“My wife did his last movie. Sweet girl, gentle as a little bird. He yelled at her all goddamn day, every day. Film’s over, the poor thing practically has combat shock. Let me bump into that prick in a bar one of these days,” Stacy says as he swigs his drink.
“Who’s your wife?” Rick asks.
“Kim Darby,” Stacy says.
“Holy shit,” says Rick. “You’re married to Kim Darby? You’re talkin’ about True Grit?”
“Yeah, I met her on the Gunsmoke I did last year,” Stacy explains. “We’re married two months tops, she lands the lead in True Grit.”
“Fuck me swingin’, you’re married to a star,” Rick says excitedly.
“Did you get a chance to read for that Glen Campbell part in True Grit?” Curt asks Jim.
“Nooooooo,” Jim says dramatically. “Once Hathaway learned Kim was married, and not just married but married to some young, handsome swinging dick, I couldn’t even visit the set. He didn’t want my ass nowhere around.”
They all laugh.
“I don’t think he read anybody,” Jim speculates. “They just gave it to Glen Campbell.”
Rick slaps the piano in frustration. “What the fuck’s the Duke’s problem? He’s got great cowboy roles for young guys and he keeps casting these faggot singers can’t act. Ricky Nelson. Frankie Avalon. Glen Campbell. Fuckin’ Fabian. Dean Martin.”
Jim chimes in, “Well, Dean Martin’s a little different than the rest of those guys.”
“He’s a goddamn fuckin’ singer like the rest of ’em,” Rick emphasizes.
“Yeah,” Jim acknowledges, “but he can act.”
“Yeah,” Rick says, “he can act like a fuckin’ wop!”
They all laugh at that. Rick continues, “Don’t get me started ’bout Frankie fuckin’ Avalon dying at the fuckin’ Alamo.”
More laughter. Warren Vanders adds, looking at Rick but pointing at Jim, “You know who he was married to, don’tcha?”
Rick and Cliff shake their heads no.
“Connie Stevens,” Warren tells them.
Rick involuntarily jumps up in the air. “You were married to fucking Connie Stevens?”
“I was married to and fucking Connie Stevens.”
Rick shakes his head sadly. “You greedy bastard. I had such a crush on her.”
“You and all of America, pal,” Jim adds.
“I kept pushin’ to get her on a Bounty Law, but ABC wouldn’t let her do NBC shows, so it never worked out. But if it hadda,” Rick adds, “that coulda just as easily been me walkin’ down that aisle.”
Stacy ain’t so sure about that, but he lets the statement stand unremarked on. He’s used to men’s jealousy over his track record with women. So he brings it back to his regrets over McCluskey: “Yeah, well, you got McCluskey, I got Stevens. But I don’t have Stevens no more, but you’ll always have McCluskey.” Stacy bitches, “I coulda been part of a cool team in a tough-ass movie, fuckin’ up Nazis. Instead, I ended up gettin’ my ass kicked by that squirt Michael Anderson Jr. on The Monroes.”
The men laugh at the Michael Anderson Jr. remark.
“But still, who am I to bellyache,” Stacy says. “Yeah, I coulda been fourth guy from the left in The Fourteen Fists of McCluskey, but you”—pointing his brandy Alexander at Rick—“coulda been the fuckin’ Cooler King.”
Aw, not this fucking McQueen horseshit again, Rick thinks.
Cliff winces, knowing how much Rick hates this story. Rick tries to wave the story away, telling Stacy, “C’mon, man, we already went through that shit.”
Warren Vanders asks Stacy what he’s talking about.
Jim takes his brandy Alexander and points it at Rick again and performs for the group of men. “This fuckin’ prick . . . came this close”—holding up two fingers on the other hand an inch apart—“to getting the McQueen role in The Great Escape.”
Both Curt and Warren Vanders give big reactions to that revelation.
Rick holds up his own two fingers an inch apart and says, “I didn’t come this close.” Then Rick spreads both arms as wide as they go and says, “I came this close.”
The other men laugh but contradict what they mistake as humble pie. “That close is fucking huge in my book,” says Warren Vanders.
Curt Zastoupil shrugs. “Oh, he almost got McQueen’s signature role. No big deal.”
Stacy points at Curt. “EX-ACT-LY.” Then he turns to Rick and waves his finger at the group of men. “Tell ’em about it.”
Fuck me, Rick thinks, I’m not going to tell this same fuckin’ story twice in one goddamn day, especially to the same fucking guy.
“Seriously,” Rick says to the group, “there ain’t nothing to tell. It’s just Sportsmen’s Lodge gossip.”
So since Rick’s being demure, Jim Stacy jumps in and tells it himself. “Apparently, McQueen almost didn’t do it. So the director draws up a list. Four names. Top of the list?” Pointing at Rick: “This fuckin’ guy!”
“He’s making up that top-of-the-list part,” Rick clarifies.
Warren Vanders asks, “Who were the other three?”
Jim answers for Rick, “The other three—get a load of this—the three Georges.”
“Which three Georges?” Curt asks.
“Peppard, Maharis, and Chakiris,” Jim tells them.
Both Curt and Warren wince, with Curt adding, “Shit, between them three faggots you woulda totally gotten it!”
“What did I tell ya?” Jim says to Rick, then to Curt, “That’s what I said.”
Then Maynard yells from behind the bar, “Curt, I hope you enjoyed your little break. Now entertain the other thirty people in the room!”
Jim, Rick, Cliff, and Warren leave the piano area, and Curt sits back down on his bench and gets to work.
These eyes cry every night for you
These arms long to hold you again
The other men belly back up to the bar, where Maynard serves them another round (that’s round three for Rick and Jim and tap beer number two for Cliff). Cliff pays for the round. Warren Vanders pays his tab, says goodbye to the boys, and leaves while he still can drive.
On nights like these, Cliff doesn’t usually say much. It’s not like he’s biting his tongue, he interjects from time to time, but he knows these nights aren’t about him. It’s about two male actor colleagues sniffing around each other to build both an artistic and working relationship. This is their night.
The two remaining television actors continue to talk and drink and do what actors of their time usually do. Compare notes. Usually about directors and actors they both worked with. It turns out Stacy knows Tommy Laughlin too, from acting in Tommy’s first film as a director, The Young Sinner. Stacy worked with the director of Tanner, Jerry Hopper, on a Have Gun—Will Travel. And both men worked with Vic Morrow. Vic did a Bounty Law, and Jim did an episode of Morrow’s show Combat! They also talk about directors they like, which usually means directors who like them and hired them. Rick sings the praises of Paul Wendkos and William Witney, while Stacy champions Robert Butler.
“So how did you get so set up with CBS?” Dalton asks Stacy.
“Well, you know how it is,” Stacy says. “You work for this TV director, you work for that one. Then you work for one who really digs you. Then you become one of his guys. If he does four episodes a year on different shows, he might plug you in one or two, if he can.”
“Yeah, I had that situation with Paul Wendkos and Bill Witney,” Rick adds.
“So my guy who thought I was his guy,” Stacy says, “was Robert Butler. He plugged me into a few of his shows, and even the shows I didn’t get ’cause they wanted a bigger name—an Andy Prine or a John Saxon—I impressed the casting directors and the producers.” Stacy continues, “So word about me started to spread at CBS, then this big-deal two-part Gunsmoke came up. And they didn’t just give it to me, I had to win it. I had to impress the network executives, the Gunsmoke producers, and the episode director, Dick Sarafian.”
&nbs
p; “Dick Sarafian wrote the script of my first lead role in a motion picture,” Rick interjected.
“Really?” Stacy said. “What was it?”
“A hot rod picture for Republic called Drag Race, No Stop. Bill Witney directed it. It had a good cast, Gene Evans, John Ashley, Dick Bakalyan. I beat out Bob Conrad for the lead.” Rick jokes, “Witney didn’t want to dig a hole every day for the other actors to stand in so Bob could look them in the eye.”
They all laugh at the Robert Conrad short joke.
Then Rick asks Stacy about the Gunsmoke episode. “So the network executives were butting into the casting of an episodic?”
“Well, that’s the thing,” Stacy explains. “They coulda just gone the big-name route and Chris George gets the role. But they didn’t want a big name. CBS wanted to cast a young actor and use that episode of Gunsmoke to establish him with a western-watching audience and then plug him into his own show next season.”
“Well,” saluting Jim with his empty whiskey sour glass, Rick says, “You’re a lucky goddamn son of a bitch and I hope you appreciate that.”
Jim Stacy bristles a bit. “I wouldn’t say I’m lucky. I’m fortunate. I mean it’s not like I hit town and just fell off a turnip truck. I spent seven years on fuckin’ Ozzie and Harriet saying, Hey Ricky, want a hamburger?”
Rick clarifies, “Whoa, whoa, whoa, I didn’t say you didn’t deserve it. And I didn’t imply that either. I watched you today, you totally fuckin’ deserve it. I’m just saying—I been you. It was me guesting on a Tales of Wells Fargo that got the town excited about me. And that directly led to Bounty Law. Anyway, my point is—this is a moment for you. And I hope you appreciate the moment better than I did.”
“You didn’t appreciate it then?” Jim asks.
“I did,” Rick assures him. But then jabs him in the shoulder with his empty cocktail glass and says, “But not like I do now.”
After Maynard sets them up with Rick’s fourth whiskey sour and Jim’s fourth brandy Alexander and Cliff’s third beer, they start talking about sexy male actors’ favorite subject, pussy.
Jim wants to know did Rick fuck Virna Lisi, and Rick wants to know did Jim fuck Hayley Mills.
Jim didn’t, or if he did he’s not talking. Rick didn’t, but he tried. Rick tells Jim how he fucked Yvonne De Carlo and Faith Domergue when they guested on Bounty Law. He fucked De Carlo basically because since he was twelve he always wanted to fuck Elizabeth Taylor. And he figured Yvonne De Carlo was about as close as he was gonna ever get.
“Was it hard starting up an affair with Yvonne De Carlo?” Jim asks.
Rick lifts up his empty cocktail glass and says, “About as hard as ordering another whiskey sour.” They all three laugh at Rick’s line and his timing. Jim orders another round, but Cliff passes on a fourth beer. The two actors wait for Maynard to bring them their last round of cocktails.
Rick knows he has to still get home and work on his lines for tomorrow’s shoot. God forbid he doesn’t know his lines backward and forward when he has to play a scene with that little bitch.
She’ll probably know her lines and his lines.
That just means this is his last drink. When he goes to bed tonight, he’s going to remember in the morning going to bed.
But before he and his co-star say adiós, Rick says, “Jim?”
“Yeah?”
“You know that Great Escape shit you asked me about?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t enjoy that story as much as everybody else seems to,” Rick confesses. “I mean, if I were Cesare Danova—fair enough. But my situation ain’t his situation.”
“Wait a minute,” says a confused Stacy, “what the hell does Cesare Danova got to do with it and what’s his situation?”
“Well,” Rick explains, “once upon a time—for two minutes—William Wyler seriously considered casting Cesare Danova as Ben-Hur.”
“Really? Shit, I didn’t know that.”
“You don’t know it because, two minutes later, Wyler came to his senses and cast Charlton Heston,” Rick explains further. “But you can say Cesare Danova was almost Ben-Hur because he almost was. But his situation wasn’t my situation.”
Jim stares at Rick, wondering what he’s getting at.
The actor continues, “Look, I worked real hard on Bounty Law. And if that’s what I’m known for, fair enough. But the thing that seems to interest everybody the most isn’t the show I did. It’s a fucking role I never played. A role I never had a Chinaman’s chance of getting.”
“You were on the list,” Jim offers.
“The list, the fucking list!” Rick says, raising his voice in frustration. Maynard and a few other customers turn in their direction. Jim reaches over and pats Rick’s hand on the bar, and says quietly, “It’s okay, calm down. Take a drink.”
Rick sucks some more whiskey sour out of his straw, as Jim looks at him with big eyes.
“That list,” Rick repeats in a sarcastic whisper, “that everybody thinks is so impressive is fuckin’ questionable. I mean, I never saw it. But let’s just say there is a list and I’m on it and the three Georges are on it.” Rick asks, “Do you realize how many crazy impossible things would hafta happen for me to get that role?”
Jim states, “I don’t follow.”
“First things first,” Rick begins, “McQueen has gotta do the dumbest thing in his life—turn down The Great Escape and accept The Victors. You know, that thing he didn’t do, because he’s not a fuckin’ idiot.”
Then Rick stops and says, “But for the sake of argument, we’ll say McQueen is a fuckin’ idiot, and he turns down the flashy role in the epic movie written for him by his mentor John Sturges. Does that mean I get Hilts, the Cooler King?” Rick asks Jim.
Before Jim can answer, Rick says, “Of course not.
“If there was a list, at the time, George Peppard would have been right at the top of it,” Rick insists. “I mean, there’s not even a question about that. And if McQueen turned them down, they would have just turned around and offered it to Peppard. And since the role that Peppard did was the role in The Victors that McQueen turned down, if offered The Great Escape, Peppard would’ve not been an idiot and said yes immediately. And that, Mr. Stacy, would have been that,” Rick concludes.
Makes sense, Jim thinks as he smiles at Rick’s delivery. But little does James Stacy know, Rick ain’t finished yet.
“But . . .” Rick starts up again, “for sake of argument, let’s say before he can play the role, Peppard drives his Aston Martin off of Mulholland—No, wait a minute, that’s too cliché. Peppard gets eaten by a shark, surfing in Malibu. So thus he’s unavailable.”
Rick sums up the situation for Stacy again, making sure he’s keeping up with the train of thought. “So McQueen does the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his whole life, and Peppard gets eaten by a shark.
“Now do I get it?” the actor asks the other actor.
Jim nods his head up and down.
But Rick moves his head side to side. Then, explaining to James Stacy as if he were a five-year-old child: “No, I don’t get it. George Maharis gets it.”
Jim Stacy starts to argue, but Rick holds his hand up to stop him before he starts. “Now, why do I say that? I’ll tell you.”
Rick proceeds to explain, “Look, because of that TV show of his, in ’62 he was pretty popular. Not only that, two years later, Sturges cast Maharis in the lead in a thriller called The Satan Bug—which suggests he’s partial to Maharis. I mean, he didn’t cast me in the fuckin’ Satan Bug.
“So,” Rick continues, “if Steve McQueen does the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his entire life, and George Peppard gets eaten by a shark, then . . . George Maharis is Hilts, the Cooler King.”
Rick lifts up his cocktail, sips some sour booze through his straw, toasting Maharis. “But, for sake of argument, let’s say, before principal photography, Maharis gets caught having sex with a man in a public toilet.”
Jim Stacy bursts
out laughing.
Rick continues, “So now Maharis is out, and Sturges goes back to the list. So, do I get it now?”
“Over George Chakiris, fuck yeah!” insists Stacy.
Rick shakes his head from side to side and tells Jim, “No no no no no, Jim, of course they offer it to George Chakiris.”
Stacy makes a face that indicates he disagrees, and Rick proceeds to demonstrate his point by raising his hand and counting off the reasons on his fingers:
Finger number one, “One, there is that inexplicable Oscar he’s got.”
Stacy nods his head, acknowledging, Yes, that’s a thing.
Finger number two, “Two, The Great Escape was produced by the Mirisch Brothers for the Mirisch Company.”
Finger number three, “George Chakiris has a deal with the Mirisch Company. He made the 633 Squadron with ’em. He made Diamond Head with ’em. He made that goofy Aztec movie with ’em. So not only do they like him—he’s under fucking contract with ’em!”
Seeing the logic in Rick’s hypothesis, Jim Stacy nods his head yes.
Dalton sums up, “So George Chakiris gets it, and that’s that.”
Stacy nods his head in agreement and starts to say something, when Rick stops him with an upward-pointing index finger. “But . . . let’s just say—for sake of argument—McQueen does the dumbest thing he’s ever done in his life, Peppard gets eaten by a shark in Malibu, Maharis gets caught fuckin’ a man in a public toilet . . . and it turns out the man Maharis was fuckin’ . . . was Chakiris!”
That makes Stacy do a spit take with his cocktail.
“So bye-bye, Bernardo,” Rick says with a big hand gesture. Then, hunching his shoulders, he asks Jim Stacy, “Do I get it now?”
Jim puts down his cocktail. “Of course you get it, you’re the last guy on the fuckin’ list!”
“That’s just my point, Jim,” Rick explains. “When the fuck do they hire the last guy on the fucking list? When you get to the last guy on the fuckin’ list, you throw out the fuckin’ list and start a new fuckin’ list!”
Shit, Stacy thinks, that is what they do.
“So now it’s not the three fuckin’ Georges, it’s the two fuckin’ Bobs. Redford and Culp. And now they decide to make the guy British, and all of a sudden Michael Caine’s got the fuckin’ part. Or,” Rick concludes, “they decide to say fuck it and pay Paul Newman what he’s asking for. Or Tony Curtis’s people call up and offer them a good deal on Tony. Regardless, I never stood a fuckin’ chance.”
Once Upon a Time in Hollywood Page 31
