“That must have been very difficult for you,” Dr. Joyce Brothers said. And I admitted that, yes, it was. Then someone asked what kind of a lock I had on my bedroom door and Brandon Tartikoff caught my eye and made a cutting gesture against his throat and, ha ha, even though I’d been in Hollywood for less than two hours I knew what that meant, which probably has a lot to do with why I’ve walked away with tonight’s Best Director award. “Cut!” Thanks, Brandon.

I hated saying goodbye to all of my wonderful new show business friends but it was time to go so Brandon led me out the door to our waiting limo. And just as I was settling into the backseat I saw Barbara Streisand turn to Vincent Price and say, “I like that kid. He’s a survivor.”

So are you, Barbara. So are you.

We left the party and went to a restaurant named Spago, where Brandon and I spent the next several hours talking and eating spaghetti. He seemed so interested in every aspect of my life and was full of questions.

“So tell me, Don, after you left the cafeteria you mean to say you did absolutely nothing for the next fourteen years? God, that’s fascinating.”

I noticed people at the surrounding tables perk up and try to listen in on our conversation so Brandon had us moved to a private booth.

“What was your day like? When would you wake up?”

I told him I’d usually open my eyes at around one-thirty or two but wouldn’t get out of bed until two forty-five, when my mother put on her fluorescent vest and left the house to do volunteer crosswalk service at Brooks Elementary. Then I’d go downstairs and root around the kitchen and watch TV until around four o’clock, when her car would pull up in the drive-way, at which point I’d go back to my room and lock the door and stare at my hands until around five-thirty.

“I noticed your hands,” Brandon said. “They’re really special. When was the last time you trimmed your fingernails?”

“Nineteen eighty-three, eighty-four.”

“Do you ever wash your hands?” he asked.

“Maybe,” I said. “Maybe not.” I wasn’t being difficult — just mysterious.

Just then the waiter delivered our check and he said, “I noticed your hands the moment you walked in. They’re fascinating. Hands tell so much about a person. I think you should get a job here!”

“Back off,” Brandon said. “I think Don’s had enough restaurant work to last him the rest of his life.”