Michael's Secrets (6 page)

“Hello.”

“Mr. Bern?”

“Yes, this is Michael Bern.”

“This is Sam. Remember, the valet from last night?”

“Oh yeah. Listen, you owe me a clutch,” Michael said jokingly.

“No, I’m so sorry. What does it cost? I’ll pay for it,” Sam said as he started to panic.

“Calm down, kid, I was kidding.”

“Oh,” he replied.

“What’s up?” Michael asked.

“Mr. Bern, I was wondering if maybe, oh … if you would … are you available to have dinner some time to discuss my career?” Sam stammered.

“I’ll tell you what, Sam,” Michael began, wondering if he should tell him he gave his information to Sid, “I’m leaving for Washington in a couple of weeks to work for a year. So, I’m going to be pretty busy the next few days, how about we get together, oh I don’t know … tonight?” Michael thought that would confuse him.

“You’re busy, but you want to get together tonight?” he asked.

“Yes, no time like the present. See if I don’t see you tonight, I may never get to sit down with you to discuss your career. But, Sam, I have to ask you a question?” Michael asked.

“Sure, Mr. Bern,” he said.

“Do you know what I do for a living?”

“Yeah, you’re a writer. It said so on your card, and I read about you in the trades,” Sam said almost proudly.

“OK, because I don’t know much about getting a break for an actor. But let’s see what we can come up with,” Michael said.

“Where should we meet?” Sam asked.

“Meet me at Anna’s Italian on Pico at eight. Do you know where that is?” Michael asked.

“I do, I almost got a job there,” he said.

“Well, I worked there when I first moved here in 1985. I’ll see you at eight,” Michael said.

“Oh, Mr. Bern?” Sam asked.

“Yes, and will you please call me Michael?” he said.

“Yes, Michael, did you get my headshot? I left it in your glove compartment.”

“Sam, you shouldn’t leave those in glove compartments. You don’t know what kind of weirdo you’ll meet in Hollywood. See you at eight,” Michael said before hanging up.

Michael then took a six-hour nap when he realized he had not slept since the day before.

He arrived at Anna’s Italian a few minutes before eight, wearing black slacks and a gray shirt, and he saw that Sam was already seated at a table waiting for him. He was more handsome than the night before, wearing a yellow shirt and jeans that hugged his slim but muscular frame quite well. Michael was impressed when Sam stood up to shake his hand, and he had a good grip.

Sonia, the two-hundred pound head waitress who moved faster than anyone on the floor, walked over to their table to take a drink order. Michael ordered a bottle of Chianti, knowing he would hardly finish a glass, just to see if Sam was a lush or a light weight, though Sam didn’t argue about getting a bottle of wine for the two of them.

The wine arrived, and Sonia poured each a glass before taking their order. They both ordered the manicotti with a side order of garlic bread and decided to split a Caesar salad.

He likes the same foods as I. He’s handsome, well-mannered and Jewish. He even has good table manners and chews with his mouth closed. If only he were ten years older
, Michael thought to himself. “So, you wanted to talk about your career,” Michael said.

Sam swallowed a bite full of salad before speaking. “Yes, I gave myself five years, and my time here is almost up before I go back to Mobile. I’ve only managed to get roles as an extra. I can’t even find an agent.”

“To get an agent, you need an acting job, and to get an acting job, you need an agent,” Michael said, echoing the old saying about breaking into show business.

“I did get a call today from a Sid Goldman, but he sounds like an old guy, and I don’t know how he got my name,” Sam said.

“Really, Sid Goldman called you?” Michael asked trying to sound surprised.

“You know him?” Sam asked before taking another bite of his salad.

“Of course I know Sid,” he said as he poked his fork at his plate. “He may be an old guy, but don’t knock someone because of his age. He’s the best in the business, and believe me, if that
alta cocker
wants you as a client, you’ll be working in no time.”

“So, I should go see him?” Sam asked.

“Sam, how long have you been here? Five years? You’re parking cars and the man in the crowd here and the man in Pathmark there. How many agents have called you?” he asked as he put a bite of salad in his mouth.

“You read my resume?” Sam asked as he took a sip of Chianti.

“I had to before I handed it to Sid,” Michael said, and Sam choked on the wine, bringing the napkin to his lips. “I’m sorry, did I say something to upset you?”

“You gave my resume to an agent?” Sam asked with surprise and a little excitement as he wiped his mouth and caught his breath.

“Isn’t that why you left it in my glove compartment?” he asked as he took another bite of salad.

“Well, to tell the truth …” Sam started to say.

“You wanted me to fuck you,” Michael finished his sentence, taking another bite of his salad. He was enjoying the part of the suave older man making this kid nervous – a part he rarely, if ever, played. Maybe, he should have considered a career in acting.

Sam blushed at Michael’s comment, and Michael smiled at him, putting his fork down and resting his hands on the table. “Listen, Sam. I’m really a nice guy, and you’re a good looking guy and well-mannered from what I can see. I thought you were cute last night as I showed you how to drive my car, and I looked in the glove compartment right after I arrived home, knowing you would leave a headshot in there. Do you know how many headshots I’ve collected from valets over the last twenty years?”

“Probably hundreds,” Sam said a little embarrassed.

Michael looked into his deep brown eyes and said, “Including yours, three.”

Sam put down his fork and with surprise said, “Three?”

“Yeah, three,” he answered. “People in this town know my name, but very few know what I look like. It’s been to my advantage in that I get invited to some of the most exclusive parties, yet I can go shopping at Kroger’s without anyone bothering me. That’s why I like being a writer. Nobody notices me.”

“But you’re so hot! Don’t they figure you are an actor or some Hollywood big shot?” Sam asked.

“Thank you, but I never considered myself hot. But, no, headshots are expensive, and most wannabes don’t give them to someone unless they’re sure it will get their foot in the door,” Michael said as he resumed eating his salad.

Sam picked up his fork again and asked, “What happened with the other two who left them in your glove compartment?”

“I fucked them,” Michael said without hesitation or looking up from his plate. This time Sam didn’t choke. “But, if you’re wondering if I gave them to my agent, I didn’t.”

Sam stopped eating and looked at Michael. “Why did you make the exception with me?”

“Because, Sam, there’s something different about you. You see, making it in this business as an actor has little to do with talent. It’s all about presence, appeal and charm. I think you have a natural charm about you, and if I’m right, Sid will see that, too.” Sam blushed again as Michael continued, “And, you have a youthful quality, especially when you blush. I thought you were in your twenties until I read your resume. I couldn’t believe you were thirty.”

Sam finished his salad, put down his fork, and said, “I have to tell you something.”

“What, Sam?”

“I’m not thirty,” he said, setting off alarms in Michael’s head, who wondered if he was sitting there with a seventeen-year-old.

“How old are you?” Michael asked with a frown.

“I’m thirty-five,” Sam said. “I figured if I chopped off five years, it would increase my chances since I decided to try to be an actor late in life. I was a school teacher for seven years before I quit to move out here.” Michael sighed with relief as Sam continued. “You’re not upset that I lied about my age, are you?”

“Not at all,” Michael said. “I was afraid you were going to tell me you were seventeen.” He laughed, and so did Sam. “How old do you think I am?” Michael asked.

“Well, that’s not fair because I know you have been here for twenty years. But, last night I thought you were in your early thirties.”

“Good save,” Michael said as Sonia removed their salad plates and brought the manicottis.

“Promise me you’ll go see Sid,” Michael said as they dug into their dishes. “I don’t want to look like a fool.”

“I will, I will,” he said.

Michael really liked Sam, who like him, only drank a half a glass of wine. Michael told Sonia to take the rest of the bottle home with her, and after eating dinner with him, something told him Sam would make it big in this business if he got the right break. The rest of the evening was pleasant, and after dinner, Michael invited Sam back to his house.

They sat on the deck talking, and Sam asked, “Do you have a boyfriend?”

“No. I’m not boyfriend material. The guys I end up with are usually self-centered assholes who end up using me and discarding me when I’ve outlived my shelf life,” he explained.

“Wow, I thought I was the only one who ended up in relationships like that.”

Michael looked at him for a moment. They were very much alike, or at least he was like Michael ten years ago. He wanted to make a move, but he really liked Sam, so he didn’t want him just to be a trick. As Michael pondered what path to take, Sam got up from his chair came over to Michael, leaned down and kissed him. His full lips felt great against his, and as they made out on the deck, Michael wondered what Helen Epstein thought of all this.

They parted lips, and Sam said, “I have an early day, and I better get going before I rip all your clothes off and have my way with you.”

“What happened to that nervous, shy valet I met last night?” he asked.

Sam laughed as he gently tugged Michael’s nipple through his shirt. Michael walked him to the door, and they made out some more before Michael opened it. Sam hesitated and patted Michael’s chest, as if he were debating what to do next. He walked outside, turning before getting into his car and waved.

“Go see Sid,” Michael yelled after him as he backed out of the driveway.

“I will, I will,” he yelled back. “Call me before you leave for D.C.”

“I will, I will,” Michael said.

The next few weeks were hectic as Michael prepared to move to D.C. Sam and he never could quite get their schedules to mesh, and although they talked on the phone several times, they never managed to see each other again. Michael was not too disappointed, as he knew starting something before leaving would only make it more difficult. Here, he had met a really nice Jewish guy, and he was moving.

Timing is everything in Hollywood.

Chapter Four

Michael rented his house to one of his colleagues from
Los Angeles Live
, and he debated about whether to put his car in dry storage or take it with him. Since he didn’t want to take a chance driving his Corvair cross-country, he went with his gut and stored it. Sharon told him he wouldn’t need a car in Washington, and Michael figured if it turned out he did, he could rent one when necessary.

Michael arrived at Dulles International Airport around 2:00 pm on Friday, June 10, and took a cab to his temporary home in the Mount Pleasant neighborhood of Washington, D.C. The neighborhood looked like a nice area, and there were several people walking their dogs, which made him miss Aunt Clara even more. The apartment was actually the first floor of a townhouse located on Newton Street next to Bancroft Elementary School, and it was all brick with the ugliest blue doors and shutters Michael had ever seen. Eric Sagman said he would be home when Michael arrived to hand him the keys and all the necessary information. Eric had decided to sublet his apartment for a year, even though his assignment in Brazil could be as long as two years.

Michael exited the cab, pulled his bags from the trunk and knocked on the door to the apartment. When Eric answered the door, Michael’s jaw dropped. He blinked several times, and so did Eric. They were the mirror images of each other. It has been said that everyone has a twin, but this was too weird, even for Michael.

Eric also stood six-foot-four with closely cropped hair, but where Michael’s hair was still all black with a few gray strands, Eric’s hair was all gray. Eric obviously worked out, but was carrying about twenty more pounds than Michael, some of it around the middle, which Michael also battled constantly, often yo-yoing up and down by twenty or so pounds a year, himself. Eric’s eyes were also green, but they were obscured by Clark Kent style, black framed bifocals. Since Michael didn’t wear glasses, he could be Superman to Eric’s Clark Kent. Eric was wearing jeans and a green T-shirt, a matching green military style belt and Chuck Taylors in the same shade of green. He was just a little too color coordinated for Michael’s taste.

After the initial shock, Eric opened the screen door and said, “You must be Michael. Come in, come in.”

Eric’s suitcases were neatly arranged by the door, and once inside, Michael was standing in the kitchen/dining room, and he put his suitcases down. The cabinets were white and built to the ceiling, and there was a green Formica table with matching green chairs. Everything in the kitchen – the pictures, the
chachkis
, the canisters and the like – had green accents. There were plants on a green baker’s rack by the front window and taped to it were instructions on when and how to water them. Eric led Michael into the living room, and the first thing he noticed was that everything was arranged in threes. Michael glanced back to the kitchen and noticed all the pictures and other items were arranged in threes there as well. The living room had a futon, two matching chairs and a small bistro table by the back patio. Whereas everything in the kitchen was green, everything in the living room was either red or tan with
chachkis
and pictures to match.
It is true what Jews say, Art is what matches your couch, or in this case, your futon
, Michael thought.

Michael then completed the tour with the bedroom, again arranged in threes, but with everything accented in green and burgundy. The apartment was absolutely spotless, just as Michael’s house was.