by Milton Stern
“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!”
“It was ringing, what the hell do you want me to do?” Rona said.
“Wait. Let it ring, dammit. You don’t give me a chance to pick it up,” Doreen yelled to Rona.
“What if it is an emergency, or one of my kids?” Rona yelled to Doreen, while Michael listened.
“What if it is one of my kids? This is my goddamn phone! I’ll answer it,” Doreen yelled back.
“Vaysmir, Doreen, pick up your fucking phone from now on, I’ll just sit here while it rings and rings. And, don’t get pissed when one of your boyfriends hangs up waiting for you to get up off your fat ass to answer it!” Rona yelled.
“I’m surprised you could hear it with your head in the refrigerator all the time,” Doreen yelled.
“Girls, girls, quit yelling at each other,” Michael yelled into the phone.
“Who’s yelling?” they asked in unison.
“This is yelling, Rona? He thinks we’re yelling. Were we yelling?” Doreen asked.
“I wasn’t yelling. Why would he think we were yelling?” Rona asked.
“Girls, I’m still here,” Michael said.
“Talk, what’s new, Michael?” Doreen asked.
“Yes, Michael, how are you?” Rona asked.
Pausing to be sure they were done, he finally said, “Guess where I was today?”
“Where?” they both said.
“Seymour Sagman’s funeral,” he said with no inflection in his voice.
“Seymour who?” Rona asked.
“Sagman, Sagman,” Doreen mumbled then exclaimed, “Oh my God!”
“What?” Rona asked. “What, Doreen?”
By now, Michael had stepped outside to have a cigarette as they continued talking around him.
“Rona, Seymour Sagman used to work with Adam Bern, Michael’s father,” Doreen said. “Remember the tall guy who had a thing for Hannah?”
“Wait a minute, Doreen; he could not possibly be alive; he would have to be at least …” Rona began.
“He was ninety-six,” Michael said. “He died two days ago,”
“So, why were you at his funeral?” Doreen asked.
“My brother asked me to go,” Michael said, again with no inflection.
“What?” they both asked simultaneously.
“My brother. Did you two know I have a half brother named Eric Sagman?” Michael asked.
“Michael, what the hell are you talking about?” Doreen asked.
“Oh my God,” Rona said. “Doreen, do you remember what Seymour Sagman looked like? He was tall with black hair and green eyes.”
“Oh … my … God and with a big booming voice … like Michael’s,” Doreen said slowly.
“Oh you think that is a coincidence?” Michael said. “My half brother was born two weeks after I was. His mother is Harryette Sagman. Apparently, Seymour knocked up my mother and his mother at the same time. But wait, that is not the best part. You should see Eric. He looks exactly like me.” There was silence. “Aunt Rona, Aunt Doreen, are you two still there? Did I shock you?”
“No, no, Michael,” Rona said as if pondering what he just told them. “You confirmed something. We always suspected your mother was fooling around with Seymour Sagman …”
“And, you never looked like your father,” Doreen interrupted. “This explains so much. Oh, your mother was good at keeping her secrets.”
“So, Harryette, Harryette?” Rona asked as if she were talking to herself.
“Rona, she was Harryette Erlach. Remember, kinda plain looking with red hair. She was a saleswoman at Feld’s Department Store,” Doreen said.
&n
bsp; “She worked for Aunt Arlene and Uncle William?” Michael asked.
“Oh, yes,” Rona said. “I remember her. She was such a nice girl, a little quiet, but very nice.”
“Apparently not so nice,” Michael said. “She got knocked up and had to get married.”
“Michael, do you know how many girls gave birth six months after their weddings back then?” Doreen asked.
“Your generation didn’t invent sex,” Rona said.
“Well, I guess that wasn’t fair of me to say,” Michael said apologetically.
“Don’t worry about it, Michael,” Doreen said. “I was just surprised that such a quiet little mouse like Harryette would get in trouble.”
“So, what is she like now?” Rona asked.
“Very nice,” Michael said. “She is a very nice person, and Eric is a great guy, too. But, I haven’t told you the best part.”
“There’s more?” Doreen asked.
“Tell us, tell us,” Rona the yenta demanded.
Michael took a deep breath, and then he told them, “My mother was married to Seymour Sagman in 1945 for six months. They had the marriage annulled, and he moved to Newport News with the hope of remarrying my mother. They apparently were having an affair for some time.”
“Oh my God,” they both said in unison.
“How is that for a bombshell?” Michael asked.
“Michael, you should write a novel about all this,” Doreen said.
“Or at least a movie,” Rona chimed in.
“Nah, no one would believe it,” Michael told them.
Chapter Eight
Michael reluctantly decided to stay in D.C. until he and Sharon completed the final draft of Romancing the Capitol. He hated the title, but it was Sharon’s baby, so he kept his mouth shut. As he was sitting at his desk working on a re-write one late January morning, his cell phone rang. He looked at the caller ID, and it was Steve. Should I answer it? Should I let it go to voice mail? Against his better judgment, Michael answered it.
“Michael, how are you?”
“Well look who’s using the telephone,” Michael said sarcastically.
“You know I hate answering the telephone,” Steve said, not bothered in the least by Michael’s remark.
“How have you been, Steve?” he asked.
“I’m getting ready to have liposuction. I’m so excited.”
Michael leaned back in the chair as he couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “What the hell is wrong with you? You don’t need liposuction. You have a perfect body. If I looked like you, I would do everything naked – sleep naked, work naked, drive naked. Are you nuts?” he said to Steve.
“Michael, this is something I have wanted and needed for a long time; support me on this,” he responded as if pleading for his approval.
“Where are you having it done?” Michael asked.
“In Virginia Beach with the same doctor Tom used. He’s taking me,” he answered, confirming that he and Tom were still together.
“So, you two are still together?” Michael asked anyway, convinced he knew the answer.
“Well, no we are just friends now. We decided that was best,” Steve said in attempt to assuage Michael’s fears.
Do I really want to get involved in this again? Should I just say good luck and hang up? “Steve, I hope this doctor is good,” Michael said, truly concerned as he knew what a major procedure liposuction was.
“Oh, he’s the best. He said I’m a perfect candidate,” Steve answered with excitement in his voice.
“Steve, I work in Hollywood, and I can tell you that every plastic surgeon says that. You could ask for a sex change, and you’d hear that,” he told him.
“Don’t be silly,” he said, a little annoyed.
“Well, I hope you thought this through. That’s a dangerous operation.”
“Hey, you want to come with us. I know you have family down there,” Steve said, the excitement returning to his voice.
Michael could not believe Steve remembered he was from that area? “Actually, I had family in Newport News, but there’s no one left there now, and I was just there a few weeks ago to visit some old friends. To tell you the truth, driving down with you and your ex doesn’t sound appealing to me. Where would I fit in the picture?”
“I understand. Hey will you come over and jack off for me when I’m recuperating?” he asked, as if Michael would consider that.
“Oh sure. Call me, I will be right over, wearing a gold lame thong and a sports bra,” Michael said in dead pan. “Listen Steve, I’m on a deadline, and I have to go. Good luck with your surgery although I think you’re wasting your money,”
“Don’t be like that,” Steve said as if Michael were being snotty.
“No, I think you don’t need it, but if this is something you want, I can’t stop you. Seriously, I hope you checked this doctor out. I have to go, goodbye.” Michael said as he hung up before Steve could say goodbye.
Talking to him was all right, but Michael knew he couldn’t see him because if he did, he would lose control and fall back into a pattern he wanted to avoid. Michael got up from the desk and walked into the kitchen, first reaching for the pack of cigarettes on top of the refrigerator, but changing his mind, he poured himself a glass of water and leaned against the counter.
“Why would a grown man with a perfect body go through that kind of procedure?” he said to himself. “Is appearance that important to him? Does he have issues with his self-esteem that need to be addressed professionally?”
Steve did go through with the liposuction and e-mailed Michael from the hotel where he and Tom stayed overnight in Virginia Beach. It turned out Steve was getting on Tom’s nerves, so Tom would go out to get away from him. He sent before and after pictures, and although still swollen, there was a difference, yet Michael still thought a strict diet would have achieved the same result.
They stayed in regular e-mail contact for the next few weeks, and at the end of February, Steve called Michael one Saturday afternoon out of the blue.
“Hey, buddy,” Steve said.
“Wow, you’re using the telephone, again,” Michael said, wishing he had let it go to voice mail.
“What are you doing?” Steve asked, ignoring Michael’s comment.
“I’m working,” he said as if he did anything else these days.
“Do you want to go shopping?”
Here we go again, Michael thought, so he asked, “When?”
“Now!” Steve answered.
Should I drop everything and go shopping because Steve wants to go? Against his better judgment, Michael said yes, jumped in the shower, put on his best jeans and a green turtleneck and made up his mind that they would not end up naked after their excursion. Steve arrived in about twenty minutes. He was wearing a sweat shirt and sweat pants, obviously straight from the gym, and Michael tried to keep his distance, but Steve managed to hug him anyway.
“How have you been, buddy?” Steve asked as he let Michael go.
“I’ve been good,” Michael answered. “You know, I must really like you, if I am willing to drop everything to go shopping on the spot.”
“Hey, I’m the same way,” Steve said. And, Michael wondered if the tables were turned, would Steve have gone with him.
Steve lifted up his shirt to show him his flat stomach, and Michael acted impressed. As much as he wanted to touch it, he resisted. He also remembered what Steve said about how he couldn’t separate sex from friendship.
“Where are we going?” Michael asked, changing the subject from his body to shopping.
“To Virginia,” Steve said as if they were going cross country.
They got into Steve’s truck and chatted about nothing of importance. At one point, Steve put his hand on Michael’s thigh, and he flinched. He really did not want Steve touching him, and Michael wished he were not in his truck at that moment. He knew he was headed for trouble.
“You don’t want me touching you?” Steve asked as he took his hand of
f Michael’s knee.
“No, that’s OK,” Michael said, not wanting to hurt Steve’s feelings and ignoring his own.
Michael really didn’t know what he wanted. What he wanted to know was why he hungered for even a few minutes’ time with this man. Why did he have such intense feelings for him when it was obvious a relationship with him would never work?
As they walked through the stores, Michael would pick up a shirt and look at it, and Steve would tell him he didn’t need it. Or, Michael would look at some other item, and Steve would say the same thing. Michael ended up buying Oil of Olay from Target and protein powder from the Vitamin Shoppe. For this, I had to go to Virginia? Why didn’t I buy the shirt? It was just a black T-shirt, and no gay man can have enough black T-shirts. I am an award winning television and screenwriter, who makes a lot of money. I can shop anywhere. Can’t I make my own decisions? I could have bought anything in the store I wanted. I’ve shopped on Rodeo Drive for God’s sake! Michael thought to himself as they walked back to the truck.
It was true Michael was like his Nana Mary in that he never bought anything frivolous, and he was excellent at saving money and not paying retail (even on Rodeo Drive), but he never bought drek either. The one time he wanted to by a $10 T-shirt, he let a man talk him out of it.
Michael asked as they drove up 14th Street on the way home, “So, is this where you live?”
Steve smiled and said nothing. For some reason he didn’t want Michael to know where he lived. When Steve turned onto Newton Street, he pulled up to the apartment and parked his truck in the first available space.
“What are you doing?” Michael asked, thinking he would just drop him off. “Why are you parking here?”
“I’m coming in for a while,” Steve said as if there was no argument and Michael had no choice.
Michael let him come in. He put away the exciting items he had purchased and offered Steve something to drink. Steve just wanted water, and he drank it in one gulp and handed Michael the glass to refill it, which he did. He walked into the living room and sat on the futon, and Steve went to sit on his lap sideways as he always did. Michael tried to stop him, but Steve insisted, and frankly, he didn’t resist that much. Michael knew he was losing control, but he did nothing about it.
