All That You Leave Behind: A Memoir(13)
Me: hey dad
Dad: hey pal.
Me: i finally have that fox searchlight phone call today at 6:30
Dad: good luck with that dolly.
Me: advice = know when to talk and when not to, anything else?
Dad: go thru website and have good knowledge of what they have out and what they have coming. and the problems and opportunities of marketing those movies. who they are for and how they are positioned.
one of the things that they do very well is wait for something to catch on with a small, but important audience and then leverage that into wider awareness and interest. instead of being a studio that carpet bombs, they fight from the hills, like guerillas.
Me: oo thats good, i will surf the web today
I was well prepped, and the interview went smoothly. They said they would be in touch. I waited and waited until I finally got a phone call welcoming me as a 2009 summer intern in the publicity department. I was super jazzed. My dad responded via email with a “looks promising.”
On my first day of the internship I woke up early to figure out an outfit. Jeans with a shirt and T.J.Maxx blazer seemed best. I didn’t have any fancy shoes, so Converse would have to suffice. I studied myself in the mirror. My dyed-blond hair was pulled back in a way that hid my eyebrow piercing. I thought I looked fine. I figured it was okay to skip the shower and allow extra time for coffee and breakfast.
To mark the occasion, my dad said he would drive us into the city. Usually I would be relegated to the DeCamp 66, a New Jersey to Midtown express bus where talking or any sort of movement was frowned upon. Instead of sitting among strangers on a heavily air-conditioned bus, I would be able to prep for the day with my dad.
I could tell he was on edge the second we got in the car. I asked him what his day looked like. He said, “Nope, we are going to talk about you.” He told me that my outfit needed work. He then asked if I had showered. I responded defensively: “No, I showered last night. Jeez.” He thought on this for a second and told me, “You are neither smart enough nor pretty enough to not shower every day.”
I was taken aback. I had never given a lot of thought to how I looked before because it hadn’t seemed to matter. Apparently, it mattered now. He informed me that I was about to act as his representative in New York’s small media fishbowl, and the least I could do was put in a modicum of effort.
My dad lit a cigarette and blew a long stream of smoke out the window as he weaved between cars. “Let’s talk about Fox Searchlight.” He quizzed me on who was the president of the company. My face instantly turned red and I told him quietly I didn’t know. “I know the head of my department, though,” I interjected. Diana Loomis, senior vice president of Fox Searchlight Publicity: I had done a cursory Google search as per his advice. My dad launched into background on the president and what he knew about the company, before telling me he was disappointed in the substandard job I had done in preparing myself, both physically and mentally, for this job.
He went down the laundry list of things I should know to do before an interview, first day of work, or professional meeting: “Bring a notebook. Do two to three hours of research before the meeting. Arrive early. Offer to pay the check. Know their background and have questions prepared, and, above all, do your fucking homework.”
My face flushed again; I felt so stupid and small. I didn’t respond but instead let his reprimand sit there in the car with us. He eventually plugged in his iPod and let the music blare. The tension remained throughout the ride.
We parked the car at a garage on Eighth Avenue near his office. As we walked onto the street he put his arm around me and told me he loved me. That was the thing about his flashes of anger or disappointment: They always ended in a hug.
From the outside, the News Corp. Building on Sixth Avenue was deeply intimidating. I wondered, as I made my way through the lobby, if I had remembered to bring my ID. After checking in at the security desk I was told to take a seat. A smartly dressed woman with a blond bob came down to retrieve me. Her name was Sarah, an intern like me. Realizing I looked about five years younger than she did, I now understood my dad’s concern about the lack of shower.
Sarah ran me through our duties, and I smiled pleasantly as I took in the information. It was our job to go through the five New York papers every day to see who was talking about Fox Searchlight’s movies. They called each hit like this a press break. If we missed even one, it would be an embarrassing oversight for the publicity department.
After a couple of hours of reading the dailies, I was introduced to my actual supervisor, Cary, Diana Loomis’s assistant. Cary wore sunglasses atop her head, four-inch heels on her feet, and had a Starbucks iced coffee, half-finished, perpetually located in her right hand. She eyed me up and down and said, “Okay, great. Sarah can show you the ropes.” Clearly she had tired of the revolving door of interns. Sarah told me that she was the senior publicity intern and admitted that she was gunning for an actual J-O-B. I nodded. I told her that I just wanted to get some experience and see if publicity was for me. No threat here.
After a run to get lunch for the team (all salads), Sarah said she would introduce me around the office. It was mostly people looking up momentarily from their respective computers, but finally we knocked on a closed door and a man with a beard and warm eyes invited us in. James Finn, vice president of national publicity, invited me to take a seat, after which he asked about school and which movies of theirs I’d seen. It was comfortable and easygoing and I felt I aced the conversation. At the very end of our chat, he walked me out, smiled, and said, “Tell your dad I said hello.”