Storton was an aging actor, a one-time superstar who was looking for the indie role that would launch him out of Miami’s Loni Anderson Dinner Theater and back into the upper echelon of La-La Land. Rex was resplendent in a pink polo with the collar turned up, white pants that a man his age just shouldn’t involve himself with, and a shiny gray toupee that looked good when you weren’t sitting directly across the table from it.
For years Myron had represented professional athletes only. When one of his basketball players wanted to cross over and do movies, Myron started meeting actors. A new branch of the business took root, and now he handled the Hollywood clients almost exclusively, leaving the sports management stuff to Esperanza.
It was strange. As an athlete himself, one would think that Myron would relate more to those in a similar profession. He didn’t. He liked the actors more. Most athletes are singled out right away, at fairly young ages, and elevated to godlike status from the get-go. Athletes are in the lead clique at school. They get invited to all the parties. They nab all the hot girls. Adults fawn. Teachers let them slide.
Actors are different. Many of them had started out at the opposite end of the spectrum. Athletics rule in most towns. Actors were often the kids who couldn’t make the team and were looking for another activity. They were often too small — ever meet an actor in real life and notice that they’re tiny? — or uncoordinated. So they back into acting. Later, when stardom hits them, they are not used to the treatment. They’re surprised by it. They’re somewhat more appreciative. In many cases — no, not all — it makes them more humble than their athletic counterparts.
There were other factors, of course. They say that actors take to the stage to fill a void of emptiness only applause can fill. Even if true, it made thespians somewhat more anxious to please. While athletes were used to people doing their bidding and came to believe it was their due in life, actors came to that from a position of insecurity. Athletes need to win. They need to beat you. Actors need only your applause and thus your approval.
It made them easier to work with.
Again this was a complete generalization — Myron was an athlete, after all, and did not consider himself difficult — but like most generalizations, there was something to it.
He told Rex about the indie role as, to quote the pitch, “a geriatric, cross-dressing car thief, but with a heart.” Rex nodded. His eyes continuously scanned the room, as if they were at a cocktail party and he was waiting for someone more important to come in. Rex always kept one eye toward the entrance. This was how it was with actors. Myron repped one guy who was world-renowned for detesting the press. He had battled with photographers. He had sued tabloids. He had demanded his privacy. Yet whenever Myron ate dinner with him, the actor always chose a seat in the center of the room, facing the door, and whenever someone would enter, he’d look up, just for a second, just to make sure he was recognized.
His eyes still moving, Rex said, “Yeah, yeah, I get it. Do I have to wear a dress?”
“For some scenes, yes.”
“I’ve done that before.”
Myron arched an eyebrow.
“Professionally, I mean. Don’t be a wiseass. And it was tastefully done. The dress must be something tasteful.”
“So, what, nothing with a plunging neckline?’
“Funny, Myron. You’re a scream. Speaking of which, do I have to do a screen test?”
“You do.”
“Chrissakes, I’ve made eighty films.”
“I know, Rex.”
“He can’t look at one of them?”
Myron shrugged. “That’s what he said.”
“You like the script?”
“I do, Rex.”
“How old is this director?’
“Twenty-two.”
“Jesus. I was already a has-been by the time he was born.”
“They’ll pay for a flight to L.A.”
“First class?”
“Coach, but I think I can get you a business upgrade.”
“Ah, who am I kidding? I’d sit on the wing in only my girdle if the role was right.”
“That’s the spirit.”
A mother and daughter came over and asked Rex for his autograph. He smiled grandly and puffed out his chest. He looked at the obvious mother and said, “Are you two sisters?”
She giggled as she left.
“Another happy customer,” Myron said.
“I aim to please.”
A buxom blonde came by for an autograph. Rex kissed her a little too hard. After she sashayed away, Rex held up a piece of paper. “Look.”
“What is it?”
“Her phone number.”
“Terrific.”
“What can I say, Myron? I love women.”
Myron looked up and to his right.
“What?”
“I’m just wondering,” Myron said, “how your prenup will hold up.”
“Very funny.”
They ate some chicken from a deep fryer. Or maybe it was beef or shrimp. Once in the deep fryer, it all tasted the same. Myron could feel Rex’s eyes on him.
“What?” Myron said.
“It’s sort of tough to admit this,” Rex said, “but I’m only alive when I’m in the spotlight. I’ve had three wives and four kids. I love them all. I enjoyed my time with them. But the only time I feel really myself is when I’m in the spotlight.”
Myron said nothing.
“Does that sound pathetic to you?”
Myron shrugged.
“You know what else?”
“What?”
“In their heart of hearts, I think most people are like that. They crave fame. They want people to recognize them and stop them on the streets. People say it’s a new thing, what with the reality TV crap. But I think it’s always been that way.”
Myron studied his pitiful food.
“You agree?”
“I don’t know, Rex.”
“For me, the spotlight has dimmed a touch, you know what I’m saying? It’s faded bit by bit. I was lucky. But I’ve met some one-hit wonders. Man, they’re never happy. Not ever again. But me, with the slow fade, I could get used to it. And even now, people still recognize me. It’s why I eat out every night. Yeah, that’s awful to say, but it’s true. And even now, when I’m in my seventies, I still dream about clawing my way back to that brightest of spotlights. You know what I’m saying?”
“I do,” Myron said. “It’s why I love you.”
“Why’s that?”
“You’re honest about it. Most actors tell me it’s just about the work.”
Rex made a scoffing noise. “What a load of crap. But it’s not their fault, Myron. Fame is a drug. The most potent. You’re hooked, but you don’t want to admit it.” Rex gave him the twinkly smile that used to melt the girls’ hearts. “And what about you, Myron?”
“What about me?”
“Like I said, there’s this spotlight, right? For me it faded slowly. But for you, top college basketball player in the country, on your way to a big pro career…”
Myron waited.
“… and then, flick”—Rex snapped his fingers—“lights out. When you’re only, what, twenty-one, twenty-two?”
“Twenty-two,” Myron said.
“So how did you cope? And I love you too, sweetums. So tell me the truth.”
Myron crossed his legs. He felt his face flush. “Are you enjoying the new show?”
“What, the dinner theater gig?”
“Yes.”
“It’s dog crap. It’s worse than stripping on Route 17 in Lodi, New Jersey.”
“And you know this from personal experience?”
“Stop trying to change the subject. How did you cope?”
Myron sighed. “Most would say I coped amazingly well.”
Rex lifted his palm to the sky and curled his fingers as if to say, Come on, come on.