Michael Tolkin introduces the author of the hour at a 7:00 p.m. SRO crowd at Book Soup on Sunset Boulevard:
“How many studio executives does it take to screw in a lightbulb?”
(wait)
“Does it have to be a lightbulb?”
(laughter)
“Most of us here knew Rodney when he was a weasel at Paramount, Twentieth Century Fox, and some criminal outfit called Bellerophon, where he oversaw production of sixteen motion pictures. Those guys stiffed me for that polish I did on Plasma Sluts.”
(laughter)
“Entertainment Weekly described his debut novel Sin Utero as ‘House of Cards meets Stephen King.’ Please welcome an exciting new voice, Rodney Muir!”
(applause)
At the podium with a microphone, the novelist addresses the packed house: “Thank you Book Soup for having us. Thank you, Tyson Cornell, for publishing me. Seeing all of you here tonight under one roof reminds me of my first wedding.”
(laughter)
“Hopefully you’ll read the book and not the coverage.”
(laughter)
“This is from my first novel Sin Utero.”
(silence)
“‘Not good—thought the suicide bomber as he tried unsuccessfully to catch a cab on La Cienega, waving his arms and shouting “Taxi” to indifferent and off-duty drivers who sped past him. Clinking down Olympic, the eighty pounds of nails and screws and metal shrapnel he had purchased at Home Depot made walking almost impossible and his vest was starting to itch. Raising a hand to shield his eyes from the sun’s harsh rays, a yellow LA Taxi pulled over and he climbed into the backseat, holding his bellybomb, appearing more like a pregnant man than a martyr who intended to destroy the forces of evil that had already occupied Beverly Hills, Brentwood, Laurel Canyon, parts of Beachwood, and Malibu Colony. The cab driver, Palestinian, first name, Yousef, recently diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer, would eventually die in a Cairo dungeon after his rendition did not produce the information desired by the State Department. As Yousef picked up his clipboard, the passenger in the back seat coughed ostentatiously to cover the sound of the Glad bags sloshing with Hexamine, H2H2, sugar, and Citric Acid C6H8O7. For an instant, the passenger feared he would prematurely expostulate. A silence filled the taxicab as they hit traffic on Olympic heading toward Century City and the end of the passenger’s life. The suicide bomber powered down his window to feel the sun on his forehead as the taxicab rode up the Avenue of the Stars ramp and arrived at Nakatomi Plaza, where valet parking attendants opened his door. Alone in the elevator, he looked at his reflection in the mirrored ceiling until the doors opened, revealing a posse of unsmiling agents waiting for the janitor to emerge from the lift and release the IED—’”
Later, during the Q & A with the audience: “As a studio executive, you developed hundreds of scripts and passed on thousands, did you always want to be a writer?”
Rodney: “I think I was born to write this book.”
“Congratulations on Sin Utero. I chased the rights after I read the galley.”
Rodney: “Thank you, where do you work?”
“I work at Hulu. My question is: when you were writing this loosely autobiographical novel about the Starbucks murders, did you ever think if Sin Utero became a best seller, your psychotic triplet sister might show up at the launch party? Maybe she’s here tonight. Maybe you’ll sign her copy.”
Rodney: “That’s your novel.”
(laughter)
“You have a blurb from the biggest movie star in the world. What’s Legion really like?”
Rodney: “Antwon’s the best. We first met when his agent Lester Barnes called me to suggest Antwon for the role of the psychiatrist in Faith Don’t Leave. I took Antwon to dinner at Roscoe’s Chicken and Waffles and I left the table convinced he was the shrink.”
“Were you on set when Justice for Janitors gunned down the writers and the craft service guy?”
Rodney: “No, but I went to the ‘Faith Who Left’ memorial at Hollywood Forever. I overheard these assistants talking about the funeral and one of the assistants asked the other if she knew the victims and the assistant said she didn’t know anyone. ‘Then why did you go?’ And the assistant said, ‘Are you kidding? I went for the contacts.’”