Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff - Wheres My F*cking Latte? (and Other Stories About Being an Assistant in Hollywood)

WHERES MY F*CKING LATTE?

AND OTHER STORIES ABOUT BEING AN ASSISTANT IN HOLLYWOOD

MARK YOSHIMOTO NEMCOFF

Glenneyre Press

Los Angeles, CA

Copyright 2007 Mark Yoshimoto Nemcoff. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical without the express written permission of the author. The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage electronic piracy of copyrighted materials.

The publisher does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

Published by Glenneyre Press, LLC.

Los Angeles, CA

www.wordsushi.com

Second Edition

ISBN 13: 978-0-9768040-8-6

Cover Design by: MYN

AS FEATURED ON TVS ACCESS HOLLYWOOD and E! Entertainment's "SECRET SOCIETIES OF HOLLYWOOD"

PRAISE FOR:
WHERES MY F*CKING LATTE:

FIVE STARS! I can tell you firsthand that what goes on behind-the-scenes of Hollywood's glittering facade is usually shocking, insane and full of sex offers. Where's My F*cking Latte perfectly captures the abusive and often hysterically unbelievable world of celebs and Tinseltown power-brokers and the culture of excess and entitlement they live in. Two thumbs WAY, WAY UP.

• Daniella Cracknell, Publicist to many of TVs iconic stars from Dick Clark, Howie Mandel, Geraldo Rivera, Mario Lopez to name a few

PRAISE FOR:

MARK YOSHIMOTO NEMCOFF

Imagine Howard Stern dropping acid with Trey Parker and Jon Stewart while driving around downtown L.A. and youre nearly there... PLAYBOY MAGAZINE

This book goes out to assistants everywhere.

Without whom, nothing would ever get done.

Real names in this book have been omitted

to protect the identities and jobs

of the sources.

WHERES MY F*CKING LATTE?

AND OTHER STORIES ABOUT BEING AN ASSISTANT IN HOLLYWOOD

MARK YOSHIMOTO NEMCOFF

FOREWORD

Every movie and TV star has one. So does every agent and manager. Some producers and studio execs have two or even three.

Im talking about an assistant.

In Hollywood, your assistant is your gatekeeper, gopher, confidant, and right hand.

Keep in mind most people wipe their ass with their right hand.

Truth is, nobody in Hollywood is treated worse than the assistant. I know this for a fact. For three years I was one myself.

Youre thinking it doesnt sound so bad, right?

Imagine an entry-level job most people would kill for.

Imagine the chance to work with some of the entertainment industrys top movers and shakers. Getting up close and seeing every detail of how millionaires do business. Being privy to secrets and tricks of the trade. Making friendships and cultivating relationships with agents, managers, stars and power brokers galore.

Imagine fetching coffee and sandwiches. Picking up dry cleaning. Making travel reservations then changing them twice at the last minute, and being yelled at for not getting an aisle seat. Fetching more coffee. Waiting at your boss house for the maid service to show up, and making sure they dont poach his stash of weed. Driving to Orange County to pick up special toothpicks from Europe because theyre the only ones your boss will use, and he needs them. Getting a call at home at four thirty a.m. from London because your boss doesnt like his hotel room, and wants you to phone the front desk to fix it instead of going downstairs and doing it himself.

Then imagine nothing you do is right. Imagine living in fear of being fired every time your boss screws up and blames it on you.

In the eyes of the people who sign your checks, you have no feelings. You are nobody. If you had to go, theyd find another fresh-faced kid to put at your desk before you could snap your fingers. Someone else whose spirit they could break with their whining, egomaniacal tantrums and relentless verbal abuse.

Hell, if Gunga Din had worked as an assistant in Hollywood, how many times would his boss have screamed in his face, Why are there no poppy seeds on this bagel?

But you put up with it.

Because you know this is the way in; the inside track to the keys to the kingdom.

Your own Porsche. Your own movies. Your own assistant to yell at.

Along the way you hear things, you see things.

Things youre not supposed to tell anyone. Not a soul.

Secrets.

Dirty little secrets

*****

The Guest Star (GS)

We had a really famous GS on our TV show one week, and since I had been a big fan of his for years, I practically begged to get the assignment to drive him.

The first day I picked him up I was a bit nervous and didnt say much, but he was pretty cool and we talked a little bit while I drove him home. I told him what time Id be picking him up the next morning, then I gave him my cell number just in case something came up.

On the second day we were in the middle of the twenty-five minute drive from his house to our soundstage when he told me, rather urgently, he had to pee. I told him I could stop at a fast food joint nearby, but he was very hesitant to do so. Instead, he spotted the half-full Snapple bottle sitting in my cup holder that had been there for days. He grabbed it, emptied the rest of my peach iced tea out the window, then proceeded to whip out his dick in my car.

Dont look, he told me. I thought he was just fucking around. I began laughing so hard I was afraid I was going to get us into an accident.

Without spilling a drop, he filled up the bottle. He twisted the cap back on and held it in his lap the rest of the drive. It was such an intensely weird moment, we didnt even talk about it during the rest of the ride.

When we arrived at the lot, I parked by the stage and he slipped his pee-filled bottle back into my cup holder as he was getting out of my car. He thought I didnt notice, but I did.

Later on, I told a buddy of mine, another PA, about what happened. He practically fell down in stitches. He kidded me that I should put the GSs pee up on eBay. It became a running gag, for the rest of the day whenever we saw each other.

Whats the high bid?

Last I saw it was twenty bucks.

I heard it might go to twenty-five.

And so it went, all day long until it was up around eight hundred and fifty bucks in our little joke by the end of the day.

That night, I got pulled off onto another job and someone else drove the GS back to his place. But I guessed that person must have told him something because as I was driving home late from work, I received an angry call from the GS. He started yelling at me that I better take his bottle of pee off of eBay or he was going to hurt me physically and financially. I mean, he was really blowing a gasket. When I finally got a word in edgewise, I tried to explain it was just a joke, and that I never put his bottle up for auction. He told me that when I picked him up in the morning Id better have the bottle with me to show him I still had it. I told him fine, then hung up before he got all heated up again.

And thats when I realized I was in trouble. I didnt actually have the bottle anymore. I had tossed it out into the trash back at the lot.

I thought about what I was going to tell him. I realized hed never believe me if I gave him the truth, so I stopped at a 7-Eleven near my apartment and picked up an identical bottle of Snapple Peach Iced Tea and chugged it.