I Represent Sean Rosen (7 page)

Dear _________,
(an important person at the huge company)

I'm writing to tell you about my newest client. I think you two could do amazing work together.

Sean Rosen is not only my newest client. He's my youngest. At thirteen, he's already an experienced writer and producer. I encourage you to watch some of Sean's podcasts (www.SeanRosen.com). They're uniquely entertaining.

Sean has an idea that I honestly think will blow you away. Your company is his first choice, and I would love for the two of you to get to know each other.

I really think there's something special here, or I wouldn't waste your time with this.

Best,
Dan

I think he would sign it Dan, not Dan Welch. Because they're both in the big family of show business, and even if you don't know someone, you sort of do. Or that's how they act when they meet each other on talk shows.

I'm not sure if I even want to say what it felt like to read this letter from Dan Welch, because you'll think I'm crazy. I mean actually crazy. But here goes. It felt amazing to read it, because it feels like someone really believes in me.

Tell the truth. You think I'm crazy, right? If you told me this same story about you and your own Dan Welch, I guarantee I would think you were crazy. I'd say, “Dude. You
are
Dan Welch.
You
wrote that letter.” I actually never call anyone “Dude,” but maybe I would this time because I'd want you to know how completely crazy I think you are.

I can't really explain it, but I'm not Dan Welch. And he isn't me.

I went to my website and added a sentence:
For all business questions, please contact Dan Welch.
Then if you click on the name Dan Welch, it opens your e-mail program and automatically puts in his e-mail address so you can write to him. I wonder if anyone ever will.

I only have my one big idea (so far), and before going to my first-choice company with it, Dan Welch is doing his own trial run. And just for fun, he's going to the same company I wrote to when I started—the one with the lawyers.

I Googled the company and found an article where they say the name of someone who's Vice President of Production. I called the company and got her e-mail address.

To: Stefanie V. President
(not her real name)
From: Dan Welch Management

Dear Stefanie,

A new client of mine, Sean Rosen, a thirteen-year-old if you can believe it, has an amazing idea for a movie. It might even be a series of movies. I've never heard anything like it. It's totally original. Any interest?

Best,
Dan

I know we don't want to tell the trial run company my big idea, but I wonder why Dan said I have an idea for a movie. I actually don't. I will at some point, I'm sure. I'm glad he thinks I can do it.

I hit SEND and suddenly got very nervous. What if they know? What if they recognize my name from my first letter? Maybe I'm on some kind of list.
“Here are the people who have made trouble for us. If you see any of these names, DO NOT REPLY. Just call the legal department.”

Or maybe their company has an e-mail program that automatically recognizes the names on The Troublemaker List, and instead of sending Dan Welch's e-mail about me to Stefanie V. President, it goes directly to the legal department, with a copy to the police.

But wait a minute. That's the same legal department who told me that if I want to submit something, I have to do it through an agent or a manager. That's exactly what I'm doing. More or less.

W
e have to go to my cousin Jakey's bar mitzvah this weekend. It's in Detroit. At dinner tonight I asked my parents if I could skip it, and they both looked at me like I was crazy. I knew they wouldn't let me stay home by myself. And I knew they wouldn't let me miss Jakey's bar mitzvah.

Now I wish I didn't even ask. Now they have to think, “Sean doesn't want to be there.” They probably already knew that, but the nice thing would be to pretend I wanted to go.

Unfortunately, I'm a terrible pretender. A lot of the time I don't even try. If I try, I get mad that I have to pretend. Then I'm mad that I have to be there, plus I'm mad that I have to pretend I want to be there. It's not much fun for anyone.

The reason I want to skip the bar mitzvah has nothing to do with my cousin. I like Jakey. I just don't like going to bar mitzvahs. Or weddings. Or sweet-sixteen parties. I don't like when people come up and light candles on a cake for a half hour. I don't like when they carry people around on chairs. I don't like finding a card with my name on it telling me where I have to sit.

I didn't have a bar mitzvah. My mom was into it for a little while. She isn't even the Jewish one. I think she was trying to do something to make my grandmother (Thorny Rosen) happy. After my mom figured out that I really didn't want one, and that my dad really didn't care, she let it go. But she made my dad tell my grandmother.

It was nothing against the religion. I like being partially Jewish. What I didn't want was the whole thing of everyone acting a whole lot nicer to you than usual. Everyone. Relatives you don't really know, friends of your parents you don't even like, and all these kids suddenly paying all this attention to you. Everyone watching you. It's too weird.

After dinner, I went up to my bedroom and slid under my bed. There's a space between the rug and the mattress where it's dark and you have to lie flat. It's a good place to think. I think I should go downstairs and apologize.

When I got to the top of the stairs, my mom was on the bottom, on her way up. We both stopped and looked at each other. Who was going to go first?

“Mom . . . I'm sorry. You know . . . about what I said. You know . . . about not going to Jakey's bar mitzvah.”

“Thank you.”

“I'm gonna go.”

“I know you are. But I have an idea.”

“You do?”

“Yes. Don't sound so surprised. I just called Aunt Sandy, and it's okay with them if you want to . . .”

“What? Light a candle?”

“No, Sean. Everyone knows. You hate the candles. She said it's okay if you do your podcast there.”

“At the bar mitzvah?”

She nodded. I walked down to the step where we're the same height. “Mom . . . You're a genius.”

She is. It's perfect. I immediately had a million ideas for a bar mitzvah podcast. Now I can't wait.

We flew to Detroit on Friday. My dad planned it so we would land a half hour before my grandmother (Thorny). That way we'd have time to get the rental car, and when Grandma arrives, we'll be all ready to go. We'll drop her at the hotel, then drive to the house where we're staying with friends of my cousins.

Unfortunately, my dad is a plumber, not an air traffic controller. Our plane landed a half-hour
after
Grandma's.

When we were finally on the ground, he called her on the phone he made her get. She didn't answer. We looked in baggage claim, but she wasn't there. He got the airport to make an announcement, but she didn't pick up a white courtesy phone. Even if you heard that announcement,
what's
a white courtesy phone, and where do you pick it up?

My mom kept making suggestions, but my dad wasn't in the mood for suggestions. He decided to get the rental car taken care of. When we got to Budget, Grandma was there renting a car.

“I wasn't going to wait forever. And frankly, I'd rather have my own car.” Grandma hates the way my dad drives and my dad hates the way Grandma drives.

“No way. You're not driving at night. You don't know Detroit. We don't need two cars. Why do you
never
answer your phone?”

That was the last thing I heard because I put my earbuds in and listened to music until everybody calmed down. It only took two songs. She would never admit it, but I'm sure Grandma is relieved she doesn't have to drive.

The podcast kept me busy all weekend, which was good, because I wasn't thinking about Dan Welch the whole time. Like wondering if Stefanie V. President wrote back to him. Or if she hired an internet detective to find out who he is. Or if the internet detective figured out that it's me. Or if there's going to be a police car in front of our house when we get back from Detroit. I guess I did think about all those things, but mostly at night, in bed.

I didn't check e-mail the whole time we were there. Our cousins' friends kept asking me if I wanted to use a computer. They had five computers for four people. I don't like people to use my computer, so I didn't use theirs. I don't want to feel guilty if they ever come to our house.

At the synagogue, I sat between my dad and Grandma. It's good to keep those two separated. Every once in a while I recorded part of the service for my podcast. As soon as she saw the red light go on, Grandma would lean over and whisper something right into my digital voice recorder. “He's doing a marvelous job.” “She wore
that
to a synagogue?” “Don't you wish
you
had a bar mitzvah?” Grandma is not a quiet whisperer.

The big party was at night at the hotel where Grandma was staying. In the afternoon a bus was taking the kids to play laser tag. I didn't want to, but I thought about going anyway, just for the podcast. Then I thought about laser tag. It's too dark for pictures, and it sounds like a video game with a lot of kids yelling. No.

My dad wanted to drive around Detroit. I didn't want to. Neither did Grandma, though she said she would if she could drive. She and I went for a walk instead. I had my digital voice recorder in my pocket. I decided it would be a more natural conversation if she didn't know she was being recorded.

Only my grandmother could get me to stick up for laser tag and school, two things I don't even like.

I thought about it.

I thought about it some more.

She didn't say anything. She just gave me a really strong hug. Grandma is a fierce hugger. It actually hurts.

When we got back to the hotel, I noticed there was a computer in the lobby. I thought about quickly checking Dan Welch's e-mail, but whatever might be there . . .

a) nothing

b) an e-mail to Dan from Stefanie V. President

c) an e-mail saying the Dan Welch account is closed because there actually
is
no Dan Welch. . .

I didn't want to find out in a hotel lobby. Plus, my parents were back from their drive, and we had to go change for the party.

The party was crazy. Jakey couldn't decide on a theme, so he had two. One was Las Vegas, so there was gambling, and waitresses in very small, very sparkly costumes. The other theme was the Detroit Red Wings, so the waiters all wore hockey uniforms. One of the waiters tripped on his skates and knocked over a waitress and her tray of drinks. I didn't see it (I heard it), but one of Jakey's friends told me the waitress's top came off for a few seconds.

You could have your picture taken in front of an actual hockey goal with an actual Detroit Red Wing. I forget which one. Obviously, there was a lot of good stuff for my podcast.