 AUGUSTA, GA. - Kevin Spacey is a card-carrying member of the Movie Star Club for Men. He has parlayed his wealth into an independent film production company called Trigger Street.
He knows nothing of Augusta.
Trigger Street’s president is Dana Brunetti. Brunetti bought the rights to a Wired feature story by wunderkind author Ben Mezrich about MIT geeks who rip off Las Vegas casinos. Neither Brunetti nor Mezrich know of Augusta.
A Trigger Street film of the story, with a spring 2008 release called “21” stars actor extraordinaire Lawrence Fishburne.
Bingo! Fishburne was born in Augusta and was a local until he was 10.
Once again, the ever-present six degrees of influence Augusta has on the world shows itself.
And there is my local slant, for the local paper. The slant, however reaching, that convinced my editor to grant me the time off to go to the Big Apple to interview the Big Kahuna, aka Kevin Spacey, for Warner Bros. “L.A. Confidential” 10th Anniversary Set.
The NYC hotel suite had broad bay windows and even a pinch of Central Park peeking from in between its Gotham crests. But I wasn’t here for the view. I was here for the interview.
Cameras were set up and we were ready to roll. But our star was MIA.
Suddenly my cell phone rings. It’s Spacey’s assistant. He says, in a heavy British accent, “Um, Kevin is wandering about on the 38th floor. What room did you say you were in?”
I jump over miles of electrical cords and cumbersome lighting to fly to the door. I yell out, “Kev-end?”
He turns toward my voice as if lost in the wilderness. “Yep, I hear you.”
Dapper as usual, Spacey was looking a little fatigued. Honestly, the lad had an excuse. He is currently on Broadway performing in “A Moon for the Misbegotten,” a three-hour Eugene O’Neill drama. He is on stage 90 percent of the play, six days a week and twice on Saturdays and Sundays.
I said, in a friendly and somewhat humble manner, “You don’t remember me do you?”
Still settling, he starts to reply, “Frankly, no.” But as he answers he looks straight at me. A switch goes on. His multi-million dollar smile begins to broaden. “I didn’t know you were doing this now! I wondered where you were.”
His sentence was two-fold: I have been involved with Trigger Street since its infancy over four years ago. I had written for them, as well as attended a few of the company’s VIP parties in two states. Spacey and I have been acquainted for years.
He was gracious, but confused, at the odd gift. I explained I had promised Dana last time I’d seen him that I would get him the CD. And I jested that the extra copy was for Spacey because I knew he would be jealous without a copy of his very own.
I mentally wiped my forehead as the famous Spacey sense of humor rose to the comment and laughed heartily in an “as if.”
The interview begins. Spacey said of the film, “I am so glad ‘ L.A. Confidential’ has become one of those lasting films. I remember when the whole cast was invited to see the film and I was about four people down from Danny DeVito. As an actor, especially with a film this [multi-leveled], you have no idea what to expect when it plays.”
To punctuate the pleasant surprise, Spacey continues, “I remember Danny leaning over after the beginning montage, and he’s shrugging his shoulders as if to say, ‘Who knew this was gonna be this good?’”
I asked him about his character’s Dean Martin connection.
“I had met with Curtis Hanson at the Formosa (the bar that would be used in the movie’s infamous Lana Turner scene). He told me to think of Dean Martin when I did Jack. But not so much the Rat Pack stuff. I went home and watched ‘Rio Bravo’ and ‘The Young Lions.’”
Spacey went on to talk about how a film’s wardrobe always helps him find the character. After about an hour, we concluded the interview.
Meanwhile, having seen Spacey the last time he played on Broadway in O’Neill’s “The Iceman Cometh,” I made myself request show tickets.
He replied something to the effect of, “Sure, how many would you like?” and suggested tomorrow’s matinee.
The next day I arrived punctually at the will-call window, only to be greeted by a Great White Way wall in the shape of a box office employee.
He opens an envelope, which plainly says “Kevin Spacey, two tickets for Erika Bolin.” Without emotion or eye contact, he starts to say, “That will be two hundred…”
I stop him in mid-sentence. “There must be a mistake. They are complimentary.”
He says they are not. They are $210 and Mastercard or Visa are accepted.
I hit speed dial on my cell phone for Spacey’s assistant.
Upon my initial explanation of the situation transpiring, the assistant said, “Oh, dear. I think you may have misheard Kevin. This production has many producers. Each has an allotment of comps and his have already been taken.”
I felt myself begin to slip into a twirling vortex of dashed dreams doom, albeit escorted by his delightful British accent. My fight or flee instinct surfaced and I heard myself explaining to him that I had not misunderstood.
I paraphrased the conversation of the day before and assured the assistant it was in the
“I’ll arrange it for you” spectrum of conversation between a generous millionaire and a clearly poorer scribe. Yep, I was sure I’d have remembered if Kevin had said, “I’ll arrange tickets, but they are still two hundred and whatever figure.”
Both of us somewhat startled by my suddenly Hollywoody “get it done” tone, he asked if he could call me right back. He was going to clarify with Kevin.
Minutes later, my cell phone rings again and the assistant admits he has made a mistake. “I have just received a royal ear-chewing from Kevin. Will you hand the phone to the ticket man?” he asked.
The man takes the phone, his whole body radiating annoyance, and said, “They are two hundred…” He is cut off. Then The Wall, still holding a grudge, said, “As long as Mr. Spacey agrees to pay for them then? Yes…yes…very well, then.”
Like nothing had transpired, he slips the tickets through. “Enjoy the show,” he says.
The assistant apologizes again. I said it’s not an issue. Though the polite thing to do, I suppose, is to send Spacey the 200 smackers for the show.
Drama now aside, I settled in for the drama. Kevin Spacey was as brilliant as expected in his latest incarnation of James Tyrone.
And what of our own Augusta indie star Lawrence Fishburne? Remember him? I am quite sure he will be brilliant in “21,” too. | 
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