If Dennis sees Beep spreading chaos like Johnny Appleseed, he does not let on. He continues his reconnaissance.

Dennis has spent his adult life on the road; he missed most of his children's growing up. With U2 he fought for concessions for the crew that had only been dreamed of over years of hard living. For example, each crew member has his own hotel room—an expensive luxury when 200 people are traveling, but one, Dennis insists, that allows the workers to feel like human beings. "You don't have to share with a smoker, you don't need to take a shower and find no towels." Dennis started in the

 [125]

Early seventies with bands such as Stone the Crows. Before joining U2 in 1987 he'd been working with punk bands, and did a stint behind a desk at Arista Records working with Patti Smith and Lou Reed. But his early career was dominated by Led Zeppelin. U2 is not his first ride at the top.

In the Zeppelin days Dennis was second-in-command to Richard Cole, a notorious rock & roll wildman who grew more infamous after being the primary source for the Led Zep expose Hammer of the Cods, and topped that with his own tell-all memoir. Dennis once found Cole, naked and out of his head, about to fly off the ledge of a hotel room. He wrestled him inside, surely saving his life. He says he wishes Cole the best with his books, but he could never do that, never kiss and tell. "There were nine good things with Led Zeppelin that no one knows about for every one bad thing," Dennis says. "But only the bad sells books."

We check into the first-class lounge, where the Principles are being boarded on the flight to Mexico. A panicky airport rep with a mustache runs up to Dennis and says there is a problem: "We've lost Mr. Fallon!"

"Fuck 'im," Dennis suggests.

The airport rep runs off, talking excitedly into a walkie-talkie of his own. They are holding the departure of the plane as long as they can while security is alerted to search for the missing VIP. Ten minutes later the mustached man returns to Dennis, mopping his brow and smiling triumphantly. "We found him, we got him on the plane, and they've taken off." Dennis nods and the man adds, "Whatever that guy's smok­ing, I don't want any."

"He's our resident leprechaun," Dennis explains.

Back in Hollywood I find U2 eating dinner near the editing studio, at a place called the Formosa that they discovered during the Rattle and Hum days. An older waitress comes up to Larry and says, "Aren't you grow­ing into a fine figure of a man," while he looks embarrassed.

Bono offers me a lift back to the studio. On the way we start telling can-you-top-this stories about our fathers. We both lost our mothers as teenagers and then went through the sit-com experience of living with our widowed dads as young men. "My father's a funny old guy," Bono smiles. "He never gave me a compliment in my life. Not from the day I beat him at chess when I was five years old and not in the twenty years after. I remember when I brought him to America for the first time to

[126]

see us play. It was a very emotional night. I introduced him from the stage, shined a spotlight on him. A very emotional performance. On that tour I was the first one off stage and no one followed me into the dressing room. It always takes me a few minutes after a show. Well, I came off stage and my father was right behind me. I got in the dressing room, turned around, and he was staring in my eyes. He reached out, took my hand in his, and I thought, 'Oh, my God, here it comes, after all these years ...' And still holding my hand, he said, 'Son—that was very professional.' "

Bono pulls into the studio parking lot laughing and shaking his head. He joins the others inside and they look at a rough edit of the TV special. It is set to be broadcast on Thursday. It is 2 a.m. Saturday. They shake their heads and say, no, it's not ready yet. They sit down and get back to work.

Oh, you probably want to know what happened when Phil Joanou went off to have his lunch with Mel Gibson. Well, Mel stuck to the letter of his deal with Bono—he said he'd have lunch with Phil and let him talk. Mel never said he'd talk back to him. Phil went to the Beverly Hills Hotel, sat down with one of Mel's people, Mel showed up, chatted with the other guy, gave no sign of hearing anything Phil said, got up, and left. Gibson then told Bono his position was unchanged: Mel Gibson will not make Million Dollar Hotel with Phil Joanou. Gary Oldman reiterates that his position is unchanged too. He will not make Million Dollar Hotel without Phil Joanou. Furthermore, Oldman needs a firm commitment quickly or he's going to have to accept another offer. Bono sees his big Hollywood package disappearing in front of him. Without Gibson's production company he cannot get the financing together to pay Oldman before he drops out, but Oldman won't come in without Joanou, which knocks out Gibson. The Million Dollar Hotel is shelved. Oldman takes on a thriller called Romeo Is Bleeding. Gibson will do a movie adaption of the TV western Maverick. Ryder goes off to do Reality Bites with first-time director Ben Stiller—that TV comedian who makes fun of Bono.

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