"Mr. Pryor, will you hold for Mr. Rubenstein?" the female voice on the phone said. My mind raced: Saul Rubenstein is a big-shot Hollywood movie producer. He must have read the script I sent him.
We met at a vintage car show at Pebble Beach. Only the very rich hang around vintage car shows, so he mistakenly assumed I'm rich. He told me how attached he is to his immaculate 1966 Cadillac Eldorado convertible. He bought it 35 years ago when his first picture came out.
He gave me his card and asked for mine. I've never had a card, so he mistakenly assumed I'm among the idle rich. I scribbled my name and number on his program, and now he's calling me. Visualize Don Rickles on uppers.
"Billy, Billy, Billy!" he opened with a rapid-fire salvo like the soundtrack from Saving Private Ryan. "My little princess is going off to college, and she wants an SUV. I don't know anything about those things. Talk to me, Billy. What are we looking at here?"
"Didn't you just buy her a BMW for graduation from Beverly Hills High? I saw that in People magazine."
"She's had it all summer. She says even Valley girls have BMWs now. She's so superficial, just like her mother. I'm so proud of her. Well, actually she wrecked the BMW. Aren't SUVs supposed to be really safe? I wanted her to get a Mercedes SLK, but she started to cry. She says she's not old enough to drive a Mercedes. It's got to be an SUV, but not too big."
"The brand new Suzuki Grand Vitara XL-7 has got this