A friend of mine asked about Johnny Mathis.
Its cutting to the middle of the story, so you have to imagine that this is one of those films that starts in a non-linear way:
I was standing in my underwear with a gun in my mouth…No, that’s Breaking Bad. Like I said, it has been 17 years.
We did not find the painting in the truck and we had to get to LA. One of the deliveries in LA was to the house of Johnny Mathis.
Johnny Mathis lives in one of those houses that you must be very careful not to drown in his living room. He has a pool there.
This was not a concern in other houses I had been to.
Anyway, he had this door that was made of this rough iron that was sort of scalloped. It was as if, instead of a door, you had a very stylish cheese grater that you used to enter your house.
I cut my finger on the door/grater. I moved my hands so much with driving and lifting art that the infection never quite went away until I got back to New York.
My girlfriend* asked me “What happened to your finger?” and I said “Johnny Mathis”.
*My wife wants it known that this was 17 years ago and I am not allowed, or able to obtain, mistresses.