The Morning Guy
THE MORNING GUY
Oh, what a beautiful morning… guy.
—GIL AMATI
November 1983
Beanie was feeling insulated and empowered, not only because she was going to be Jamie’s girl, but also because she had a loyal group of fellow travelers who watched out and protected each other. She and Ella were a twosome who became a threesome with Moze, who became a foursome when Ella introduced Moze to Garry Sampson, and then they were five whenever Barry could free himself from Marci.
Though it was quite the Zamboni, Beanie had done a good thing in getting Moze into the agency. Everyone liked him. Instantly. And he was learning the ropes. Quickly. He had been in the mailroom for nearly four weeks when Gil Amati noticed that there was a young man reading books and scripts and newspaper articles and suggesting them for his clients. Amati, who next to Sam Lesser was one of the most powerful and certainly most colorful agents in the industry, favoring Versace and entertaining barefoot, was famous for working hard and playing harder, but never so hard as to ignore a call from one of his clients.
Amati had a wall-size photograph of superstar Richard Gere taken by legendary photographer Herb Ritts in front of his bed. It was the first thing he saw in the morning and the last at night. The rest of his clients, like stars in the galaxy, were scattered about his Hancock Park Regency home in Tiffany silver frames, always facing out so people could either stargaze or star worship. His clients were his children, and he nurtured and pampered them to superstardom. So when Moze began making smart suggestions for Gere, Amati began taking notice and liking what he saw, inviting Moze to work his famous Friday-night parties, where his “nephews,” blond and hairless, would answer doors and serve drinks or themselves.
“Love to,” Moze told him, appreciating and, Beanie feared, perhaps encouraging the overture. She had warned Moze that while it would be great to work for Amati, he needed to draw some lines so people wouldn’t presume he was gay.
“Who cares?” he told her, reminding her that he didn’t like labels. But Beanie, now referring to him as her boyfriend, did.
Two months into his tenure at Sylvan Light, Moze had landed Amati’s morning desk, with an eye to becoming his full-time trainee, since Guy Hooper, the trainee on Amati’s desk, had been officially informed that he would not be an agent at Sylvan Light.
But someone else would.
In November ’83, Samuel Lesser casually notified Garry Sampson, as he was leaving for Palm Springs with Johnny Merritt, his longtime personal assistant, that Sampson was ready to be promoted. He made the remark in passing, neither expecting nor desiring any kind of demonstrative response.
Garry, familiar with Lesser’s discomfort around intimacy, kept his feelings contained as Lesser informed him that he intended to share a few of his top clients, starting with Scott Westman.
No one in Hollywood was hotter than Scott Westman. He and Tom Cruise, both in their early twenties, were the two breakout stars on top of everyone’s list in 1983, standing beside Ford, Stallone, and Travolta.
Lesser liked to compare Scott Westman to a young Paul Newman, saying that when he saw him in a revival of Equus in ’79, he was not only mesmerized, but invigorated, wanting to know more about this young man. “It was like watching Brando in Streetcar, ” he told Westman, who knew that Lesser had been Brando’s attorney before becoming his legendary agent.
Sam Lesser, who preferred that talent seek him out, vigorously pursued Westman, flying back and forth to Baltimore where the revival was running until the young star agreed to sign with him.
“I just have to let my agent down easily,” Westman told him, saying that he was a single practitioner who had signed Westman when he was starting out.
“Tell him I’ll split the commission.”
Westman, relieved, asked, “For a year?”
“For life,” Lesser told him, shaking his hand and never looking back.
Over the next few years Sam Lesser guided Scott Westman from one film to another to become one of the biggest box office stars in the world, and while he knew Westman was not looking to leave, he also knew that he wasn’t impervious to being poached. Sam Lesser was fifteen years older than his competition at the red-hot Alliance Group, many of whom he had trained and trusted, only to have them betray him when they’d left, poaching his clients, and circling the agency. Lesser began to worry that perhaps he was just too old, or too old-school. Either way, he knew he needed backup at Light from someone he could trust.
Garry Sampson had been on his desk for almost three years and Lesser knew that Garry and Westman had become friends, good friends, and confidantes. It was time to give Garry his wings, and allow Sam, a loyal soldier at Light, to fortify his army.
“Thank you, sir,” Garry said as Sam left for the day.
“Find somebody good to replace you, or you’ll be back working for me,” Sam warned, and then left.
Garry waited until Sam was out of the building before calling the only person he wanted to share the news with, Ella Gaddy.
“Holy shit,” she said later that evening, letting the enormity of it all settle. They were basking in the afterglow of the news as they finished a bowl of ramen noodles at an outdoor café just off Washington Boulevard.
“I want you to be my wingman,” he told her, insisting again that she leave Accounting and work for him.
She shook her head. “I don’t want to be your secretary,” she told him, but he pressed her, explaining that she’d be less a secretary and more a touchstone.
“Whenever you read a script at my place, you have amazing instincts on how it can be better, or which actor should do it,” he argued.
“I’ll still have them in Accounting,” she told him, realizing she liked the distance her job provided.
Garry was insistent, so they agreed to table the subject for the time being and celebrate the big news. “You’re not just going to be some junior agent like Barry,” she said, pointing out that Barry Licht, who had also finally been promoted, wasn’t going to fly like Garry would. Barry was going to be a junior agent running errands for big rock groups. “You’re going to be representing Scott Westman and Goldie and…”
“Warren,” he told her, knowing that Lesser expected his help with Beatty. This news was huge, and Garry, excited, nervous, and a bit scared, was only worried about one thing: “I don’t think the guy on my morning desk is good enough,” he told her, knowing that if Ben Fleetwood, his morning guy, didn’t make the grade, Sam would expect Garry to go back to being his assistant.
That was a problem, Ella agreed. Fleetwood, who was average at best, couldn’t hold a candle to Garry, and by comparison might disappoint Sam enough to pull Garry back. They walked in silence around the periphery of the MGM lot.
“What about Moze?” asked Ella.
“He’s got a morning desk,” Garry told her, adding that it wouldn’t work anyway because Moze was Jewish.
“Who isn’t?” asked Ella.
“You,” he said, “me, and whoever works for Sam next.”
Ella didn’t understand. “But isn’t Sam Lesser Jewish?”
“Yeah,” he told her, “but none of his trainees are.”
Ella thought about that. “Just because none of his trainees are, doesn’t mean they can’t be,” she said, asking if Lesser had ever specifically said no Jews. Garry shook his head. “Well, that’s your problem there, boy,” she told him. “Stop overthinking. Get him the best man for the job, and you’ll never look back.”
That was one of the many reasons Garry loved Ella. Her common sense cut through the bullshit. She was right. Moze Goff had more integrity, smarts, and gumption than anyone in the mailroom or Dispatch. He was the kind of guy you wanted on your team, the kind of guy you could trust to make smart decisions and keep confidences. With a great deal of relief and excitement he realized that, thanks to Ella, he had found his replacement. He just needed to make it right with Gil Amati, whose Versace feathers were easily ruffled.
That Monday, Garry called Amati and asked him if he wouldn’t mind parting with his morning guy. Amati was taken aback, but Garry, full of praise, said that he and Sam—he always dropped Lesser’s name when he wanted to emphasize a point—thought that if someone was good enough for Gil Amati, then maybe they had earned the stripes to work for Sam.
Amati was flattered but troubled. He needed someone to take over when his trainee left. Garry suggested Ben Fleetwood, who was experienced and ready to move up to full-time trainee.
“No one is better at training people than you, Gil,” Garry said, “and both Sam and I will be indebted.”
Ben Fleetwood was transferred to Amati’s desk as Moze moved down a floor to work with Sam Lesser.
Garry Sampson, one step closer to agent, had found his morning guy.