“Oh, hi, dear. Did you pick up those Slayer tickets like I asked you?”

“Sure did. Bought them at the new Ticketmaster Diner on Wilshire. And you won’t believe what happened while I was there.”

“You mean that great retro-diner that just opened up in Beverly Hills? Where the concert industry’s elite meet to eat?”

“That’s the one. And everything on the menu is named after a tour.”

“No way.”

“Yes, way. For example, there was the Sammy Hagar & David Lee Roth Submarine Sandwich that’s over two feet long and features two different kinds of ham.”

“Sounds scrumptious.”

“And there was the Ian Anderson Salmon Supreme, thick as a brick and made with fresh salmon flown in daily from Ian’s fish farm in the U.K.”

“You’re making me hungry just thinking of it.”

“There’s also the Biohazard Chili that’s so hot you need a signed permission slip from the EPA just to order it.”

“That sounds like a fantastic place to eat. But wait a minute, you said something happened? What?”

“Well, there I was, looking over the dessert list, trying to decide between the Vanilla Ice Cream and The Cranberries Delight, when who should walk in but Michael Ovitz.”

“You mean the former most powerful man in Hollywood who recently trashed everyone he’s ever dealt with in that tell-all article in the new Vanity Fair?”

“The one and only. Let me tell you, things got real quiet when he walked in and placed his order.”

“I’ll bet.”

“Anyway, while he was waiting for his order, he tried to work the room and tell everyone how sorry he was for saying what he did in that magazine article, but no one was buying what he was selling. They just kept their heads down while they ate their Chumbawamba Burgers or sipped their Maxwell House Coffee. That’s when it happened.”

“When what happened?”

This big limo pulls up out front, and these two guys get out. At least, they looked like two men, but when I got a closer look, it turned out that they were scarecrows.”

“Scarecrows? You have got to be kidding.”

“Am not. You could see the straw sticking out of the sleeves and collars of their $2000 suits. It was like The Wizard Of Oz meets Armani. Scarecrows wearing custom-tailored threads and carrying machine guns.”

“Scarecrows wearing expensive suits and carrying automatic weapons? You know, I’ve heard about those people. What was it Ovitz called them in that magazine article?”

“The Hay Mafia. However, Vanity Fair misspelled it. Used a ‘G’ instead of an ‘H.’

“I can see how that can happen. After all, those letters are right next to each other on the keyboard. What happened next?”

“Well, the two scarecrows started firing and laid down a line of hot lead right at Ovitz’ feet just as he was about to pick up his Coldplay Coldcut Platter from the lunch counter.”

“Wow!”

“Then, just as quickly as it started, the two scarecrows stopped shooting, looked at Ovitz and said, ‘Where are your lieutenants, now, tough guy? Let that be a lesson to you.’ Then they got back in the limo and took off down Wilshire.”

“Wait a second. Let me see if I’ve got this straight. Michael Ovitz walks into the Ticketmaster Diner in Beverly Hills and orders lunch. While he’s waiting, two scarecrows dressed in expensive suits get out of a limo, fire a round of bullets at his feet, give him a warning and then take off, after which, Ovitz picks up his lunch at the counter as if nothing’s happened?”

“Yeah, that’s about the size of it. Isn’t that incredible?”

“I’ll say, that is the most incredible thing I’ve ever heard of.”

“Told you.”

“I mean, after that issue of Vanity Fair hit the newsstands, everyone said Michael Ovitz would never eat lunch in this town again.”

“Yeah, but they were talking about him sitting down at a table. They have no problem with him ordering take-out.”