The Party

The firm of Swerdlow, Swerdlow & Swerdlow

So, last night I take Karen (my ex) and Stanley (my son) to the Illumination summer party, a little cotillion at some joint called the "Bungalow," which is basically an upscale, white man Hilton out in Santa Monica. Illumination is the company I work for, and famous for the Minions, among other current animation staples.

We give our vehicle to the valet and saunter over to the party, which is being held in an outdoor tent. We check-in with a solidly built and ear-pieced, blue blazer wearing security brother who stands at a lectern with the guest list. I tell him my name. He nods, then gives Stanley the once over. “Is this kid twenty-one or what? I mean, let’s see some I.D. here.” He doesn't say it quite like that, but that's the gist, and so we cop to the fact that the boy is just nineteen. The security cat shakes his well-groomed and Secret Service worthy head. “Sorry, he can’t go in.”

“Hold on. Just a minute. This is show business. The only reason we got into it is so we’d be treated special. Besides, he’s nineteen. Do you know what I was up to at nineteen? Do you know what I was up to at thirteen!? Come on bro, it’s only two years, ease up.” I don’t exactly say that, though I convey the feeling, but in a good-natured, non-confrontational way. The security cat smiles, but remains unmoved.

Is this really happening? It’s a mid-summer party for the people who make Secret Life of Pets, not a strip club. I step inside and plead my case to Chris, my old friend and current boss who runs Illumination and is the host. Chris comes out to settle matters, but not even the Il Duce of Despicable Me can sway the powers that be. It’s a no go for Stanley.

But as I said, this is the movie business, and there is always a way to “get the shot,” so of course, I am more than willing when another guest comes outside to show us a way we can sneak in. Only she doesn’t seem to grasp that voices should be kept low when subterfuge is being discussed and the security cat starts peering over, sensing that we are up to no good. But we will be not deterred, and when he goes back to his guest list, we slink around back. All we need to do now is duck under a little rope and we’re in. But then Stanley throws a wrench into the works.

"I'm not sneaking in," he says, “sorry.”

“Why not?”

“Because. I don’t sneak.”

And that right there is Stanley. A unique mixture of honorable and anxious, he does not sneak, he does not lie, he does not break rules. He grew up in a house where dark arts were being practiced behind closed doors. Trouble was being made and he did not want any part of it and still doesn’t.

I LOVE this about him. I can't comprehend it, but I love it. Not break the rules? What a thought! To actually do what is asked of you? To not take it for granted that what applies to everyone else DOES NOT apply to you. Who is this fucking kid and where did we get him? He'd rather do things right than go to the party and possibly drink tequila 'til he’s shit-faced.

I double-check with him, just to make sure this isn’t the night he goes rogue. Nope. He is steadfast and unshakable. Cool. Karen and I will go in for ten minutes, say our hellos and that’ll be that. We end up staying twenty and when we step back out, we find Stanley behind the lectern, pen in hand, checking names off the guest list. The security cat has put him to work. The two of them are now pals and Stanley’s happy as a clam. “Go back in and enjoy the party,” he says, scanning the list for three recent arrivals, “I’m having a great time.”

We stay an hour or so, telling everyone the story. Chris especially gets a kick out of it. When we finally leave, the security cat tells us Stanley can get a job there next summer if he wants, and that he is one hundred percent sure Stanley is going to be a big writer someday. It's a love fest. All because Stanley has a lot of integrity, and Karen and I have learned to have a little.