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Looking for Harvey Weinstein

by Shirley & Holly Yanez

248 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #04-0650; ISBN 1-4120-2822-1; US$25.00, C$32.00, EUR20.80, £15.00

A hilarious documented account of a three-year journey through Hollywood, promoting the modern day Michelangelo to the elusive celebrity, in the cultural vacuum known to the outside world as LA.

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About the Book      About the Authors      Excerpts      Catalogue Info

About the Book A hilarious documented account of a 3-year journey through Hollywood that came about when two crazy British evangelists for genius found themselves face-to-face with the modern-day Michelangelo. Selling fresco to the elusive celebrity, in the cultural vacuum known to the outside world as Los Angeles, would be a piece of cake. The likes of rockers Tommy Lee and Ozzy Osbourne could use the heightened art profile. The Girls, students of genius, relentlessly aspiring for scholarships themselves, knew reinventing the wheel was unnecessary to promote their master. Alliance with a giant was imperative. Harvey Weinstein was chosen. Getting to him would be impossible apparently, but Socrates had found Plato. If Columbus could sell his death voyage in 1492 then the Girls could sell art to Harvey 500 years later. Little did they know then it may take 500 years. When all hope is dashed, all doors closed firmly and all money spent, what happens to the human spirit? Does Hollywood close ranks and mask all their pain with the typical "Bruce Willis (big strong man saves the day) Happy Ending" or do the Girls dig down deep and come out fighting to lock in the real ending? It is only when the reader is touched by "The Revelation" (Chapter Four) that the childish simplicity of this story becomes evident. The truth for many is a bitter pill. For the Girls and now the reader, once embraced, like cigarettes, it is highly addictive. Read it and find yourself in it.

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About the Authors

The Girls do look alike and sound alike, their English dulcet tones making them impossible to tell apart but they are completely different, if that makes any sense. One a realist, the other a dreamer. One blond forty-something going on sixteen and the other brunette, thirty eight going on seventy, two peas in a pod and truly absolutely fabulous. Two great minds between two average bodies but fortunately for them, both blessed with above average confidence. Definitely all fur coat and no knickers as they say in Yorkshire. Their training, their own school of life, the perfect world for two unique friends to run amuck. Patrons and benefactors to the world of fine wine, no regional prejudices. Open to all grapes regardless of color or origin. Agricultural herbalists promoting ecological remedies for an all round feeling of well being. Tirelessly dedicated to the legalization of marijuana and both smokers of cigarettes, primarily to indicate one's nationality. Their one and only true vice. Last but not least ideas people, unconventional enough to excite but business savvy enough to keep the bottom line firmly in focus. Harsh but fair, lazy but honest with passionate aspirations to take social climbing to a new level. Too much hard work leaves little time for pleasure. So there you have it. Excerpts From Chapter 1 The nice man on the other end, Alan Nerob, was calling on behalf of his actor client, Robert Downey Junior. A Hollywood hell raiser with a bad reputation and a wicked cocaine habit, he was someone who needed good P.R. like a plant needs water and the perfect celebrity for The Girls art show. According to Alan, Robert was unavailable for three months but perhaps would consider appearing in their show later down the road. After going in and out of nick more times than Rodney King, he had been forced back into rehab by the establishment for what seemed to The Girls as nothing more than a personal choice. 'So this is Freedom, you must be joking.' The poor bastard was in jail too. Oh well at least he had a release date to look forward to. "Can you believe that. The only reply we get back comes from a drug taking out of work actor, who might help us if he can stay out of nick long enough." It was enough to make a nun loose her virginity. After a big hit on the joint they decided to call Walter. Kevin had not got back to them with a date for Filthy and The Girls fancied a night out. Of course, as always, Kevin was far too busy to chit chat but Walter confirmed he was checking things out and any time they needed VIP passes, no problem. Another day came to an end in LA LA Land, as The Girls headed back to their own cells. Working so hard for no money was beginning to make them sick. "We could take the American Express out for a spin and just pray it works." "If this is the last blow out, we need to wait until the right opportunity arises." It was another fucking sunny day in paradise. Sending the emotional plea to their new rock star mate, the day before paid off. As they opened up hot mail, they had a reply from Tommy. AWESOME!!!!!!!! One world. T xxxx . After two minutes of silence The Girls just didn't get it. Although The Girls liked the whole celebrity thing, they wanted results. Telling off a rock star first thing induced rolling a joint. "Is that it? Is he thick or what? We tell him we need his help and that's his response." "Maybe he was busy this morning. He is famous for Gods sake." "Hit him back. This is for fucking charity." Dear kinky@rockstar.com, Good morning. How are you? We are so glad you think we are awesome but can you tell Carl to call us? Time is running out. Love The Girls XX. Send. "Send another fax to Jack Nicholson telling him Tommy is in our show, two bad boys together? Maybe being Patron of the school was not wild enough for him but hanging with a rock star is a whole new ball game" It was decided and another begging fax faxed its way to Sandy, this time asking Jack to appear in their celebrity art show. "I was thinking last night, we didn't say thank you to Harvey for sending Barbara our way. We should send him something wonderful. Something just from us." "For the man who has everything? Something rare and precious, sweet smelling and horribly expensive." I know you fancy him but we can't send him a bag of chronic." From Chapter 2 On arrival at the posh Peninsula Hotel they encountered a flurry of valet activity for a Thursday. They had to flash some thigh to get noticed. Something big was happening as the paparazzis' flashing cameras caught various extremely good looking folk going into the hotel. Had they hit the jackpot? Yes it seemed so. The hotel was hosting a pre Oscar luncheon that day for all the nominees and was heaving with Hollywood Royalty. It could not have been better planned. Powdering one's nose and a quick hit on a joint was essential before any battle could commence and the valets patiently held open the car doors waiting for The Girls to disembark. Moving quickly in such a fabulous situation was critical. Maybe Michael Caine was there or even better Harvey. A glimpse in the rear view mirror and life changed in a split second. One nearly lost an eye that afternoon thanks to an out of control Chanel lip gloss. A white Rolls Royce, personal license plate Scott 1 had just pulled up behind them and at the wheel was the hottest director in town, Mr. Ridley Scott. They almost came in their pants. The Girls could not believe their luck. Not only was he more famous than Michael Caine, he was up for an Oscar, what a result. In this situation timing was everything. Being celebrity stalkers of the highest level, they had to act. There they were about ten feet away from a huge celebrity but engineering a meeting would not be simple. Before one could say Jack Robinson, Ridley had disappeared. How did that happen? Where had he gone? This called for stalking at its very finest. To let a gift like Ridley Scott through the net would mean pink slips all around. The Girls dashed inside the hotel, antennas up, instinctively working with team like precision that would make the SAS proud. Ridders had been quickly ushered inside and away down a long hallway by a million different people when they spied him. Chasing after him was their only option. In a split second they were off. It was the chance of a lifetime. Ridley's pace quickened. So did The Girls, surprisingly unhampered by falling Victoria Secret Thing Highs. The gates to that special luncheon opened just like those of an embassy, waiting to embrace one of it's own into a safe haven away from foreign policemen in beaten up Citroens. After a horrific experience on the auto route with stinky cheese and an offensive hitchhiker they didn't buy French automobiles anymore however The Girls knew once Ridley was inside they had no hope of ever Penetrating his Hollywood. They could not fail. "Hold on to your pouchette." From Chapter 3 So where should they sit on this magnificent vessel to obtain the best late afternoon sun? The induction had been intense, but they were prepared to step this trip up a notch and have some sport with their boys. They were sailing on the Cote D'Azur, with a nine to two boy girl ratio, for Christ's sake. The Mute, was sitting up on one side of the boat, his legs dangling over the side. He looked sulky. With the Swedish twins already in the bag, The Girls had held hands with them, he was next on the list to be made friends with. Bare footed they approached. Nobody spoke. The Girls loved 'One flew over the Cuckoos Nest' the Jack Nicholson triumph, especially the scene in the film where the giant Indian mad mute had spoken. They had learnt to occasionally use the power of silence. On this occasion it worked. The Mute did speak first but his serious message not what they had expected. He firmly told them to sit down next to him, to listen for the word tacking from the captain and to make sure they were holding on tightly. "He's very serious." "I'm making friends with him. I expect your support." "I'm not really concerned about your love making rocking this ocean." Things started out fairly serenely on that Sunday night in May somewhere off the Southern French coast. With John at the helm everyone joked and chatted as they motored out to the start of the race. The crew's common denominator was a passion for World Cup racing and equal levels of aptitude that made the team a force to be reckoned with in the sailing world. They were so good, having two total imbeciles, when it came to sailing, aboard was not viewed as too much of a hindrance and the weight would be a bonus. One of the few times in life carrying one or two extra pounds as a girl is not a problem. The Americans found The Girls hysterically funny and surprisingly attractive regardless of how credible their ties to the Royal Family were. Jonathon had used his dashing good looks and perfect smile to charm a rather tiddly Sarah Ferguson at a party apparently two nights prior and thought perhaps the connection with The Girls and Gerry Casenove her US publicist could somehow help him impress her. Yes rich but sadly stupid. Ah Sarah, the Libran that loved to love. Perhaps he'd at least get to kiss her feet. She was a duchess after all. For him the appeal was the title. What a coup taking Sarah home to meet Mummy would be. Well if he was telling the truth she was single for goodness sake and allowed to go out to lunch with a very handsome American. Even when you're a Duchess promoting Weight Watchers one still has to eat. The banter on the boat was fast and furious between all those who spoke English. Andre didn't say much, Paulo spoke Portuguese here and there and The Mute not surprisingly was silent. The Girls kept their audience's attention with tales from Cowes Week. Even though neither of The Girls had ever been to the regatta, they were familiar with it as part of the Season and had enough information to confuse and amuse. Of course they knew about the Whitbread Cup, it was sponsored by a brewery and on a wild night out a few months back they had gleaned some now useful information from a pair of drunk but very sexy Kiwis. New Zealand had won the America's Cup twice. Sailing added to the New Zealander's world class accomplishments: sheep farming, rugby and cricket had the assembled group howling. The Girls appeared knowledgeable and relaxed. All was well. As they approached the buoy that marked the start of the race, the motor was turned off and the crew fell silent. The coastline was a thin line on the horizon, and The Girls realized they were stranded. The boat came into line and suddenly they were off. The activity was frenetic, shouting, hauling, pushing, pulling, jibbing, jabbing, bobbing, jobbing, The Girls hung on for dear life. Within 10 seconds two more pairs of designer sunglasses were history and within 15 seconds The Girls streaming eyes were so thick with black mascara they could barely see. "Stand by to tack," John shouted and then the most terrible of all terrible things happened. "No I can't, you don't understand, No, I can't get across to the other side on my belly, No, Oh my god. Ahhhhhhhhh!" From Chapter 4 The meeting with Donna was in a small sandwich joint across the road from the TV network's Wilshire Blvd offices. It was nothing like the first time they had lunched together. The sad reality, Donna paid for her own sandwich that day and The Girls didn't eat, too embarrassed to say they had no money for lunch. Their humiliation was lessened by the fact they looked fabulous or so they thought. After talking excitedly of how explosive Charles and Jay Z would be together Donna helped them develop a pitch for the show. She then went into a pitch of her own. Let's just say the less said about that the better. The Girls were mortified when Donna offered roles on 'Style Court', E's answer to Jerry Springer, criticizing losers dress sense and humiliating them on national television. After everything they had been through Donna had absolutely no idea the type of people she was dealing with. Her parting request was for Jay Z's telephone number. She, the television executive, was having trouble reaching his people. The Girls could relate and handed it to over without a peep. Having completely fallen flat on their faces as celebrity stalkers, being offered the tragic E appearance was, they thought, the final straw then the polo club luncheon proved fruitless. Was it truly the end? Although they met many people all mesmerized by the Girl's quest to bring his royal highness to their club no one was actually able to help. It was nice to get dressed up but even after discussing the details of the proposed polo event with a very official club manager at length, the quote they requested never arrived. Weren't they the client in that situation? Los Angeles did indeed feel like the twilight zone. Everything they touched turned to shit. The Jailers had taken great pleasure in executing the credit cards with a sharp pair of scissors, ouch, and their business account was frozen solid. Unless a miracle occurred the future looked grim for the two English art dealers from Yorkshire. Life in Hollywood for two English best friends, married to American jailers, was not working out. Without cash they were ineffective. They were despondent and for once silent. "Let's pop into the Peninsula and see Peter Dickinson." They had met the manager of the hotel, the day they had bumped into Ridley and had kept his card just in case. The Peninsula Hotel meant a fifty buck tab the minute one sat down. Those days were long gone. They couldn't afford a glass of wine, never mind a bottle. They needed a reason to be there. Peter became the reason. The Girls didn't know what they would talk to him about but surely he would buy them one drink. While they waited on the patio, for the extremely busy hotel manager, The Girls had a legitimate window of opportunity to scope out the joint. Many aspects of this tale are startling. What happened next for me is one of the highlights. Sitting in The Peninsula Hotel with not a penny between them, waiting for Peter Dickinson to join the table, there, not ten feet away was Mr. Michael Caine, The Dirty Rotten Scoundrel himself. Who said timing was everything? He was dressed very casually, a contrast to his exquisite luncheon companion, his wife Shakira. The Caines looked relaxed. The Girls were terrified. They had to do something but what. ---------------------------------- The rest of the afternoon was spent in a purple haze on a purple couch, talking about music, art and the things that mattered in life. It was The Girls, five black rappers and their leader Bambino Brown, a cross between Lenny Kravetz and James Bond, or so The Girls thought. He was an entrepreneur in his own right, a DVD and a CD already in distribution with some of the Mom and Pop records stores around Los Angeles and a deal was pending with Violet Brown at Wherehouse. Mr. Beloved and several of the entourage vied for The Girls attention but Bambino stole the limelight without even trying. He was a star, a genius and would become their next protegee. They had committed to send Jimmy Brinks to Big John and would honor that even though the Forsters had been so horrible. That wasn't Jimmy's fault. Bambino would be their, own subtle, inclusion to Big John. That door was open, thanks to Julie and was an opportunity not to be missed. By the end of that amazing day, jet lagged and tired they had a management deal with Bambino Brown. Mr. Beloved was not too happy but he could smell the rose and the green and wasn't going anywhere. In the weeks that followed they visited the studio many times, always managing to avoid the Forsters and London for that matter. They liked London and loved his music dubbing him the next Quincy Jones but his stuff was not saleable within their circles. They couldn't help him, not yet anyway. Most of the work on Bambino was done back at The Beach Cottage. They got a guy from an old friend able to get Bambinos DVD into a national retail distributor, Navarre, thus enabling The Girls to approach buyers in retail stores like Target and Walmart. They were certain the sell through would be massive. Bambino's vision of a New Westcoast for rap, was so cutting edge at the time and later became a self fulfilling prophesy for him. His CD was brilliant and they played it constantly. His message was true, hopeful and raw, both sexually and spiritually. It took Bambino to re instill in The Girls that life itself was indeed a blessing. Veracity Management's attack on BMG, Los Angeles was fuelled by Bambino's song 'Menage Me', a tribute to sexual freedom. Let's not forget neither of The Girls had had good sex for a very long time so the controversial lyrics became their anthem. Larry's card, from Holly's chance encounter, was pulled out and a monumental three bottle canvas call was made to the man behind Nelly, Derrick Thompson. His whistle was wet. He knew of Bambino already. Juan, Derricks assistant was bubbly and helpful. Always make friends with the assistant worked yet again and they had their meeting with Derrick. Lunch with Larry, much further down the food chain needed to happen first. Information about BMG gleaned from that meeting would be very useful if they needed a few nuggets for Derrick. Larry, a scout for Monty Olsen and desperate to break into the music business was actually an accountant and hated his life but they did have some great stuff for him. They were in play and this could make his career. Responsible for the next Nelly or Fifty his future would be secure. Larry had less drive than a Reliant Robin and didn't quite see things the way The Girls did. However at that lunch in a back street cafe off Santa Monica Blvd he did say he would listen to the music, then pass it on to Monty. They did make it clear if he didn't, they would phone Monty directly. The fear of that for Larry was surely enough to ensure he kept to his word. Then as if by magic Ozzy Ozbourne appeared from nowhere. My god, what was happening, they were sitting with a music scout from B.M.G. and there was their old mate Ozzy. "Ozzy, it us, Art Interiors, The Girls from Yorkshire, remember." "If that's a coke, I'm the Queen of England." Ozzy disorientated holding a big gulp was quickly ushered inside the cafe by his attendants. Larry mortified his hour was up turned back into an accountant and bid The Girls farewell. They were staying put. That was obvious. Several trips to the bathroom, lots of eye contact with Ozzy and he wanted to play. The entourage had him on a very tight lease, however. It reeked of the Tommy Lee and Vinny Vignola situation and The Girls were put off. They were just finishing two watered down diet cokes when Jon, from Newcastle, Ozzy's friend and long time manager joined them at their table. He wanted to know what all this art thing was about. The Girls told the story of Ilia and the painting once again. How their endless conversations, messages and faxes to his office had been ignored and how they had failed to offer Ozzy a piece of Ilia's work, in return for some powerful media. The selected painting 'The Cat and the Mouse.' a satanic representation of the struggle the cold war produced for everyone in Russia, not just Ilia, they believed perfect for Ozzy. If the truth be known Jon felt like a complete arsehole and Ozzy invited The Girls to bring the painting to the studio across the road. He was recording with Ringo Starr and they could all hang out. 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