Now all I could think about was the audition. Maybe if what happened today had happened a few years ago, or even a few months ago, things would’ve been different. I would’ve thanked the director for his time and walked calmly out of the building. But I guess there’s a limit to how much abuse one man can take. After over thirteen years of trying to make it as an actor and not getting anywhere, it was hard to stay calm sometimes.
I decided to get back up on my horse—stop feeling sorry for myself.
I called my manager to see if he had any more auditions for me to go on. Danielle, his secretary, told me to hold on, then she came back and said Martin was out of the office.
“But I thought you said he was in the office,” I said.
“I thought he was in the office,” Danielle said, “but he wasn’t at his desk.”
I’d known Danielle a long time and I could tell she was lying.
“I know he’s there,” I said. “Could you please just tell him to take my call? I’ll only take a minute, tops.”
“Hold on a second,” she said.
A minute or two went by, then Martin came on the line.
“So what’s the deal,” I said, “you don’t want to take my phone calls?”
“I was going to call you later today anyway,” Martin said.
“What’s going on?” I said. “You got something hot for me to go on? Because if you do I’m ready to go. I’ll even go out again today.”
“I think we should end our relationship, Tommy.”
“What?” I said, but I’d heard him loud and clear.
“I spoke with Kevin Parker and he told me what happened this afternoon at your audition.”
“Oh, that,” I said. “Look, I can explain—”
“I don’t need an explanation. The fact is I think both of us know this isn’t working out. We’d probably both be better off if you found somebody else to represent you.”
“But I didn’t do anything wrong,” I said. “I just wanted to read my line and he wouldn’t let me. I know it was wrong of me to open my mouth, but I couldn’t help it. If you want me to call him up and apologize—”
“I don’t think that’ll be necessary, Tommy. Look, I know how badly you want to make it as an actor and I’m not saying you should quit, but maybe you shouldn’t approach it as seriously as you have been. In any case, I think a new manager can only help.”
“But don’t you even want to hear my side of the story?”
“It has nothing to do with what happened today—”
“Bullshit. If that asshole Kevin Parker didn’t call you up you’d never be dumping me now.”
“I’m sorry, Tommy, I have to go—”
“Please, Martin. I didn’t mean...the guy was baiting me. He wanted me to blow up.”
“I have to go. Goodbye, Tommy.”
“Wait, don’t—”
He hung up. I slammed the phone down. I sat calmly for a few seconds, then I yanked the cord out of the wall and tossed the phone across the room. Screaming, I kicked a chair out of my way, then I tore down the poster from Raging Bull and ripped it to shreds. I ripped up my head shot and picked up the phone and threw it across the room again. Finally, I sat down on the couch with my head in my hands.
For a while, I was mad at Martin. The fucking guy couldn’t make it as an actor himself, so now he was taking it out on every other wannabe actor in the city. He was just like the directors and the producers—saying whatever he felt like saying because he knew he had the power to get away with it. But then, as I started to calm down, I decided it wasn’t really Martin’s fault. He’d been good to me over the years, probably sticking with me a lot longer than any other manager would have. Besides, he wasn’t the one going to those auditions, getting turned down for role after role. I had nobody to blame for that but myself.
Martin was right—it was probably time for me to stop taking acting so seriously. It had nothing to do with talent because if you put me in auditions with other actors and all things were equal I knew I’d get the roles every time. But that was just it—all things weren’t equal. To make it as an actor you had to be part of the clique. You had to go to one of the big-time acting schools—graduate from Yale or N.Y.U., or you had to have some famous teacher or acting coach—Meisner, Stani-fucking-slavsky. Those people were “in the business.” But if you were like me, and you didn’t have the fancy connections, you didn’t have a shot in hell of making it.
I took my wallet from my jeans’ pocket and slid out Pete Logan’s business card which had Alan Schwartz’s phone number on the back of it. I plugged the phone back into the wall—amazingly, it still worked—and dialed. On the second ring a snobby-sounding woman answered, “Alan Schwartz’s office.”
“Yeah, can I speak to Alan Schwartz?” I said.
“May I ask who’s calling please?” she said, treating me like dirt.
“Tommy Russo.”
“Is he expecting your call, Mr. Russo?”
“Yeah...I mean no...I mean kind of. Tell him Pete Logan said I should call him.”
The line was dead, like she might have hung up, then she said, “Hold please,” like it was busting her balls to transfer a call to her boss. Music came on—Stevie Wonder singing “Part-Time Lover.” Then the secretary came back on and said, “Mr. Schwartz is in a meeting now—he’ll have to call you back.”
“Shit,” I said.
“Excuse me?”
“When’s the meeting gonna be over?”
“He has meetings all afternoon. Would you like to leave a message or shall I connect you to his voice mail?”
“You think it’ll be over soon?”
I heard her take a deep breath. “I’ll connect you to his voice mail.”
Before I could say anything else, I heard a click, then Alan Schwartz’s voice came on.
This is the message I left:
“Hey, Alan, my name’s Tommy—Tommy Russo. You don’t know me, but a guy I think you know, said he was a good friend of yours, named Pete Logan, said I should throw you a call if I wanted to go in on that horse deal with you. Well, I want in, so can you give me a call when you have a chance? My home number’s 646-879-4355. All right? Thanks a lot, Mr. Schwartz, I mean Alan. Take it easy.”
As soon as I hung up I realized how stupid I was. First of all, I wasn’t going to be home tonight. What if he called me back and I missed the call? Or what if he left a message and my answering machine was on the blink?
I called Pete at the Kings Highway branch of his shoe store. I didn’t think he’d be there but I figured I could at least leave another message. A girl picked up and I asked for Pete. “Hold on,” she said, then a guy came on the line and said, “This is Pete.”
His voice didn’t sound like it did at jai-alai. On the phone, he had a heavy Brooklyn accent.
“This Pete Logan?”
“Who’s this?”
“This is Tommy Russo. You know, from jai-alai.”
He didn’t say anything for a couple of seconds, then he said, “Hey, how’s it going? I didn’t think I was gonna be hearing from you.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t know, it’s just a surprise, that’s all. So what’s going on?”
“Not much,” I said. “So you still need a fifth guy for that syndicate?”
“Far as I know.”
“Then stop looking ’cause you found your man.”
“You’re kidding me?” he said. “That’s terrific. So you...the money isn’t a problem?”
“No problem at all.”
“Great. You call Alan yet?”