Going Down in La-La Land (20 page)

“
I don’t even want to go there,” I said.

“
I hear you,” Candy said knowingly. “It’s called lack of marketable job skills. I feel the same way. I never go to those places because I know they are going to ask me to take Word test, then an Excel test, then a Power Point test, and by the time I leave I’ll feel so tested and demoralized I wished I hadn’t gone in the first place.”

“
That’s not even counting Quark, HTML, and the second language I need to learn,” I stated. “Good Lord, I could go to school for years.”

“
You’re right. And even with all those skills they’d probably want you to have two or three years experience,” Candy joked. “My favorite job interviews were with Wells Fargo and Dean Whitter, at a point when I was fed up with the acting thing and thought I’d get back into sales. Wells Fargo sits me down for an exam and has me do long division, multiplication, and percentages with a paper and pencil, the kind of shit I haven’t done since high school. Then of course there is a time limit, so I fail. Same thing at Dean Whitter, only they had the nerve to ask me questions like how much I made at my last job and what percentage of my income I saved. I mean, if I were making so much money at a previous job, why the hell would I need to be interviewing for a new one? I swear you can’t win.”

Then Candy stood up, leaned over the balcony, flung her arms out comically, and screamed, “I’m tired of putting myself out there! I’m tired of feeling rejected! I’m tired of having low self-esteem! And I’m tired of having negative thoughts!”

It was too bad no casting director was around to see this groundbreaking performance. I had to keep myself from shouting “Bravo!”

Then she turned around giggling and asked, “Does that give you an idea about how I’ve been feeling lately?”

“
Yeah. I get it. Now let’s go inside, before one of the neighbors throws something at us and Orly comes banging and screaming at the door.”

“
Shit!” I yelled in exasperation.

The tape gun got messed up again for the hundredth time that afternoon, sticking tape everywhere but the package. Ron was raking in the bucks from his perverted flicks, couldn’t he spring for a tape gun where the blade wasn’t dulled down to nothing?

“
How’s our newest star doing?” a familiar flat voice asked from behind.

Speak of the devil.

“
Ron, you gotta give me some cash to run to Staples with. Every tape gun in this warehouse is useless,” I grumbled.

“
Here,” he said, and pulling out his wallet slapped some twenties in my hand. “Check to see if we need any other supplies while you’re at it.”

“
No problem,” I said, looking down at the tape gun and trying to peel apart the jumbled mess.

“
There’s something else I need to talk to you about,” Ron suddenly lowered his voice and took on an expression of gravity. He looked so stupid when he took on an air of importance. Where other people just say what’s needed to be said, it was as if Ron was coaching himself.

“
Let me shut the door first,” he said, turning around and stepping in between the stacks of boxes.

This odd bit of intriguing behavior during what was an otherwise excruciatingly monotonous afternoon stole my attention away from the tape gun and made me take notice.

“
Listen,” Ron said to me in a lowered voice, “I have another client for you, a very important, high-paying client.”

“
Okay. Cool. I could use the money,” I said.

What I wanted to say was “Is that all?” and “Haven’t we been down this road before, so what’s the big deal?”

Sometimes Ron’s theatrics made me think he really wanted to be an actor. Shit, he probably came to this town for that very reason himself, until realizing he didn’t have a prayer.

“
Now, I mean this one is very important. He’s not just well-known in the business like Wayne Hanley, he is a huge star,” Ron said almost in a scolding tone, as if to chastise me for my casual response.

“
Who? Another butt-munching munchkin?” I asked in mock eagerness.

“
You’re not going to believe me when I tell you,” Ron said, ignoring my smart-ass humor. “And it is of grave importance that word doesn’t get out. He is paying for discretion, in addition to your looks.”

“
That’s fine,” I said, annoyed at the suggestion that this whole business was the biggest thrill of my life, something I’d go flaunting around town like a homecoming queen showing off her crown and sash.

“
I’m not going to go blabbing to anybody. So who is it?”

“
Let me give you a hint. He is a big daddy, but not the kind of daddy we typically think of. He plays one of America’s most beloved fathers on TV.”

“
Oh for Christ sakes, I have no clue!” I said in exasperation. “Will you just tell me already, Ron?”

“
All right, all right, lower your voice,” Ron said in an unnecessary panic. There was nobody around the place but the two of us in a closed room.

“
Do you know the show
Life’s Lessons
?” asked Ron. The name rang a bell, but I wasn’t exactly sure.

“
It sounds familiar,” I said.

“
The sitcom about the high school principal and his family?” Ron pressed.

Now it dawned on me. I’d never seen an entire episode but caught moments of it when flipping between channels, and promos when watching other programs. Amid a sea of dating and plastic surgery reality shows, it seemed to be a popular sitcom. It starred a gregarious overweight all-American Joe as a popular and well-loved high school principal complete with the typical bland but pretty wife who played straight guy to his gags, and a few children if I remembered correctly. The show also featured a number of hot-looking students and an even hotter-looking coach.

“
It’s not that guy who plays the football coach?” I asked, getting excited. I usually paused the remote a bit longer if he was in the scene.

“
Nope. It’s the star of the show himself, John Vastelli,” Ron said proudly.

“
You’re kidding? That goofy square?” I exclaimed in amazement, staring straight into Ron’s eyes.

In addition to
Life’s Lessons,
John Vastilli was always doing stand-up on the comedy network and was a favorite talk show guest and awards show host. His middle-class, big slob, lazy husband act seemed to appeal to all of Middle America.

“
That’s right,” Ron said. “America’s favorite dad plays both sides of the fence. As a matter of fact, he probably prefers the grass on our lawn, but the gay lifestyle doesn’t really agree with his career in terms of the image he’s built up.”

“
I figured as much,” I nodded.

“
Well Mr. Dad has an itch he needs scratched and would like you to do the honors at his place tonight,” Ron said in his familiar tacky manner. “And he is paying a lot. One grand. Seems he saw your work with Missy and has been thinking about you ever since. But, Adam, he is paying for anonymity. If he trusts you, he’ll use you again. I told him you were a good guy, new to town, and fresh off the bus. So you gotta keep this quiet. Don’t tell anyone. That means your best friend, your shrink, your priest, or whoever.”

“
Ron,” I began stating patiently, trying not to get exasperated, “I read you loud and clear. You have made your point. Like I said, my exploits in prostitution aren’t something I go bragging about across town.”

“
Good,” Ron said with satisfaction. “Now let me give you the details. And you can get out of here a few hours early to hit the gym. I’m sure John Vastelli will love seeing you all fresh and pumped up from a workout.”

About an hour later I was putting orders away and almost ready to kiss the warehouse good-bye for the day. Ron had given me a time and directions, and I was taking his advice about the gym. I was a bit nervous about this trick, so the exercise would provide a release. At least I wouldn’t have to fuck with the tape gun anymore. I never got to make my run to Staples. I’d worry about it tomorrow.

I was five feet from the door when it suddenly swung open violently.

“
Jesus!” I yelled, jumping back, nearly avoiding a broken nose. Looking up I saw Dale standing before me.

“
You scared the shit out of me!”

“
Sorry about that,” he answered in bemusement.

“
Where are you off to so soon anyway?” he asked.

“
Oh, I just have a lot of shit to do. Ron said it was cool if I took off early,” I said.

“
Shit? What kind of shit?” Dale asked, grabbing my lower back and pressing my pelvis against his. Then, before letting me answer, he stuck his tongue in my mouth forcefully.

I pulled back in irritation. Looking into his face I could see he was strung out on tina. His eyes were red and dilated, and he was wound up like mechanical toy.

“
Easy, Dale,” I said, trying to catch my breath.

“
I’m sorry, sexy,” Dale said softly with a troublemaker smile. “I’m just so happy to see you. You looking forward to tonight?”

“
Tonight?” I asked blankly.

“
Yeah. Tonight. The show at the El Rey,” Dale crossed his brow, irritated I’d forgotten. We had planned on seeing a band we both liked out of New York for the past two weeks.

“
Oh, no,” I murmured.

“
Oh no
what
?” Dale said, his mood turning dark. He dropped his arms from around me and took a step back.

“
Don’t tell me you are planning on selling out on our date,” he said with a brooding look. It was the first time that something in his demeanor disturbed me. For a moment I felt threatened by him.

“
Baby, I completely forgot. I’m so sorry. Something really important has come up that I can’t back out of,” I pleaded apologetically.

“
What can be more important than something we have been planning for two weeks?” Dale asked angrily.

“
It’s about a job,” I lied. “Candy set it up. A friend of hers works with promotions at Disney and hires the junior copywriters. But his schedule is really busy, and she is going out to dinner with him and mentioned me, so I need to tag along.”

I pulled that one out of my ass. Any improve acting coach would have been proud. I felt badly about lying to Dale. I wanted to tell him I had to turn a trick, but then he would have asked what trick was so important that I was backing out of our date. And then what would I say?

“
Why the fuck would you want a job as a junior copywriter for anyways?” Dale spat. “And you’re going to talk about it over dinner, instead of going into the office? Candy doesn’t seem like she hangs out with the head of promotions at Disney.”

“
Look,” I said quietly, trying to avoid any more confrontation. “We’ve been over this a hundred times. I don’t want porn to become my whole life. And I’ve been told this guy is busy.”

“
Whatever dude,” Dale turned around. “I just hope I didn’t waste a fucking ticket. Maybe Brian will want to go. Thanks for the notice.”

With that he slammed the door and walked out.

I went after him. He was already down the hall and out the front door to the street.

“
Dale!” I yelled. “Dale, wait up. I’m really sorry, I . . .” It was no use. He was already in his truck and burning rubber.

I felt like shit.
I’ll make it up to him,
I told myself.
He’ll get over it. It’s the drugs that made him lose his temper.
As soon as he forgave me, I was going to have to broach the subject of his drug use. But at the moment I had other things to deal with.

As with most Hollywood stars, John Vastelli lived in the Hollywood Hills. His house was just a few minutes drive above the action on Sunset Boulevard, at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was a nice home, with a brick front, landscaped handsomely but not overly ostentatious. It could have easily been in a gentrified neighborhood in Pasadena.

I rang the bell and waited for a few minutes. Eventually I heard footsteps approach and the knob turn. John Vastelli appeared, wearing jeans and a plain white T-shirt.

“
Adam?” he stretched his hand out in a shake.

“
Hi,” I said, taking his hand.

“
John Vastelli. Come on in,” stepping aside he pulled the open for me.

The entrance to the house was tiled, simply decorated with a chest and few expensive oriental vases. The interior of the house was much like the outside, expensive but comfortable.

“
Why don’t you have a seat in the living room,” Vastelli suggested. His voice was soft and polite, if a bit timid. This was not the same loud-mouth Vastelli who was always hamming it on television.

“
Can I get you something to drink? A soda, wine, beer, cocktail?” he asked as I sat on a leather sofa.

“
A Coke would be great.”

“
One Coke it is,” Vastelli said, making his way to an old-fashioned wet bar in the corner. “Actually, one Coke for you and a Diet Coke for me,” he winked.

I smiled back. We were quiet for a brief moment as he was bending and reaching.

“
Your home is beautiful,” I said. “The view is fantastic.”