Here’s how I got to meet Tom Cruise.
There was a cover story in the New York Times Magazine about me. Tom Cruise read it and called one of his agents at Creative Artists. He wanted to talk to James Patterson.
I happened to be out in LA, and Creative Artists (they’re also my agents, though I’m on a much lower rung than Tom Cruise) reached me in my room at the Peninsula. “Tom Cruise wants to meet you.” That sounded a little presumptuous, but I was up for it. Then the agent explained the drill.
I was to wait in my room for another phone call. Okay, I can do that. I would then be told that Tom Cruise was ready to see me. Okay, got it. A town car would be waiting for me outside the Peninsula. Got it. I’m on my way to the front door. I’m walking fast. The town-car driver would have an address but I wasn’t supposed to tell him who I was going to see. Cool. So this is like a Tom Cruise adventure movie—like Mission: Impossible.
I hopped in the town car and was driven to the imposing front gate of a big house somewhere in Beverly Hills. The driver leaned back and said, “Oh, hey, Tom Cruise lives here.”
Tom Cruise stood in the driveway to greet me. He had me at hello. He and I shared breakfast—really fresh fruit, really crunchy granola, really hot and delicious coffee. His young daughter, Suri, sat in his lap for the whole meal. It was clear that they were very close, and Suri was a doll.
I found Tom to be smart and a total pleasure to talk to. Also, he’s not that short. We were together for a good two hours that day. He told me to bring him any projects I thought would be right for him. I never did, but only because I honestly didn’t feel I had anything big enough for him. I mean, he wasn’t going to be the next Alex Cross. Although in Hollywood, you never know.
Tom walked me out to the town car and he even scribbled down his personal phone number for me.
This is crazy, but I still have it in my wallet.