“I’ll have to check my schedule.”
“Bob, you don’t have a schedule. Come on, pull yourself together; this could be a break for you too.” Jill quickly picked up his apartment stacking the loose papers and tossing the remnants of dinners gone by in the garbage. “It will give you something to focus on besides your late night meetings with Old Milwaukee on tap.”
He looked at her like he recognized the kindness she showed him last night. Busted! He straightened his pants attempted to flatten his hair. “Sure, I’ll just finish getting ready.”
Julie looked around the room. The place was relatively clean except for the clutter of papers everywhere. The food didn’t take long for Jill to clean up. She noticed several rotary phones lined up on a long table on the far side of the room. How strange, she thought to herself. What does anyone need that many landline phones for?
She whispered to her mother, “I don’t know if I’m comfortable staying here without you.”
“Don’t worry, my dear. I wouldn’t leave you here if I didn’t know you would be safe. He’s a good person. He just doesn’t like business too much so he’s a little miserable having his own business, but he’s a good bullshitter, and that’s what makes him good at what he does. He could sell organic tofu patties to Jeffery Dahmer if he put his mind to it, and cut ties with Old Milwaukee.” Jill ran her hands under the sink then dried them on the back of pants to avoid the dish towel. “You’re scheduled to work later in the afternoon. I’ll see you when you come in, alright?”
“Okay,” Julie agreed.
“See ya, Bob! I have to go to work!” Jill yelled across the apartment. “Take good care of my daughter!”
“Yeppy yahoo,” he howled from the bathroom.
Julie’s mother kissed her on the cheek. “Good luck.” The words I love you were on the tip of her tongue like a reflex but she didn’t say them. Not because she didn’t feel it, but because she didn’t know if her daughter would believe them. She smiled in a way that conveyed the feeling then slipped out the door. Julie took a seat and waited for Bob to clean himself up.
“So you need a profile made. First we’ll start with a basic resume,” he said as he immediately sat down at his computer. “Tell me where you studied acting before.”
“Well that is kind of a problem. I have never studied acting before. I just always used to act for my father. I did a couple small plays in sch…”
“What was your father’s name?”
“Sam,” Julie answered. “Sam Lavine.”
“Oh, you’re Sam’s daughter,” he replied with a sense of familiarity. He turned to look her over studying her face the way a sculptor might do before he begins his work.
“You knew my father?” she asked.
“No, I never met him but your mother talked about him often.” He returned his attention to the keyboard in front of him. “Great,” he said excitedly, then he mumbled as he typed, “studied at Sammy’s School of Fine Arts for 3 years.”
“My father didn’t have…”
“And where did you perform?” Bob interrupted.
“I’ve never performed outside of school plays. I just used to act for my father in our living room and fell in love with it,” Julie said.
“The Living Room. I like that,” Bob said then typed and mumbled, “Performed regularly at The Living Room. Got a nice hometown feel to it.”
“But the living room is not a place, it was our actual living room,” she explained, wondering if he was still drunk.
“Look,” he faced her placed his hands on his knees with a quite serious look, “if you want to get ahead in this town, you gotta look good on paper first. Don’t worry you don’t have to do any lying.” He placed his thumb to his chest and grinned, “I’ll do all the lying; it’s what I’m good at. They might ask you,” he pointed at her, “‘How often did you perform in The Living Room?’ And all you have to say is?”
“About 3-4 nights a week,” Julie replied, understanding that she was not actually lying. “But it really was a living room.”
“Look. They’re not going to be honest with you. If they really like you they might just pretend to like you a little bit so they don’t have to pay you as much. You know, make you feel like they’re doing you a favor for letting you act at all. They’ll try to work you. They’ll make you believe things about yourself that aren’t true. They’ll try to shape you into who they want you to be rather than just letting you be you.” Thumb to his chest again, “That’s what you got me for. I don’t take any shit from these no good sons-a-bitches. Don’t worry though; most of them are my friends. I won’t let them jerk you around. It’s the least I can do for your mother. You know she helped me kick the drinking habit four times,” he said, turning back to the keyboard. “I fall off the wagon, she throws me back on.”
Julie immediately wondered what their relationship was like, but she didn’t dare ask. She could not help but wonder what happened between them that he seemed to feel in debt to her.
“So what happened in The Living Room? What did you used to do?”
“Well, I used to make up characters as my dad pre…”
“Ah, you’re a writer/director type,” he said as he typed, “with excellent character development skills and freestyle acting.”
“Uh, I use to put on different clothes and wigs and when…”
“Ah, experienced in costume design,” he said and typed.
“He would pretend to flip through the channels and I would act out different scenes, dance shows and singing…”
“Dancing and singing! Excellent talents to have,” he added and typed.
“Well, I don’t know if I would consider them talents,” Julie said.
“What are some other shows you did in The Living Room?” he emphasized the quotations with his fingers and grin.
“I did anything from comedy and magic acts to animals scenes and old westerns…”
“Excellent! They will love the variety of experience you have,” he said as he continued typing the resume adding to all the things Julie said. “There are not too many westerns around here but it will look great on your resume. Let’s see. For a reference I’ll give you John Hinkman.”
“Who’s that?”
“That, I believe, is telephone number four right over there,” he pointed to the line of phones on his table. “John Hinkman is great. He’s been an actor/actress teacher for a long time in this business. He’ll give you a great reference. He’s well respected in New York and parts of Philadelphia. Even got a couple calls from L.A. for some big-time stars.”
“But the phone is here. Where is John Hinkman?” Julie asked.
Bob pointed to his head with a big smile, “He’s right in here. I made him up like 23-24 years ago when I got into this business. He helped me get a few important clients and has gotten many interviews for my other clients over the years. It’s funny how over the years nobody has ever seen his face but they know him so well. Some even claim to be good friends with him, tennis or golfing buddies. One guy told me of a fishing trip he went on with Hinkman, who supposedly is quite the fisherman too. Caught a 100 pound tuna once. So I heard.”
“But you’re John Hinkman, right?”
“Yep! Well, he’s more like a character in my head. They all are,” pointing to the phones again. “Each one of those phone lines is connected to an answering machine and represents a different character I made up for business purposes. Hinkman is one of the more successful ones. Number two is Dezmond Stinger. You should hear the stories I’ve heard about him. He’s a son-of-a-bitch. Number eight is Finley Starbural…Starburd…or…hell I don’t know. Well, I think you’re all set. I’ll put myself down here as a reference too, but I think I got enough here to get started. I’ll just fill in the rest with this and that and then you’ll be on your way. Where are you staying? With your mother?”
“Yes.”
“What’s wrong?” he asked, noticing the tension in her face.
“I don’t
know if I’m comfortable with all this. None of it’s true.”
“Oh, don’t worry. Everybody’s an idiot in this business. They don’t care about this piece of paper as much as they care about who you know, and if you know Hinkman and me, that’s good enough for them. I just hope you can act. It’s Hinkman’s and my reputation on the line. I’m only doing this as a favor to your mother,” he said and again Julie wondered what their relationship was like.
“Alright, I’ll be in touch. In the meantime, I’ll get your profile out there. We’ll get pictures the next time I see you.”
“Okay,” she said hesitantly, confused about what really happened here. “Thank you.”
“One more thing,” Bob said as he opened the door for her. “No one knows about Hinkman and the other lines. I don’t even tell my other clients. I don’t do business in my apartment either so keep it under the mussel. If you’re anything like your mother I know I can trust you that’s why I let you in on my secret. Alright,” he nodded. “I’ve got some work to do. You have a good day. And relax! I’ll take care of everything.”
Julie nodded and stepped onto the landing outside his door. Before she could thank him again he closed the door. She took a deep breath and climbed down the long black staircase and excited beside the bar. On the street she looked out in every direction. It was quiet for New York City. Gusts of wind seemed to flow through the canyons of the buildings. She thought of Beethoven, then of the violin player, perhaps once a young musician with an aspiration to play in a world famous orchestra. But the streets were his home now. Perhaps it was the streets that gave him his power and inspiration to play so well, and an orchestra would only dull him.
She thought of the orchestra again, which made her think of Charlie and the sounds of Beethoven echoing through the modern halls and city streets. It was the only orchestra she had ever seen and Charlie had taken her. The music of Beethoven was a gift he gave her—a gift that would last a lifetime, as the music would now forever echo in her heart and mind. She wondered how long the memory of Charlie would echo in her mind with the same intensity.
Whether she would ever see Charlie again or not, she was feeling brighter. Perhaps it was the mending of old wounds, or the first step in following her dreams, and she had her mother to thank for it. She was beginning to feel alive again, like she did in the days when she acted for her father in The Living Room and in those simple New York spring days when she had Charlie Daniels at her side.
Chapter 28
“How did it go with Bob?” Jill asked when Julie arrived at work.
“Interesting,” she replied.
“He is quite eccentric when it comes to his work but I’m confident he’ll help you out.”
However, that was not what Julie had in mind by interesting. Bob was eccentric, there was no denying that, but what Julie found interesting was the portrait he painted of her mother. He made her sound like a saint of sorts helping him back on the wagon when he fell off and her impeccable trustworthiness. Who was this woman? She was surely not the woman who left her husband and child behind.
They shared more laughter, mostly at Mel’s expense, and when it was time for Jill to leave work she kissed her daughter on the cheek and promised her a hot meal when she came home. As Julie watched her leave she felt the weight of her anger slipping away. She hadn’t felt this much joy since the days with her father. She realized in that moment her entire life had been darkened by the anger she had for her mother. The ability to enjoy whatever life brought her way was hindered by this weight she carried, but now that hindrance was slowly slipping away and the world appeared to be a brighter place with endless opportunity. She felt for a moment that she could even let Charlie go and she would be fine.
“Are you gonna stand in the doorway all day or serve these damn customers?!” Mel yelled at her.
The regulars were there, and a new wave of tourists flooded in. Julie took over her mother’s tables. Turning toward her tables she saw that unfashionable brown corduroy jacket, sitting in the corner booth with an older couple. He had returned and hunted her down at her place of work. An even more exhilarating feeling of excitement rushed through her body. The table belonged to another girl, but Julie went over to offer them more coffee, neglecting her own tables.
“More coffee, sir?” she asked.
He turned. She first noticed the mustache, then the longer, pointier nose. “Thank you,” the stranger said. It wasn’t him. The rush of joy dissipated from her body. She poured the coffee, realizing she was not ready to let go of Charlie yet.
“Bother the customers at your own table,” Mel said in a strange voice, almost as if he was joking around.
Thoughts of Charlie lingered in her mind for the rest of her shift. The feeling of loss arose once again. She hoped one day that she would walk into the diner and he would be sitting there, ready and willing to put his heart on the line for her. But he never was. She remembered how he somehow knew that older couple in love would be at the coffee shop, which was the reason he came to New York in the first place. Surely if he knew strangers would be there at that specific time and day, then he could find her working in a diner day after day. If he wanted to, that is.
By the end of her shift, Julie had a good pile of tips in her pocket and even Mel seemed in a pleasant mood.
“What’s gotten into you?” he asked.
“What do you mean,” Julie responded, unafraid of him that day.
“You didn’t even break anything.”
“Don’t worry, Mel, I’ll break an extra plate for you tomorrow,” she smiled.
“Yeah, get outta here!” he shouted, with a comedic laughter underlying his harsh tone. He began to count the money in the cash register like he did at the end of every shift, as if it was the most important thing in the world.
Julie looked at him and his empty ring finger.
“Do you have a girlfriend, Mel?”
“What the hell kinda question is that?” he asked, looking at her as if she had just crossed the no trespassing line.
“I just wondered,” she stated.
“Don’t even think about it,” he huffed. “I got thirty years on you and I wouldn’t want a mother-in-law like yours.”
“Damn, my luck,” she snapped her finger and proceeded to peer into the garbage can.
“What the hell are you doing?” Mel asked, as he noticed Julie pulling out a piece of ham with a napkin.
Julie folded the napkin and slid it into her jacket pocket.
“I’m going to save it for later. See ya, Mel.”
Mel grunted as she let the door close behind her. The dinner crowd was gone, and the sun was beginning to set. Julie watched the tourists roaming about and the regular vagabonds loafing among the doorways. She turned down an alley on the way home and called out, “Here kitty kitty. Here kitty.”
A fluffy black and white cat came running toward her from out of the garbage bin. She pulled the ham out of her pocket.
“You’re so cute. I would take you home with me if I could. Here you go. Don’t be afraid.”
She crouched down and stretched out her arm, holding the piece of ham between her thumb and fingers.
“Come on, kitty.”
The cat approached her with caution, hissed, and would not take the ham until she threw it a few feet out of her reach. The cat grabbed the ham and carried it off before devouring the meat.
“That’s good karma, you know?” a voice suddenly said, startling Julie backwards onto her feet.
She looked over the dimly lit character. He stood on one leg with his other leg propped up against the wall behind him. He wore a strange hat out of the fifties, dressed in dirty, torn clothes, and held a violin in his left hand.
“Don’t be frightened,” the stranger said.
There was a large cat slithering around his down leg.
“Do you live around here? I see you playing your violin on the streets sometimes,” Julie said, just to make conversation and not to appear
frightened. But she was. Her voice was shaking too. There was something strange about a homeless man playing a violin. He appeared full of wit, as if he laughed at his own condition on the streets with delight.
“This is not just another violin,” he raised his eyebrows as he said it. The whites of his eyes stuck out in the dim light. “They don’t make violins like this anymore. Mozart used this violin as well as many others. It has great power in it. But no, I am not from around here. I visit from time to time.”
“So you have a home?” Julie asked, not really processing what he said about the violin, worried that her question might have been rude or insulting.
“The world is my home. I think of New York City as a messy closet,” he laughed.
“When did you learn to play?” She slowly backed away, mesmerized by the cat’s eyes that were now shining her way.
“A long, long, long time ago,” he answered in a rustic voice.
“Did you play for an orchestra?” another step back.
“I am my own orchestra,” he said, with a deep laughter that frightened her. He stepped out further into the street light toward her, and Julie saw the lines on his face, the sinister smile, and bright green eyes, almost glowing like the cats next to him. Then he said as he took off his hat and placed it on his chest, “Tonight I will play a melody of love just for you.”
Julie became utterly frightened.
“Well, I better get going,” she uttered, noticing how another cat—tan with green eyes—crept around his worn black boots even as he walked. She noticed another crawling out of the darkness. It was tall and slender, with a large pointed snout and sharply pointed ears. Its eyes were like yellow crystals that seemed to give off their own light. Perhaps Egyptian.
The enigmatic cat leaped onto his right shoulder as he raised the violin to his left. He began playing a soft melody as Julie slipped out onto the main street again. She walked passed the antique shop and café on the next block. Despite the distance she had gone from the alley, she could hear the violin as if standing next to him still.
A New York Romance Page 16
