aviator, but that ended during a night carrier landing when a cable snapped and flipped his F-14 into the South China Sea. When they fished him out, he had a broken back, and his flying days were over. And in Jake’s words, “Once you’ve flown a shit-hot jet, you can’t bear watching somebody else doing it.”
So with that career plan gone, he tried law school and discovered it was a lot like being a pilot. You get to call the shots, and if your passengers don’t like it, they can get the fuck off your plane.
And if there are two things Jake’s good at, it’s calling the shots and firing clients who try to tell him how to do his job. You’ve got to respect that. He’s the best, and if you don’t want to listen, get yourself another lawyer. According to the L.A. Times , he represents eight of the top ten box office stars, five of the biggest earners in sports and all of the studio heads. Not bad for a ranch rat from East Jesus, New Mexico.
Jake represents so many Hollywood players that he sometimes finds himself on both sides of a negotiation. Anywhere else, that would be a conflict of interest, and one of the parties would have to get another lawyer. But if Jake represents you, you sure as hell don’t want some Number Two going up against him. So when it happens, everybody signs conflict waivers, and Jake goes into a room and makes the deal with himself. He says he likes representing both sides. It’s easier to sort out the overreaching.
He’s also the first call for reporters when something big breaks in show business or sports. But except for his pet environmental causes, you can’t drag a quote out of him. Talking to the press is not how you end up owning a Century City high-rise and homes from Sun Valley to Sorrento. Neither does having your face plastered across television screens.
“Why would I do that?” he asks. “To get more fuckin’ pain-in-the-ass clients?”
So, unless you’re an insider, you wouldn’t recognize him—even in his courtside seats at Lakers games.
“That was Jake Praxis’s building, wasn’t it?” said Kim a block and a half later. “Is he your attorney?”
I nodded.
“No shit.”
“You know him?”
“Hardly. But he’s on the board of the Getty, and I shook his hand once at a cocktail party. He had an Italian actress on his arm who could have stood next to a Ferrari and nobody would have noticed the car.”
“Only one?”
Kim grinned. “I’ve heard he’s quite the man. How’d you meet him?”
“Did a favor for one of his clients.”
“Back to the favors. You must be quite the fucking guy to know. What was it? Another ‘watcher’ operation?”
I smiled. “I wish it’d been that easy. The client is a big action star who coincidentally happens to live up the street from me. The guy had a bad case of couldn’t-keep-it-in-his-pants and liked living on the edge. Jake warned him more than once about fooling around with women he didn’t know, but like a lot of people—especially actors—when his boxers bowed, his brain went out for a smoke.
“Then he got himself paparazzied in a Brentwood bar licking the face of a Colombian drug lord’s seventeen-year-old daughter who was in town visiting colleges. The photographer was a whole lot smarter than the actor. He followed the happy couple to a poolside suite at the Four Seasons and got more shots of them playing lap trampoline in a hot Jacuzzi.”
Kim whistled. “Colombians don’t send warnings. They just kill everything that breathes, including your goldfish.”
“Actually, when it comes to their daughters, they like to torture the goldfish first.”
“Seventeen-year-old chocho . At least it was a piece of ass the guy was going to remember.”
“Yep, but not in old age. The actor got my name from a friend, and by the time he called, he was nearly hysterical,holed up and surrounded by more security than an Israeli ambassador. He swore up and down the girl told him she was twenty-three and an
So with that career plan gone, he tried law school and discovered it was a lot like being a pilot. You get to call the shots, and if your passengers don’t like it, they can get the fuck off your plane.
And if there are two things Jake’s good at, it’s calling the shots and firing clients who try to tell him how to do his job. You’ve got to respect that. He’s the best, and if you don’t want to listen, get yourself another lawyer. According to the L.A. Times , he represents eight of the top ten box office stars, five of the biggest earners in sports and all of the studio heads. Not bad for a ranch rat from East Jesus, New Mexico.
Jake represents so many Hollywood players that he sometimes finds himself on both sides of a negotiation. Anywhere else, that would be a conflict of interest, and one of the parties would have to get another lawyer. But if Jake represents you, you sure as hell don’t want some Number Two going up against him. So when it happens, everybody signs conflict waivers, and Jake goes into a room and makes the deal with himself. He says he likes representing both sides. It’s easier to sort out the overreaching.
He’s also the first call for reporters when something big breaks in show business or sports. But except for his pet environmental causes, you can’t drag a quote out of him. Talking to the press is not how you end up owning a Century City high-rise and homes from Sun Valley to Sorrento. Neither does having your face plastered across television screens.
“Why would I do that?” he asks. “To get more fuckin’ pain-in-the-ass clients?”
So, unless you’re an insider, you wouldn’t recognize him—even in his courtside seats at Lakers games.
“That was Jake Praxis’s building, wasn’t it?” said Kim a block and a half later. “Is he your attorney?”
I nodded.
“No shit.”
“You know him?”
“Hardly. But he’s on the board of the Getty, and I shook his hand once at a cocktail party. He had an Italian actress on his arm who could have stood next to a Ferrari and nobody would have noticed the car.”
“Only one?”
Kim grinned. “I’ve heard he’s quite the man. How’d you meet him?”
“Did a favor for one of his clients.”
“Back to the favors. You must be quite the fucking guy to know. What was it? Another ‘watcher’ operation?”
I smiled. “I wish it’d been that easy. The client is a big action star who coincidentally happens to live up the street from me. The guy had a bad case of couldn’t-keep-it-in-his-pants and liked living on the edge. Jake warned him more than once about fooling around with women he didn’t know, but like a lot of people—especially actors—when his boxers bowed, his brain went out for a smoke.
“Then he got himself paparazzied in a Brentwood bar licking the face of a Colombian drug lord’s seventeen-year-old daughter who was in town visiting colleges. The photographer was a whole lot smarter than the actor. He followed the happy couple to a poolside suite at the Four Seasons and got more shots of them playing lap trampoline in a hot Jacuzzi.”
Kim whistled. “Colombians don’t send warnings. They just kill everything that breathes, including your goldfish.”
“Actually, when it comes to their daughters, they like to torture the goldfish first.”
“Seventeen-year-old chocho . At least it was a piece of ass the guy was going to remember.”
“Yep, but not in old age. The actor got my name from a friend, and by the time he called, he was nearly hysterical,holed up and surrounded by more security than an Israeli ambassador. He swore up and down the girl told him she was twenty-three and an
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