Sven continued to talk about fucking and sucking. “Fuck, ziz iz zee chanz of a lifetime, my boy,” Sven said, smiling, but his brow furrowed in exasperation. “Rich and all zee vucking you can take. Every manz dream.”
“Not every man’s, Sven,” Ethan shot back, biting his lower lip. Reluctantly, he extended his hand to Sven, despite his growing dislike for the silver-haired swine.
“You’ll be back,” Sven said condescendingly.
With that, Ethan turned and walked out. Furious, he hurried through the foyer and out the front entrance. He was hurt and disappointed about his own self-deception. Desperate hope had made him ignore the obvious, to get that break he so desired. He asked himself again, Am I really cut out for this life? There was so much bullshit to go through and still not get anywhere.
Walking fast, without any destination, Ethan was several blocks from Sven’s office before his anger subsided and his pace slowed. Walking on the fringe of a small park, he found an empty bench and sat down to take account of what had happened. Strangely, with no one else around, he started to chuckle and then laughed out loud. How things had changed. He laughed as he recalled the events of the past hour. He had walked out on a chance to be with two beautiful, uninhibited women, a chance he would have died for as a teenager—or for that matter, some nights still. Am I nuts? His laugh turned to tears as he struggled with his emotions of anger, frustration, hurt, and anxiety, each falling away like chunks of stone from a sculptor’s chisel.
Maybe I’m just not cut out to be an actor, he thought, but then he stopped the thought almost instantly, remembering what he’d written on the wall bedside his bed. He had to act. He had to find a way. What had Christa said? “The world is waiting for Ethan Jones to step forward.” There had to be a way.
As he stood up from the bench, a ruddy-faced man ran toward him, huffing and puffing. The man, overweight and prematurely balding, signaled Ethan with his hand to wait a minute. “S’cuse me,” he gasped between breaths, his face taking on a deep crimson color, “but I would like”—he gasped again—“to talk to you”—another gasp—“for a minute.” The man crouched forward with his hands on his knees, sucking air for each breath. Dark stains grew under his armpits and down the front of his brown shirt, which stretched across his extended belly. A pack of Lucky Strikes protruded from his left breast pocket. His baggy, tan shorts were in need of a good wash, as were his beige nylon mesh shoes. The hair on his legs and forearms was so thick, he resembled a small Ewok from Star Wars. What was left of his dark hair extended in different directions. “I’m sorry,” the man began again, trying his best to get his breathing under control. “I have … asthma … and it catches up with me … when I run.”
Sure, Ethan thought, it’s a little more than asthma, bud. Ethan directed him to sit on the bench and relax, at the same time keeping his distance. “Slow down and take it easy,” he said.
A moment later, the man pulled an inhaler from his pocket and took several long inhalations.
“I’m sorry … I don’t know your name,” the man said, looking directly at Ethan, his eyes wide and bulging, his breathing still strained. “Jamie Scott’s my name … and I saw your audition back there. It was incredible. I know the story. You hit Stradlater dead-on.”
“Thank you,” Ethan replied, shaking hands and wondering how anyone else had seen the audition. He thought he’d been alone with Sven. “Ethan Jones.”
“You know,” Jamie continued, his breathing slowing, although he still spoke rapidly, “something magical happened in there. You connected or something. I can’t always explain it, but I know when I see it. It’s a gift, you know—you become the character through the words. It’s rare but magnificent to watch. You know what I mean?”
Ethan just stared at the man, who seemed harmless enough but very off the wall. “Kind of,” Ethan replied, looking for a polite way to move on before he got too involved.
“I’m sorry. It’s just that you have it. You know—the gift.”
“Thanks. This just isn’t my thing.”
“No, maybe not. But you got the presence. You transform yourself. You’re not acting. You live the part.”
This is crazy, Ethan thought. “Listen, Jamie, it was nice to meet you,” he said, standing up, “but I have to go.”
“You gotta act, man!” Jamie shouted, stopping Ethan in his tracks. “You can act!” he repeated, continuing as if talking to himself. “You got it. You can’t waste it. Damn, what a sight.”
Hearing the word said aloud by someone he’d never met creeped Ethan out and sent a strip of electricity straight up his spine. The serendipity of the moment was not lost on him. This strange little man had somehow connected with his thoughts and the word he’d written on the bedroom wall. He turned around as if a rock had been thrown at him.
“What did you say?” Ethan asked, sitting back down, increasingly intrigued by Jamie Scott.
“You can act.” Jamie frowned. Ethan saw age in the man’s face; he wasn’t a kid. There was something about his eyes. He could be forty, maybe even fifty. “Why are you auditioning for a porn flick?”
“I wasn’t auditioning for porn.” Ethan sighed, finding it strange to talk to this little man. “I was auditioning for a part in the remake of the book The Catcher in the Rye.”
“And you done good,” Jamie added, “but make no mistake. Sven Irons makes porn, and that’s exactly what he was making in there. So why audition for Sven Irons?”
“Because he asked me to,” Ethan cried, a little exasperated by this bald man asking questions that seemed to challenge his decision. “Why are you so interested in why I auditioned?”
“You haven’t been in a movie yet, have you?” Jamie asked, ignoring Ethan’s question.
“What? Why do you say that?”
“That’s what I thought.” Jamie grimaced and shook his head. “Have you done any commercials?”
Ethan looked at the ground.
“Okay, here we go.” Jamie shook his head and spoke as if to himself. “Incredible. You are naive. You don’t know your gift. Not a surprise; the best usually don’t. But Sven Irons does. You’ll make him richer, you know.”
“Ah, now I get it.” Ethan stood up to leave. He knew what was going on. Jamie worked for Sven. Sven had sent Jamie to convince him to come back. “I won’t be changing my mind, Jamie. You can tell your boss to stop wasting his time. I’m done.” He turned and walked away.
“Ethan! I know you can act!” shouted Jamie after him. Ethan kept walking. “I can help you!” Jamie shouted. “You’re kidding yourself if you think you can do it alone!”
“Just watch me!” Ethan shouted back, unable to remain quiet.
“I can help you!” shouted Jamie, coming off the bench and following.
Ethan stopped and turned. “How the fuck can you help me?” he demanded as Jamie approached him again. It was enough to have bullshit shoved in his face by some porn king, but having some half-wit chase after him was taking it to another level. Why did he let the little shit get under his skin? Christ, he didn’t even know the guy. “Stop jerking my fucking chain and tell me, or fuck off.”
“I’ve worked with Sven for fifteen years—”
“I don’t want to hear about fucking Sven. I’m not interested in porn—no way, no how! Got it?”
Jamie ignored Ethan’s outburst and continued. “As I said, I’ve worked with Sven for fifteen years, and he has an uncanny ability to find talent. It’s like he can smell it or something. He found you, didn’t he?”
Ethan didn’t move or say a word. He just glared down at the man.
“I have a friend who’s in casting and contracted to Paramount. He’s always looking to make a mark for himself, finding the next Harrison Ford or Tom Cruise, like everybody else. Every once in a while I see someone I think is worth passing on. It sets his ears a-flapping when I get one. His motto: all
you need is one.”
Ethan stood there, perplexed. He was becoming so suspicious of everyone. Was this real or more bullshit? Against his better judgment, he said, “Okay, say that I believe you—which, by the way, I have no reason to. What are you proposing? You’ll give my name to this friend of yours at Paramount, and he’ll make me a star?”
Jamie didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he pulled the packet of Lucky Strikes from his shirt pocket and popped a cigarette between his lips. He tilted the pack to Ethan, and Ethan accepted—anything that might help him relax. Jamie lit both cigarettes by flicking his thumbnail across the end of a wood match.
“Thanks,” said Ethan, taking his first drag. He hardly smoked at all but needed the distraction.
“Yes. In a nutshell, that’s exactly it,” Jamie finally answered after inhaling a deep draw from his cigarette. “I’ll arrange a time when the two of you can meet. I’ll take your number and be in touch.”
“Just a minute,” Ethan interjected. “I’ve been down this road too many times. I’ll take your number and your friend’s, and I’ll call. I’ll use your name.”
Jamie seemed to hesitate at Ethan’s suggestion but jotted a second number on the back of his card and handed the card to Ethan.
“You’ll save me some time. Thanks,” Ethan added.
Frederick Northum was the name Jamie printed on the reverse side of the card. Jamie looked up at Ethan, his eyes sharp and focused. “How bad do you want to be an actor?”
Ethan was quick to answer. “I left everything I had to come down here. I will be an actor—a movie star. Count on it.”
Jamie smiled, seemingly satisfied with the answer. It was his turn to speak up. “Then you better get going. Time’s ticking—tick-tock, tick-tock. Have a good one.”
Chapter 26
Ethan’s Timeline
April 1991
An hour later, Ethan was back at Robbie’s apartment, still wondering what to do next.
Christa was at the door as he opened it, having arrived moments earlier. She was smiling, having had a good day. “So how did it go?” she asked excitedly. “Did you get it? Tell me! Tell me!”
“Well, sort of,” he answered. He went to put his arms around her, but she pushed him away.
“Sort of? What does that mean?”
“It means I was offered the part, but I didn’t accept it.”
“What?” she cried. “You didn’t take it? Why?”
“It wasn’t my style,” he said, skirting around the main reason. “I wasn’t comfortable with what the role involved.”
“Oh,” Christa replied with a sigh, her excitement flattened. “I was thinking about you all day today, wondering how you were doing. I thought for sure this was the one. What happened?”
Ethan thought for a moment on how he would explain it but decided just to tell her. “I don’t like acting without my clothes on,” he said, staring into her eyes.
“You were auditioning for a nude scene!” she exclaimed, her dark brown eyes seeming to lighten with amazement.
“A little more than that,” he added.
“Porn?”
“As it turned out, yes. I read for the scene, which went really well. I was then taken into a studio out back, where they were shooting a scene with two women, and discovered I was to be in the next scene. I left.”
Christa was speechless. Ethan watched as she checked him out to make sure he was serious. “Wow,” she said, “I guess it’s hard for me to encourage you on that one.”
He nodded and pulled off his worn-out deck shoes and headed to the kitchen.
She put her arm up against the wall and blocked his way. “Look at me,” she said, grabbing his chin. “Tomorrow’s another day. You’ll find something. I just know you will.” She put her arms around him. He followed her lead. “I like you without your clothes on too,” she whispered in his ear, “but I don’t like the idea of sharing you. Let’s get something to eat—my treat.”
“You’re on,” he replied, “but I have to make a couple of phone calls first.” He intentionally didn’t say a word about his meeting with Jamie Scott. There would be no mention of the name unless something came of it. He didn’t want to jinx himself.
There were three people he had to call.
In the bedroom, he searched through his pants and the night table drawer until he found Randy Baseman’s card. Randy had told him to call. Cushman would be next. Ethan wanted a commitment that Steve would find him more work. Finally, he would call the name on the back of Jamie Scott’s card.
When he re-emerged from the bedroom, Christa was flipping through a fashion magazine on the couch. Ethan checked Robbie’s answering machine for messages. His only message was from Cushman. Ethan’s heart quickened a few beats at the sound of Steve’s voice and the prospects he might have lined up. He dialed Steve’s number. Christa got up and went into their bedroom.
Steve answered on the first ring.
“Steve. Ethan. What’s going on?”
“A ton my friend. I’m glad you called. Where you been hiding? I’ve been trying to reach you. Things are cooking. Sorry about your job. The receptionist told me you didn’t work there anymore. What the fuck?”
Steve was the fastest talker Ethan knew, especially when Steve was excited. Ethan caught himself taking breaths for Steve. It was futile to try to fit a word in.
“Yeah,” was the best he could muster in response.
“Hey, that’s great! Now you can focus on acting.”
Ethan was surprised by his comment. He didn’t think his job had anything to do with his acting work. “I’m ready for whatever you got.”
“Well, I got two things. Both in LA. Got a pen?”
“Steve, I have to tell you something.”
“In a minute, bud. These are commercials. Both paying gigs. One has dialogue, so some extra bucks there. The other just has you showing up.” Steve gave him the details and said he had a line on some TV work as well, but it was too soon to tell where it was going. “What happened the other night?” Steve asked abruptly. “At the church. I never heard from you.”
“Jesus, Steve, slow down,” Ethan answered, trying to catch his own breath. “Yeah, at the church. I was late getting there. Missed my time but went for it anyway. I forced myself in and did a great job. I really think it was good. They liked it too, until they found I wasn’t who they thought I was. They went from really excited to good-bye. It went from bad to worse when I lost my fucking job.”
Steve empathized for a second and then summed it up with “Shit happens, dude,” and said he’d keep in touch.
Ethan hung up, energized that at least something was happening. Two days of work in the next week was good—great by his recent standards. Looking at the two cards, he vacillated on which number to call next. He thought about Randy first, so he dialed the number and reached the comic book man’s answering machine. In the message, he identified himself as the guy who’d stiffed him and came back. He left Robbie’s number to call. Then he reluctantly dialed the number Jamie had given him. After three rings, he was ready to hang up when a bothered voice answered sharply, “Hello. Who’s calling?”
Ethan was surprised by the terseness. “My name’s Ethan Jones, and I’m looking for Frederick Northum,” he said, hoping his nervousness didn’t come through.
“You’re talking to him,” replied Frederick. After a long pause, he added, “Well, what do you want?”
Ethan already was uncomfortable but he said, “I’m a friend of Jamie Scott’s and—”
“Well, why didn’t you say so?” Frederick’s voice was suddenly jovial, nearly unrecognizable from the first. “How’s Jamie doing?”
“Fine. A little out of breath when I saw him,” Ethan replied warily and more than a little confused.
“Is Jamie working out?”
“No, it w
asn’t quite like that. He was catching up to me.”
“What can I do for you? What did you say your name was again?”
“Ethan Jones,” Ethan replied. “I’m an actor, and Jamie thought you might have some work for me at Paramount.”
“He did, did he?” Frederick mused. Ethan pictured a fat man with a graying white dress shirt, buttons pulled to the limit to cover a bulging gut, sitting in front of a paper-strewn desk. “You must have impressed him.”
“He said he liked my work and suggested I meet you. Is there any time that’s good for you?” Ethan could hardly believe what he was saying.
“This week’s shot but …” Frederick paused for a moment before saying, “How about dinner next Tuesday night?”
“Works for me. How about Aspinwood’s, downtown, say around 7:30?”
“No, I’d rather meet closer to the airport. Do you know Smalton’s?” Frederick suggested.
“No, I don’t,” Ethan responded, “but I’m sure I can find it.”
“Good stuff. Eight o’clock okay?”
“Yes,” he agreed, grinning in victory with his fist clenched.
“I’ll make the reservations and look forward to meeting you,” Frederick summarized. “See you then.”
Ethan’s face was wet with perspiration as he pressed the button to hang up the cordless. He pumped his arm in the air and danced in a circle, shouting to the room, “Yes, sir! Thank you, sir! Have no fear; the master’s here! I’m a walkin’, talkin’ acting machine!”
“Looks like somebody’s happy,” Christa said, opening the bedroom door a crack. “What happened?”
“Everything,” he replied, strutting toward her. “I have two commercials and a meeting with a casting director at Paramount next week.”
“No way!” she cried, opening the door further. All she was wearing was a pair of purple bikini briefs.
“Yes, ma’am. Yes, way!” He put his arms around her and swung her into the air, her bare breasts pressed hard against his chest. “Can you believe it?” he remarked after kissing her full on the lips. “My mother used to say, ‘it never rains but it pours.’”
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