Jackpot! (4 page)

Once outside the restaurant, I walked about half a block and then stopped. All of a sudden I felt ecstatic. Unbelievable relief came over me. I was off the hook! I was so happy I started to laugh loudly, almost to the point where people passing by were thinking I was a crazy person. One woman even stopped and asked if I was okay.

“You think this is funny?” Max said, interrupting my laughing attack. He had come after me. Sweat was dripping down his chubby cheeks and he had taken his jacket off.

“Max, if I don’t laugh, I’ll cry,” I said, still giggling.

My response softened him and he gave me a huge hug, almost crushing me.

“I’m sorry, honey, about what I said,” Max groveled, “Your ring, although very small, was I’m sure, a very good quality diamond.”

I pulled away from the hug and started laughing even louder.

“Again with the laughing…” said Max, “Am I a joke to you?”

When I was finally able to contain my laughter, I managed to show some sympathy. “No, Max, no,” I said sweetly, “I think I’m laughing because I’m so relieved. See, I don’t want to marry you.” At that moment, I hated myself because I knew I had just dropped a bomb on him. Still, I felt I was doing the right thing, fessing up now.

“What?”

I looked at him and said sadly, “You heard me.” Then I waited for him to take it in.

“Why?” he whispered.

“I really care about you. You know that, right?”

Max nodded. I took a tissue out of my purse and wiped his forehead while continuing, “I already made one mistake marrying John, and the worst thing I could do is marry someone who I don’t see myself with forever. I know that sounds harsh, but I’m just being honest.”

He pulled my hand and the tissue away from his forehead. “But tell me why,” he pleaded, “I need a more specific reason.”

I thought about what I could say to make him understand and then it hit me. “Because you need someone who wants what you want. You want the suburban wife with the SUV, driving your two kids back and forth to Hebrew school.”

“What’s wrong with that?”

“Nothing, except that’s the last thing I want. Max, I want to make movies. I want to write and direct, not pick balls out of bins until I’m nine months pregnant, and then become a stay at home mom. I don’t know if I even want kids.” I put my head down and finished, “I don’t think I’d be a very good mother.”

Now Max’s sweet sadness turned to rage. “So what am I supposed to do now?” he demanded.

The fact that Max didn’t respond with “Of course you’d be a good mother!” spoke volumes. I figured he agreed with me, and therefore he chose not to say anything about my parenting abilities. But part of me also knew that at this moment, Max was thinking only of himself.

A brilliant idea suddenly hit me. “You know what you should do?” I responded, “You should get back together with Bonnie.” Bonnie was Max’s girlfriend, who he’d dumped for the woman standing here breaking up with him.

Max looked at me like I was nuts. “Bonnie? How do you know Bonnie’s still single?”

“You could call and find out.”

Max was now completely pissed. “I don’t believe this.”

I continued trying to sell my idea, despite still absorbing the fact that my almost fiancé thought I would make a shitty mom. “Look, Bonnie wants what you want. I don’t. Plus, Bonnie would do anything for you. I doubt that’s changed.”

Now Max’s anger turned to a formal, unemotional tone. “Fine. Dump the fat guy.”

“I’m not dumping you. I’m trying to do what’s right for both of us.”

He shook my hand, which I thought was really weird, and said, “Good luck, Jamie. When you wake up husband and childless at 40, I hope you don’t regret this.” Then he turned and walked away.

Instead of a serious relationship coming to an end, this felt like the conclusion of a bad business meeting. But as I watched Max angrily walk down the block, I didn’t regret what I had just done, and I didn’t feel sad or guilty. This might sound completely insensitive and rude, but honestly, the thought going through my head right then had nothing to do with Max. I was standing there trying to remember if I’d set the DVR to record
Entourage
four nights earlier.

Chapter 3

I took a big gulp of my Miller Genuine Draft. “Hey, what are you doing in there?” I shouted to Jennifer, who had been in her bedroom way too long, getting ready for our date.

“I’ll be out in a second,” she shouted back.

“Hurry! I need a kiss!” I demanded.

Stretched out on my girlfriend’s couch, tired from the photo shoot I’d just come from, I was desperate for a smooch from her, the main reason being Jennifer was a woman. Not even an hour ago, I’d been posing on North Avenue beach half naked with a dozen other men, and had been asked to kiss a guy while a photographer snapped pictures for the annual Chicago Gay Pride Parade. So right now, I craved a female mouth on mine in order to quickly erase the memory of the dude’s lips I’d felt earlier. Not that I had anything against gay people, I just wasn’t gay, so it was weird. Plus, I hate to say this because the guy was really cool, but his breath freakin’ reeked.

A moment later, my wish was granted. Jennifer dashed out, jumped onto my lap, and showered me with kisses and hugs. Thrilled beyond belief, I made an aggressive attempt to turn the kisses into passionate ones. In a matter of seconds, I was unbuttoning her shirt. Hell, sixty minutes earlier, I had kissed a guy. It was time to attack my woman and validate my masculinity in a big way.

“Wait,” she told me, “Slow down.”

“Jen, I just made out with a dude. I need you.” I kissed her again. “Now!” I opened her shirt and buried my face in her chest.

“Danny, can we just talk for a second?”

I was kissing her chest and trying to unhook her bra while I spoke. “Let’s have sex and then talk.”

Jennifer pulled away and got up. “Danny, I’m serious.”

“Sorry. I’m just having a bad day. I need a little cheering up,” I responded, trying to sound cute.

She looked at me with annoyance, and then began buttoning her shirt back up. “Why was it such a bad day?” she asked me, “You’re getting jobs, aren’t you?”

I frowned. Now I knew I wasn’t getting any sex.

“Do you know how many actors would kill to get the jobs you get?” Jennifer went on. She spoke with authority, which was appropriate since she was not only my girlfriend, she was my agent.

I got up and headed to the kitchen for another beer. On one hand, I knew Jennifer was right. Then again, I felt like it was okay to feel sorry for myself since my resume as an actor wasn’t even close to what I wanted it to be.

I had graduated from Syracuse thirteen years earlier with a degree in Elementary Education and a minor in drama. If it would have been up to me, I’d have done the reverse, majored in drama and then taken some teaching courses, maybe enough for a minor. But my domineering mother had insisted I get a degree in something practical, and truthfully, part of me wanted to be a teacher. But I also had the acting bug big time, and even now, all these years later, I still had it.

Shortly after college, I moved to New York City and got a job as a teaching assistant at an elementary school in Brooklyn. I also moved there in hopes of becoming an actor. But after five years, I managed to get only one credit under my belt. I played a criminal being hand-cuffed by a New York City cop for the ad campaign Giuliani implemented to get more recruits for the NYPD.

Fortuitously, a producer from Chicago happened to see the commercial and offered me a job posing as a rapist for a print ad for The Chicago Bureau for Self-Defense. When I flew back to do the shoot, I decided to permanently stay in Chicago, so I quit my teaching job and moved home.

I started interviewing at several schools and a few weeks later, I was offered a teaching position at Martin Luther King High School, a Chicago Public School in a rough neighborhood. I was excited beyond belief by the challenging position, but decided I wasn’t ready to give up on my first love; acting. I still had hopes that acting would someday replace my teaching career.

Shortly after I started my job at MLK, millions of posters were distributed and placed all over Chicago. The caption read, “Your Attacker Could Look Like The Boy Next Door.” Under it was none other than me, lurking behind an innocent woman walking alone on a dark side street.

The Superintendent of The Chicago Public Schools wasn’t too thrilled that one of his teachers was the poster boy for rape, but eventually he got over it, especially when I brought the posters into my classroom and explained to the kids that I was also an actor, and that I felt I was doing the world some good by participating in such a good cause.

The Chicago Bureau of Self-Defense ads ended up attracting the attention of Jennifer, who was a relatively reputable agent. Within a week of seeing me, she signed me as a client. At first, our relationship was all business. Jennifer and I got along great. She got me a decent amount of work, and even though I had a full time teaching job, I was going on a fair amount of photo shoots and being paid, which was great since teaching at a Chicago Public school wasn’t exactly making me a wealthy guy. So, in addition to all the exposure, the extra money was a big perk.

Jennifer made me feel important. She made me feel talented. She made me feel good. And I always knew I should be grateful, but I was growing impatient. When was I going to be discovered? When would my big break come?

I wanted to be more than just “the before guy” for the sales literature for Hair Removal Treatment Centers of Illinois. I wanted better jobs than the Warts-Be-Gone guy people commented on while paging through the Chicago Tribune on a Sunday. I felt like I deserved more than posing as a down and out guy for Gamblers Anonymous, which was what I was presently trying to explain to Jennifer, who didn’t understand how I could be so unappreciative.

“Do you know how many actors would trade places with you in a minute?” she asked me, “At least you’re getting jobs.”

“That’s not the point,” I replied, as I headed back toward the couch. I sat down and took a big gulp of my new beer. “Just once, I’d like to play a doctor, or a teacher. Something good.” I sighed, “Maybe a fireman.”

“How about a dad?” asked Jennifer, who was now seated in an upright, uncomfortable looking position.

I thought about it for a second. “Yeah, a dad…” I started to get excited. “That’s perfect! I would play a dad!” I exclaimed with a smile, “Now you’re talking. What’s the part?”

Jennifer grabbed the beer bottle out of my hand and took a big sip. “Danny…”

“Jennifer, this is good,” I said, as the wheels began to spin in my head. I was getting more and more psyched. “A dad…” I was truly thrilled, and felt like a 10 year-old kid whose parents just told him he was going on a hot-air balloon ride. “Are you sure I don’t look too young?”

“No, you’re definitely not too young.”

“This is great, Jen, thanks!” I scooted over to be closer to my favorite agent. “Tell me more. Who is it? When’s the shoot?”

She took another gulp of beer. “Danny…” she said before taking a deep breath, “I’ve been thinking, I want to have a baby, and I want YOU to be the father. Will you do it?”

“What? I don’t get it.”

Jennifer took another big inhale and exhale. “I’m 37. I’m getting up there. I want a child. And I want YOU to have one with me.” She put her arms around me and finished, “You’d be a great dad!”

I wasn’t sure how long I’d stopped breathing. One minute I was dreaming of a possible break-out role to jumpstart my acting career, the next I was sitting in a catatonic-like state.

“Did you hear what I said?” Jennifer’s voice had gone up an octave.

Now my head was pounding. How could Jennifer and I be on such opposite ends of the spectrum? I was having fun, she wanted to start a family with me. How could we be so far off? I had a quick flashback to the first time I slept with Jennifer. It was only a couple of months earlier. There had been sexual tension between us for years, but I purposely never acted on it because I didn’t want to change the dynamics of our relationship. I liked it the way it was. Jennifer and I were polite to each other. We treated each other with respect.