Show Business Kills (38 page)

In those days I couldn’t afford to write a check to the building fund at my kid’s school, so what I gave to them instead was
my time, as limited as it was. I would go in on a Saturday and tag things for the garage sale, or help build scenery for the
school play. And that particular month, all of the mothers were coming in on the weekends, and while the kids played on the
field, we made skirts for the booths for the fair.

At one of those sessions, one of the women suggested that with the success of the John Travolta idea, we were doing so
well with the tickets, that maybe we shouldn’t limit ourselves to the three thousand tickets, that maybe we ought to print
up more and sell five thousand tickets. Someone also suggested, as a joke, that maybe we should sell kisses from John Travolta
right at the fair and that she’d personally ante up her life savings for that.

Esther Milstein thought it was a good idea to print more tickets, and so did everyone else, and I made a mental note to find
out if it was possible that anyone was even close to Roger in ticket sales, though I couldn’t imagine that any other child
would sell a thousand tickets.

What I hadn’t counted on was the aggressive marketing techniques of Joanne Lee, a sixth-grader who was in the school on a
scholarship. Joanne’s mother was a manicurist in a beauty shop in Beverly Hills, and the little girl went to the shop every
day after school and sold tickets to all of her mother’s customers, and everyone else who came to the shop.

About three days before the fair I heard from Esther, and maybe she said it to give me a goose so I’d get Roger to work even
harder, that Joanne Lee had sold fifteen hundred tickets. She was ahead of Roger, or should I say ahead of Ziggy, who had
gone on a rare vacation to Fiji with his abused wife, Andrea.

I clutched. I knew I’d better track Ziggy down and tell him his lunch with Travolta was in jeopardy. I also knew that Andrea
Caldwell had taken him to this resort called Turtle Island, away from all phones, as a test of his love, because their marriage
was on the rocks, and she insisted he go to a place that remote so he could prove to her that she was more important to him
than show business.

Maybe I should leave it alone, I thought, let things take their course, let the deserving Joanne Lee win the lunch with Travolta,
and show that little dog Ziggy Marsh that money wasn’t everything. But then I got a grip and realized that doing that could
put me back out on the street with no job, and I’d just found out that Roger’s teeth were coming in crooked and he needed
braces.

Maybe I should buy the additional raffle tickets myself, and hope that I was doing the right thing and that Ziggy would reimburse
me when he got home and found I had covered for him, to make sure he’d have lunch with John Travolta. But then I added it
up and realized that to buy five hundred tickets, which would only put Roger even with Joanne Lee, would cost twenty five
hundred dollars. I had five hundred dollars in the bank.

I had to call Turtle Island. If Ziggy took my call, breaking the deal with Andrea Caldwell, she might leave him. If he didn’t
take my call, and the raffle deal fell apart, he would kill me. It was her marriage or my life, so naturally I picked me.

There was one phone at Turtle Island, and the line was always busy. By the time I got through, it was eleven at night in Fiji,
and the person who answered was not happy to take my message for Mr. Marsh. Two days went by and I never heard back. I had
called him from his office, so even if he didn’t get my message, at least he’d be able to see on the phone bill that I did
try to reach him.

On the morning of the fair I called Turtle Island one more time, and the line was busy again. I was worried, but I told myself
I had done my best and that was all I could do, and I went off to the fair. The school grounds looked beautiful.
The parents’ committee had done a fabulous job with balloons and crepe paper.

I worked in the cold-drink booth, and Esther Milstein worked in the throw-the-Ping-Pong-ball-in-the-goldfish-bowl-and-win-a-fish
booth right next to it. Esther was supposed to be the one who was going to pull the winning raffle ticket from the basket,
and she’d been waiting for the headmaster to come and get her, but for some reason, the little brass band, led by the music
teacher, was suddenly playing a fanfare, on the far side of the field.

The music was what made me look over and see that a lot of people had gathered around the bandstand, where the headmaster
himself was standing with the basket of raffle tickets. I didn’t hear what he was saying to the assembled families, but he
was getting a few laughs from them, because he could, when he turned it on, be very charming. “Esther,” I said, “come on,”
but Esther was busy transferring a goldfish from its bowl into a plastic bag full of water for one of the kids who’d just
won it, and she didn’t hear me.

By the time she was ready to walk over there with me, the headmaster had already announced the names of two of the raffle
winners, and as we made our way over to that side of the field, he was announcing the third.

Esther looked at me as if to say, “What in the hell is he doing?” But by the time we got near the front of the group we knew,
because that was when he said, “And finally… the winner of the lunch with John Travolta, star of
Saturday Night Fever
…” I looked around trying to spot Joanne Lee, hoping to see the joy on her face when she won. And the headmaster said, “…
is the student who sold the most raffle tickets, Roger Bass.”

Rogie shrieked with joy and jumped in the air and ran to the stage to have his hand shaken by the headmaster. I was dumbstruck.
I knew it wasn’t true, but people were now circling me, congratulating me and telling me they were envious, and asking me
what I was going to wear to the lunch, and I looked around and this time I located little Joanne Lee, whose face was frozen.
And next to her, with the same stoic mouth-set, was her mother. But their empty eyes, devoid of disappointment, told me they’d
been prepared for that announcement.

I watched the headmaster with a stiff smile walk back to his office, and as soon as Joan Casey replaced me in the cold-drink
booth, I walked into his office, too, without knocking. I knew by his expression, which was a combination of embarrassment
and resolve, that he’d been waiting for me.

“Mister Jenson,” I said, closing the door to the office behind me, “I know my son didn’t sell the most raffle tickets, and
I need you to tell me why he won. Because I think he knows he didn’t sell the most tickets, too, so tonight when the excitement
wears off, I’m going to have to explain this to him.”

“Mrs. Bass,” he said, gesturing for me to sit in a chair opposite his desk, “I admire your principles for coming in here and
questioning this. To use a well-worn cliché, children learn what they live, and I’m sure you’re a fine example to your son.
Now let me tell you the principle I used in handling this situation. Joanne Lee has a scholarship to the school this year
worth ten thousand dollars. She needs another one next year. Thanks to the generosity of Mr. Marsh, your employer, not only
will she have it, but so will four
other students who might not have had the opportunity to come to this school. Do I make myself clear?”

The laughter and shouting from the children at the fair came drifting through the open window of the headmaster’s office.
I knew that a tax-deductible fifty thousand dollars to Ziggy Marsh was small change for a chance to have lunch with John Travolta.
Could I ruin it for him? Could I make him take his dirty money back? Take away his generous scholarships to the school?

My eyes met Jenson’s. A school administrator in tinsel town. A man who was responsible for the quality of the education of
our children, and his salary at best wasn’t a whole lot more than fifty grand. He had to hate a guy like Ziggy Marsh, and
the only fly in his personal ointment might be if I spilled the beans to the board of directors about the way Joanne Lee had
been screwed out of the lunch. I knew he cared about the school and thought the Hollywood people were the necessary evil he
had to put up with to run it. So I got up and walked out of there and went back to the cold-drink booth.

A week later, on the following Saturday, Roger, Ziggy, and I had lunch with John Travolta in Santa Barbara. Travolta was so
adorable I could have cheerfully jumped on him right there. He was charming to Roger, talking about flying airplanes and all
the things kids love. Ziggy was on his best behavior and kept bringing up the business, but Travolta, not sure how this man
he’d been avoiding for so long was in on this, was polite but essentially ignored him.

That night when I was tucking Roger in, he asked me what had happened. He had heard the buzz around school all week that Joanne
Lee was cheated out of being the winner, so he
knew something odd had happened. I sat on the bed and silently prayed for the strength to be honest and true without giving
him details that would break his heart.

“Roger,” I said, “I did a bad thing. I let my boss buy all of those raffle tickets from you because he wanted to meet John
Travolta, and it wasn’t fair and square because he influenced the way the raffle went, and Joanne Lee worked so hard selling
the raffles at her mom’s shop and she probably would have won. I’m so sick about it, I think I’m going to have to quit this
job, and find another one, because I can’t stay there anymore, and I want to apologize to you, because I let him do that for
all the wrong reasons. I’m sorry, honey, I’m really sorry,” I said and looked into his eyes, wondering if he understood.

Roger was sweet-faced, and his big hazel eyes blinked at me so innocently and even now when I think about it, I want to cry
because he’s always been such a great kid, and he said, “Yeah, well, Mom, you know what they say, don’t you?”

And I said, “No, honey, I don’t know what they say.” And Roger shrugged and told me, “That’s show biz.”

Marly’s laugh was tired. Rose didn’t comment. When they both looked over at her, her head was thrown back against the back
of the chair and she was sound asleep.

  
29
  

S
he sat on the bed in the Tropi-Cal Motel in the Valley and counted the money she had left, laying it all out on the orange
bedspread. She was still shaking from the move out of the Sheraton. In the middle of the night last night it had hit her that
every breath she took was costing her extra. Like that little minibar. She’d been so excited when she saw all the stuff in
it, figuring it was part of the cost of the room, and she wouldn’t even have to order room service or go out to eat
.

She could live on the free cheeses and the candy bars and cookies. Wouldn’t have to go out and get food, or order from the
hotsy totsy room service menu. So she ate practically everything in there. Then last night she discovered the little form
on the top of the bar. The one you fill out to tell them what you ate so they can put it on your bill, the sheet where it
tells you that the peanuts alone are six bucks a jar
.

That’s when she knew she’d better get the hell out of there. So this morning, holding her pile of cash like a kid who broke
open her piggy bank, she checked out with her heart pounding while they added up the amount she had to pay, wondering if she’d
have enough. And then she had to
pay a deposit at this new place. The Tropi-Cal Motel. A true dive. And she only had eighty-three dollars left
.

Eighty-three dollars was probably what Jack Solomon used to blow his nose instead of Kleenex. That tux he was wearing at the
hospital probably cost thousands. Once they were on the same path, heading in the same direction, but she had veered off,
planning to catch up with them later. And now all of them were in the bucks, and she was counting and recounting her last
few dollars, hoping maybe she’d made a mistake and it would be eighty-four dollars or eighty-five
.

What a dumb idiot she’d been wasting all that money on the Sheraton for appearances. Thinking when she got to Jan’s, after
their chummy chat, Jan would say, “I’ll come and pick you up later and we’ll have dinner,” and if that was the case, she’d
be able to tell her she was staying somewhere good. But Jan didn’t say that. Jan didn’t want to have dinner with her, she
wanted her to get her lowlife ass out of her house
.