Scaling Hillcrest
SCALING HILLCREST
There is nothing more difficult to take in hand, more perilous to conduct, or more uncertain in its success than to take the lead in the introduction of a new order of things.
—MACHIAVELLI
November 1983
“Good morning,” Mercedes Baxter said to Harvey Khan, rolling off him, post-sex, pre-coffee. She loved when he stayed overnight and they could start the day together, discussing clients, agency politics, industry trends.
Mercedes wanted to make sure Khan knew that in her he had a partner, perhaps someday a life partner. But she never pushed, nor questioned, nor complained. Unlike Rose, she stayed friendly with the wife and made herself an ally. She had seamlessly assumed the role of mistress, secretary, and confidante to both husband and wife, who equally sought her counsel.
She was careful never to criticize Grace to Harvey, choosing rather to support her position, her beauty, her style. And when Grace would call and complain that her husband was working too hard, too long, too thanklessly, Mercedes would sympathize, listen, but always reinforce how often he tried to get out of the office. Then she’d encourage Khan to spend time with her in Malibu on the weekends.
“What will you be doing when I’m there?”
She’d smile and change the subject, which kept him anxious enough to hurry back. She had learned well.
The Spanish duplex she’d purchased through an offshore account he’d set up was just around the corner from the agency, off Charleville. Completely renovated, it was a charming two-bedroom, two-bathroom with a small terrace tucked behind walls of red and purple bougainvillea. Rose never owned the pied-à-terre they’d shared for years, trusting instead that Khan would provide.
Mercedes had learned otherwise.
“Do me a favor, doll,” Khan said, slapping her ass as he walked into the steamer shower, “call Jamie Garland’s new girl, Beanie Rosen, and have her set lunch with Jamie.”
Almost tripping on the white shag carpet, which, like Mercedes, had just been laid, she was flabbergasted that Harvey Khan, the president of Sylvan Light, would know Beanie’s name, much less her new position. She resented his familiarity almost as much as she resented that Beanie was still there. She had spoken to Rose about her, and Rose had agreed to replace her. What the hell?
But Mercedes was flawless in her reaction. “Absolutely,” she said, and then decided to shower with him.
“Hi, Mercedes, you called?” Beanie asked innocently, after dialing her up at the end of the day. Carol Lesak had told Beanie that Mercedes had called first thing that morning, but Beanie purposely waited until day’s end to return the call, not because she had to, but because she didn’t.
“Several hours ago,” Mercedes said, pretending not to be as irritated as she was.
“How can I help you?” Beanie asked.
Mercedes, uppity, bristled at the implication that Beanie could do anything for her.
“By doing your job,” she said tersely, adding that Mr. Khan wanted to schedule lunch with Ms. Garland.
“Oh right,” Beanie said, as if it had slipped her mind. “He mentioned it last Sunday when we were at Hillcrest,” she said, letting it slip that she, too, flew in circles above her station while omitting the fact that she had been there with her parents.
It was a dinner arranged to introduce Moze to her family. She had spoken of him several times, and they had suggested and then insisted on meeting Beanie’s “fella” at Hillcrest, the exclusive Jewish country club on Pico in Beverly Hills. Hillcrest had been established in the early days of the motion picture industry when Jews were not permitted to join the existing and quietly “restricted” country clubs that barred them from membership. So moguls like Louis B. Mayer, the Warner brothers, Harry Cohn, and Adolph Zukor got together and formed their own. They’d come, usually a few nights a week, and have dinner with George Jessel, Eddie Cantor, Al Jolson, and then as years went by George Burns, Milton Berle, Joey Bishop, Sammy Davis, Jr., and sometimes Sinatra, who was an honorary Jew, and later became a member. Everyone who was anyone, at least in the Jewish community, knew that Hillcrest was the club to join. And so, Miriam Spitz, once again angling for a better zip code, had urged that her new husband abandon their old club, and pay the hefty dues to socialize with a “better crowd.”
Once they’d joined, Beanie began bowing out from the requisite Sunday-evening dinners, fearing that she’d run into one of the Sylvan Light heavyweights there, not because they’d know her of course, but because they wouldn’t. And that would irritate her mother. She didn’t want Miriam or Dr. Spitz to know how unimportant she was in the bigger scheme of things. But Moze wanted to meet her family, so she finally and begrudgingly agreed.
Beanie watched her mother watch Moze as he approached the table. He shook hands with Dr. Spitz, made small talk with Miriam, smiled at Esther, and had a comfortability that put everyone at ease. He said something amusing that Beanie couldn’t hear, but she could tell that Miriam, that everyone, was instantly charmed. She relaxed into the moment. Her parents seemed happy. And she realized that she was happy, too. “You look good, Bean,” Dr. Spitz said, winking at her. Beanie felt good. She had started wearing short skirts and wedge sandals to show off her legs, and perhaps because she was happier than she’d been, well, ever, she was less bothered by Miriam’s judgments.
Miriam scrutinized her daughter. “It’s your skin,” she said, studying her. “It looks healthy. What have you been doing?”
Swallowing, Beanie thought.
“Doesn’t she look pretty, Esther?” Miriam asked.
“Um-hmm,” Esther said, with the enthusiasm of a gnat.
“He’s handsome,” Miriam whispered, then added, “What do we know about his people?”
Beanie looked over to Moze and shouted, “Mother was just asking about your people, Moze.” Miriam was aghast. But Moze, immediately disarming, put everyone at ease and told them about his mother, his father, growing up in Brooklyn and the ultra-religious life that he both embraced and rebelled against. He had so much integrity you couldn’t not like him.
“You’ll go far, son,” Dr. Spitz said, causing Moze to change the focus to Beanie.
“How about Beanie? Quite a job she’s gotten herself.”
Miriam dabbed at the corners of her mouth. “Four years of college, two years already at that fakakta agency, and she’s just now becoming a secretary,” she bemoaned. “Why don’t they make you an agent already?”
Beanie rolled her eyes to Moze as if to say, I told you so… and then, looking beyond him, caught sight of something that made her stop short. Harvey Khan had walked in with his wife, his son, his daughter, and a few family friends. While the fact that Mercedes Baxter wasn’t with him did give Beanie some momentary relief, it was short-lived, as Dr. Spitz saw Khan as well.
“That’s Harvey Khan, the head honcho at Light,” he announced. Miriam craned her neck. “Go over and say hello,” she urged.
“No,” said Beanie, practically screaming, and then, softening, added, “He doesn’t know me.”
“How can he know you if you sit with your head in your soup? Lenny,” Miriam said, turning to her husband, “call him over.”
“I’ll go!” Beanie said, immediately jumping up.
She was on autopilot as she walked past the giant potted trees in the pink room with the round tables to the one farthest in the back, where Harvey Khan sat holding court. “Oh, hello Mr. Khan,” Beanie said, interrupting his story, “I’m Beanie Rosen.” He looked at her, confused, trying to place the name or the face. “Jamie Garland’s new girl,” she added.
He nodded, smiled, and relaxed, introducing Beanie to his wife, Grace, his son, Todd, his daughter, Cheryl, and their friends. They made some small talk, and before she left he suggested that she set up a lunch for him and Jamie. “It’s long overdue,” he told her.
From Miriam’s point of view, Beanie was making headway. From Moze’s point of view, she was fearless. And from Beanie’s point of view, she had just navigated a wave and come out the other side victorious.
And now she was reaping the rewards of the encounter. “He was with Grace and the kids,” Beanie told Mercedes pointedly, “celebrating Grace’s birthday.” Then she added, “Grace asked me to join them for cake. She’s so kind.”
Beanie heard a small intake of breath on the other end of the phone, and, feeling momentarily triumphant— Point, Beanie —began to suggest potential lunch dates for their respective bosses.
Beanie had hoped Khan’s interest in Mercedes would wane and she’d be gone in a month or two. But Hawkeye gave her a reality check. “They’re closer than ever,” she said, adding that Mercedes was playing it brilliantly. It got to the point where Beanie didn’t want to hear about her anymore. “She’s in the rearview,” she told Hawkeye.
But Mercedes, however, had Beanie in her sights.