The Mailroom: Hollywood History From The Bottom Up - Plot & Excerpts
He shouldn’t be confused with the late Marty Klein who worked at APA (Agency for the Performing Arts), in Los Angeles. That Marty was a nice guy. This Marty looked like a cross between John Larroquette and Richard Nixon—a big, jowly, angry face. Plus he was always in a hurry and very self-centered. He thought whatever he did was the most important thing when in fact all he did was book Sammy Davis Jr. at the Sands before he was chic again. In the scheme of things it was minor business, but he carried himself like he was Ovitz. Klein lived in White Plains, New York, about ten minutes past my town, Bronxville. For some reason he needed a ride home one afternoon, so they told him, “Tomorrow Gerry Harrington can drive you home, take your Cadillac to his house for the night, then pick you up in the morning.” I took the train to work. That night I ferried Klein to White Plains and dropped him at his house. The whole way he wouldn’t talk to me. From the way he acted, I expected to pull up to a mansion.
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