By Dana Miller

The other evening I bummed a ride home from a former friend after a fine charity event. I say former because once upon a time we used to drink together, dine together, cruise together, and even vacation together. Today we quite honestly cannot stand one another. No real reason I can figure, just not digging each other's vibe anymore. So instead of a taxi, there I was hopping into his sleigh for 15 minutes of dreadful dumb talk. I drunkenly asked why we weren't friends anymore and we danced around the subject like Janet and Justin at the Super Bowl for the whole ride home. Thankfully no tits were revealed. We both know why we don't hang. We can't stand one another. There was no real episode leading to this falling out. I think one day he woke up and decided I was a dork and I did the same deciding he was a mean, pretentious, conceited, pathetic ass. Just damned evil, as well. I have come to assume he's terribly unhappy and just despicably mean down deep in his very soul. I simply and honestly don't do mean very well. Truth is maybe I'm completely and totally full of shit, but in my heart I believe it to be true. I was keen to take a shower after that slow crawl home. I felt a tad like a whore at a randy bachelor party with crap and crud falling out of my silly mouth like silverware clanking everywhere that even a simple idiot would not possibly believe. What a regrettable schmuck I can be. A few years ago I had another mean friend who went by the name of John Gaines. He was a super successful agent and executive VP at Agency for the Performing Arts (APA). He passed away some 15 years ago of complications from AIDS. I swear in watering holes all about town -- both straight and gay -- there were glasses clinked in unison to the tune of "Ding, Dong, the Witch is Dead." There was no heartfelt memorial for John. In fact, there was no memorial of any kind. John was a big shot who handled Steve Martin, Rick Moranis, Bernadette Peters, and Mary Tyler Moore, to name just a few. Oddly, I truly loved John. To me, he was full of life and funny as hell. A crazy, caustic cynic through and through. Yet he made me laugh all the time. But to the world, he was mean -- a real bastard. Studios hated him for being mean and bitchy, but his clients thought it was cool to have a bad ass pit bull in their camp. In truth, for the most part, they didn't like him either but as long as the evil degradation was focused at the suits on their behalf, all was well in Hollywood. Every week or so I would meet John for lunch at his regular table on the front patio of Le Dome restaurant. John would hold court regaling me with the very best stories of idiots in Tinseltown. I always left wondering what the hell he says about me when I'm not around. To the greater world, he was just absolutely vile. I was certain he was sadly headed for hell. Or so I thought. A couple of years after John passed I got a call from his business manager, Marvin Freedman. At the time I was volunteer chair of the board at AIDS Project Los Angeles. Marvin is a tough, no nonsense guy. The kind of chap I assume you want as a business manager. Marvin is like a nicer, Jewish version of Ebenezer Scrooge. There is a lovely heart there, you just had to scratch a while. So outta nowhere Marvin explained to me that John had willed a couple of former flames living trusts. One was sadly about to be available and the other was apparently months away. The recipient of a lliving trust lives off the interest and when they pass, the principle is given, or in this case donated per the policy holder's wishes. John Gaines, that son of a bitch, passed away fully knowing that he was making a $1,500,000 donation to an AIDS service organization whose services he never needed. I was blown away! In life he was viewed as a tough prick to most of the world. Yet in death he became a saint. Hell, truth is he was always a saint. Once over a pint Sir James Matthew Barrie said, "Shall we make a new rule of life from tonight: Always to try to be a little kinder than is necessary?"

We named the lobby of the APLA David Geffen Center on Vine Street after John Gaines. Over the years they have downsized their real estate time and again and today, while their lobby is small, there is no acknowledgment of either John or his amazing gift. I hope the powers that be can remedy that. We must not lose our history. John Gaines wasn't really a mean guy -- he just played one in Hollywood. That said, last week I still should have taken a taxi.

While on the topic, what the hell happened to Le Dome? Like the Brown Derby, Romanoff's, and Scandia, Le Dome was a true Hollywood legend. For over 25 years it was the superstar and dealmaker joint to hang and be seen. The "A" tables were the hottest ticket in town -- especially for lunch. The deals that were done over caviar and pasta are the stuff of Hollywood lore. Honestly, at night it looked a little like Disneyland's Haunted Mansion with marvelous mega jewels. One day I heard these two blue-haired babes next to me say: "Sally, I'm 74, but I'm thinking of getting a boob job." Sally said, "Oh, that's nothing, I'm thinking of having my asshole bleached." To which the first replied, "Honey, I can't picture your husband as a blond!" Not true, but you get the picture. They would put out fine china, the best crystal, and then... finally the wheelchair ramps for dinner at Le Dome. Four years ago the place shut down, and the guru's behind Linq, Dolce, Katana, and a dozen other hot spots sunk over $2 million into the joint. It re-opened to great fanfare and nobody cared. I mean nobody. The lunch crowd had drifted and the dinner crowd had died. What a shame. Councilman John Duran tells me the legendary site is for sale. What a dumb ass business a fancy restaurant appears to me to be. Seems so agonizingly silly.

That said, I love the Sunset Tower and its Sunset Bar. You probably know it as the old Argyle Hotel and before that it was the St. James Club. The Sunset Tower was it's original name back when it was built in the early '30s. There was a Standard Oil gas station across the street where the Saddle Ranch parties on today. The Sunset Tower was a landmark the moment it opened. It originally was built as luxury apartments. Howard Hughes, John Wayne, Marilyn Monroe, Errol Flynn, Elizabeth Taylor, Frank Sinatra, and Bugsy Siegel all lived there at one time or another. It's been in a ton of great movies: Get Shorty, Strange Days, The Italian Job, and one of my faves, The Player. It's classy, elegant and pretty fab Art Deco and after years of idiots trying to tear it down it is thankfully on the National Register of Historic Places. I spent a few nights there when it was the St. James Club after leaving the old Numbers on Sunset next to Greenblatt's Deli. It was a tad safer than driving home to the beach, but, truly, the room was the cheapest luxury item of the evening if you get my drift. Today there is a stunning bar there called Tower Bar. If you used to throw a few back at the Argyle you won't recognize the joint now. There is a terrific fireplace and seating tucked for privacy that I frankly wish they had back in my Numbers trolling days. Truthfully, I did a few coyote fucks at the old joint. You know where you wake up and rather than stir the trick/lad who inexplicably has become less attractive than six hours ago and is still sleeping next to you, you elect to chew your own arm off to escape?...Well, today it's so nice and elegant I'm baffled and frankly amazed I'm even allowed in the joint. The service is impeccable and it stands today as one of the great watering holes in our town. As I write this I lift me glass to you for taking the time to read my ramblings. Cheers! Happy Spring to you and yours.

See You Out & About

Contact me at Malibudana@aol.com.