her.
“They’re lucky to have you,” she told him, pouring on the charm, as he thanked her and headed out.
Nancy looked at her, cocking her head. “Do you want to be an agent?”
Beanie nodded. “Yeah, but I’m not even on a desk,” she told her, explaining that she was stuck in Personnel.
“You should work for Jamie,” Nancy said, casually, as if it was no big deal, as if she was asking if she wanted cream cheese with chives or plain?
Huh? Beanie thought. Feeling like she had entered an alternate universe, she replayed Nancy’s words in slow motion. “Youuuuuu shouldddd work forrrrr Jaaaaamiiieee.” She shook her head to clear it. “What about you?” she asked Nancy, once she had come back to earth.
Nancy explained that she was on track to be a casting director. “It’s one thing for Jamie to change careers, but I don’t want to,” she told her, explaining that she’d be starting from zero if she moved with Jamie. She just couldn’t get her head around doing that. “I’m actually looking for someone to replace me,” she said, and then added, pointedly, “Someone like you.”
It was like a cosmic game of musical chairs, only this time, for the first time, Beanie had a seat. But still, she held her breath, expecting it would be pulled out from under her.
Then she heard this: “Would you consider working for Jamie?”
Rarely speechless, Beanie Rosen stood slack-jawed. Finally, somehow, she was able to give a small nod.
“Great!” Nancy said, telling her to come back at the end of the day, and she’d introduce them.
But Beanie, not wanting to move a muscle, decided to stay, and called Rose explaining that Jamie’s secretary was sooooo grateful to the Personnel department and specifically to Rose and asked that she stick around to review the welcome manual with her.
Rose, of course, agreed.
It wasn’t a win-win, it was a win windfall.
Jamie Garland sat curled up on one of the white chairs in her white office next to a garden of white orchids. She was dressed in a pair of navy high-waisted Calvin Klein pants with very high strappy heels and a cute sailor top. She was tinier than Beanie had imagined, and younger. Maybe because of her size or her petite countenance, she seemed childlike. With blond hair, cut short like a boy’s, and small gold hoop earrings, and several diamond tennis bracelets lazily wrapped around her gold Rolex, she reeked of style, class, and accomplishment.
Beanie, standing awkwardly in front of her, wanted nothing more than to bask in her approval. Please God, let her like me, she prayed.
“How long have you been at Light?” Jamie asked, giving her the once-over.
“Almost two years,” Beanie said, trying to stop the quivering in her voice.
“So, why hasn’t anyone else hired you?” she wondered aloud, lighting a Benson and Hedges menthol cigarette.
Beanie, smart enough to be honest, looked from Nancy to Jamie, and told her plainly. “My wiggle is more waddle.”
Jamie laughed.
Beanie was in.
It. Was. That. Easy.
By the end of the week Jamie Garland had offered Beanie Rosen the job.
The plan was that Jamie, finishing her casting obligations on Footloose and Sixteen Candles, wouldn’t officially start at the agency until January 1984. Beanie, expected to help her transition, spent most of her days updating Jamie’s Rolodex, setting lunches, and overseeing the renovations to Jamie’s new corner office on the second floor, next to Mike Barron’s—rubbing salt into his already festering wound.
Barron had made his dissatisfaction known and was waiting until the year-end bonus to see how the board would handle it.
“What’s Barron like?” Jamie asked a few weeks after Beanie had been officially hired.
Beanie, knowing that Barron was a monster, but also knowing that gossip reflects badly on those who spread it, gave a somewhat neutered response. “He’s charming,” she said, which wasn’t a lie.
“Is he gay?” asked Jamie.
“No,” said Beanie a little too quickly, and then realizing her answer needed further explanation, added, “He dates a lot. Mainly actresses.”
Jamie nodded, considering. “He’s attractive,” she said, explaining that she’d seen him recently at Morton’s, a favorite eatery on Robertson. “Kind of a cross between Warren Beatty and Dean Stockwell, don’t you think?”
Beanie nodded, really thinking, He’s a guy’s guy who wants to fuck women so he can dominate them. But she kept her mouth shut until Jamie asked, “What aren’t you saying?” Beanie took a deep breath.
“He’s ambitious,” she said, choosing her words carefully. “You should know that he wanted to be head of the Talent department.” Had she said too much? Perhaps. Still, she reasoned that Jamie needed to know the score, and Beanie needed to spell it out to her in a way that communicated honesty and loyalty.
Jamie studied her for a minute. Beanie couldn’t tell if she was grateful or angry, or worse, reconsidering the hire. Finally, thinking aloud, Jamie said, “Costner’s looking for a new agent. Maybe you should let Barron know.”
Beanie shook her head. “Maybe you should,” she said, adding that Mike Barron wouldn’t want to hear that news from Jamie Garland’s secretary.
Jamie, surprised, studied her. The kid’s smart, she thought.
“Okay,” she said, stubbing out her cigarette. “Get him on the phone for me.”
Beanie got Mike Barron on the phone and Jamie charmed him and flattered him, and though she was eight and a half years older, flirted shamelessly. Jamie let him know that she would call Costner and give him a nudge Mike’s way. They kibitzed, they gossiped, they set up a lunch, and in that way, Jamie Garland signed Mike Barron, and Beanie Rosen signed Jamie Garland.