In 1970s Los Angeles, all the boys wanted to sleep with Eve. I was one of the lucky ones, along with some movie stars, rock ’n’ roll stars, art stars, and one wild and crazy comedy star. But, not being in that class, I wasn’t mentioned in the obituaries.
Eve described me in Slow Days, Fast Company as “one of those steadfast New York City comedy writers … who had never become a Californian … never learned to sail, never bought a Porsche or Mercedes and never talked about movies in terms of how much money they made.” Fairly accurate. My car of choice was a VW Beetle: I wanted to get to work. Laurel Canyon was lined with the corpses of expensive cars.