My agent, my self.

Dear and wonderful Penny,

The first time I saw you, I was 22.

I was in my final year of theatre school, and you came to speak to my graduating class about The Biz. You were gorgeous, put together from head-to-toe, but that wasn’t what impressed me. It was the way you spoke about Show Business with authority and joy. Yes, joy. I could sense you loved the world you inhabited. You ran your own talent agency—Noble Talent—and I wanted to be a part of that world because of you.

A few months later, I was about to sign with a different agency when you called. You were gracious. You said that agency would be a good choice for me, but insisted you really wanted to work with me. Well, you weren’t unlike the first time I fell in love, because for me there had never been any other choice but you.

When I told you I was going to the Shaw Festival for the summer, you gently suggested said, “Well, that’s terrific, but I think you would do really well in film and television.” I was such a goof! I remember sitting opposite you in your office, pontificating, “Well, that’s nice, but I really see myself as more of a theatre actress.” You softly smiled and let me do my thing, always supportive. But you were right. Suddenly, for two years solid we booked television jobs. Yes, we. Working with you, was to be on a team. You were thrilled when I booked work, and I was thrilled to make you proud.

You were a force. You gobbled up theatre, and devoured books. You went on European cycling trips and expanded your agency. We went to see Kevin star in Miss Saigon and you were the first one on your feet, cheering, confiding to me, “This is sensational! What more do people want?”

When Kevin and I got married, you were there, at both the ceremony and the reception, smiling and engaged. You dealt yourself in everywhere you went, with curiosity and generosity. You lived out loud. I see that now. How I admire you for that!

When Kevin and I moved to Los Angeles, you wished I would stay in Toronto, but believed I had a real shot, and did all you could to help me with your connections. You continued to support me through screen tests and close calls and a long and confusing Hollywood journey. Because you understood The Biz, giving me some of the best advice—acting or life— that I’ve ever received.

When I was once told I wasn’t beautiful enough to be the lead in a series, you snorted and told me not to take it personally. Perspective is everything. ‘”You could remind the producer of his ex-girlfriend.” When I kept asking you for feedback on auditions, you suggested I relax and step back. “Do your best and let it go.”

The same could be said about anything in life, right, Penny?

When I was 30, Kevin and I came to Toronto, and you let us stay in your home for a week and drive your fancy red sports car around the city. I remember blasting Ricky Martin’s “Living La Vida Loca” from your car, thinking I had the coolest agent / friend / mentor in the world, and I only wanted to make you proud.

The last time I saw you was Autumn 2010, when I was 42. I had withdrawn from The Biz. I was so sick with kidney failure, bloated and tired and sad, my first kidney transplant from my mother in rejection. You came to my Toronto birthday party and dealt yourself into my friends, laughing and staying late like you always did.

Before you left, you pulled me aside, and told me you would always represent me if I came back to the business. I hope you knew how much that meant to me. That no matter how many dry years I’d had, how sick and hopeless and lost I felt, my addiction about to erupt, you still believed in me. You told me you would never stop believing in me, when I had most definitely stopped believing in myself.

In 2021, I reached out to you from Winnipeg to catch you up on our life. We talked forever about The Biz for women—to Botox or not to Botox—that there was a path for both faces. You ADORED your two girls who were now at university. The bliss of motherhood vibrated from you. You said you would represent me if I wanted to start putting myself on tape for Toronto film & TV projects from Winnipeg.

But then we talked about Pillness, my first memoir. It seemed that by the end of the week you had read it, and loved it. Excited, you insisted I develop it into a screenplay or limited series. You left me a review on Goodreads (do you know how many people can’t be bothered!) and even tried to help me get a Canadian publisher. I felt your pride. Your generosity was so gorgeous, a life force within you, always offering your hand of experience to anyone who might benefit.

I benefitted, Penny. Oh, how I benefitted. I see now what a steadfast and ferocious current you have been throughout my life for over 33 years. A gorgeous, clever, tenacious, single woman embracing, no, eating life, inspiring me to do the same.

Penny, I am absolutely shredded by your death. The last time we spoke, I felt a rush of gratitude for you. I realized how lucky I was to have always had you in my creative corner, offering perspective, encouraging my talents, and inspiring me to offer my hand of experience, too.

Now 56, I promise you this, Penny. I will continue to live out loud the way you did. To love the world I inhabit, and to continue creating no matter what.

To make you proud.