“That’s good?”
“That’s very good. That’s the groove the advertisers crave.”
And that’s what was happening while they talked: commercials were playing, paying his salary.
Leticia lifted a forefinger like a chorus director. When it descended, another voice was humming in his ears, male this time.
“This, ah, that midnight talk show?”
“Certainly is. The Midnight Hour on WCOO-AM: talk radio with heart.” Matt delivered this corny line with as much heart as he could muster.
“I’m just sittin’ here, and I heard your last caller.
There sure are a lot of lonely little girls out there.” “Tiffany wasn’t exactly lonely; that was the point.”
“Yeah, well, I got a lot of sympathy for kids these days, with all the drugs and bad folks that are out there. We really oughta do somethin’ about that.”
“We keep trying. So, what can I help you with tonight?”
“Me? I just wanta help other people. I’m in a position of some influence, you know.”
“No, I don’t.”
“Bein’ an entertainer and all. Folks look up to you. Sometimes, though, it can be a pain in the butt. They just gotta come around and get all that attention. I try to give ‘em as much back as I can, but it’s endless. Just endless.”
“Is that your problem?”
“Hell, it’s not a problem, son! It’s success.”
“Seems to me success has been a problem to a lot of people, especially some of those whose acts have played this town.”
The man laughed, deep and easy. Matt was having flashbacks to another Vegas celebrity he had unwittingly counseled at ConTact. A light sweat prickled his skin as he remembered that man’s manipulative dark side. Their conversations had become antagonistic and deeply personal. Matt wanted to avoid that sort of game on live radio at all costs. It catered to the caller’s egocentric needs and did him no good. And it did Matt’s psyche not a bit of good either. It was like dueling Lucifer, a being of pride and power and incidental evil. Matt’s past as a priest made him all too open to other people’s spiritual ills.
“Well, now, see, I’m not just your ordinary performer.
I put my whole soul into my shows. And my fans, man, they put their souls right out there, in the palm of my hands. I’m just a wringin’-wet rag when I come off that stage. Hell, I gotta have guys onstage to wipe my brow and bring me water.”
Matt was scouring his brain. Who could this be? Who that big was playing Vegas right now? Who that big would call a dinky show like the Midnight Hour?
“These big Vegas shows sure are marathons of endurance,” Matt said sympathetically, playing for time.
“En-dur-ance. That is the word, son. I can’t hardly sleep until dawn after one of these babies. I can’t hardly sleep ever.”
“The adrenaline of performance can be pretty hard to burn off afterwards,” Matt said, remembering that Temple had often stayed up with Max Kinsella, the magician, until he “came down” after his two evening shows. Even Matt was experiencing trouble sleeping now that he had a midnight performance date every Wednesday to Sunday. “Maybe you need someone around to help you come down.”
This time the laugh went on as long as an aria. “I got somebody. I got truckloads of somebodies; always had, always will. I am not alone unless I wanta be. And when I don’t wanta be alone, I just snap my fingers and I got people to do whatever I wanta do when I wanta do it: play pool, play football, play footsie and a lot more.”
“Sounds like you could do more to do what the people around need and want, instead of just indulge yourself.”
“I work my ass off, and they get a lot of privileges workin’ for me. It’s a rough schedule, two shows a night, night after night. And these shows are all me. I’m not as young as I usta be, gotta have a doctor travel with me, to tend my needs, you know? I give those guys and girls plenty. Least they could do is what I want, when I need it.”
“I understand. I’m just saying it might not be good for you to have everyone in your life arranging theirs totally around you, no matter what you pay them. You can’t buy love.”
“Hey, what’re you sellin’? A song title? Been done, son. And you’re wrong. You can buy love. I’ve done it.” A pause, for the first time. “Loyalty, though. You can’t buy that. I been burned there. All those guys and girls, all blowin’ off their mouths after they left me, tellin’ the inside story on this and the inside story on that. Makin’ me look like a pitiful fool. Makin’ money off me even when they’re long off the payroll.”
“People can betray you,” Matt agreed. He glanced at Leticia, wondering if he should lose the guy. She’d like the idea of a celebrity performer calling in, but this guy could be doing standup comedy in some fringe club, for all Matt knew. And his voice was slurred with sleep, or with something stronger.
But Leticia’s expression was rapt beyond the glass window, and her hand was making the circling motion that meant: keep it going.
“What can I do to help you?” Matt asked.
“Well, son, I came up the hard way, never got much education … not that I wasn’t plenty sharp. I made me, and don’t let anyone tell you different. But it all just hit so fast when I was so young, and before you know it I’m hidin’ out from fans. Though I never did manage to hide out from the pretty ones, you know what I mean?”
Matt disliked the complacent womanizing tone. “So you only care about attractive fans.”
“No, man! You don’t know me. I love ‘em all, and they love me back. But there are … side benefits, all right? But that was before I got in touch with my spiritual side.”
Matt rolled his eyes at Leticia. This guy sounded about as spiritual as a tire iron.
“I had my fun,” the caller admitted. “More than any one man has ever had, I’ll bet. But I lost my mama when I was young, and we were real close. Couldn’t buy her all the things she’d never had, she was gone that fast. Couldn’t buy her anything then, but at least she had that pink Cadillac. She didn’t drive, but what’s money for but spendin’? Wish I’d-a watched who was spendin’ what, though. I had to work too hard on my movies and stage shows to wanta do much but have fun when I wasn’t workin’. Guess I shoulda been watchin’ the purse strings, like they say. I made a lotta money, but a lotta people made too much money off me. It makes me mad, to tell you the truth, when I lie here after a show and everybody’s gone and my mind goes round and round,and nothin’ can touch that feelin’ and I can’t sleep no matter what I take. I shoulda watched out for myself more. But I thought I was payin’ them to watch out for me. And they did, as much as I’d let ‘em. Maybe I didn’t let ‘em much.”
“The problems you describe are very real, except for the scale you live your life on. You’re too pampered, that’s the problem. You sound too isolated. If you have so many people around taking care of your every want, why do you need to call me?”
“That’s just it. Seems like they’re not around anymore. First my mama gone, then my little-girl wife and my little girl, then some of the boys turned on me. I don’t know what to do. I try to go on with my shows, but they take so much out of me, and it gets harder and harder to live from show to show. Oh, they say, see a shrink, but I’m not gonna have no guy rootin’ around in my head where no one can see it. I’m in a rut and I don’t know how to get out of it. I need to talk to somebody I don’t pay, and you’re the only one I could think of.”
Matt caught sight of Leticia’s flailing arm, hand pointing to her wrist watch. Almost out of time.
“You have big problems all right; more than a few minutes on a phone can solve.”
“Maybe I can call again.”
Matt devoutly hoped not, but this show was like an old-fashioned confessionaclass="underline" you couldn’t stop anyone who wanted to from walking in, keeling down, and confessing all their sins. Here, at least, you could cut them off the air if they took too much time, and this guy definitely had.