“WHO’S THIS!?” the voice of a grumpy old man answers. “You gotta’ get out of that 818, Man.” This is the first piece of advice I receive from a Hollywood literary agent over drinks at Barney’s Beanery. He’s talking about my area code. I’d been in Los Angeles for four days, and already, I was being told that I didn’t belong. My area code — 818, the Valley — was uncool. “Gotta move to 310.” I remember this 20 years later as an unknown number from area code 310 repeatedly pops up on my cellphone.