It's So Hard To Type With A Gun In My Mouth (17 page)

Todd was fun to be around and great to make fun of.  I mean, how could you not make fun of this millionaire kid from Great Neck. Turns out, he wasn’t a millionaire at all. He was just a middle class kid from a middle class home who was hiding his pain behind a millionaire’s facade. When I learned this, I immediately became his friend. Why? Because I knew the kind of pain he was hiding and I could relate to him. So anyway, I run into Todd outside my building, “Todd, how the hell are you?”  “Fabulous.” He said like a Vanderbilt. “Where are you living? Are you in the city?” And he points to the building across the street from mine. “I live there.” We both went to Emerson together in Boston. We both moved to New York City without each other’s knowledge.  We move across the street from each other in a city of 10 million people. There must be a reason.

Todd invited me over that night and I meet his roommate. Now you have to remember we were 22 years old. In NYC that’s the only way you could afford to live. I met the roommate and immediately did not like him. There was something wrong there. I couldn’t put my finger on it but I just got the creeps when he walked into a room. However, Todd was dating Janis and she was like a breath of fresh air. She was beautiful, charming and easy to be around. Janis lived with two roommates in a one bedroom flat just down the hall from Todd. We all became friends, Todd, Janis, Amy, Cheryl and I. And I am happy to tell you that Amy, Cheryl and Janis are still amongst my friends… even if we don’t see each other but once every ten years.

The six of us, Todd, the girls, his roommate and I hung out and did lots together. I didn’t think anything of it when Todd invited me to go to a bar one night. I think we got there at 1 a.m. The place was a converted church and it was jammed with people. Now this was the 60’s and before my encounter with smoking pot. I looked around and realized freaks surrounded me. Everyone was a hippie. Everyone was longhaired and wearing the weirdest clothes I had ever seen. I felt like the freak because I was in saddle shoes and tennis sweater. Todd and his roommate seemed to fit right in and immediately began drinking. Now I had known Todd for four years in college and had never seen him drink. It was apparent he was making up for lost time.  We stayed at this bar until about 4 a.m. Todd was totally wasted, as was his roommate. I had not drunk, I didn’t drink then and so I shepherded them  home. I remember Todd falling into his bed and telling me “ I don’t feel so good.” He immediately threw up.  I ran to the bathroom for towels. He was out of it. I wiped him up and helped him get out of his vomit soaked shirt. He flopped back into bed and was out cold.  I will never forget that moment in my life.  I remember thinking,  “ He’s going to die.”

The next day he called me and asked what had happened. I told him and he laughed. I said, “Todd, I think you have a drinking problem.” And he poo-oo’d my worries. That was the first of many nights I saw Todd so drunk he could barely stand. It was a nightly occurrence with him and his roommate. Soon the drinking lead to drugs. There was desperation in Todd’s use that frightened me.

New York was becoming oppressive. Susan was moving to California and I would follow her. The trip across country with Crosby is a story in itself; getting set up in an apartment and finding a job also a story. Naturally I kept my connection with “my New York City girls”. It must have been a month after  arrived in LA when I got a call from Amy. “Todd’s roommate shot himself.”  I heard the words but at 23 your friends don’t die so it was surreal. “How? Why?” “He committed suicide.” “How’s Todd?” There was a long silence. “Bad.”

I can’t say I was surprised. The roommate was always emotionally charged. I blamed him for Todd’s downward spiral. But I was not prepared for the next phone call a few weeks later. It was Larry Sobol. “Steve. Todd is dead.” “No he’s not, Larry, I just spoke to him last week.” “Steve, he’s dead. He over dosed.” When I hung up the phone my head spun with memories of Todd at the Senior Class Prom, Todd on Jr. Class weekend… I shared a thousand memories with that insane man. And now he was gone. How could this happen? How could such a good person be gone so young? It was my first introduction to life and I didn’t like it.

It’s 40 years and I still think of him. Still think about what he could have become, what he would have done, where he would have gone. Chatsworth Osborne Jr, my friend ,Todd. Life can be so cruel, ya all… it can be so cruel.

June 27, 2006 -
VEGAS DRIBS AND DRABS

I was opening for Donna Summer at the MGM Grand. It was a very high profile gig and my face was everywhere. My name was on billboards on the strip 10 feet high and with blazing letters.  It's what I had dreamed of seeing all my life.  But, I stood in the parking lot of the MGM looking at the marquee thinking, "Bluestein", it just doesn't look like it belongs up there."  It gets worse. I'm on stage telling jokes, the audience in laughing and while they're laughing I'm thinking... "I don't know what I'm doing. If they find out I'll be run out of town."

The whole time I'm in Vegas I'm feeling "not enough". I think I've established that. There are people on death row with higher self-esteem. One night after the show I was standing in line waiting to grab a bite at the coffee shop when the head waitress saw me, pulled me out of line and put me in a private booth... with like 200 people waiting to be seated.

I'm sitting in my booth, which is at the very back of the restaurant and everyone is turning around looking in my direction. I'm waiting for food and they're looking; I'm waiting, they're looking. Sweat starts to roll down my face. I become self-conscious. I can't sit, I can eat, and I can't pick my nose.  I think everyone hates me   because I got a booth and they all had to wait. The food is taking forever. The crowd is looking and turning and looking and pointing. I can't stand it another minute. The food finally comes and I say, "I can't eat.".  I stand up and realize I have been sitting under the Kino Board.  They weren't looking at me; they were looking at their effing numbers. Duh! No paranoia in my family, huh?

And then....

Another time I was sitting at the counter at the Dessert Inn Coffee Shop.  A woman sits down next to me. I look at her hand and she's wearing the biggest diamond I have ever seen. I say aloud, without thinking. "I've never seen a ring that seats eight." And look up...it's Bobbie Gentry.  She laughs, "Yes, it is rather large."  And she tucks her fingers into a fist so the ring cannot be seen. 

We chat, she knows I'm working on the strip with Barry Manilow and when we got back to LA Bobbie and I saw a lot of each other. We were friends, nothing more. I enjoyed her company and she liked to laugh.  I can't tell you what the occasion was but Bobbie called and asked if I wanted to go to some social function at Chasens. As I remember it, it was a movie opening. I said yes and we went in the limo provided for her. 

We got to Chasens and cameras clicked. We're inside and seated at a round table right in the middle of the room. The two seats next to me are vacant. I'm talking to Bobbie and feel a tap on my shoulder. I look up and Sammy Davis, Jr and his wife are standing there. "Are these seats taken, man?" I almost shit my pants with excitement. Sammy Davis, Jr. is about to sit next to me. He says, "I'm Sammy Davis, Jr." like I didn't know who he was and extends his hand. "I'm Steve Bluestein" and he says, "The comedian?"  I turn to Bobbie "He knows me." Bobbie is laughing. I'm like a country bumpkin in the big city for the first time. Yee-haw!

I'm sitting at a table between Sammy Davis, Jr. and Bobbie Gentry and all the time I'm thinking. "What did I do to deserve to get here?" The evening was not long enough for me. Sammy was as warm in person as he was on stage. And he loved to laugh. He laughed with his feet. When I would make a joke, his feet would go up and down in a machine gun motion. I can honestly say if I dropped dead at that moment I would have lived enough.

One or two months after Chasens I get a phone call from a reporter;  "Is it true that Bobbie Gentry is getting back with Jim Stafford?" "HUH? Who is this?" He's from some rag magazine. I hang up. Why in God's name is he calling me. And then, my phone started ringing. "Steve you're in the Inquirer with Bobbie Gentry." And I run out to the newsstand. Sure enough there is a picture of Bobbie and me with the caption something like "Bobbie Gentry recently split from Jim Stafford arrived at Chasens with comedian Steve Blaustein who she's dating." (Please note: Blaustein) Dating? Wrong name... wrong information, just friends. I call Bobbie. "If you expect me to buy you a ring like the one you have on, I'll have to sell my stamp collection."

Then...

I don't gamble. When I work in Vegas the Casino is just the place to walk through when going to the dressing room.  But this night I was so bored I was sitting at the Roulette Table just killing time. I had ten dollars that was itching to be lost.  I only play red and black... if you win it doubles. I win a few, I lose a few and I'm up like ten bucks. I have a stack of chips eight inches high in front of me and, quite frankly, I was bored to tears. 

A friend sees me sitting at the table and asks if I wanted to get a bite to eat. Anything that would get me out of the hotel after the show is a Godsend. I jump at the opportunity. Without thinking I take the entire pile of chips and just push them out on to the table... you know, like Lucy did in Monaco. And I'll be God damned if the number doesn't hit. The guy pushes back a pile of chips that looked like the Enchanted Castle at Disneyland

And in 30 years that is the ONLY time I've ever won. Except when Gallagher and I were stoned out of our minds walking through the Casino and I was using ESP to determine which slot machines were going to pay. NOOOOOO I wasn't fucked up in those days.... not...at...all.

There are more stories; stories that I just can't get myself to share. Why? They are too disgusting for me to think about.  Those Vegas years were my most destructive and yet my most successful. I still don't think "Bluestein" looks right on a marquee.  Go figure. 

Oh! By the way, the next time you read in the STAR that Cher is dating her exterminator or that Ethel Merman is haunting the gift shop at Cedars... get a effing life, will ya.

JUNE 1, 2006 –
STREISAND

My dear cousin has been in ill health for years. She's had all kinds of problems that no person should ever have to deal with in their life. But she's been quite brave about it and a trooper so we all rally around her. One of her illnesses was quite serious, melanoma. I've got to tell you I made quite a few deals with God on that one.

So she calls me from Boston one night about 12 years ago. "Steve, Streisand is going to do a concert in Los Angeles, (cough). I have always wanted to see her. (Cough). And I was wondering, (cough) if you could (cough) get me tickets (cough) so I could see Streisand. I don't know how much longer I have. (Cough, cough, cough)" Well my heart broke and my determination focused. I knew people who knew people who were the luckiest people in the business so I made it my job to get us tickets to see Streisand.

I started with Richard Gordon, my publicist and friend of 20 years. Richard has one of the largest Streisand collections in country, knows Barbra and knew her mother. He's been to every concert Streisand has ever done. I call him. "Ritchie can you get me comps to see Streisand." "NO." "What do you mean no, you have more connections that AT & T." "I mean there are no comps to be had. Barbara won't allow it."

So I call my agent. He's a good agent, however, not too sharp. He got excited because he just got call waiting. He didn't even know there was a concert but he asks me if I could get HIM tickets. Now I know why I have no work.

I called every person I could think of to get comps. No one had them nor did they know where I could get them. I called "Make a Wish Foundation". My cousin is too old for a wish. I called the American Cancer Society, "We fight Cancer not make reservations". I called foundations and fan clubs and friends of friends. Nothing. Not a single ticket to be had.

And so it appeared I was going to have to buy two tickets. Now when you are in show business, you don't buy tickets. It's like paying your mother to cook dinner or paying your sister to have sex with you. It's just not done. You just don't buy tickets... you get tickets, you're given tickets, you go with friends who are given tickets. You have friends who have friends who have friends who are given tickets; they can't go and they give you tickets. It's just how it is. But after ten days of using every contact in my Rolodex, Streisand has forced me to BUY two tickets. She's brought me to my knees; she's made me a civilian. 

I call Ticket Master. "Are there any tickets left for the Streisand Concert?" "Yes" "OK, I need two, up front. Any available?" "Yes we can do two row six center. What night?" "Opening." "OK, that's two tickets for Barbra Streisand, sixth row, center. Opening night." "Yes" "Anything else?" " No, that'll do it." "How would you like to pay for these?" "With YOUR Visa." Long laugh as I give her my card number.  She repeats the number back. I verify and she says, "O.K. we're all set. I'll be charging your card $1875.00 plus tax and handling."  Both my balls hit the floor. "No, no, you don't understand. I don't want Streisand to come to my house to sing, we'll go down there to see HER." I make her verify the price again as I pick up one ball.  I cancel the tickets. The next time I pay someone two grand to sing, it will be at the pearly gates and they'll have wings.