I love these parties celebrating my movies that have generated more than three hundred Oscar nominations. I’m the guy everyone wants to talk to. I confess it wasn’t like that in high school or college or when I started in show business as a concert promoter. I saw those looks a million times: hey, you’re fat and ugly, women might as well have said as they turned to better looking guys. I don’t know how I survived. I deserved the best. I was smarter and more creative than all those women and their pretty pickups who didn’t notice as I stood by walls and watched.
Now it’s different in Rome and London and Paris and Cannes and New York and Beverly Hills where people look at me and smile. They’re enchanted by my intelligence, charm, and power. And I sense some of these beautiful young actresses think I’m sexy, too. Frankly, I know a lot of them do. Tonight I’m in… It doesn’t matter. I only go to wonderful places where the hottest women hover. Here’s one standing sleek next to me. I know she’s afraid to speak. She’s thinking there’s the great Harvey Weinstein.
“Hello,” I say. “I’ve seen your screen test.”
“I sure have, and it’s wonderful. I’d like to discuss your career as soon as possible.”
“Thank you so much. I’ll ask my agent to call you tomorrow.”
“Why wait? Come on up to my office right now.”
“You have an office in this hotel?”
“Of course. A suite. I work every day.”
I nod for a female aide to follow us. Upstairs, I sit at my desk and motion for the lovely actress to relax on my sofa. I always make sure I have an official desk in my suite. “Let’s drink some champagne.”
My aide walks into the kitchenette.
“No thanks,” says the actress.”
“Oh, just one.”
“I don’t drink at all.”
“Okay, then only a sip.”
I sense discomfort.
“Let’s talk about your career.”
“You have so much potential, and I have many great stories I’ll produce all over the world.”
“I love your serious movies and the way you develop characters,” she says.
“Thanks,” I say to her, and smile at my aide as she hands me a glass of bubbly. She then gives the actress her glass.
I raise mine and say, “Cheers.”
She puts the glass to her lips but doesn’t drink any.
“Here,” I say, rising and moving to the sofa. I sit next to her, my right leg touching her left. “Let’s drink to your getting a good supporting part very soon.”
She reluctantly clicks my glass but only wets her lips.
“What experience did you have, before the screen test?”
“I was in lots of high school and college plays. After that I did some commercials and got small parts in a couple of movies.”
“We’ll change that.”
I drain my glass and grab the bottle on the coffee table. “I’d offer you more but there’s nowhere to put it.”
“When do you think I could get a good part?”
“I’ll look into that tomorrow. How about a massage?”
“Just let me rub your shoulders a little.”
“Where’d the lady go?” she asks.
“She’s got to entertain the guests downstairs.”
“We better join them.” She braces to stand.
I put a strong hand on her arm. “Come on, just a little massage.”
“I have a boyfriend.”
“He wouldn’t mind what I’m talking about.”
“Yes he would.”
“He doesn’t have to know.”
“I’m really uncomfortable.”
“Okay, okay. I respect that. We’ll go downstairs in just a minute. First, excuse me while I dash to the men’s room.”
She’s going to leave, I know it. She’ll be gone before I get back. She doesn’t want to be with me, but I need her, and underdress rapidly and put and a big robe and, smiling, enter the living room. She looks alarmed and jumps to her feet. I walk fast between her and the door.
“Please relax,” I say. “I just want us to take a little shower together.”
“Mr. Weinstein, I’m not going to do that. I came up here for business.”
“Okay, I get it. I only ask, then, that you watch me take a shower.”
“I don’t do things like that.”
“Just a little while. You wouldn’t have to touch me.”
“I’d like to go now.”
“You’re blocking the door.”
I open my robe and place a strong hand around myself and pump hard and in only a minute or so exclaim, “Oh, god,” and she rushes past me and out the door.