The Play’s The Thing

I am not a homosexual, but I play one on TV. I can readily guess how this came to be, as I am told I am roughly handsome in a way that could appeal to persons of either sex, and I am a pretty damn good actor. In any event, my agent called me in one cool dry Autumn day and told me he had what could be a really good opportunity with some definite possible long term potential. OK? I said, what are we talking about, I asked and he mentioned a well known day time drama, also known as a soap opera, had I heard of it? Schmuck -- a word I certainly knew before I met him but he helped me to understand what a useful word it was – of course I had heard of it, what actor, what actress in a big city market didn’t spend enough time at home during the day to not have become familiar with all the daytime programming?

He was in the middle of lunch, I took a couple of potato chips as he pushed half a sandwich of some sort of salad on rye, chicken or tuna or turkey, it was hard to tell, especially as he had been smoking a cigar in the office before I came in and for all I knew it could have just been a mix of mayo and chopped celery and onions.

I pushed it back to him and said no thanks, I’m fine… I have learned to not meet with your agent on an empty stomach. So what kind of role are we talking about? Well, let me tell you about it… I leaned back and looked around the office as he took a swig from a bottle of seltzer. I had done this many times and could from memory describe most of the many photos and caricatures that mostly covered the higher part of the walls, his grandfather had been a moderately successful small-time agent when people still worked in vaudeville and burlesque and the theater, Jews and Irish and Germans and Italians and a few Blacks who sang and juggled and did humorous patter and did speciality dance numbers, and his father had also been a moderately successful agent when many people who had worked in vaudeville and burlesque and the theater had begun to try to move to television while still working off-Broadway and the Catskills and what was left of live programs, and “Marv Katz, Agent to the Stars” (so it said on the brass plate mounted at eye level on the outside of his office door) managed to carry on the family practice in so far as he represented some people like me who actually managed to work in show business on a regular basis, along with a larger number people of who worked regularly work while waiting for that big opportunity that usually never came about.

Well, he said, here’s the thing, here’s why it could be such a big break for you… they tell me, no they practically promised me you’d be on the show at least four times a week, with some good appearances at least three times a week… one of the producers said he saw you in that off-Broadway show you were in for a couple of weeks last year, (actually ten weeks up to the end of January, where I played a pimp who drank too much and who’d become too infatuated with one of his girls) and you’d play a guy who’s, you know, he’s kind of a tortured soul, he’s a good looking successful guy in the fashion world who’s trying to… trying to find himself in an… you know, an uncaring, no, an insensitive world, you know, who –

And I casually sat up and said – and this is a word I know to only use in certain circumstances, like when talking to Marv – you mean he’s, what do you call it, a fageleh..? and he looked at me like he was oh so disappointed that I used a word that he sometimes seemed to use like he would use grated cheese at an Italian restaurant on all you could eat night when he was talking about certain well known celebrities, and he said, look, it’s not our place to judge people who, you know…

Yeah, ok, I don’t really care what other people do, I said, but do they expect me to just play a role or really be that role? I wouldn’t object to playing a rapist but I’m not going to –

Oh, no, I don’t think so –

OK, look, can you set up a meeting with the producer or whoever? You can tell them I am definitely interested in the part (like any actor would turn down a steady role on a television series.) And he sat up, the scent of his percent suddenly in his nose, and said, yeah, sure, this week, maybe not today but as soon as I can, they asked about you by name, so I think it’s practically a done deal almost, you know? He paused to shove a handful of chips in his mouth and took long swing from the seltzer bottle. You know, what, I have someone coming in in about twenty minutes, but I’ll try and get him on the phone right after, he’s a good guy, I know him, we’re practically like this, he said as he held up his hand and crossed two fingers. And he pulled a desk drawer opened, grabbed and slid a shot bottle of good vodka across the desk and took a swig from another shot bottle and washed it down with a slurp from the bottle of whatever he was drinking with his something salad sandwich. I’ll set it up and let you know when they want you to come in. Trust me, it’s gonna be a really good deal for the both of us, you know? Both of us.


It was a good deal for me, probably for Marv, too, he could sometimes be a jerk but generally he worked hard for his clients and was basically a very decent guy, and he’d gotten me a fair number of jobs and roles, two other off-Broadway dramas and a comedy and a small part in a Broadway show that unfortunately folded rather quickly and some one-time roles on some prime time programs, even a spot on a crime series pilot that wasn’t picked up, but a regular spot on a soap opera was still like a stand-up comic getting a role on a prime-time sit-com: steady work and a good check every week without worrying about the following week.

So Marv actually called me the next day, from the sound of it he had some bim in his office who expected him to find her a job doing something or other that could be described as being in show business (I later found out she sometimes worked the strip clubs but he’d actually gotten her a few acting jobs, mostly in second rate mad killer movies), and told me the details, you got a pencil, ready, who what where when and don’t forget who got you this when you make the big time, right, ha ha. Agent is as agent does.

You would know the name of the soap opera if you paid attention to that sort of thing, but to make a long story short, there are two kinds of day time soaps, the long running ones and the ones that run for a while and sooner or later disappear. No one can explain why some run for years and others fade away sooner or later, except that they tend to all look and sound the same; if you have a role on one, you are goddam grateful that it runs long enough for you to be invited to leave and join a night-time series that also has a long run.

So I had a lovely sit-down with the casting director and a couple of other people, and we ate hor d’oevres and drank wine spritzers as they tried to explain this new character to me: young, handsome, a successful young man in the fashion world in New York, but he is struggling with his homosexual desires. I said it was okay with me, so long as I am playing the part of a homosexual, not… they looked at me as I paused to think about what to say to make my point. Oh, don’t worry, you won’t really need to, you know, really get into the role.

Look, I said, I would really like this part, it would be a great chance for me to shine as an actor, but I am not going to get half naked and roll around in bed with another guy –

Oh, no, we understand that you might –

And to be really honest with you, I can’t say I would want to even kiss another guy… and I could see that they were not quite sure how to respond, so I said, look, there are a lot of actors who would jump at this role, and I think you know that, but the fact that you got in touch with my schmuck of an agent – one of the writers suddenly laughed out loud – my agent tells me that you really wanted me for this role… maybe because one of you saw me in that off-Broadway production of –

Yes, someone who I later found out was the creator of the show, she had seen the show with one of the producers, you handled that role beautifully and we thought you would be perfect in this role. Barry, we can work our way around his concerns, can’t we..?

Certainly, Amanda, we can make it work for everyone. I got the feeling that Barry would have almost gladly given up several years of his old age if he could just once push Amanda down a flight of stairs. She turned out to be a very nice woman, by the way, a bit gaudy in appearance (as we were talking to each other, a very attractive redhead was touching up her makeup) but had at least an occasional encouraging word for everyone on the show, pretty much everyone on the show liked her; I later found out that Barry was a relative and he had that ass-backward resentment that sometimes comes from getting a big break from a relative.


Allow me to say that I enjoyed working on the show quite a lot and all things considered I would most likely have chosen to stay there if someone hadn’t decided to write my character out; apparently it was decided that my character was offered a lucrative opportunity to become a costume designer in Hollywood, with a strong hint that I might be invited to return to the show in the future, which in this kind of television series means everything and nothing. In other words, the writers thought that my character had for the time being outlived his usefulness. I certainly took it as a good sign when Amanda stopped me as I was leaving on my last day, she smiled in a way as she casually waved a finger in front my nose and told me that she thought I was very talented and then smiled as she pinched one of my earlobes.

It was all okay with me, although Marv proceeded to act as if the producers had accused me of rape, embezzlement, and espionage.

I can’t believe this! he barked at me when I dropped by his office the morning after my last day on the show. How the hell could they suddenly decide to write out your character, a real mensch of a fegeleh, he said while vigorously gesturing with one hand while shoving what looked like a pastrami sandwich in his mouth with the other.

I shrugged, I said that we both kind of knew that it might not be a long term commitment from the show and anyway how long could I play a homosexual who doesn’t really act like a homosexual? Not the point, he said, not the point, you were great in the role, I made myself watch the show a couple of times and I thought you were great!

But let me forget about Marv for the time being and mention Amy. The first day on the set, I had a good two scenes in the show that day and was in the chair getting some touch up from that attractive redhead who was working on Amanda’s makeup the first day I went in for the casting meeting, and she said to me, so, are we Cuban or Italian? And I said, well, my father is half Cuban and my mother is – no no, silly, and I could see her make a smiling but doubtful face in the mirror as she playfully tugged at one of my sideburns, I mean your character – the up and coming fashion designer who was such a sensation at the City Center fashion show last fall, Lorenzo da Ponte, is that Italian or Cuban or Spanish or what?

I looked over my shoulder at her. Your name? Amy, Amy Bertone. Blue eyes and red hair, very good looking, I thought for the second time. Well, I said, my father is half Cuban and I have some Italian and Irish ancestry, but no one here told me that I was any of the above. Let’s say half Cuban and half Italian, does that work for you?

Absolutely, she said, fits you very well, and she again tugged at one of my sideburns.

I liked her. On the other hand, I found the director who handled the first scene I was in to be unnecessarily overbearing. I understand that the director is basically in charge but he is also supposed to maybe listen to suggestions from others and not generally act like a tone deaf know-it-all. Let me rephrase myself. The director is not supposed to be a schmuck. This guy was telling me how to put my hands on my hips and how high to hold up my head and just how to purse my lips. Maybe he was just playing with me because it was my first day on the show, but I almost expected in the second scene I had that he would tell me which foot to first enter the door on and which hand to put in which pocket.  I would later commiserate with a few of the other performers about this, and one simply looked at me with a shrug and practically whispered at me “Amanda’s nephew…” At this point I decided that I would do my scenes as I saw fit and if the nephew gave me a hard time I would remind Amanda that she said she really liked the way I had handled that role in that off-Broadway play…

So, the story line as it involved me was that one of the older female characters was dying and she had a son, and they had never managed to deal with his sexuality, and now that she was dying, he showed up on the scene and they were trying to reconcile. The actual line was that she had been on the show for quite a few years and now wanted to retire and maybe do some other roles in prime-time or maybe on stage and maybe just spend a lot of time relaxing and enjoying the rest of her life. I was told that when she was reminded that a character can go away on a long vacation but really can’t come back from the dead, she just smiled and shrugged. As it was, her leaving the soap got a fair amount of coverage in the newspaper gossip pages and the tabloid mags and tv shows, and two months later she was on one of the prime time crime dramas, hamming it up on the witness stand about how her husband was dying and in such pain and she wanted to put him out of his misery, and she stopped hamming it up at the end when the character was asked about that huge insurance policy she was going to collect on. (I wrote her a note that to me it was a three and a half out of five stars performance, and she wrote back that I wouldn’t know a star if it bit me on my taut muscular backside you naughty boy and my performance in the scene on the soap when she died impressed the hell out of her when she saw it, much love & best wishes, your mother, Evelyn.)

But I had a good seven week run on the soap, and Marv ruined my plans for a vacation by letting me know that he had found me another part in another off-Broadway show. I am told that I was quite convincing as the violently alcoholic son of a very strict minister and his very depressed wife. The show ran for six weeks, but before it was over, I got a call from Amy, whom I had been sort of seeing from time to time and who told me over a dinner at a Greek restaurant that she had heard rumors that Amanda wanted me back on the soap, they just hadn’t yet figured out an angle. I thought I had seen Amanda in the audience one night; I couldn’t be certain, but I thought she kind of liked me. So with a break in my career I went to the airport with my passport and a couple of hundred dollars and a credit card in my pocket and a change of clothes and a camera in a carry-on and booked a flight to Paris. A few days there, a few days in Madrid, a few days in Naples and Rome. I could almost swear that the air in every city had a different good effect on me.

I felt very refreshed when I got back to Manhattan with a few gifts for a few people and dropped in on Marv to say hello and give him a bottle of sweet liquor I’d bought while in Rome. Schmuck, he almost hollered, where the hell have you been, I’ve been calling you all week! I took some time off, I said, I think I earned a vacation, I did some travelling in Europe… Have you ever been to Rome? It’s –

Who cares, taking a vacation doesn’t pay any bills, you’re lucky you didn’t get robbed! You want a vacation, go to the Catskills for a week, meet a nice girl or two, lots of women go there looking for a guy like you! So, what do you want from me, I said, and he calmed down – I believe his rant was just an agent’s act, and if it wasn’t I didn’t care – and replied, the soap wants you back.

We had another drink from the shot bottles and fifteen days later I was back on the show. Amanda and Barry had come to see me in the drama I did after I left the soap and she wanted me back. Let me remind you that New York City is almost overrun with actors and actresses who would do almost anything to get a steady role on any television program, so it really was flattering that she wanted me back on the show, but the problem was how to bring back my character. Let me rephrase that. It was easy enough to bring me back because my mother on the show had rewritten her will and I had come back to collect an inheritance, etc etc, but that can only carry a story line so far, maybe a few weeks, and even then only a few paragraphs in a story line. So… after some, no, after many story conferences, it was decided that I would come back for the inheritance, but they would then twist me into a position as a costume designer for a big deal producer in NYC and there was a brother (or sister) I hardly knew who wanted to challenge me over the inheritance… and… how about there’s a woman who is so attracted to him that she decides that she was going to turn him around. OK.

Enter Amy, part two.

If you want to be an actor, learn to do stuff. Take lessons, learn to play the guitar, learn to juggle tennis balls, learn to deal cards like a casino dealer, learn to walk on your hands and do a cartwheel, learn to flip an egg in a frying pan. You can never tell – I once lost a small role to a guy who of all things could play, just barely, the bagpipes. Anyway, Amy wanted to be an actress but she was smart enough to have two cards up her sleeve, so she also studied cosmetology, with the result that she landed the job doing makeup for the soap where I met her and she sometimes got herself written into the show as a minor character who did make-up for the characters when they were doing a scene in a beauty parlor or some such thing. Again, thanks to Amanda, who hired her when she came in to try out for a role and ended up talking her way into doing Amanda’s eyes.

So it was decided that Amy would become a small addition to the cast, she would become infatuated with the ruggedly handsome fashion designer who had recently returned from Hollywood because a big producer wanted him for a series he was doing in NYC, and Lorenzo needed to deal with a legal battle with the brother (or sister) he never knew he had all those years now that the deceased mother had rewritten her will, etc etc, all typical daytime drama twists and complications. In my opinion, the biggest complication was what to call her character: we can’t just call her Amy, when the credits role at the end of the show the viewers will think we’re lazy if it says Amy played by Amy, so I finally suggested, look, she had red hair and blue eyes, right? And the Irish have red hair and blue eyes, right? So they gave her the name Colleen.

And so it seems that the twists and complication can become limitless. The brother (they decided on a brother; I can only wonder how long before a long lost sister turns up) and I at first pretend to act like the long-lost Joseph and Benjamin, and next thing you know we get to do a fight scene. And Colleen continues to press Lorenzo to change his way of life and ends up claiming he raped her. Did I mention that it turned out that Colleen and Lorenzo were both secret alcoholics? Oh, yes, and did I say my long-lost brother and I to Colleen look a great deal alike in the dark? And I continue to do off-Broadway shows a few nights a week from time to time.


I am not a Christian but I play one at home. My father is half Cuban and half Irish-American, and my mother’s side is half Puerto Rican and half Italian-American, and while all should be standard issue Roman Catholic, my father’s father had many children (he made a good living, he’d learned to be a master welder in Cuba before he and his family decided to get out before the Reds took over) and I have a lot of relatives who are other kinds of Christians, Pentecostal and Jehovah’s Witness and Seventh Day Adventist, and what they all have in common is the desire whenever they see me to fill me with the love of the Lord and the fear of eternal hellfire.

My father was not an educated man, although his high school diploma was proudly displayed on the dining room wall,  but he was a smart man where it counted, like my grandfather he mastered the same trade and did very well for himself as a union welder, and my mother waited tables (with the result that we frequently on Saturday night had meat loaf that the diner owner would have otherwise thrown out, and pretty good, too, all things considered) , with the result that my siblings and I were able to grow up in a pretty nice house in a pretty good neighborhood not far from Manhattan, and we were lucky enough that we never really wanted for anything.  It was one of those houses that had a bit of a back yard and sat closely side by side on either side to another house, not too many blocks from the El,  closer to the Steinway St subway station and near the RC church some of my family attended.

When I was about fifteen I announced, after a great deal of thought, one evening at dinner that I wanted to become an actor, and there was much shaking of heads and many comments of “be real” and “don’t you want to eat every day?” and “yeah, you and a million other people.” My older sister Camilla, though, said, well, let him try if he wants to, and my father finally said, okay, just have a back up plan for when you don’t make it. Thanks, dad. During the next two and a half years in high school, I did the drama club and actually got to play Stanley in Streetcar, and afterwards people came up to me at the party afterwards and told me how good I was, and my father smiled and patted me on the shoulder and then pushed me a way a little and said, ok, go and be a bum.

But I understood the risks and made myself do well in high school and went to college, where I majored in drama but also got credits in education and would have probably landed a job in a high school… except that I got my first off off-Broadway part before I graduated, the play ran for five weeks and I got some very good reviews for my role as a petty thief in a slum in the 1930s. Broadway, here I come.

But my point is that I would sometimes go back to my parents’ house for the weekend or a holiday and sleep over, and that one crucifix still clung to the wall over my old bed as well the identical other over my brother Simon’s bed (we weren’t rich enough to have that large a house), and on Easter and Thanksgiving and Christmas, between plates full of too much good food, there were endless debates on the true nature of religion and belief and faith and salvation among my relatives, and as an actor, I often got the brunt of the woe unto thee lectures. One Friday night I hurried over for Christmas, I had played a small part in a film and one of the scenes I was in had to be reshot at the last minute, and oh the looks I got that night because my character was Jewish and I had forgotten to take off the chain with the Jewish star I was wearing. (Good scene, too, I got to be shot in the chest by a guy who was supposed to be my best friend, I didn’t have a line, just needed to look at him like “how could you..?” and I slowly pulled the Jewish star from under my blood-stained expensive shirt and showed it to him, as if I were saying , hey, we’re both Jews, how could you do that to me,  like that would mean anything to a drug dealer who thought he’d been cheated, and I was congratulated for not hamming it up before I fell down dead. Drug dealer plots tend to run those ways.) The producers let me keep the thing, too, I like to think it sometimes brings me good luck.

But not that night. Oh the fun I had trying to convince my Aunt Sophia that I had not turned my back on Jesus and made a pact with the Devil, she had heard all about how actors would turn to the dark side in order to have success, was that what I had done, did you, I heard all about this, did you get a tattoo of the pentagon? I wanted to laugh but she had always been very nice to me so I just smiled and tried to assure her that I was working for Satan, but he had made me a really good deal. Meanwhile, at the same time, behind her back, I truly thought that my father was trying his best to not laugh out loud at the scene and I suspect that my aunt would have run down the block for a priest, any priest, to perform an exorcism if my father hadn’t finally stepped forward and put his arm around her should and reassured her that I had done nothing of the sort. Mind you, my mother practically needed to grab my ear and drag me to church for confession and communion once ever so often, but that didn’t matter, because Sophia happened to be a Seventh Day Adventist and didn’t think much of the R C church.

And then my father dropped the bombshell he had been holding back for the evening, probably for several days: his father had been diagnosed with cancer and would probably only live for perhaps a few months longer. This came to many of us as a shock, but I can’t say I was entirely surprised, and I don’t know why anyone else should have not realized that this was a distinct possibility, as grampa seemed to almost always have a cigarette in his hand or dangling from his lips. We were mostly a non-smoking bunch, if you want to describe having a cigar after dinner most of the time non-smoking. My father and some of my other male relatives went for the daily or occasional cigar and I would sometime have a good cigar at a wrap party (or to be obnoxious)… and as he got older, my father got into the habit of smoking about half a cigar after dinner and he’d then leave the rest on the stoop where some derelict usually found it.

Well, there was too much to be said but not much to say. Cancer is cancer, we all knew that it meant goodbye, we could only hope for the best. Prayers were said and a few recriminations were passed around, he should have known, we should have told him, prayers, perhaps there will be a miracle, there is always hope.  And my father merely smiled as he looked down at the table, we should just hope for the best, he said, and we should try to make the time he has left good for him.

I said good night to all after a while, hugs and kisses where appropriate, hopped the subway, and finally showed up at Amy’s apartment with a box of donuts. I know I woke her up when I knocked on the door, she was in a robe and her hair was a beautiful red mess but she seemed glad to see me.

Let me mention that by this point I had met Amy's family and they seemed very normal and pleasant and didn't seem to mind that I wasn't Jewish. I saw various disagreements concerning business and politics but definitely saw no disagreements over which temple was the true temple of God, and it was during my first dinner with her family that I found out that she thought her family name, Bernstein, sounded too ethnic so she changed it to Bertone, which sounds almost as ethnic to me.

“What?” she said with a half smile and I said, can I come in, I want to talk with someone and everyone else I know is dead.

She laughed and let me follow her in as she closed the door. I knew where she kept a couple of bottles of wine and took a bottle of merlot. She must have understood that I had some sort of problem to deal with, she gave me a look of understanding that something what wrong and went to find two wine glasses.
So, what’s up, she said, and I said, I was with my family tonight we were having a very nice dinner, and then my father told us that my grandfather has cancer, the doctors say he only has a few months to live.

Wow… wow, that stinks, I’m really sorry to hear that, she said. She drank half a glass of wine and said, Still… you know both my grandfathers died when I was very young and I never got to know them. You were lucky to have him for this long… that really stinks.

She took a glazed donut and took two bites before she put back in the box. I don’t know why I thought to buy a box of donuts, but I picked it up and finished it.

Amy was very attractive in just about every way I would want her to be. We finished the bottle of wine and shared another donut. I told her how he had come to see me in a couple of plays I had appeared in and he always told me I was very good, and I always loved him for that.

You are very talented, she said, everyone who knows you knows that, and I could only say ‘thank you.’ She smiled as she took my hand in hers and said, “you’re very welcome…”

I once heard that redheads make the best lovers. So be it.

I leaned back and let myself feel comfortable in a corner of her elegant second hand couch and she reclined against me, I knew I had been lucky in more than a few ways, and I although I was depressed I still felt very lucky in at least one more very important way. Shhh.

Lucky Day

That's me, Mr. Lucky.

So I called a client, a very pretty girl who was no great talent but she was very serious about her acting career, took acting lessons and whenever she had a job she’d make her best effort to memorize her lines (she usually got one or two scenes, you’ve probably seen a few of them, where the party gets out of hand and people start getting into each other – hint, hint – and then the mad killer shows up…)

And unlike some of my clients, if the director says, no, don’t do it that way, do it this way, she just smiles and okay.

So she was no great talent but she always did her very best and a lot of people who make low budget movies appreciate that she works hard and has a good attitude and she usually got a role of some sort every month or so.

So I had her come into the office and we were reading through the script and discussing the role and my commission, and while reading the script - I have found that some of my clients sometimes needed some direction on how to pronounce certain words that I am almost embarrassed to repeat - she suddenly gets up and screams.

“Do you see a scream anywhere on the page?” I said and she says in a loud voice, “Look!!” She points to a spot on the floor next to a filing cabinet and sure enough there’s a big fat flat cockroach. Just snuck through a space between the baseboard and the floor.

I’ve mentioned this to my landlord on more than one occasion. Oh, I understand, he’d say, it’s a real problem in the city, you know, did you see that article in the newspaper? That’s why I have an exterminator come in every month at night, trust me, I’ll take care of that!

This is why I pay my rent on time every month, so my clients get to see roaches in my office. 

So I got up and snuck up and stepped on the little pest, and the girl screamed again. “That’s so disgusting!” she said as I took a crumpled paper towel from my pocket and wiped my shoe. “So what do you want, I should catch him and throw him out the window?”

Anyway, she calmed down and we finished up what we needed to do - I needed to have her repeat one line about five times, she kept tripping over “metaphysical certitude” of all things - and I told her that I knew she was going to do a great job in the movie, and she gave me a hug and went on her way.

I wanted to take a shot of vodka, but instead I called my aunt Mildred, and after the usual pleasantries, for example, uncle Jack was smoking cigars again, even after his doctor told him it was a bad habit, that and eating chicken skin, and was my father wearing a hat like the dermatologist told him so he wouldn’t get another bad spot on his balding head, and was I watching my weight, I finally said, “So how do you get rid of roaches?”

“You have roaches?! Do you live like a slob? That’s why people have roaches, they live like slobs!”

“I’m calling from my office, I can’t help it if the people in the next office don’t clean up after themselves.” A couple of brothers who were accountants in one office next to me, an agency that rented out secretaries and bookkeepers in the office on the other side. I’m sure they threw food and soda all over the floor every day.

“Well I told your father he should find an office in a nice new building,” she said.

“What do you recommend,” I finally said. 

“Well, not to say anything bad about my sister, after all she is your mother, but if you asked her, she’d -“

“I didn’t ask her, I’m asking you, I know you’re a fanatic about cleanliness.”

“Yes, that’s true, even though people hate to admit it’s a good thing, you probably do want to ask me what to do.”

I rubbed my nose and ran my fingers through my hair. “So what do you recommend, Aunt Mildred?”

“Well, you could put roach powder down along the edges of the floor, but that stuff’s poison, if you open a window it could get in the air, so you probably don’t want to do that.”

“So what do I want to do?” I said.

“Or you could get a can of roach spray and spray it all along the edges of the floor, but that stuff will stink up your office, so you probably don’t want to  do that either.”

“So what do I want to do?” I said. Louder.

“Go to a hardware store, you know where there’s a hardware store, right? or a  place like that, you know, they probably have lots of things you could use in your office.”

“So uncle Jack is smoking cigars again?”

“Yes, and don’t change the subject, it’s only those little cigars, maybe twice a day. You get yourself to a hardware store today”

“And what do I ask for when I get to the hardware store?” I said, although I was ready to scream.

“Oh, you want to ask for roach motels.”

“Roach motels? Is that what they’re called?”

“Don’t you ever turn on the television? They advertise them all the time. Cardboard boxes about the size of those cigar boxes that uncle Jack’s cigars come in, you remember what they look like, those cigar boxes?”

“Yes,” I said as I began to reach for the drawer with the shot bottles.

“Well, you get some of those, they have glue inside that smells like caramel. The roaches go in and get stuck. It’s the first thing I recommend when anyone asks my advice about roaches… what, do you have a cough? Are you eating healthy?”

 “Yes, I try to eat healthy,” I said as I swallowed the rest of the vodka. “The air is a little dry today and I had someone in to dust today.”

“Well, you see what I said? When you get to the hardware store, you should also get a humidifier.”

I wanted another shot bottle but just said, “OK, I’ll stop by the hardware store today and get some roach motels.”

“Good, I’m glad you listen to me. Do you still speak to your parents? I hate to spend the money on long distance, you know your mother can talk a lot when she’s on the phone.”

“I know, I know, I call from the office a couple of times a week, that way it’s a business expense.”

“Well, tell them I said hello and that uncle Jack is smoking again and your cousin Susie quit teaching again and that your father should wear a hat like his doctor told him to.”

“Okay, and tell uncle Jack and everyone else that I said hello, we have to get together again one of these days,” I said. Maybe to say goodbye to uncle Jack when he finally sprouts wings and flies away.

So I went into this hardware store that’s around the corner about a block and a half away, a small dusty place that’s been there for ages. The bell over the door rings and the guy sitting behind the counter looked up from his newspaper as I came in and said, “What can I do for you?”

“Do you have roach motels?”

“Oh, sure, a lot of people around here want them. What kind of roaches you got, big or little?”

“I saw a big flat one, maybe an inch long.”

“I got just what you want,” he said and he strolled into one of the cluttered aisles. He came back with a package wrapped in cellophane and put it on the counter. “Two motels in here, should be enough to start with,” he said as he sat down again. “You know what to do with ‘em?”

I admitted that I wasn’t entirely sure. “OK, you take the wrapper off, put one box where you saw that roach, put the other someplace that looks the same. Look inside every day, if it looks crowded, you throw it out and come for another package. They probably won’t eliminate ‘em but they’ll keep the bugs under control.”

“Okay, I’ll see how they work.” I paid him, he thanked me, I left. I went just a bit out of my way to get a donut and coffee at Grouchy’s Deli before I went back to the office.

I tossed a quarter to a panhandler near the office for luck, I had an important client coming by in about 20 minutes. I wolfed down the donut, gulped the coffee, then looked at the roach motels wrapper for a moment. I opened it and put the motels where the hardware guy suggested I put them.

Matilda was a well-known sort of minor actress, most people wouldn’t know her name but they’d probably recognize her from all the television shows she’d been in. Day time soaps, nighttime dramas and comedies, an occasional spot on a talk show or game show, you name it, she’s done it. Probably been around for thirty years, maybe more.

Right on time, she came in without knocking, toting a carrier with her cat. Some kind of mixed breed with long hair like half Persian and half something else, I never bothered to learn anything else about him. She did insist on telling me that he was the Sweetest Pussycat and had been neutered. Ouch.

Obviously, given her opinion of herself, she saw no reason to ask me if she could let the cat roam around the office.

“Now, what are we going to talk about today, dear?” she said. She had a very good air of politeness and class, even if it was all an act.

“Well, first, the soap wants you back. From what they told me, I think they’re thinking at least twice, maybe three days a week for at least a few weeks, you know, they want to bring back the sister of the woman who died. You know Evelyn, right?”

“Oh, yes, poor thing. Let herself get written out for good.”

“I heard she wanted out to take it easy, she’d been there a long time.”

“Well, you wouldn’t catch me letting myself being written out of such a good part like that!”

“I know what you mean, but that’s what she wanted, I heard it from one of my clients who’s been on the show.”

“Prince! Stop nosing around! Come sit here!” she said to her cat, who so far as I could tell had no intentions of listening to her.

“Oh, but here’s the twist,” I said, “they want you on the show because she died and you heard she was leaving a lot of money to the son she’d been on bad terms with for a long time, and your character feels she should have been one of the main heirs to her estate. It’ll be a good opportunity to let the soap’s fans see you again after all these months.” I took a moment to think, series or drama, while she nodded her head. I could tell she wanted back on the soap.

“But I also got a call the same day from a producer at a prime time crime drama, he thinks you’d be perfect for a part in an upcoming episode. And the best thing is - ”

And she screamed.

“Please don’t tell me you saw a roach!”

“No, you fool, worse than that! Look at Prince!”

I almost twisted my neck as I looked and saw that the little monster had one of his paws stuck in one of the roach motels.

“Oh, geez, Matilda, it’s just glue, we can get his paw out and wash it off.”

“But what if it’s poison in there! You think they just put glue in there? Don’t treat me like a fool!”

Well, the wrapper clearly said NON-TOXIC will not harm household pets if they come in contact with the contents, and that’s what I told her. 

But she wouldn’t listen, because she was a star or something.”I’m not listening to you, you’re not an expert! I’m calling the vet before you do anything!”

Oy… oy… I need another vodka. I gently pushed the phone at her.

“Hello?.. hello, this is Matilda… yes, is the doctor available? It’s Very important!.. PRINCE! Stop that!!” Prince had begun gnawing at the edge of the box. I expected her to throw something at me. It was my fault that her cat wouldn’t listen to her.

“Oh, thank you, Doctor, I have a real problem! Prince has a paw caught in one of those… what is this thing called?” she said impatiently.

“It’s a roach motel.”

“It’s called a ‘roach motel’, doctor… yes, his front right paw is stuck in it…” I began to think the vet was not giving her any sympathy. “Yes… no, I don’t know… yes, of course I’ll ask.” She looked very impatient as she said to me, “The doctor wants to know, is it non-toxic?”

I pulled the wrapper out of the wastepaper basket and tried to give it to her. “I don’t want to touch it! Just show me what it says!”

I held it for her to see as she fumbled with one hand in one pocket then another till she got her glasses on, all the while holding Prince, who looked like he wanted to go to sleep.

“Yes, doctor, yes, it says non-toxic in big letters…will not harm household pets if they – yes… yes, we will do that right away. How is Sally? And the boys?.. I’m very glad to hear it… another grandson? How wonderful!..  Thank you, thank you so much for your time.”

She looked at me. She looked very serious, Very Serious. “The doctor said we need to gently remove his paw from the box, then get some warm wet paper towels and wipe his paw till it’s clean.”

I went to the men’s room, got a bunch of paper towels, and let some hot water run on them. To make myself feel better, I threatened to punch the paper towel dispenser. I held the motel and she carefully pulled his paw out, then she held him while I carefully wiped his paw off several times, while he tried to bite me. I wanted to punch the paper towel dispenser again.

“Ok, I forgive you, dear,” she said, “But I can’t believe you have your office in a building with roaches. Where I live, if anyone sees a roach the exterminator is called in the same day!”

With a sprayer full of scented water, I’d bet. “Matilda, I was reading in the paper just the other day that there probably isn’t a building in the city that doesn’t have a few roaches.”

But she was cradling the cat in her arms and cooed at him. I wouldn’t have been shocked if he tried to bite her, too.

“So, where were we, dear..?”

I reached into the desk drawer and took out two shot bottles. “Do you want a swig? “ I said. She paused to look at her watch, and said, I suppose so, it is almost three.”

A Clown

SO I decided to take a stroll around, my next client was due in in about 30 minutes – this very beautiful redhead who tap danced and sang and could juggle, stuff like that, very sexy and the guys in the clubs couldn’t get enough of her as she sang her song and shook her tuches – and I didn’t want her complaining about the smoke, so I opened the window and went out for a cigar. I earned a break, I had spent more than 20 minutes convincing a mad slasher movie producer to give one of my clients another role in another movie he was going to make. You’ll recognize her if you see her. She gets to be half naked for sex and then gets to scream. A lot.

I stopped from block to block to briefly watch the people trying to make a living at the bottom of the show business ladder, an older black fellow who played the clarinet while a toy monkey clapped together a pair of little cymbals, the guy once swore to me that he used to play in the Cab Ellington band; and a guy in white face who did some juggling and went through the usual motions of walking against the wind and sniffing an invisible flower – no thanks, I said, I’m allergic, and he put on a sad face and patted me on the shoulder, and he made fun of a few people who walked by with an odd way of walking... and of course the blind woman, if she was blind, I don’t know, who sang the same few songs about Jesus while holding out the tin cup.

And of course the usual early afternoon line of hookers looking to make their money. A redhead in jeans and a t-shirt with a couple of chess knights on it smiled at me at me as I walked into Smith’s for a shot of vodka – dumb idea really, but I ran out and the local liquor store had closed down due to a fire in the store room or something. 

What a waste – a shot in the bar cost more than buying a shot bottle at the liquor store – and he’d give me a discount if I bought a dozen at a time, which I did – and of course it cost a lot less if you bought a whole bottle, but with my clients, some of them anyway, what am I supposed to do, pass them the bottle and say ‘help yourself’? It’s a better deal to go “so we have a deal, here, have a shot’ and you pass them a shot bottle.

Anyway, it was still a nice change of scenery to sit in a bar for a few minutes and listen to the others complain about things between drinks. I looked at my watch, grabbed a few pretzels and took my leave. The redhead smiled at me again; I’ve seen her around at this corner for a while now. So I smile back and say “nice weather lately” and she says “some rain would be nice.” Strange comment, most of the hookers hate the rain.

So I get back to my office and start to think about what I need to do next, knock knock, the door opens and my prettiest redhead clients sticks her head through the opened door and say, “well, do you still have some time to talk?”

And I said, “for you, of course, come sit down." I pulled a small bag of mixed nuts from a drawer in my desk, I know she likes them.  She picked out a few cashews and politely slapped them in her mouth and then pulled a large sheet of paper from her bag.

“Ok, here is my calendar for the summer, I’m pretty much booked on the weekends until Labor Day, “she said, “and I have a few club dates. How about you find me some other work to fill in the blanks?”

Smart girl. Really good-looking, too. Guys in the clubs always fall for her, she does a really sexy song and dance routine.

“You know, “ I said, “I’m really trying to find you some work in a film or two, they keep making musicals and it pays a lot more than you make in the Catskills. I know you can do it.”

She cut me off by smacking her hand on the desk. “Look, that would be swell, but right now I need some more club dates to fill in my calendar. Let’s look for a film job after the hotels close, ok?”

I got up. “Come, “ I said, “let’s take a walk around, you like Boston cream pie? I know a place where we can have pie and coffee and talk, ok?”

She made a face, cocked her mouth to one side for a moment, then got up and said “Ok, I like that kind of stuff.” She put her calendar back in her bag and as we waited for the elevator, she said, “People sometimes see how I eat and they ask me how I keep my figure and I ask them if they have any idea how many hours a day I practice all my routines and steps on a dance floor. People really are dumb sometimes.”

So we were walking to Lenny’s, “Authentic Jewish Deli” the old sign over the store read in fading letters, and we stopped for a few minutes to watch a tall young guy in clown makeup as he juggled some tennis balls. “He’s good, “she said, “I can juggle but not like he’s doing… hey, “ she said to the guy in the clown face and he gave her an odd friendly smile. “Can you do that with knives?”

And he gave her a tired smile and said” tennis balls, golf balls, pool table balls… apples, lemons, grapefruit... cantaloupe if they’re not too heavy... big knives, small knives, flashlights, torches... street flares when I can get them but you gotta be really careful. Three or four at a time, clockwise, counter-clockwise , figure eights...”

And she said, “take a break, we’ll buy you a coffee.” What do you mean we, I thought, but I didn’t mind, he might make interesting company. He finished off, one ball in one pocket, another ball in another pocket... I don’t know why she wanted to bring him along with us but he seemed grateful for the chance to take a break.  He picked up the old hat from the sidewalk, he had a couple of dollars change in it, then he pulled a pocket watch from his oversized pants, the kind of watch you can buy for about four dollars.

“Geez, later than I thought. Thanks for the invite.”

Lenny, or whatever the owner’s name was, gave me a dirty look for coming in with a guy in clown makeup. Tissia stopped long enough to ask, “you have Boston cream pie today? Yeah? What else?” and he pointed to a display case. “Oh, that looks good,we’ll have three and coffee.”

“Three BCs and three coffees, got it, “ he said with his usual grouchy air.

The clown looked the place over before we took a booth, and he finally said, “real old fashioned place. Never been in here. Got a nice old air to it. Used to be a place like this where I grew up in Brooklyn. Grubby little place but the best pastrami and fries anywhere. When the owner died half the neighborhood turned out for the funeral.”

Lenny brought over the order and the as the clown took one plate for himself, he said, “thank you, sir.” I almost thought I saw Lenny almost smile, but he did say, “you’re welcome.”

Red took a taste and after a moment she nudged me. “This is really good, thanks for bringing me here.” The clown also took a forkful of the pie and after a moment agreed with her. He took a sip of coffee after mixing in some milk. “You know, I’m really glad you asked me along. I needed a break, I have a blister on my foot, but, you know, I gotta make a living.”

Good Boston cream pie is a good excuse for not talking for a while.

“You do anything besides juggling? “ I eventually asked, and he said, “play the guitar a little, I can sing but I don’t have a good voice, ok for doing funny songs at kids parties, I can do a cartwheel or handstand and only fall down about half the times. Kids think that’s funny, too.”

Red laughed. “Can you wait tables? You’d probably make the same money and you wouldn’t be on the street all day.”

“Brother has a place on Long Island, work there sometimes, better than being outside when the weather is really bad, helps pay the bills but I don’t like being polite to drunks."

“Me, neither,” she said. “Clubs are full of drunks, but I don’t care if they just hoot and holler at me. Watching me tap dancing in a leotard that’s half a size too small keeps them in love and the bouncer and bartender keep them in line.”

I noticed that Lenny kept giving me an occasional dirty look for bring such a guy into his respectable place. I sometimes think the roaches wash their hands when they go home at night.

“Ever try the Catskills? They have all kinds of people performing there.” Clown guy kind of let his head drop. “Tried it one summer a couple of times.” He dug the fork into the pie again. He looked thoughtful for a brief moment, then looked over his shoulder and called to Lenny, “Pie is really good. Make it or buy it?”

Lenny looked slightly less displeased for a moment. “The wife bakes a couple times a week. “ 

“Really really good, “ the clown said. “I’ll tell her she got a compliment,” he said. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile and today was no different.

“Yeah, tried it and people were polite and the people in charge would say, “you’re pretty good, but you’re not good enough. Practice some more and we’ll call you next year if we want you back.”

He was right. Lenny had a really good Boston cream pie. Coffee could have been a little stronger though. I wonder if he added some hot water to have enough for three cups.

“Even tried out when the circus had open auditions. You give them an 8 by 10 with your name and phone and address on the back. Thought they kind of liked what I did, few weeks later got the picture back from them. Said if I could pick up a few more tricks, ride a unicycle, stand on a chair and get it to balance on one leg, stuff like that, said I could try again the next time they had auditions.”

Redhead looked at him. “So what did you do?” He just looked at her and shrugged. "Money is tight, lucky if I have a few dollars at the end of the month.” He finished the pie off, added a little more milk to the coffee and drank it. “Don’t know if it’s worth it.”

Redhead gave him an almost angry look. “Don’t be stupid, go to the pawnshops and find a second hand unicycle, if it costs you thirty dollars and you make an extra two dollars a day, you get your money back in a couple of weeks.” She broke a piece of the pie crust off. I thought she was going to throw it at him, but she stuck it in her mouth. “Nice and buttery, too.”

“Suppose I should do that... yeah, tomorrow maybe..., heard it's gonna rain in the afternoon” He got up and put about a dollar in change on the table. “Nice of you to ask me to come along, appreciate it, but sometimes can barely pay the bills. Hope this is enough.”

“No problem,” Tissia said, “keep your change, Mr. Big Shot Agent will pay the tab.” I wanted to smack her. She was one of my favorite female clients, a lot of them were good looking and sexy but were lucky to have an occasional small part in low budget movies (having faked sex just before the mad slasher shows up.) A lovely redhead with a lively personality who I heard once gave a black eye to a club manager when he grabbed her backside, but I still wanted to smack her. Just once.

The clown hesitated, but seemed grateful when I said, “Go take your change, my treat.”

“Thank you,” he said, very kind of you, sir, thanks” As he was walking out, I heard him say goodbye to Lenny, who I could hear say, “Yeah.”

Redhead got up and sat across from me. “Funny fellow,” she said, “wants to be a performer that much. Do you know I have a degree in education? I love performing but I’d sooner spend the day teaching brats to read than do what he does.” She reached over for her plate and scraped off what was left with a fork. “He’s right, this is really good…”

I learned that one of the benefits of having others with you when you’re eating is that you can eat while they talk. I was down to a last bit of the crust of the pie.

“Look,” I said after a last sip of coffee, “you’re lucky, you have a lot more talent than a lot of people who want to do what you do, and you have some really good looks. The city is full of people like him, you can walk up Broadway from Wall Street to Central Park and you’ll see them on pretty much every corner. You don’t know how many clients I dropped because I just couldn’t find them work. Going on stage and pretending to do a sexy dance while you get down to a g string isn’t really a talent.”

I almost wanted another coffee. “Remember, not everyone has the talent to remember how to say things like ‘and do you want it rare, medium or well done?’”

Redhead almost laughed. “You’re such a jerk, but in a good way. Now, like I said before,” and she pulled the calendar from her bag. “Here’s my calendar from the summer...”

“Lenny,” I almost hollered, “more coffee...” 

Hot Dog

So I spent what felt like an hour on the phone arguing with a producer about a client of mine,
she had a kind of small part in a film he had done and now he was all, oh, she was so difficult
to work with, and I took a deep breath and said, she told me that she had to do a couple of
scenes a couple of times because one of your stars had flubbed some lines. And he said, yes,
but, and I said, so it wasn't her fault, and he said, but she was difficult and I said, I heard that
your star tried to blame her for him missing his lines... and long story short, he said, oh... ok, she
was all right, and I said so give her another chance, and he said, oh... ok, ok tell her to come
by tomorrow, she can pick up her script...

So I called her three or four times before she answered the phone, she said she was out
doing laundry, and I told her, good luck, I got you the part, just make sure you stop by the
same place tomorrow and pick up your script, and for God's sake just smile and say thank
you, say thank you and leave. No remarks or BS or faces, okay?

And she said, ok, thank, I love you.

She loves me. Hurray for me. It pays my bills.

And... one of my best clients calls as I am about to leave and says, hey, I just got back into
town, I'll be there in twenty minutes.

So I had 20 minutes to grab some lunch and bring it back to the office, grab an extra bag of
chips or something in case he wanted something to pick at. So I closed the door to the office
and stuck the "be back in 20 minutes" note on the door and headed off to the deli: and today I
was feeling like my idea of a chicken salad special, chicken salad on rye with some chopped
swiss and some chopped corned beef mixed in. To each his own.

"Hey"

"Hey?" I looked to my left and saw some schlep smiling at me. "Got a quarter to spare, pal?"
he said and I said, "no, didn't bring any change with me but if you catch me on the way back, I
might have a quarter to spare."

Just another of of those guys you see shuffling around the area, shabby and usually broke and
looking for either change that would add up to a cheap bottle at the nearest liquor store or --

"Hey?"

"So what do you need a quarter for? Trying to get back to Astoria?" I said and he said, "I got
15 cents, another 25 cents and I can get a hot dog, come on, gimme a little help, pal, I need
something to eat."

"I don't have any change with me, I told you. Catch me on the way back and maybe," and he
said, "ok, anything you say."

He proceeded to alternately ask other passerbys if they had any spare change and then
hurried to catch up to me.

"Yeah, I need something to eat," he said. "I just need like another 20 cents to get a hot dog,
the guy up the corner charges extra for kraut, but there's a guy the next block down gives it for
free," he said, and I finally said...

Nothing, because he was one of those many locals schleps and characters you'd see around,
and you knew he could get a meal at the Salvation Army or one of those places so it was a
good guess that he mostly wanted to get himself a bottle of Thunderbird or something like
that.

He almost stopped and pulled a newspaper from the nearly full trash can. "Look at that," he
said, "I always knew he was no good." He tossed the paper back in the trash and caught up
with me.

"You see this?" he said to me and he pulled up a kind of grimy cuff to show me that he had a
cheap watch on his wrist. "Belonged to my father, but it doesn' work anymore."

No doubt. Probably found it in the trash somewhere.

"When it worked I coulda hocked it and gotten a room for a few weeks, but it doesn' work
anymore. He's dead a long time. Momma, too. We didn' have much even then." He looked at
the wristwatch, shook his wrist a few times as if that would make anything happen, he held it to
his ear for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Yeah, belonged to my granfather, and he left it to
my father, and he left it to me. A classic timepiece."

So I said, "Look, let me go in here and get my lunch, you want a hot dog, I'll get you a hot dog,
ok?"

I remember a cartoon, two dogs chasing Sylvester the cat, and the small dog was all "Hey Alf,
Hey Alf, Hey Alf" and that was this guy, not drunk, not stoned, but very hey Hey HEY, kind of a
rapid time talking, almost too fast, you could almost see him bobbing up and down with
excitement as he spoke.

So I went in the deli, my dirty lovely old deli, owner had been there at least 25 years, had a few
autographed pictures of some celebrities behind him when he stood at the cash register.
Cash register only went up to two dollars, that's how old it was. "So you gotta bring a bum to
hang around my store?" the owner said. He was in his usual mood. I told him what I wanted,
then added, "and give me a hot dog with some kraut on it." Yeah, sure, anything for you, he
said without a word.

I glanced at the paper on the counter for a few moments. Yep, crooked politician got caught. Could
get jail, too, if he wasn't making deals with the right people.

I took my order and paid for it, went out side. The schlep was about ten feet away, trying to
grub up change off an occasion passerby. He followed me as I walked back to the office for a
few blocks until I finally said, "look here." I showed him a quarter in one hand and the hot dog
in the other and said, "pick one."

He suddenly shook his head, more of a twitch at being giving an unexpected decision to
make.  He moved his hands about in front of his chest for a moment, but he finally reached for
the hot dog.

He ate the hot dog as he followed me, noisy as it was I could almost hear him eating between "thank you" and "thank you."

About a block and a half before I got back to the office, he'd finished, and he put his hand on
my arm and said, "thank you, pal, you're a prince," and I said, "so leave me alone, I have to get
back to work." He said "thank you" again and was about to walk away when I said, "here," and
gave him the quarter. "So go get your liquor."

He smiled and walked away. Meanwhile, upstairs, my client was stinking up the hallway outside
my office with a cigar when I got off the elevator. You ignore it if it's worth it.