The Tiki Hut by the pool in Depp’s backyard seemed the perfect spot to fish for a Hollywood producer with money. Johnny and Hunter had been casting their lines since early in the afternoon to a stream of movie executives. There were a few nibbles, but no one had been hooked, much less landed.
Watching the fishing buddies waiting for their prey was far more interesting than the meetings, and they never asked me to stop shooting while they hung out. I had a feeling they both wanted the day preserved in more than just their memories.
Holly Sorensen came out of the darkness to liven up the night. She demanded whisky, and tolerated being filmed for a few minutes – with no explanation from anyone as to what I was doing. Usually I would tell the unsuspecting who I was and what I was doing, but in this case I didn’t want to interrupt the flow. Nonetheless, when it came time to talk about making a deal for the book, Holly gave me a withering look and I stopped shooting. I did not want to squirrel a possible deal in, literally, the eleventh hour.
Hunter was immediately impressed by Ms. Sorensen, and I figured the boys had landed, if not a big fish, certainly a respectable catch for a long day’s work in Hollywood.
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