Michael's Secrets (17 page)

“Tell me what?” Michael asked, dreading what other secrets would be revealed to him that day.

“I don’t know, Michael, if I should tell you, but what the hell, nothing else could shock you at this point,” Eric began. “My father married your mother in 1945 when she was eighteen and he was thirty-six. They were only married six months and had it annulled.”

Michael’s mouth dropped open. He was not ready for this. His mother was married to Seymour Sagman for six months in 1945? He was dumbfounded. She really did hide things from him. No wonder Eleanor knew of the Sagmans.

“Is there more?” Michael asked.

“They were married in D.C. After the annulment, your mother moved to Newport News. My father moved there a couple of years later, hoping to reconcile with your mother, but then she married again. Apparently, they started having an affair around the same time he met my mother,” Eric told him.

“How long have you known this?” Michael asked.

“My mother told me in the limousine on the way to pick you up this morning,” Eric said.

“No wonder you know what I’m going through,” Michael told him as his cab pulled up.

“Michael, come back to the house with us. Please, do it for me,” he pleaded.

Michael opened the taxi cab door, and as he stepped inside, he changed his mind. He handed the cab driver a twenty and apologized for taking up his time as he decided to go back to the house with Eric. After all, Eric was his half brother, and he also wanted to see pictures of what he looked like growing up.

As Michael got back into the limousine with Eric and his mother, he turned to both of them and said, “I’m only going to your house because Eric asked me. You must promise me one thing, Mrs. Sagman.”

“What is that?” Mrs. Sagman asked as she checked her make-up in her compact.

“Don’t introduce me as Seymour’s son,” Michael said.

“OK, Michael, if you promise me one thing,” she said.

“What?” he asked, not sure he would agree to whatever she wanted.

“You will call me Harryette,” she said as she closed the compact and smiled at him.

“OK, Harryette,” Michael said, smiling back at her.

“Can I introduce you as my brother?” Eric asked.

Michael leaned over and looked at Eric and said, “Let me think about that one.”

They chuckled a bit as they rode back to the Sagman’s house on Helsel Drive in Silver Spring. They lived in a modest three bedroom ranch style home with a deck and a large back yard. There were dozens of people already in the house when they arrived, and there was food everywhere. Michael excused himself to the bathroom, and he lingered in there as there were pictures of Eric at various stages in his life. There was a headshot with his name etched on the bottom, Eric Buddy Sagman. Michael guessed him to about twenty in the picture as he looked like him at that age. There was a shirtless picture of him on the beach. He had a nice body in his youth, a little thin, though. Michael had a similar picture in his home, and he was also a bit thin at the time. Eric had really packed on the pounds since then, but so had Michael. Neither was fat, just a little fuller – though Eric was fuller than Michael. But, the picture that struck Michael the most was his baby picture. It was as if he were looking at his own. Michael stared at it for quite some time, marveling at how much they looked alike. Michael never looked like anyone in his family, but here he was staring at what could have been his identical twin. Michael did notice one significant difference between pictures of Eric growing up and pictures from the same period in his life. In Eric’s, he looked happy, always with a big smile and a sparkle in his eyes, but in Michael’s, the smile was strained and his eyes appeared empty. Michael didn’t begrudge him his happiness, nor was he jealous.

Michael stepped out of the bathroom, and there was an elderly woman standing there. She told him how sorry she was about his father before going into the bathroom, and he didn’t feel like correcting her. Eric and his mother were seated in the living room, so Michael decided to look at the pictures they had hanging on the wall opposite where they were seated. There was a picture of Eric at around ten or eleven sitting on the ground with a pug.

“You had a pug?” Michael asked Eric as he turned around to look at him.

Eric stood up from the couch and walked over to where Michael was standing, looking at the picture. “Yeah, that’s Kelly. She was my fourth birthday present. She lived sixteen years. Imagine that. I was twenty when she died.” He then touched the picture, remembering his dog.

“I also had a pug,” Michael said. “Her name was Aunt Clara. She died right before I moved here, and she also lived sixteen years. Weird, huh?”

Eric looked at Michael and furrowed his brow. “What is your favorite color?”

“Green,” Michael said.

“Mine, too,” Eric said with excitement. “What is your lucky number?”

“Twenty-four,” Michael said, “But I know that’s not yours. Yours is three.”

“No, Michael,” Eric said with a smile, “My favorite number is twenty-four. It’s divisible by three. Everybody I know has a favorite number like five or seven, but never a two-digit number. I felt so weird in first grade when I picked twenty-four. No one else could count that high, but being an Aspy, I was special.” Eric smiled as he said this feigning superiority for comic effect.

Michael looked at him and tried to come up with something else they might have in common. “What is your all time favorite TV show?”

“
Bewitched
,” Eric said, waiting for his reaction.

“Oh my God,” Michael said slowly. “That is why I named my dog Aunt Clara. OK, you can introduce me as your half brother, now.” Michael smiled at Eric, happy to be related to him at last.

“Great!” Eric exclaimed as his eyes lit up.

Just then, an elderly woman with horribly teased hair and too much make-up came up to them. “Which one of you is Eric?”

“I am, Aunt Rose,” Eric said. “This is my half brother, Michael Bern.”

Michael reached out his hand to shake hers and she looked at him as if she just saw a ghost. “You two look exactly alike.”

“Well, to tell you the truth, Aunt Rose, my hair is gray, and I wear glasses,” Eric said. “And, Michael is gay.”

Michael looked at him confused as he was convinced Eric was gay, too. Aunt Rose walked away, and Michael said to Eric, “You’re straight?”

“Get a grip, Michael,” Eric said, “I’m so gay the mailman knows. I was just teasing Aunt Rose. She’s a little senile.”

Michael liked his sense of humor. It was more sarcastic and dryer than his, and he thought Eric should have been a comedy writer. But most comedy writers come from a dark past, so he might not have had much of a career after all.

Michael stayed for a few more hours talking to some of the guests, who didn’t know if he was Eric or not. Not once did anyone ask what he did for a living, as they were more curious about his looking like Eric. Not having to deal with the thing he dreaded – having to explain who he was and what he did for a living – turned out to be a relief as Michael didn’t have to hear about this one’s daughter who should be in movies and did he know this director and could he get that one an audition. Whenever that happened, he would see the look of disappointment on their faces when he would tell them he was a just a lowly television comedy writer with no real connections – at least none he would admit to.

Eric drove Michael home in his mother’s Cadillac, and one thing they did not have in common was the way they drove. Michael always obeyed the speed limit and all the rules, but Eric took it to the extreme, driving with his head near the dash and in the right lane with old women passing him as if he were standing still. Eric was obviously terrified to be driving his mother’s car in the city.

“You don’t drive much, do you?” Michael asked.

Not taking his eyes off the road, Eric said, “I hate to drive. I only got a license because my father said I would need one some day. I don’t even own a car. I never have. I haven’t driven a car in almost seven years.”

“Well, that’s one thing we don’t have in common. I love to drive,” Michael said, and upon hearing that, Eric pulled over immediately, got out, walked around to Michael’s side, opened the door and practically ordered him to drive.

Michael settled behind the wheel, trying to remember the last time he drove a Cadillac, also realizing this was the first time he would drive a car into Washington as they continued down Connecticut Avenue in Silver Spring. Michael also wondered if the experience would rival the Hollywood Freeway in a Corvair.

* * * * *

When Michael was eighteen, he still had not learned to drive because his mother didn’t have time to teach him, and Michael never would have thought to ask Bart. Michael did think about asking Aunt Flossie to teach him to drive, but she had such a reputation as a bad driver that he decided that would be worse. As luck would have it, Hannah and Bart went away for a week and left him home alone, and they knew Michael would never throw a party for fear of the repercussions. One of the nights they were away, Aunt Doreen invited him over for dinner. Her daughter, Marci, was her only child still living at home at the time, and she thought they would make such a nice couple, but Michael knew by then he was gay. Marci was fifteen at the time, and she adored him because he worked at Baskin Robbins, and she loved ice cream.

After dinner, Doreen suggested they go see a movie. Michael asked if she could drive them, and she looked at him as if he were crazy.

“Michael, you don’t need a chaperone. This is Marci. I changed your diapers; I trust you,” she said.

“Aunt Doreen, I don’t know how to drive,” he said almost embarrassed to admit it.

“What? Aren’t you eighteen? Hannah has not taught you how to drive?” she said to him almost frustrated at the thought of his not learning to drive. “That does it, come over tomorrow at ten. I am going to teach you how to drive. Then, we are going to get you a license.”

“Aunt Doreen, I don’t think my mother would like that, and who would pay for my insurance?” he asked.

“I’ll handle your mother, and if need be, I’ll pay for your insurance, too,” Doreen said as she got up from the dining room table and asked the housekeeper to bring coffee and dessert into the den.

The next morning, Michael biked over to Doreen’s, and after eating a bagel and lox to make her happy, although he already ate breakfast (realizing then that as long as he was around the girls he would always have a weight problem), they began Michael’s lesson.

“Aunt Doreen, thank you for doing this. I was going to ask Aunt Flossie …” he began.

“Are you
meshugina
? Florence needs someone to teach
her
how to drive. I’m the best driver of the girls, so you are in good hands with me. Besides, do you want to learn how to drive in a Chevy or a Cadillac?” she asked.

“A Cadillac of course,” he said as he sat down behind the wheel. Michael had to move the seat all the way back, and Doreen laughed when he finally found a comfortable position.

“All right, Mr. Perfect, here is what you do,” she began as she showed him how everything worked in her car with all its buttons and knobs. She was a great teacher. Doreen had him drive all over town, on the interstate and in parking lots, she taught him how to parallel park until he got it right on the first try, which was no small feat in a Yellow Cadillac Fleetwood with a white vinyl top, and within a week of daily driving, she declared him perfectly roadworthy and took Michael to the DMV to get his license, and he passed on the first try.

When his mother and Bart returned, Michael showed her his license. For once, she was not upset that Doreen took it upon herself to teach him how to drive. Michael guessed she was glad she didn’t have to do it, herself.

Doreen and her husband Sammy gave Michael her 1979 Cadillac when they were ready to buy a new one at the end of the summer, and they even paid for his insurance. Hannah never protested, and Michael only let her drive his car once, when he was in the hospital and could not stop her. He drove that car all through college, and after he arrived in LA in 1985, he gave it to a stage hand, who had just learned how to drive herself. It was Michael’s way of giving back.

* * * * *

Michael cruised down Connecticut Avenue and enjoyed being behind the wheel of such a large luxury cruiser again. He even considered buying another Cadillac when he moved back to California. Eric also seemed a lot more relaxed with Michael behind the wheel. Once in Mount Pleasant, Michael looked for a parking spot. He spotted one near the apartment that would accommodate Eric’s mother’s car with little room to spare, and proceeded to parallel park it perfectly on the first try. Michael had such a proud look on his face, especially since the last time he parallel parked a Cadillac was 1985.

“That was amazing, Michael,” Eric said as Michael put the car in park and handed him the keys.

“I was taught how to drive in a Cadillac by the best driver among the girls,” Michael said as he stepped out of the car.

“What girls?” Eric asked as he exited the car.

“My mother’s friends. My Aunt Doreen taught me how to drive. Thanks for letting me drive. It actually brought back a nice memory and made this day worth it.”

Eric came in for a minute to chat. Then, he called his mother and told her to send his cousins Mel and Tony to pick him up and drive her car back. He was in no shape to drive, with his nerves still rattled from the ten minutes he drove already that day. Michael felt it was nice to know Eric wasn’t completely perfect.

After he left, Michael decided to give someone a call. The phone rang four times before it was picked up.

“Hello?”

“Aunt Rona, it’s Michael.”

Then she screamed, “Doreen, Michael’s on the phone, pick it up!” Michael had the cell phone hands-free earpiece in and thought he would have to have eardrum surgery again after she yelled.

Doreen picked up and yelled, “Rona, how may times do I have to tell you not to pick up my phone!”