My Big Fat Hollywood Meeting with Courtney Love

Several years ago, or a decade ago (who can remember), my then-writing partner and I wrote a spec screenplay that received all kinds of Hollywood buzz. You know, the buzz that first-time writers dream about while writing in smelly corners of Starbucks that don’t have restrooms. I had always wanted to be in the running, a contender, on the radar, in the game. And now I was. 

We were signed by a top agent and dined with studio executives and producers who pitched movie ideas, hoping we would consider writing the screenplay. “A ballet dancer succumbs to debilitating bunions, and either has to stop dancing or have a double bunionectomy. When she gets on the operating table, the anesthesiologist professes his love for bunions (and her). They fall madly in love, but she never dances again due to a botched operation. It’s Flashdance meets Erin Brockovich meets Love Story.”

One fine smog-laden Los Angeles afternoon, our agent called with a meeting with none other than Courtney Love. She wanted to pitch us an idea for a movie. I didn’t have a script writing program the year before, and now I was about to meet one of the most controversial figures of the 1990s—only in Hollywood. 

I had seen these types of meetings played out in, well, the movies. It didn’t seem real. I was so green, to say the least, but the effect a little attention can have on one’s ego is amazing. I walked just a little bit taller as I passed through the gates of Paramount Studios. I got so ahead of myself that my shadow couldn’t keep up.

At the time, Ms. Love’s star was on the rise. She was coming off of a string of hits: The People v. Larry Flynt and Man on The Moon. She was a serious and couture-wearing actress then. I was nervous and confident about meeting her. 

We rendezvoused at Ms. Love’s home in the Hollywood Hills. To sit on her tailored linen couch in her living room was new and exciting for me. I envisioned many meetings with Ms. Love and, perhaps, a friendship. After all, I lived in Seattle for a year and a half. Nuff said, right? 

Ms. Love’s manager greeted us at the front door, and as we were ushered in, my writing partner whispered in my ear, “If you see matches or something innocuous in the bathroom, take it as a souvenir.” She was always joking around. 

Moments later, Ms. Love walked in. She looked fabulous with her professional-looking blond bob haircut, smart-looking skirt and blazer, and clean lines. Her diction was cleaned up as well. This was a new Courtney Love. A sophisticated Courtney Love. A Golden Globe nominee, Courtney Love. 

From the time she said, “Hello, nice to meet you guys,” to when we left her house an hour later, she did not stop talking. 

“Did you know that this is Ellen’s former home? I just had it redecorated. Do you like these chairs? Have you read Proust? I can’t stand the ineffectual people in this town.” That last one I’m paraphrasing. And then, before we knew what hit us, she was regaling us on the virtues of anal bleaching. She insisted that we go to Pink Cheeks on Ventura Boulevard for a pink and refreshed-looking butt. 

What?

After an hour of shooting the shit (about nothing) and barely talking about her movie project, my partner and I offered to come up with some ideas and suggested that we all meet again in a few weeks. I needed to have another face-to-face. What other fascinating tidbits might she share with us? 

We stood to leave, and my writing partner asked to use the bathroom. I guess she wasn’t kidding. She was actually going to see if there was anything to hijack. 

As we walked to the front door, I looked towards the kitchen and caught a glimpse of Francis Bean, who must have been seven years old at the time. She looked eerily like her father, Kurt Cobain. Nirvana and grunge were still a part of the culture, with gossip still surrounding Kurt’s death and, of course, their music. I never thought I would find myself in this world in a million years. 

We didn’t receive any additional beauty tips at our second meeting, which was also our last. Ms. Love and her idea became just another one in a sea of meetings, pitches, promises, and potentials. It was my first high-profile meeting, and it never occurred to me that we wouldn’t get the job. I still had so much yet to learn. 

My ego had been working overtime. However, Ms. Love’s rejection ensured it came to a screeching halt. Celebrity meetings seduced me, and the business was too fraught with disappointment, and I struggled to use that as motivation to write. 

Things shifted quickly after those meetings, and after much searching, questioning, and maturity, I began writing from an authentic place. Only then was I living my dream.