Day 3
Part of our prize was a session with a personal trainer. When I told friends about this element of our getaway they looked at me with puzzled expressions and said, “You’re a writer. What made them think you were athletic?” It is true that the prospect of a personal workout terrified me a little (flashbacks to gym class in junior high) but I was determined to be a good sport. So when Jennifer’s assistant (the amazing Meghan) called to ask if I’d like yoga instead, I answered emphatically “yes.”
At 9 a.m. we met our yoga instructor, a beautiful, ponytailed woman carrying three rolled up mats and a tote bag, and set up for class in the fitness center, overlooking the pool. With our shoes off, new workout clothes at the ready, and hair pulled back, we were ready to go. (Although truth be told, neither one of us is very flexible, or familiar with yoga other than an occasional “sun salutation” or “down dog” . . .) After an hour of focusing on our breaths, stretching, bending, holding, and stretching some more we were both completely surprised – we loved it! Best of all, we both felt really energized (not to mention virtuous for having worked out on vacation!). What better reward than a late breakfast of cappuccino and waffles with fresh fruit?
For the afternoon, Jane and I decided to do a little window shopping in the neighborhood. We walked down Rodeo Drive amidst gaggles of international tourists, some of whom carried glossy shopping bags filled with their latest purchases. Most of them were, like us, just gazing in the windows of Coach, Michael Kors, Versace, Prada, Gucci, Armani, Jimmy Choo, and many boutiques so expensive and exclusive that I’d never heard of them.
When we got to Tiffany’s, I leaned down to get a closer look at a pendant hanging in the front window display case. While I was admiring the diamonds and other gems, an extremely large African-American gentleman on the other side of the glass leaned down to my eye level. With both hands he motioned me to the door and said, “The view is much better from in here.” Jane and I giggled and proceeded to try on platinum, diamond and sapphire rings, inspect the Rodeo Drive charms for the Tiffany’s signature bracelet, and try out a new line of leather purses, many of them in the company’s own distinct light blue.
After a strenuous couple of hours gazing at high fashion, we went back to the suite to get ready for our final excursion – going to the CBS lot in Studio City to see the taping of Jennifer’s new TV show, The State of Georgia. Our driver met us at the hotel earlier than planned – it was rush hour in LA and that meant traffic would be heavy. As we crept along the streets filled with Jaguars, Porsches, and BMWs, the chauffeur explained that everyone was late in Hollywood. Always. Never-the-less, he took some detours and back streets to avoid a lot of the congestion so we wouldn’t miss a minute of the taping.
With a rudimentary understanding of the geography of LA, I recognized a few familiar landmarks as we climbed higher and higher up the “hill.” The CBS lot was on the other side, so we got a tour of the neighborhoods perched precariously on outcroppings, from humble bungalows to genuine mansions.
We pulled into the TV studio headquarters, and the driver gave my name to the guards at the gate (which, I have to say, was a little thrilling all by itself). We were directed past a host of plain tan buildings, some which looked like hotels, some like warehouses. Again, our names were checked off a list, and Jane and I were escorted to the front row of the seating section. Most of the other audience members had already arrived, and the “crowd wrangler,” a stand-up comic named Allan, was already well into his schtick – getting everyone excited, encouraging us to laugh uproariously, and generally keeping the audience focused and entertained while watching a process that was both fascinating and somewhat tedious. Clips of the show ran on huge screens above the action, and Allan gave frequent reminders about the premise of the series, the characters, the back story, and bios of the stars we were about to see in person.
In front of us, three complete sets were arranged side by side, filled with dozens of stagehands, assistants, and camera operators making last minute adjustments. Finally we saw Jennifer, presumably giving notes about changes to upcoming scenes, and conferring with her team of a dozen other writers. For someone about to oversee the filming of a TV show she created, she seemed remarkably calm!
While Allan was pulling people out of the crowd to do improvisational comedy bits (with the aid of his sidekick, a DJ and sound effects wizard) Jennifer came over to say hello, and handed us advance copies of her new book, Then Came You. Resisting the urge to start reading it on the spot, we played along with the audience gags and watched as even more behind-the-scenes people emerged from backstage, dinner from the catering table in hand.
Finally it was time to start. The cast was introduced to great applause, and previously filmed scenes from tonight’s episode were played to record our reactions. Allan threw t-shirts to crowd members who laughed the loudest, and the actresses (including the gorgeous Raven Symone) took their places in front of us on the set of Aunt Honey’s apartment.
Watching each of the short scenes being filmed three or four times, I was struck by how many people it takes to make a television show – there were at least a dozen crew members for every actor onstage. And as a writer, I was amazed at how fluid the script was, down to the last take! After every scene, Jennifer and a gang of other production staff would descend on the actors, talking and giving notes. Minutes later when the director yelled “action” (yes, they really do that!) the scene was filmed again, but with lines added, lines cut, lines changed. . . the actors took it in stride and made the changes flawlessly. Incredible!
Since the audience needs to be in their seats from 5pm until 9 or 10pm, midway through the process a brigade of red blazer-clad interns arrived with granola bars and Capri Sun drinks. Jane and I took that moment to slip out – waving a heartfelt goodbye and thanks to Jennifer as we went. We had decided that our last night in LA, we would treat ourselves to dinner out at a chi-chi restaurant – Mario Batali’s Osteria Mozza.
After winding our way back downtown, this time after dark with the hillside estates illuminated, we arrived a few minutes late for our reservation. (Everyone is late in LA, right?) At 8:30 pm on a Tuesday night in June, how busy could it be, right? Well. . . we wedged ourselves in the door amongst lawyers in business suits, impossibly thin women in macramé dresses and five inch heels, and perfectly tanned and coiffed men in designer t-shirts. Everywhere we looked, waiters were delivering bottles of wine, plates of fresh mozzarella (from the mozzarella bar, of course), and bowls of delicate pastas, silky risottos, and roasted meats and fish. Jane and I gasped, and then forced our way over to the bar to wait for our seats. Almost an hour later, we were enjoying a glass of wine and the most exquisite Italian food I’ve eaten outside of Rome (much of it complimentary, to make up for our long wait!) As we finished the last bites of balsamic sautéed strawberries, strawberry gelato, and crepes, I couldn’t believe we were almost at the end of this marvelous adventure.
Our driver picked us up once again and took us back to the hotel. . . we had told him when he dropped us off that we’d happily take a cab after dinner, we certainly didn’t want to impose, but he protested that his instructions were to return us to the Beverly Wilshire, and anywhere we wanted to go on the way was fine with him. Again, Jane and I giggled in the backseat, marveling at the life we had been able to lead for a few days.
