So Phil Spector Calls...
Location: Twin Palms, Palm Springs,
CA
The phone rings. So I answer with my usual greeting,
“Talk.” A thin high pitched voice is on the other
end, I can’t tell if it’s a broad or not.
“Frank?”
“Who’s this?” (I hate it when I have to fucking ask.)
“It’s Spector”
“Ronnie, how’ve ya’ been doll?”
Little known fact: I love Ronnie Spector to death.
“It’s... it’s Phil”
“What about him? Is that asshole fucking with you
again Ronnie? You just say the word and I’ll..”
“No, Frank, THIS IS PHIL.”
For the first time in my life, I wished it had been
Jerry Lewis. I don’t have time for this joker.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in jail or something? What
do you want?”
“Actually, I’m riding back from the courthouse. It’s
was a mistrial, if you must know. So I’m free and I’d
like to talk to you Frank.”
“Listen ya’ over-hyped Chia Pet, WE ARE talking now.
Whaddya’ want? You’ve got 30 seconds to spit it out.”
“Please, Frank. Don’t shout at me I just went through
a terrible...”
“15 seconds pal.”
“OK, ok, ok. I want to make a record.”
“So go hire a studio. What’s your point.”
“I want to make a record with you, Frank.”
“Hey, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but no one
makes records WITH me, I make the records. People
work FOR me when I make a record, not WITH me?”
“That’s not how I work, Frank”
“Then you don’t work, Phyllis”
There was silence on the other end of the line, then
I could hear Phil whispering to someone else,
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t, he called me
Phyllis!”
“5 seconds. 4, 3, 2...”
Sounding desperate, “Can I meet with you Frank to
talk it over, please Frank?”
“Why should I waste my time, Shooter?”
“I DIDN”T FUCKING SHOOT...” sigh, “because I want to
work with you.”
I bang the phone on the desk 2 or 3 times, really
hard, I can hear him screaming in pain from the shot
in the ear it must’ve given him.
“I’m sorry ‘Wall of Noise’, my phone is starting to
sound like one of your records, did I hear you say
something about you NOT working?”
More silence on the end. I may have found a new
hobby. I love twisting this prick.
“Time’s up Fozzie Bear.” I said and then hung up the
phone.
Predictably, ten seconds later, the phone starts
ringing. I let it get to the fourth ring before I
pick it up.
“Talk.”
In a speed that would make Evelyn Woodhead proud,
Phil sputters, “I want to make a record for you. I
want to make a record for you. I want to work for you
Frank. There, I said it”
I decide to fuck with him further.
“Who’s this?”
“SPECTOR!”
This is just too easy, “Heya’ Ronnie, how ya’ doing,
you wont believe who I was just...”
“PHIL SPECTOR, PHIL!!! SPECTOR!!!”
“What’ya’ psychic Ronnie? That’s exactly who...”
“NO, I”M PHIL SPECTOR, PHIL SPECTOR!!!”
“Listen here Phil Spector Phil Spector. For someone
who’s begging for a job, you got 2 strikes against
you already. No one EVER interrupts The Chairman
while he speaks and NO ONE shouts at The Chairman,
EVER. I DO THE SHOUTING. DO YOU UNDERSTAND, YOU
FUCKING MUPPET?”
More predictable silence followed by muttering on his
end of the line. I can hear a woman talking to him.
“Do what he says Phil, whatever it takes. He can put
you back on top again! Here, let me talk to him.”
A real woman’s voice comes on the line, “Mr.
Sinatra?” She sounded scrumptious.
“Who might I have the pleasure of talking to, baby?”
“This is Rachelle Spector. I hope I’m not bothering
you.”
“Not at all sweetheart. I got all day. What can I do for you?”
“Well, Mr. Sinatra I...”
“Call me Frank, baby.”
“Oh, thank you! Well, Frank, I just wanted you to know how much my husband and I admire your work. Phil just idolizes you, and I, well I...”
I can hear Phil whispering loudly in the background, telling her to stop it, she’s embarrassing him, etc. What a fag.
She continues, “Phil would really love to do whatever he can to be involved in your next record and I would love to meet a real legend. Nothing would make us happier if you could meet with him, any place at any time to talk about it.”
I love it when a broad thinks she’s able to hustle me. Nothing gives me more pleasure than to play that game. That fact that I now like fucking with Phil’s head only makes the innings all the more sweet.
“I’ll tell you what baby. Why don’t you swing by tonight, say eight o’clock and we can talk about it.”
“Really? Oh thank you Mr. Sinatra, I mean... Frank. Thank you Frank. This means so much to us, you have no idea. We’ll be there at eight o’clock sharp!”
“No, no, no. Just you. Leave the poodle at home. Oh, and uh, bring your sunglasses.”
