Michael's Secrets

by Milton Stern

  Michael turned around and walked out then he turned back to the bouncer and said, “I don’t think you realize whom you just kicked out of your dump.”

  The bouncer responded, “From what I can see another pretty boy who wants to play with a daddy.”

  Michael shook his head and walked to the curb in the hope of hailing a cab before he was accosted by some hood. As he stood there, he heard the door to the bar open, but he didn’t look back to see who it was. He heard footsteps behind him, and then someone tapped his shoulder. Michael jumped and yelled, then he turned and said, “I’m leaving, asshole, I’m just waiting for a cab …” But, it wasn’t the bouncer.

  Standing in front of Michael was a man in his thirties, who was around five-foot-nine, with a crew cut, a goatee and, from what he could see in the dark, gray eyes. The man was wearing a black T-shirt that hugged a large muscular frame and jeans, similar to Michael’s.

  He smiled and said, “Do you call everyone asshole?”

  Michael looked at his feet and saw the man was wearing black leather boots and pointing to them said, “Why did they kick you out? You’re wearing black leather boots.”

  The man looked at his boots, looked up at Michael and smiled, “Is that why you left? I was wondering why?”

  “Yeah, and I’m going home to get my size seventeen, black leather stilettos, just to piss off the bouncer,” Michael said as he turned toward the street again to look for a cab.

  The man inched closer to Michael and looked up the street as well and said, “You won’t get a cab just standing here. You’ll need to call for one inside. They don’t like coming to this neighborhood if they don’t have to.”

  “Great,” Michael said. “Where should I go then to catch one? I just moved here yesterday.”

  The man reached out his hand and introduced himself, “I’m Steve. Come with me into the bar.”

  “I’m Michael, but they won’t let me in,” Michael said shaking his hand and noticing the strong grip on this stranger who followed him out. “Weren’t you leaving?”

  “No,” Steve said. “I saw you come in and then turn around and leave, so I decided to follow you out to see if I could meet you.”

  “It must be slim pickings inside tonight if you need to find a trick by watching the door for rejects,” Michael said with a laugh.

  Steve looked Michael up and down and said, “You’re no reject. Come with me, I’ll get you in.”

  “And, what makes you think you can get me in?” Michael asked without moving.

  “I’m Mr. D.C. Falcon,” Steve said as he walked back to the door and motioned for Michael to follow him.

  Michael hesitated for a moment, then shrugged his shoulders and followed his new acquaintance to the door. Steve rang the bell, and the bouncer opened it, smiling at Steve but then throwing a frown at Michael.

  “It’s OK, Jim,” Steve said as he grabbed Michael’s arm to lead him in. “This is my date, Michael.”

  Michael walked past the bouncer and smirked as the bouncer huffed back at him, saying, “Yeah, well your date isn’t dressed right.”

  Steve turned around and walked up to the bouncer, staring up at the big man who stood a good six inches taller. The bouncer bowed his head at Steve, who growled at him, “Boy. You know better than to sass me. Now, you apologize to my friend. He just moved here, and I wouldn’t want him to think we’re not respectful to our guests!”

  The bouncer walked up to Michael who was watching this play out with much curiosity, got down on his knees, grabbed Michael’s right hand and said, while looking at the floor, “Forgive me, sir. I did not mean any disrespect.”

  Michael, who was a little taken aback by the bouncer’s behavior, looked at Steve for direction. “What do I say?” Michael mouthed.

  “Put your left hand on the back of his head and tell him he’s forgiven,” Steve said as if anyone should know this.

  Michael did as Steve instructed and said, “You’re forgiven.” Then he looked at Steve, who nodded approvingly, and took his hand off the bouncer’s head and said as he then put it under his chin and tilted the big man’s head up, “But, boy, I don’t care if I come in wearing a party dress and Mary Jane’s. You let me in next time.”

  The bouncer said, “Yes, sir.” Then he stood up and walked back to the door.

  Michael reached for his wallet and pulled out a $10 bill and walked over to bouncer and handed him the cover charge. He then walked back over to Steve and said, “I always pay my way.”

  Steve took a seat at the bar and motioned for Michael to sit next to him. Michael seated himself and asked, “What the hell was that all about with the sirs and the boys?”

  Steve looked at Michael and said, “Role playing,” as if anyone knew that.

  Steve then ordered a bottled water, and Michael ordered a Diet Coke and paid for both and tipped the bartender. Michael noticed that people were staring at him as he sat there with Steve. “Why are people looking at me?” he asked.

  Steve looked around and said, “Oh, I’m sort of a celebrity here, and my boyfriend and I are on a break, but they don’t know, so they probably think I’m cheating on him. And, you are new meat.”

  “You have a boyfriend?” Michael asked, looking at Steve.

  “We’re on a break. It’s OK,” Steve said.

  “I know it’s OK; we’re just sitting here talking,” Michael said as he sipped his drink.

  “So, where did you move here from?” Steve asked as he turned in his stool to face Michael, brushing his leg.

  “Santa Monica,” Michael answered. “I’m just here for a year working on a project.”

  “Really? What kind of project?” Steve asked as he put the bottled water to his mouth.

  Michael studied him and wondered if he should answer his question or remain vague about it. He decided to go ahead and tell him. “I’m co-writing a screenplay with a friend of mine.”

  “Wow, that’s cool,” Steve said. “You ever done anything like that before?”

  “Yeah,” Michael said, offering nothing else. “What do you do when you aren’t Mr. D.C. Falcon?”

  Steve laughed at Michael’s question and took another sip of his water. He didn’t answer the question and ordered another bottled water, while Michael gave him a puzzled look.

  “Is it something illegal?” Michael asked.

  Steve paid the bartender, set the bottle down, opened it and took another sip. “I’m a security consultant for a government agency. Really boring, but it pays the bills,” Steve said, finally answering the question. “So, what else have you written?”

  Michael reached back for his wallet and handed Steve his card. Steve looked at it and raised his eyebrows. “You’re the head writer of Los Angeles Live?” he asked, looking up at Michael.

  “Was,” Michael said, looking at the bottles on the bar. “The show was cancelled.”

  “Wow, for how long?” Steve asked obviously impressed.

  “Eighteen seasons, I was there from the beginning to the bitter end,” he answered as he sipped his soda.

  “That’s so cool,” Steve said. “And now you write screenplays full-time?”

  Michael looked at Steve. “For the moment. A movie I wrote will be released in January, and after I’m finished here, who knows.”

  Steve patted Michael on the back and said, “I’m sure you’ll find something.”

  Michael leaned back and looked at him, saying, “Yeah, I should be able to scrape up some kind of living when I return in a year.”

  Steve smiled at him and said, “Is money tight now that the show was cancelled?”

  Michael thought this was an awfully personal question and looked at him disapprovingly.

  “Oh, was that inappropriate?” Steve asked.

  “Kind of,” Michael said.

  “Well, it’s just that you were trying to hail a cab, and I figured you can’t afford a car right now, and you moved here to write a screenplay …”

  “You should never assume an
ything,” Michael interrupted, tilting his head down to look at Steve. “I own a house in Santa Monica and a car. I just figured I wouldn’t need one here, and in case you’re worried about my eating noodles every night, I could retire today if I wanted to.” Steve’s eyes opened wide, and Michael took another sip of his drink. “Well, Steve, it was great meeting you and thanks for getting me in, but I think I better go home. Who can call me a cab, here?” Michael asked.

  “I can drive you home,” Steve offered.

  “No, I don’t want to put you to any trouble,” he said as he got up from his seat.

  “It would be no trouble,” Steve said as he also got up. “Besides, I can see how a big Hollywood writer lives.”

  “You won’t be impressed. I’m subletting an apartment from a friend of a friend,” Michael said as he walked to the door. “So, can the bouncer get a cab?”

  Steve grabbed Michael’s arm, and said, “I’ll take you home. Geez, what are you afraid of?”

  Michael turned to look at him and said, “I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”

  “Hey, big guy, it’s just a ride, lighten up,” Steve said as he opened the door and led Michael out.

  They walked to the parking lot around the side of the building, and Steve opened the driver’s side door of a black Toyota pick-up, clicking the lock release for the passenger side door for Michael, who thought a real gentleman would have opened his door first.

  “Mr. D.C. Falcon drives a Japanese truck?” Michael asked.

  Steve started the truck with a laugh and said, “Where are we going?”

  Michael gave him the address, and Steve drove him home. When Steve pulled up to the apartment, he asked, “Mind if I come in?”

  “Actually, yes,” Michael said. “I just moved here, and I’m a little tired. You have my number, give me a call. And, thanks for the ride. I appreciate it.” He then stepped out of the truck, and Steve pulled off. Michael hoped he wouldn’t call, figuring there was no reason to get involved with someone’s boyfriend even if they were on a break.

  As he closed the door behind him, his cell phone rang, and Michael didn’t recognize the number.

  “Hello,” Michael said, wondering who would call after midnight.

  “Hey, this is the guy who just gave you a ride home,” Steve said.

  “Oh, thanks again,” Michael said. “By the way, what is your last name, Steve?”

  He was silent then answered, “Smith, but my friends call me Smithy.”

  “Smitty?” Michael asked.

  “No! Smithy,” he corrected Michael.

  “Nice to have met you. I’ll call you Steve as Smithy sounds goofy,” Michael told him.

  “Nice to have met you, Michael; we’ll talk later, bye,” and he hung up. Michael figured he was not much of a talker on the phone, and he was certain he made that up. Smith? Who is named Smith anymore? And, Smithy? For his own mental well-being, Michael hoped Steve would never call him again and programmed his name into his phone, so he would know if he did.

  Michael took a shower and climbed into bed, and his cell phone rang again. “Is this guy persistent or what?” Michael said out loud, but he noticed the caller ID indicated it was Sam. He answered, happy to hear his voice.

  “Michael, how is Washington?” Sam asked, sounding as excited to hear Michael’s voice as he was to hear Sam’s.

  “It’s OK, although I’ve only been here a day. Why are you calling so late?”

  “Oh damn,” Sam said, “I forgot about the time change.”

  “It seems none of my friends can calculate time,” Michael said with a chuckle. He had to smile as he wished Sam was there, so they could see each other again, having not been face-to-face since they had dinner at Anna’s.

  “Guess what?” Sam asked and answered quickly. “Sid got me an audition for a small part in a movie, and they liked me! It’s only about three lines, but that’s three more than I’ve had before!”

  Michael was genuinely happy for him. It was a start, albeit a small one, but at least he would get to speak. “That’s great, Sam,” Michael said. “It could lead to more work. Who’s the director?”

  “Peggy Martin,” Sam replied. “Can you believe it? I’m going to be directed for forty-five seconds by Peggy Martin! I can’t thank you enough for telling Sid about me!”

  “Wow, Sam, a Peggy Martin film. This is big time. I know her very well. She was member of the ensemble on Los Angeles Live the first five seasons,” Michael told him, making a mental note to give her a call. “What’s the part?”

  “I play a bumbling valet at a Hollywood party. How is that for typecasting?” Sam said, and Michael could actually hear him smiling.

  “Well, I know you’ll nail that part! My car is still whining from you turn at the wheel,” Michael said half-jokingly. “Well, Sam, it’s after midnight here, so I’m going to bed. Keep in touch and tell me how it goes. When do you film your scene?”

  “Monday!” he yelled. “Oy, I have such diarrhea I am so nervous.”

  “Nervous is good,” Michael said. “It’s when you get too over confident that you screw up. You’ll be great, and Peggy’s a sweetheart. Break a leg! Good night.”

  “Good night, sexy man,” Sam said. “I’ll call you later this week to tell you how it went.”

  “All right, kid, take care.”

  Michael was genuinely happy for him. Sam was a really nice guy, and Michael also hoped that if he became successful, it wouldn’t go to his head. Michael had seen so many people become such egomaniacs once they had a small taste of success. He wasn’t that sleepy, so he called Peggy Martin, knowing it was only after nine on a Saturday night, and she was known to stay home more than go out partying.

  “Hello?” she answered with her well-known nasal, whiny voice.

  “Peggy, it’s Michael Bern,” he said to his old friend, who was now one of the most respected directors in the business.

  “Michael, how are you? Did I hear you moved to Washington? What the hell are you doing there?” she asked.

  “I’m co-writing a screenplay with Sharon Gorman. Remember Sharon?” Michael replied.

  “Oh yeah. I always liked her. Who’s directing it?” Peggy asked.

  “I’m not sure as we haven’t even started writing yet. I just arrived yesterday, Peggy.”

  “Let me know who as soon as you know,” Peggy said. “So, why are you calling me? I thought Stanley King directed all your pictures?” she asked sarcastically.

  “If by all, you mean one, yes, for the moment,” Michael said.

  “I was an idiot not to go for that one. Word around town is that it’s going to be a huge hit,” she said, making Michael nervous because whenever a film was declared a hit six months before its release, it was surely going to be a flop.

  “Well, I’m making no predictions. But that’s not why I called,” Michael said. “You have an actor, who I think is playing a bumbling valet on your picture.”

  “Oh yeah. Good-looking kid and loaded with personality. I was impressed by him seconds after he read for me,” Peggy said, putting his mind at ease. “He’s never had a speaking part. I wonder how that alta cocker Sid found him?”

  “Peggy, are you sure you aren’t Jewish? What Italian says alta cocker?” Michael asked. “Anyway, I just wanted to put in a good word for Sam. He really is a nice kid and deserves a break.”

  “What, are you worried I’ll make his life a living hell? Why are you so concerned? Wait a minute, did you fuck him?” she asked.

  “No,” Michael insisted. “I discovered him.” There was silence. “Peggy?”

  “I was banging my head to see if there was wax in my ears,” she said half-jokingly. “Since when do you discover people?”

  “I don’t, but this kid parked my car at Sylvia’s party a few weeks ago, and something told me he had a chance, given the right circumstance,” Michael assured her.

  “OK, Michael, for you, anything, but only if you promis
e to insist I direct your next picture,” Peggy said demandingly.

  “You have a deal,” he said.

  “Good night, Michael, and I’ll be kind to the kid,” Peggy said.

  “Thanks, Peggy,” Michael said. “I won’t forget this, good night.”

  Peggy, Sid and Michael were proof that there were actually nice people in Hollywood. They always looked out for up and coming talent. Unfortunately, in most cases, these brats would turn into divas the minute they earned six figures. Michael helped a young actress get a small part on Los Angeles Live a few years ago after she pleaded with him at a party in the Valley. She did pretty well, but she never thanked him. A year later, after she was cast in a few prime TV roles, Michael ran into her again at a party, and she acted as if she never met him. Michael wished he could say that was the only time that happened, but it wasn’t. Michael walked up to her toward the end of the party and said to her, “Be nice to everyone on the way up because you’ll meet them all again on the way down!” She gave him a look as if he were covered in shit and feathers and walked away. She is now in rehab after playing bit parts in Lifetime movies, and from what Michael has seen in recent pictures, she looks like hell.

  Michael liked helping people, and although he was bitten in the ass on many occasions due to his generosity, he hadn’t hesitated to help Sam. If he also turned diva on him, then so be it. Michael was used to it, and what goes around comes around.

  The next day, Michael read Sharon’s novel, Romancing the Capitol. He had to admit to Sharon that he had not read it yet. She gave Michael a hard time about it but forgave him after chiding him for an hour. He liked the book, which was about two senators from opposite sides of the aisle who fall in love – a Republican woman from the South and a Democratic man from the Northeast. Sharon’s narratives were well-written, but there was not a great deal of dialogue in the book, so Michael knew their work was cut out for them. By mid-afternoon, he had finished reading it and called Sharon to tell her he liked it and to send him the treatment and any scenes she had already drafted.

  Michael then went out for a walk in search of a gym to join. Steve had told him on the ride home about Results the Gym on U Street, so he walked down 16th Street to U Street and spotted the large yellow banners in front of the gym. After getting a tour and learning they opened at 5:00 am, Michael decided to join without going to any other gym in town. The next morning, which was a Monday, he woke up at four-thirty and began a routine of working out at five and getting home by six-thirty. The gym was only a twenty-five-minute walk from Mount Pleasant, so it was convenient enough, and the mornings weren’t crowded with the after-work, spandex wearing, happy-hour club boys he so despised.