A day or two after that, the FedEx guy was back. “Dave, please let me know your thoughts,” read the note attached to the box. Inside was a gleaming, state-of-the-art professional-capacity blender with an LCD screen.
Concentrating on school became increasingly difficult. I’d find myself sitting in economics class, lost in some fantasy about the Dave Lieberman segment on the E! entertainment channel. Nights, I’d lie awake thinking about the dishes I’d cook for Leno and the sarcastic things I’d say to Letterman.
But Leno and Letterman never called back, and the friendly producer from The Early Show phoned only to tell me I’d been canceled. He gave me some story about Tracy Smith having to fly off to California, but I didn’t believe it for a minute. I was sure they’d seen the tapes and nixed the segment because they didn’t like me. To top it all off, I hadn’t seen the FedEx guy for almost a week.
As I began to study for my finals, I could feel the confidence draining from me like air from a spiked balloon. What had I been thinking, scheduling all those meetings in New York? I braced myself for the disappointment of my life.
My first meeting in New York was morning coffee with a top literary agent. I stepped into the elevator and was whooshed into the sky. The guy on the phone sounded tough and cursed liberally, so I’d pictured a burly businessman, but the slight fellow who emerged from his giant leather chair seemed soft-spoken and mild—at least until he started going off about the “shit-storm” that was headed my way. His office was lined with titles I recognized from the best-seller section at Barnes & Noble. “Are those all books you’ve done?” I asked him like an idiot. “Yeah,” he said. “Things have gone well.” Apparently they have.
My next stop was an early lunch with another literary agent. It took us a couple of minutes to get to our table at Citarella because we stopped at practically every other one along the way to say hello to one industry person or another. She introduced me to various bigwigs, who shook my hand and looked at me as though I were actually someone important. The dark-suited waiters addressed her by name, and after they’d cleared our entrées returned to the table with more desserts than I could count. “Compliments of the chef,” they said. Over lunch we talked about the exciting things we would do with a cookbook, and by the time we walked out of there I’d forgotten all about Letterman and was off on a dream about my soaring literary career.
I spent the rest of the afternoon riding the elevators of other fancy publishing houses, where editors greeted me warmly and talked animatedly about the things we’d accomplish together. We grazed bookshelves, thumbed through catalogs, and exchanged ideas about the kind of products best suited to my “image.”
At a quaint sidewalk café on the Upper West Side, I chatted with a producer from ABC over salads and rum and Cokes, then excused myself politely and sped downtown for dinner number two. By the time I found the group from the British production company—huddled around a low table in the dimly lit basement of The Mercer Kitchen—I’d braved an entire restaurantful of chic, black-clad people and was having major doubts about the outfit I’d chosen. But they welcomed me kindly and told me to order whatever I wanted. They also requested several bottles of expensive wine.
When we emptied onto Prince Street, it was well past midnight. Still, it somehow seemed perfectly reasonable when someone suggested we wander over to their office to view the tapes I’d brought along. They apparently liked what they saw, because as they showed me out of the cavernous, loftlike space they told me to FedEx copies as quickly as possible.
I hailed a cab and headed back uptown. It was a hazy night, but as the taxi made its way across Central Park, I could make out the imposing buildings rising high above the trees. I rolled down the window and breathed deep the damp night air. The day’s events blurred together, and I did all I could to figure out whether or not any of it had been real.
It had, of course, and the insanity has gone on from there. A couple of weeks ago, MTV’s College Television Network was at my place filming two segments that are currently playing in college towns across the country. I have a literary agent working with me on a cookbook and a broadcast agent who’s hooking me up with some of the most sought-after production companies out there. Who knew a college road trip would lead directly to a career path? Not me, certainly, but I can’t deny that I’m absolutely enjoying the ride.
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