Sam Fuhrer

When I was 25 I dated the Editor at one of the most presitigious & avant garde magazines in NYC. One that was started by a famous artist in the 80's ;) The girl I was dating was extremely cool, and hung out with people like Steven Klein, Hedi Slimane and other edgy NYC fashion party types. She was part of the scene. It was hard for me to keep up with her and sure enough she lost interest after a few months, but we remained friends and kept in touch. I wound up moving to Los Angeles and one day she contacted me and said that she was organizing a shoot for the model Iman (David Bowie's wife), and they needed a location, one that would ideally be an old Hollywood mansion. She asked if I knew anyone who would let them shoot at their house. Even being with a big publication, the budgets were still tight. I told her that I had the perfect spot that they could shoot at. That wasn't a lie. A friend had just bought an iconic house in Benedict Canyon and I figured he would welcome the opportunity. He was a massive David Bowie fan and knew about my obsession with the girl I was trying to impress. He tentatively agreed and I messaged the girl and told her it was a go. I sent her pictures of the house and she was beyond excited, and said that the crew thought it was perfect. I showed this exchange to my friend, hoping it would excite him, but instead he went quiet. He started to imagine a large crew at the home he had just purchased, wearing their shoes in-doors, commanding the space, and he apologized but said tha the had to back out. He wasn't going to be able to deal with it. Obviously this was terrible news and I was not looking forward to breaking it to the girl, who for the first time in a while I was actually of use to her, so I decided to take matters into my own hands and get ahead of the situation. I called the Chatteau Marmont and told them I was producing a photo shoot for XXXX Magazine, which would feature Iman, and be shot by _______ _______ (famous photographer), and asked them if they would be available on the said date. They asked who I was and what agency I was with and I told them my name and that I was acting independently. I had heard stories of Lady Gaga and Prince acting as their own managers early in their career and figured I was taking a page out of the book and that somehow I would be rewarded for my hustle. The lady at the Chatteau hung up and told me that they would be in touch. I was excited about my potential location and that I would somehow be responsible for booking a big fashion shoot. Maybe I would even get a producer credit, maybe the girl would come to idolize me, rekindle our attraction. Maybe. I didn't want to jinx the opportunity so I kept it to myself, but later in the day I got a call. It was the 'famous' photographers agent. She got on the phone with me and I could feel the tension just in the way she breathed before she even opened her mouth. "Who the fuck are you and what do you think you're doing?" "I uh, I -" "Did you just call the Chatteau and tell them that my client would be doing a shoot there?" "um no, I uh asked if they were available" "What's your name?" "My name?" "Do you have a fucking name?" "My name is Sam" "Last name" "Why?" "Because I will make sure that you never work in the fucking town again you fucking idiot. We haven't even agreed to do the fucking shoot yet. We don't have a fucking contract and now we have some nobody going fucking rogue what kind of fucking mad house is XXXX Magazine running. Fucking idiots working there and fucking idiots making calls on our behalf. I want to say this very fucking clear. You are never to mention my fucking clients name ever again in your fucking life." She wound up pulling her client from the shoot and the whole thing temporarily fell apart. When I told my friend what happened she went silent for an extended moment, then muttered, "I just don't understand why you would think that would be okay."