Special Delivery: Brown Bag for Narcissist

Back in my days of running the switchboard for a floor of penthouse offices in Beverly Hills, I worked for a man whose ego was about the size of California. But like the Goldennarcdemon
State, there were fault lines in this man’s core essence. It just took awhile for the earth to shake beneath his fine Italian loafers.

The man was Paul Fegen, and so great was his ego, that he actually threw a party well-attended by the media, so that the 1400+ attendees could see him get his haircut by the stylist Warren Beatty’s character in SHAMPOO was based upon.

He had a collection of exotic cars, foremost among them an Excalibut. The vehicle had speakers in it that allowed him to hail pretty women he passed, while his German Shepherd rode shotgun.

fegen purple car

He also threw weekly parties that were meccas for young women who came to Hollywood with aspirations…many of these girls called his private “Fig Lines” so labeled on my switchboard–and Fegen himself answered these. They were off-limits to those of us working in the office.

Paul Fegen became a wealthy man by coming up with the idea of Attorney’s Office Management, Incorporated, whereby he rented out floors of office suites at prestigious addresses, and then sublet small offices to clients. Most were lawyers, and so he provided his clients with the amenities of working in a large firm–a law library, receptionists and switchboard operators as well as mail service among other things.

I recall Playboy actually used the law library of our Beverly HIlls location for a photo shoot one day. One of the young lawyers who rented a suite on our floor went into the library under false pretenses, hoping to get an eyeful. He just got in 883013trouble with the model, who had imbibed a considerable amount of wine by ten o’clock in the morning. 

Anyway, one payday came and went in November and no one got paid. Rumors were getting passed like the cocaine at a a FIg party.

Finally, the Los Angeles Times broke the story that Paul Fegen declared bankruptcy. There would be no paychecks for his employees.

Being the young, brash, ballsy woman I was back then, I stormed back to his private little domain to give him a piece of my mind.

This was sacred ground I was walking on, and I remember a man named Bill from Human Resources trying to stop me, but that was impossible. I was roaring in like Hurricane Susan.

age15n-6-webAnd when I walked smack into the office of the great Oz, he wasn’t scrambling to figure out his next move to financial solvency.

Nope. He was doing magic tricks for the people in his inner office.

I blew a gasket. “You’re playing games while the rest of us who work around here aren’t getting our paychecks?” I asked with righteous indignation.

I don’t remember exactly what else I said, but knowing that I come from a long line of female cussers, I’m sure there was some colorful language leveled at Fig.

My father was flying in from the East Coast to spend Thanksgiving with me, so the Bank of Daddy helped me get by until I got back on my feet. It didn’t take long.

I received a phone call from Bill from Human Resources–the man who tried to stop me from bitch-slapping his boss.

Bill told me his buddy–an old college roommate–managed a company that provided peer group security for concerts, sporting events, etc. He was looking for a secretary who was intelligent enough to learn the new computers that his company would be installing in the new year. Was I interested in getting in on the ground floor?

You bet I was. And then life went on…

Now, thirty-plus years later and with the help of Google, I have learned that Fig’s life didn’t exactly go as he probably planned–at least not from a financial standpoint.

Sure, he got back on his feet. But he went on to make and then lose millions over and over again, all while lying, cheating and stealing from everybody and then some.

And now, life isn’t so good for Fig anymore. He was disbarred as of 2009. He is in his late
seventies making a living by doing magic tricks under AAEAAQAAAAAAAAiSAAAAJDg1M2NmOTc2LTRiYmYtNGM5Zi05YmExLWI4MWVjNzJiODFkNg.jpgthe name, The Fantastic Fig.

Once, when I was lamenting the state of my life back in the day, my dad told me, “Everybody gets a bag of shit. Some people get it at the beginning of their life. Some people get it as adults. And some people get it later in life.” 

I guess Paul Fegen finally got his brown bag. Special delivery.

Thanks for reading,

Susan J. Anderson, Foxy Writer Chickfoxy

 

https://www.washingtonpost.com/archive/lifestyle/1979/09/21/hollywood-hype-and-cocaine-claims/c9a0ec4c-85f0-44e8-abd5-b6819a759c91/?utm_term=.abbe50da354f

http://www.ripoffreport.com/reports/paul-fegen-fig/west-hollywood-california-90069/paul-fegen-fig-paul-fig-fegen-was-disbarred-from-practicing-law-he-also-filed-bank-1093356

http://www.calbarjournal.com/November2011/TopHeadlines/TH2.aspx

 

 


22 thoughts on “Special Delivery: Brown Bag for Narcissist

      1. I worked there too for about 3 weeks in college late 70’s. He called me to come back for A while . Sent Holiday cards for years. Very strange experience.

        Liked by 1 person

      2. He really was a strange duck. He did, however, figure out a way to own a business that employed a lot of young, attractive women. I’m sure it was no coincidence. I never received holiday cards, but I’ll bet they were Fegen-centric, Thanks for reading! 🙂

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  1. I love your posts! You have had so many wild and crazy adventures! Your life could make a hilarious sit-com. You, of course, would have to be the head writer!

    Liked by 1 person

  2. This was hilarious. I’ve had my Fig encounter around westHo too. First one in early 80s. He had a hologram of himself in his office, that was pretty cool. I got a ride the purple car…quite man, lots of people around him. Years later he was clowning around the roxy like a mime with the card tricks. Always heard rumors and lots of business guys thought he was dangerous. A hollywood character like Angelyne. Pink and purple 🙂
    Last encounter a few years ago at a stop light…I’ll leave it at that. LoL
    You’re an excellent writer and your dad is right.
    Thank you.

    Like

    1. Hi L. Farrington,
      Thanks so much for the lovely comment–good to know we’re not alone out here dealing with the egomaniacal. Fegen really took self-esteem to new heights, eh? A hologram? If he had that when I worked for him, I can’t remember. I do remember that he had special phone lines marked “Fig” that he answered himself–rather than going through my switchboard and screening. These phone lines were for the young hotties he tried to hook up with. Funny how he had several “Fig” lines–as if multiple women would be calling him all at the same time. He certainly was a Hollywood character. In that zip code, they may like to say “He’s eccentric,” but we all know he was just plain WEIRD. Ha!

      And yes, my dad was spot-on with his bag-of-shit philosophy. 🙂

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  3. In the early 70’s I occasionally went to his parties off Sunset Blvd in the Hollywood Hills. He called it “The Fig In Crowd?” Great view of the basin, but the parties weren’t that great. No drugs or alcohol were allowed which might explain why they were lightly attended without many “beautiful people”. However being only 20 I was impressed with his apparent success, inspite of his quirkiness and long hair and beard.

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hi Jim, you beat me to Fig by about a decade, but I don’t think much changed except maybe the crowds. I remember he had the newspaper cover one of his parties where everyone assembled to watch him get a haircut. And while I guess he didn’t have the vices of drugs and/or alcohol, he had a thing for girls who were way too young for a man of his age (although to my knowledge not illegal).I guess they liked his money and he liked their… As we used to say back in the day, “Gas, grass or ass, everybody pays.” 😉

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  4. Just remembered what FIG stood for: Fegen’s In Group. Also remembered that he always had a muscled pretty boy live in. Are you sure his FIG phone calls were from Hottie chicks?

    Liked by 1 person

    1. Hey Jim, you might be on to something there about the muscled pretty boy live in. The girls could have been for show while he lived his own lifestyle behind the scenes. The girls called in on the FIG lines that we weren’t allowed to answer. (We manned a switchboard for a whole floor of independent “attorneys'” offices so every call we took got a different greeting–my fave was Bishop, Baldwin, Rewald, DIllingham and Wong because none of those people actually worked in that office–they were in Hawaii running a $22 million dollar Ponzi scheme and eventually got busted but I digress.) So maybe we girls at the switchboard just assumed the FIG line calls were from girls b/c that’s what Fegen told us, but they were really guys. Wouldn’t be surprised in the least. And I love that you remember FIG stood for Fegen In Group. Perhaps I knew that back then but I forgot–or maybe I just never knew that either. Gold!

      Like

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