Years
later, when I was living in L.A., and actually married at the time, Larry was
single and living in Laurel Canyon. I think we were in our mid to late
thirties. He called and asked me to come over to his house because he had
something incredible to tell me. Well, when I got there, Larry’s anxiety was
not his normal everyday get-up-in-the-morning-and-hate-everything-about-myself
panic. No, this was definitely heightened. His face had a washed-out pallor
like a vampire who drank someone coming out of Starbucks and couldn’t sleep
from the caffeine. I figured either Larry had just read something about a new
fatal disease and imagined he had contracted it and was about to die or it was
a woman, which of course it was.
The
night before, LD had gone to the movies and while at the refreshment stand fell
head-over-sneakers for the popcorn girl. He kept saying, “John, I think I’m in
love with the popcorn girl. And I think she might like me. I made her laugh and
she gave me more popcorn. What should I do? I think she’s in her twenties, is
that too young?”
We
decided that being a comic automatically took a few years off your appearance
and a decade or more off your rate of maturity. So the fact that she was old
enough to legally hold a job meant she was old enough to date a
thirty-something comedian.
In
our emotional life, there are people years and there are comic years.
Psychologically, we’re half-life regressive. For every decade a regular person
matures, we mature five, until at some point we’re physically old enough to
either actually experience a partial life or just blame it on dementia.
Since
LD did not ask the popcorn girl what her name was, or where she lived, and I
knew Larry would never be able to just walk up to a strange woman, he’d have to
approach her armed with his best weapon-- one that didn’t require his standing
before her stammering. It was far mightier than a sword or even a cocktail in
his hand—the weapon was the written word. As previously mentioned, comics,
especially Larry and I, were scared adolescents around a woman we fancied. If
either of us were a Governor and a very pretty girl were in the electric chair
and we could save her life, we’d be too insecure to pardon her, thinking she’d
rather get toasted then talk to us.
He
read the letter to me, and of course it was very funny. One line stood out. Larry
had written, “If you go out with me, I’m prepared to give up meat for you.”
He
finished the letter and we decided to go to the movie theater that night so LD
could hand-deliver it. LD had a brown Fiat (he purchased it when he worked on
the TV show “Fridays”) whose first engine he’d blown up because he’d forgotten
to put oil in it since the day he bought it. So we drove there, parked nearby,
walked into the theater and Larry asked for the popcorn girl. We were taken to
a lanky guy, in his early twenties, with acne splattered across his cheeks like
crumbs left on a comic’s chair, wearing the exaggerated expression of a
Broadway star belting out the lyrics, “I’m younger and better looking than both
of you.”
Larry
feigned confidence that unfortunately toppled out of at his mouth and he
stammered, “Uh… I’m looking for the popcorn girl.”
“What
popcorn girl?” the kid said, like the authority in his fiefdom was absolute.
“The
one who was working here last night,” Larry, trying to cover his
disappointment, spoke like he had no authority anywhere on the planet.
“She’s
off tonight,” he quickly cranked out, warning the universe the schedule he made
was never ever to be broken.
Before
His Honor could dismiss us, LD squeezed in, “Can you give her this?” Not giving
the Sheriff of Nottingham the time to say no, Larry handed the guy the
envelope.
The
multiplex mogul, no longer feeling threatened by us thirty-something, alfalfa
males, actually smiled nicely at us and said, “Sure, I’ll give it to her when
she comes in tomorrow.”
LD
and I turned and walked back to his car, discussing how long he should wait for
a reply before knowing whether he’d been rejected or not.
We
circled the block and were about to go home, when I thought I saw the guy open
up the letter. I told LD, and Larry, never being one to back down from the
opportunity to confront his own embarrassment, decided to go back and find out.
When
we approached the ticket booth, the guy was indeed reading the letter, not just
to himself, but to three or four other members of the acne brother and
sisterhood.
LD
walked up to the guy and asked as impolitely and impotently as he could, “Are
you reading my note?”
The
kid smiled and said, “Yes,” after which he and his crew of pimple people began
laughing.
“That
was personal... That wasn’t to you… That was personal.”
“I
got permission,” he said, like he was shoving a dirty newspaper in a dog’s
face.
“From
the popcorn girl?” LD asked more surprised than curious.
The
guy shot back. “Yeah, she’s my girlfriend.”
“She’s
your girlfriend!” LD repeated like bad Mexican food that hung onto your
esophagus, dangling awhile, before it did a nosedive into your gut.
Their
laughter was Miracle Grow for pimples, as thousands of pink mounds leaned
toward us cackling. LD didn’t have his usual temper tantrum. No, this time he
didn’t have a stage to walk off of, or a bum to fight to the death over a tuna
sandwich. He just shouted from the top, bottom and middle of his lungs. “You
shouldn’t read other people’s letters!” as he steamed toward the car. When we
were driving away, I saw the letter being passed around, the ticket booth
bursting with knives of laughter, looking at us until LD and his humiliation
passed out of sight.
I am cringing reading this but with a touch of a snigger.
ReplyDeleteIt would be cringing for anyone but Larry. It was typical.
Deletehahaha well at least he got permission
ReplyDeleteIt was one of the few times Larry did go absolutely bonkers. That part was surprising. He's always ready for a good conflict.
Deleteoh man....how brutal...and envisioning home being named meatless the rest of his life as well...smiles...ha. happy monday
ReplyDeleteThanks for reading. Have a happy Monday too. It's raining here in Northern New Jersey, how about where you live?
DeleteYoung raging hormones can make us do some crazy things.... like writing a letter to the popcorn girl.
ReplyDeleteThe problem was LD was at least 35 or 36 at the time. Maybe older. But he was and still is a child inside.
DeletePopcorn girl certainly missed out on her chance for fame and fortune!!! Wonder what acne boyfriend is doing with his career these days?
ReplyDeleteYeah, LD's got to be worth and I"m not exaggerating, a billion bucks and that's after her ex wife left the marriage with $300 million. It's so hard to believe. He only owns one house, a beautiful house, but not nearly what he could buy and drives a two or three year old Toyota Prius. He's not cheap by any means, and goes to the best restaurants, but is to neurotic to show off his wealth. Money has just allowed him to make indulge his neurosis.
DeleteLD must have been smitten beyond reason to entrust a personal letter to a young twerp. The things we haven't done in the name of "love."
ReplyDeleteI think in his mind he was. He's in his own world anyway, always was and always will be.
DeleteI wonder whatever happened to the letter. It would probably be able to be sold on ebay for quite the dough now. The popcorn girl is probably kicking herself now.
ReplyDeleteGod, yeah. That's very funny. That kid at the movie theater didn't know what he had. But what if he wasn't there and LD somehow hooked up with the popcorn girl maybe fame and fortune would have never come?
DeleteLarry's right, though. True love is giving someone more popcorn for making them laugh. She was definitely leading him on.
ReplyDeleteShe had no idea the kind of neurotic guy she was giving popcorn too. Or how much this guy would be worth today. I wonder if the kid at the popcorn place realizes that the person he took the letter from is now Larry David. That would be interesting to find out.
DeleteBest part of this story is your term, "alfalfa males." Some gals like Alfalfa males. It's a shame popcorn girl didn't. Hope Larry's ego has recovered since then. ??
ReplyDeletexoRobyn
Did I write that term? I have to re read it. It was part of the book, which I wrote several months ago. Larry's ego has more than recovered, he's actually happy now--a term I never though I'd ever used to describe Larry.
DeleteI bet popcorn girl never even got to see the letter!
ReplyDeleteYou know, I never thought about it. She probably didn't. Poor girl could have married a billionaire.
ReplyDeletePoor LD. "We decided that being a comic automatically took a few years off your appearance and a decade or more off your rate of maturity." Definitely.
ReplyDeleteAll the pimple references made me laugh aloud.
As soon as a comic stops feeling like a kid they are doomed. I think LD was more afraid of the kids pimples than anything else. I think that may have been the reason for not being too confrontational.
Delete