Actually, it's something to do with the IMF and the World Bank, both of which are holding their annual meetings in Washington this weekend. When I arrive at the bookshop in Dupont Circle, the manager greets me with the news that 18 people have shown up. "That's pretty good, under the circumstances," he says. I nod and smile politely while putting an imaginary gun to my head. I quickly calculate that if every person in the room buys a copy of How to Lose Friends my publisher won't make enough money to cover my hotel bill. It would have been more cost-effective to have stayed in London, picked 18 people at random out of the Washington phone book and simply read them an extract over the telephone.
At 8.30pm I hurry across town to Café Milano where David Bass, the Managing Editor of The Weekly Standard, is hosting a dinner for me. I'm seated next to Lloyd Grove, the gossip columnist of The Washington Post, who tells me about a conversation he had with Graydon Carter. "I asked him who he'd like to be played by if your book's ever made into a movie," he says. Apparently, Graydon replied: "I don't know about me, but for Toby Young they've got to get Verne Troyer." When I look blankly at Grove he explains that Verne Troyer is the dwarf who plays Mini-Me in the Austin Powers movies.
Saturday, September 28th
After the low turnout in Washington, I'm anxious about this evening's reading at Barnes & Noble in Harvard Square. My publisher, Da Capo Press, is based in Cambridge and the editor-in-chief, John Radziewicz, has promised to put in an appearance. What if nobody shows?
To my immense relief, I count 24 people in the audience. Admittedly, four of them, including John Radziewicz, are from Da Capo, but still. It could be worse. Then, just as I'm about to start reading, a kafuffle breaks out. "What's going on?" shouts a middle-aged man in the front row. "Who the hell is this guy?" It turns out that I've been double-booked with the authors of Living in the Dead Zone, an academic tome about Borderline Personality Disorder.
John Radziewicz and I have a quick conference. I'm anxious that if the other authors disappear they'll take half the audience with them so I suggest we share the podium. I'll take the first half-hour, they can have the second. "No, no, that's not gonna work," says John. He explains that half the people in the audience are from a local homeless shelter and the only reason they're there is because Da Capo have promised them a hot meal. "If they have to listen to those other guys as well I'm going to have a riot on my hands," he says. It takes me several seconds to realize he's joking.
Monday, September 30th
I finally draw a decent crowd in New York. During the Q & A afterwards a woman asks me whether the book has turned me into a bit of a celebrity and I'm forced to admit that it hasn't. The only time I've ever been asked for my autograph was just after recording a radio interview at the BBC in London. A professional autograph-hunter, the kind of man who loiters outside the BBC all day, approached me rather hesitantly with a pen and a card, clearly unsure whether I was worth bothering with. I grabbed the pen and said, "You know, you're the first person who's ever asked me." It was the wrong thing to say. He immediately withdrew the card and started backing away. I literally had to chase him down the street in order to give him my autograph.
Wednesday, October 2nd
I arrive in Dallas where I've been invited to speak in a series called 'Authors at the Adolphus'. I'm here at the invitation of David Davis, the publicity director of the Adolphus Hotel, who's convinced I'll draw as big a crowd as the authors of The Nanny Diaries. Since the hotel is charging $45 a head for the privilege of listening to me--they throw in a three-course lunch--I think that's unlikely. Nevertheless, David is very upbeat. He's even organised some interviews with the local media.
Thursday, October 3rd
I'm woken at 8.05am by David wanting to know where I am. I'd arranged to meet him in the lobby at 8am and I've overslept. We're due at the local Fox affiliate at 8.15am. In the event, we're only a few minutes late.
As I'm having my make-up done I say to the lady, "In keeping with the local custom, will my make-up be really, really heavy?" She laughs politely, as if she really doesn't think that's funny. It's only then that I think to look at her make-up. Duh!
There's a cheerleading troop in the studio called the Dallas Desperados and, after my interview, I ask if I can hang around to watch them strut their stuff. I must look pretty goggle-eyed because one of the producers asks me if I'd like to join them in front of the cameras. I think he's joking, but it turns out he's not. "Go 'head," he says, shoving me in front of the studio lights. "Break a leg." I end up dancing a jig alongside the Dallas Desperados, holding my book aloft like some old-fashioned detergent salesman.
Friday, October 4th
Incredibly, David Davis has managed to sell all 75 tickets. I'm extremely flattered--they love me, they really, really love me--but my euphoria is short-lived. The woman who's been given the task of interviewing me kicks off by asking how many people in the audience have read my book. Not a single person raises their hand. God knows why they've bought tickets.
The interviewer asks me to name my most difficult journalistic assignment and, without thinking, I say, "That would be when I went undercover for a consultation with a penis enlargement surgeon." The women in the audience stare at me in open-mouthed disbelief. I was warned by David Davis beforehand not to use any "curse words" and, judging from the look on his face, "penis" falls into this category. Nevertheless, I plough on. The punch line involves me doing an impersonation of the Italian penis-enlargement surgeon delivering his verdict after he's subjected me to a thorough examination: "Yes, Meester Yong, I think I can 'elp you." It doesn't get a single laugh.
Tuesday, October 8th
The climax of the tour takes place on the roof of the Downtown Standard in Los Angeles where I've organised a book party with the LA Press Club. Initially, I'd resigned myself to picking up the tab for this event, but at the last minute a helpful publicist offers to put in a few calls and--miracle of miracles--she finds a sponsor in the form of Stella Artois. Only afterwards does she explain that, in order to keep the sponsor happy, I'll have to invite some A-list movie stars. Consequently, I've spent the last 48 hours frantically working the phones, trying to persuade my friends to trawl through their rolodexes in search of "names". By the time the party starts, I've got copper-bottomed commitments from Josh Hartnett, Courtney Love, Tobey Maguire, Eric Stoltz and Quentin Tarantino. In the event, none of them show up.
One of the guests at the party is an Englishman called Adrian Butcher. He raves about the sexual opportunities available to Brits in LA. "Out here, having an English accent is like being a Calvin Klein underwear model," he drawls. I can scarcely believe it. Clearly, I spent five years trying to make it on the wrong coast. I quickly formulate a plan to come back to America for another five years, only this time to LA. When I inevitably fail I can then write a sequel about screwing up in Hollywood: How to Lose Friends & Alienate People II.
The New York Observer, November, 2002
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