Signing Sundance
SIGNING SUNDANCE
It was the tipping point. The game changer. The one signing that could change the course of her life.
—AN ANONYMOUS OBSERVER, REFERENCING BOTH SHEILA DAY AND BEANIE ROSEN
1985
Six months into her tenure, Sheila and Sam were on the cover of Los Angeles Magazine with the title, “We’re baaack,” signaling to the industry and the city built upon it that once again Sylvan Light was, if not on top, then within striking distance.
While the Alliance Group still reigned supreme with Stieglitz and Shipp, the top two agents in the land, Sheila Day and Sam Lesser went on a signing spree unlike anything the town had seen in years, bringing in stars when they could, coming close when they couldn’t, but more importantly changing the narrative in such a way that it turned the tide, making everyone root for them. In a town where the best story wins, nothing was more compelling than an ex-champion coming back into the ring.
There was a fire underneath Sheila Day, and the competition, no longer laughing, were beginning to feel the heat. Funny, acerbic, self-effacing, and brilliant, people couldn’t wait to see what she was going to do next. Agents like Gil Amati and Jamie Garland huddled close to her, but it was Beanie Rosen—tucked away in her small office across the street in the brand-new Sylvan Light Plaza—with whom she strategized.
Maybe Sheila was drawn to Beanie because she saw a version of herself in her—certainly less chic and sophisticated, but a rough-around-the-edges protégé, who with polishing might just be a lifetime devotee and a reflection of her own professional largesse.
Or maybe it was because Beanie never argued back. Anxious to please and to prove herself, Beanie became Sheila’s de facto confidante. Though technically a departmental trainee for everyone, Beanie was literally the on-call girl for Sheila.
The only person who had an issue with it was Ella, but even she understood that Sheila Day might just elevate her best friend in a way no one else could. So she kept her disdain to herself. Or tried to.
“Sundance has agreed to a meeting,” Sheila told Beanie one Tuesday morning in late September 1985. Sundance was the code word for Robert Redford, and the mere fact that he had agreed to a meeting with Sheila Day and Sam Lesser was an absolute sign that they had pierced the heart of the competition. And if they could dislodge him, if he agreed to sign, it would be a mortal wound. Redford was not only a legendary actor, Redford was an anchor to Alliance. Cut him loose and that ship might sink. This was seismic. In truth, it was less about the man, and more about the idea of the man; what he stood for. became some sort of holy grail for Sheila Day. “I need this,” she confessed to Beanie in a moment of vulnerability. Sheila knew she’d been flying on fumes and false bravado, camouflaging the pain of losing Alana years earlier, and the fear that others might follow. But if she signed Sundance now, that could carry her into a whole new version of herself. It would signal to an agency that had marginalized her value and an industry that had written her off, that Sheila Day was not to be discounted. It was in that moment that Beanie understood how frightened Sheila had been to start anew, and that signing Sundance was a door to a second chance she desperately needed.
“You’ll fly to New York with me,” Sheila informed Beanie rather than asking, assuming she would comply. Beanie always complied. That’s what she liked best about her. “We’ll stay the week, work out of the New York office. Sam’s coming in on Wednesday or Thursday.”
The plan was for Sheila and Sam to meet Redford in Connecticut on Friday where he was shooting, and then she would stay the weekend with Gore Vidal, who had taken a cottage in East Hampton. Sam would stay with Redford at the Newmans’ in Greenwich.
After being informed, Beanie, trying not to show how insanely excited she was, simply nodded, left, and headed back to her cubicle to cull through articles, unpublished books, screenplays, anything that might convince Redford that no one would work harder for him.
She practically skipped across the street. It wasn’t just the trip, which, given the fact that she’d only been east once, was thrilling; it was the idea that she, Beanie Rosen, had not only been taken into Sheila’s confidence but was an integral part of something bigger, a cog in a wheel that might change the future of the company.
And… since Sam Lesser was going, Moze would be there, too.
She and Moze barely saw each other anymore, and this could be an opportunity to spend time together, see a play, take a walk, hell, just stay in the hotel and order room service. They didn’t have to have sex. They hadn’t in a while. And she was frightened that his lack of interest was due to her, rather than the overwhelming amount of work he now had on his plate, which is what he claimed.
Devoted to Sam, Moze worked night and day, but Beanie knew that if she played her cards right, they might reconnect. She presumed they’d have the weekend in New York off, so she was going to gently suggest that maybe they could have it off together. She just had to wait for the right moment to bring it up, so it didn’t seem contrived or desperate or demanding. Fortuitously, she and Moze had a date to see each other that evening and celebrate his birthday, which had been six weeks earlier and postponed twice.
“Sheila’s asked me to fly to New York with her on this Sundance thing,” she said casually that evening at his place, as if the thought had just occurred to her.
“Wow, that’s great,” Moze said, knowing how important this meeting was, and acknowledging that Sheila’s trust in Beanie solidified Beanie’s import. He was making them scrambled eggs in his small studio apartment just off Sunset in West Hollywood. She had helped him furnish it with a dining table which doubled as a desk, and an Eames chair that was losing its stuffing but still had its pedigree. “So, I thought maybe we could hang out on the weekend, since Sheila will be in Long Island and Sam in Connecticut.” She looked at his face, illuminated by the yellow blinking sign from nearby Tower Records, trying to gauge if he was annoyed, if she’d gone too far. “I mean, if you’re not busy.”
He brought the eggs over to her. One plate, two forks. “I was going to see my folks,” he said, “you know, reconnect with the shtetel.”
She nodded, took a breath. He had plans. Of course. She should have figured. “Okay,” she said, no longer interested in food… or life. “No worries.”
He looked at her a moment, considering. “I mean, you’re welcome to come. If you want. They’d fucking love you,” he said matter-of-factly, piercing some eggs with his fork and bringing it to her mouth. “Open,” he commanded.
She did, but the rest of her stood paralyzed. Had she heard him correctly? He was offering to introduce her to his parents. His tribe? The innermost circle of his heart. It was too much to hope for and yet, at this moment, it seemed possible.
“Chew,” he said, smiling, and she smiled back.
They were the best eggs she’d ever eaten.
While Sheila and Sam were off trying to sign Sundance, Beanie and Moze took the subway to Flatbush. Moze showed her around his old neighborhood: his yeshiva, the butcher, the fishmonger, the matchmaker.
She inhaled every second. Everyone thought she was his girl, and the best part was, he let them. At first she protested self-consciously, but then she stopped. If he doesn’t mind, why should I? The finest table at Delmonico’s couldn’t have lured her away from that early fall afternoon deep in the borough of Brooklyn.
“Tell me darling, how is Moze doing out there?” Esther Goff asked Beanie confidentially as they sat on a loveseat in the living room she called the parlor, crammed with a lifetime of worn furniture, ancient photographs, and all their hopes for their prodigal son. On the mantel of a non-working fireplace sat pictures of Moze at every stage of life with an empty frame left for the next generation.
“He’s doing great,” Beanie said. “Amazing, actually.”
Esther leaned in. “But he’s a secretary? Answering somebody’s phone. Typing their letters.” She whispered so her husband and Moze, sitting nearby at the Formica kitchen table, watching a Mets game, wouldn’t hear. “My husband doesn’t know the details. He wouldn’t understand,” she confided.
Beanie took her hand, reassuringly. “Mrs. Goff,” she said, “Moze has one of the most important positions not only at Sylvan Light, but honestly in the whole entertainment industry. You don’t need to worry, I promise.” Esther Goff studied Beanie Rosen and decided she liked her. She liked her a great deal.
“You’ll stay for dinner. No arguments,” she told her.
Initially, Moze and Beanie had planned to spend only the afternoon in Brooklyn, have lunch, walk around, and then grab a bite in the city. But there was no arguing with Esther Goff. They were staying for dinner.
That night, Beanie met more of his family and some friends who may or may not have been related. The shtetl embraced her as their own. Moses had come home, and with a Rosen no less. She felt like she was one of them, and Moze’s parents made sure their son knew they hoped she would be.
“Bring her again!” his father told him.
“Don’t be a stranger,” said his mother, looking deeply into the eyes of the young woman she hoped would be her future daughter-in-law. Just before they left, she had one last request. “Let’s take a snapshot of the two of you.” She pulled an Instamatic camera off the shelf and posed them together.
Beanie stood self-consciously stiff, but Moze lazily draped his arm over her shoulder.
They held hands all the way back to the city and stayed in Moze’s room at the Lowell all weekend where they ordered room service and had sex. Three times. Any doubts she’d had about their relationship or his feelings for her had been allayed. While untraditional, they had something special and deep, and she felt certain that if she could be patient it would develop into something more permanent.
Just before Christmas, Samuel Lesser and Sheila Day announced that Robert Redford was now a client of the Sylvan Light Agency. But the biggest holiday gift, at least for Beanie Rosen, happened a week later when she learned from Moze that Mr. and Mrs. Goff had put her picture on their mantel.
Though it was winter, it felt like spring.
Both she and Sheila had signed their Sundance, giving each a peek into a world of possibilities.