Several years ago I worked for a fairly large music venue here in NYC. It was right in the middle of Times Square on 42nd St. At the busiest, we were able to host a standing room only crowd just over 1,000 people. A sold out show that was seated for dinner stood at around 500. With that size house we were able to book acts every night of the week. Obviously, no one who could fill a stadium or even a 20,000 seat auditorium, but we managed to book our share of middle of the road celebrities and the occasional impressive act. I'm not someone who's all that impressed by celebrity, being a devout egalitarian and all. But I'm appreciative of someone who has a storied musical heritage or just a certain "I'm still here" longevity. Most of our bookings were handled in house, meaning we had a booking department that filled the calendar, organized dates, signed contracts. My job was (and still is) to execute the booking and fulfill the contract. Every so often we would provide the space to an outside promoter who booked an act, did PR, invited guests etc.
So it was on one such occasion I had the displeasure early on in my employment to come to know one such producer. She was on the far side of middle aged, 5 foot 2 and about 95 lbs. And every stick-thin pound of her was pure, pinched-faced nastiness. I have never met anyone who was so habitually and universally rude to everyone she encountered until I met this woman. Starting with the day we met and she started barking out orders to me and my new staff without even taking a moment to introduce herself or dispense anything but negativity and frustration. No one, it seems, from the hosts to the bartenders to the cooks to the backstage personnel ever did anything to her liking. And this was not to be an isolated incident. Whether she was on the premises as a producer or a customer, you could always look forward to multiple demands to see a manager and a litany of complaints. As a customer she was intolerable. I finally took to ignoring her requests to lodge complaints whenever she was in house as anything but a producer.
As a producer, she was a joke. Her client list was and continues to be populated by a rag-tag collection of has-beens and never was. Although she would occasionally book an act one had actually heard of, they were always lodged firmly in the twilight of a not so impressive career. And it was her ticket sales and her guest lists where the the truth about her producer skills would be told. More often than not, her ticket sales were so lackluster, that the bulk of the audience would be made up of free ticket holders, in an attempt to "paper the house". Her guest lists would often be larger than her paying customers. And while a lot of her free tickets went to record labels and other music venues, the people that actually used the tickets were usually interns and front office personnel. Meaning the "important" people dumped their tickets off on the flunkies. She would always turn in a guest list with at least four or five "names" on it. Patti LaBelle was a favorite. Patti was routinely listed as a VIP guest at this woman's bookings. Patti never came. Nor did anyone else of note as a musician or producer. Her VIP tables usually stood empty until halfway through the show, when we'd dump them off to someone that was willing to at least buy some food and a round of drinks.
All of this made her imperious attitude, her demanding behavior and her downright snotty lack of manners all the more infuriating to me, and I was always at a loss as to why I was forced to put up with it. I usually just avoided her at all costs when she was on the premises, and frequently sent a security man or door host to answer one of her summonses. I either fixed her problem or ignored her depending on my mood and how busy I was. To say I didn't miss her when I resigned would be a massive understatement. So you can imagine my horror when she began sporadically popping up at performances and events at my new job. I vowed then and there that I wouldn't allow her to get a single bony claw in on the production end of this gig. And I kept an eye out to make sure none of her clients appeared on our booking calendar.
This week she emerged from her crypt once more, during an R&B industry party we've been hosting once a week. Typically, she asked to see a manager at the door when she wasn't seated and her name didn't appear on any one's guest list. Not surprising, considering these performers are up and coming rather than foot in the grave. They aren't looking for a Pity Tour booking. In response, I let her marinate at the host stand for a good half hour. I confirmed with the door host that she was good and irritated before I even approached her. I thought that might be enough to satisfy me and intended to find her a seat if I could. So I finally walked over and called out to her by name. I introduced myself, as she obviously had no idea who I was or how we knew each other. She was exasperated and asking for a seat for herself and her important guest. I had never heard of him. But I still made the rounds and looked for seating. There genuinely wasn't any. Then I started to create some seating from an unused table and some chairs. It wasn't in a good location, and I was sure she would instantly complain and try to grab something front and center. It was then and there I decided that I wouldn't suffer another second with this self-important little crone.. I stopped creating a space for her and returned to the host stand. Whereupon she pretended to be taking a cell phone call and completely ignored me. I know with absolute certainty that no one was on the other end of that call. If she was trying to get the upper hand in this battle she seriously over-played herself. When she finally deigned to get off her fake phone call and acknowledge me I casually informed her that there was no seating and there was nothing I could do. Her malnourished face fell. She asked to speak to the other manager, who she knows by name but has absolutely no relationship with. I refused, explaining that he was "busy". A word she practically choked on when she repeated.
And with that I spun around on my gay heel and turned my back and walked away. All the tension in my body positively melted away, and I'm sure a satisfied smirk was on my face. Just because I could, and in order to seal the deal, I pulled aside the main host from the party. I put my arm around her and pulled her in close:
"I will love you forever if you make sure that horrid woman has absolutely no hope of finding a single seat in this venue for the rest of the night."
"If it makes you happy..."
"Honey, it makes me ecstatic."
"Done."
The lesson here kiddies is a real life illustration of that age old adage. Be careful how you treat people. You never know when you're dealing with a gay man with a malicious streak and a very long memory. A lesson a certain Ms. Jill Newman would do well to learn. Loathe you, mean it!
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