Excerpted from Larry Miller's 'Spoiled Rotten America'
One fateful Tuesday before the Emmy Awards, Larry Miller got a call with an offer he thought he could refuse.“So, is one o’clock okay for your foot massage?” Every so often in life someone utters a line that just can’t be beat, and I think that’s one of them. A team of writers could work all day, every day, for the rest of their lives, and never top it for pure emblematic idiocy. I picked up the phone at the office, said hello, and that’s how the voice at the other end answered, with no preamble: “So, is one o’clock okay for your foot massage?” True, the initial question was delivered with a splash of facetiousness by the caller, a voice I knew well, my publicist and friend, and noted dueling enthusiast, Michael Hansen. This was no idle offer, though: This was a business matter, and one that went beyond the normal pampering so casually passed around Hollywood like syphilis at a Fatty Arbuckle party. It was Emmy Awards Sunday, you see — one of the big days and nights here in the Dream Factory — and there were three reasons I looked at the phone blankly:
- As Hansen knew, I don’t spend an awful lot of time in life hunting up strangers to rub my feet. (There’s nothing wrong with my feet, by the way).
- I wasn’t nominated for anything that year.
- I wasn’t going.
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