CHAPTER SIX - JOSH SMYTHE 1970

Juan Ramone Garcia ran a hand through his short, salt and pepper hair. His eyes were dark and intense as he relayed the story to Josh. “I didn’t have a choice. I had to throw the baby to the firemen below and go back in for the mother. That building was going to collapse at any moment.”

“What about a net?” Josh asked quietly.

“There was no time for a net. And I was going on instinct when I went back into the smoke.”

Juan leaned back in the canvass chair, his mind’s eye seeing the apartment fire twenty years before.

“I found her huddled in the kitchen with their dog. The smoke had overcome the dog. Although the fire hadn’t reached her, the heat had burned her upper arm.” Juan gave Josh a warning look. “Don’t believe what you see in the movies, when the guy runs through the burning building to save the heroine. The heat and smoke is enough to kill you before the flames hit.” 

 Josh shook his head in awe. “What did you do?” 

Juan was deep in thought. It was like he was choosing his words carefully. “I immediately picked her up. She was in shock.” Suddenly Juan laughed. “She wouldn’t let go of that dog, so I carried them both to the open window.”

“That must have been real scary.” 

Juan furrowed his brow, remembering what had happened. “I prayed to God to give me strength. A fireman does a lot of praying. I think sometimes, that firemen are closer to God than preachers.”

“Oh, that’s good,” said Josh as he scribbled that last line on a piece of paper. “I can use that in the scene where I comfort the little girl.” Josh looked up from his notes. “So you saved the woman and the dog?” 

Juan shook his head. “I held them at the open window. By now, they had the net out. Just as I jumped, a gas line exploded. I was knocked off the window and hit the ledge that was two stories down. It broke my arm and punctured a lung.

“That’s terrible,” Josh sympathized.

“The mother was not so lucky. She hit her head on the ledge and was killed instantly.” Josh kept his eyes on his notepad. Juan ran a hand through his hair again. “We did revive the dog.”

“That was some story Mr. Garcia.”

“Just one of many,” Juan said quietly.

They were on the set of “Motor City Fireman”. It was Juan Garcia’s story of his years with the Detroit Fire Department. Josh’s long, black hair was now a short crew cut like Juan’s. He looked trim and fit in the khaki fireman’s uniform. He was playing the role of Juan and had spent the last three weeks with the retired fire captain.

In the last four years, Josh’s movie career had been a skyrocket. Nominated for two Oscars, he’d gained the reputation as a solid character actor, not just a pretty face. For the role of Juan, he had the make up person duplicate on his cheek and above his eyes, the ugly scars that were on Juan’s face.

His lack of vanity had earned respect in the Hollywood acting community. When he played a real life supreme court justice in the film, “Halls of Justice”, he gained forty pounds and had age makeup add jowls under his well sculptured cheeks and bags under his eyes. He adopted the deep, gravely voice of the judge.

When he was cast as Juan Garcia in “Motor City Fireman”, Josh started lifting weights and added five more miles to his jogging regimen. He laid off the cocaine and watched his diet. Scouring old pictures of Juan, he had his hair cut to the short crew cut and studied the scars on his face.

Josh enrolled in a training program with rookie firemen. He insisted that there would be no star treatment, and he learned a lot about fire fighting techniques and the equipment they used.

The only experience he couldn’t participate in was fighting a real fire. Josh argued this point with Lyle Cox, the producer. They were having lunch at a trendy eatery on Wilshire.

“Come on, Lyle. I’m in better shape than half of those old geezers on the ladder truck. And in my tests, I scored as high as most of the rookies.”

 Lyle munched thoughtfully on his chicken salad. “No Josh. We couldn’t get insurance on you for such a stunt. I don’t want you near any real fires.”

 Josh folded his arms and gave the pouty look of a child. “I’ve worked very hard for this Lyle.”

“For what? To burn into a crisp, because you have this macho thing going?” 

It was true. Spending time with the firemen, Josh had developed a lot of confidence and the tough mindset of a fire fighter. These men were like military. They were proud, hard headed, had big egos, didn’t compromise on arguments and had a healthy dose of self-sacrifice. They were solid men. Men people could depend on. All of this was absorbed into Josh’s acting psyche.

“I really think it would add a touch of realism if I went into a building and met the fire face to face,” argued Josh.

“You would die, Josh,” Lyle replied. “Don’t pull this hero stuff on me.”  Lyle held up his glass at a waiter, who dutifully strode over and re-filled it.

“Could I talk to Solomon about it?”

“Sure. Solomon will tell you the same thing. His job is to keep you alive. You get burned and put into the hospital, the studio loses millions. That’s what Solomon knows. But you can talk to him.”

Josh scooped up some caviar and stuffed it in his mouth. Lyle was right. Solomon Branch, the stunt coordinator, wouldn’t help him. His assistant, Judd Wagner wouldn’t help either. Maybe he could offer Simon, who was his stunt double twenty-five thousand dollars to trade places when they shoot the climatic warehouse fire. Who knew the difference between Josh Smythe and an anonymous stuntman once you put on all of that gear and gas masks? Of course Josh would somehow get his face seen so people would know it was him.

“And Judd, C.J., Simon and all the others will tell you the same thing as Solomon,” said Lyle, reading Josh’s thoughts. “Safety first.”

 Josh held up his hands. “Okay, okay, but think of the millions of dollars of publicity the studio would get if people knew I’d fought a real fire.”

The men ate in silence. Josh had stretched the role of Juan Garcia as far as he could. He was already committed to his next picture, “Rodeo Clown”. Maybe the producer on that one would let him actually distract a charging bull, threatening a fallen rider?

When he got to his Malibu beach house, all Josh wanted was a hot soak in the spa. “Motor City Fireman” had been grueling, but he was proud of the work. There was just two scenes left to shoot and before “Rodeo Clown”, he was going to take six weeks off.

Before he could get to his spa, Josh noticed the pungent smell of marijuana coming from the bedroom. Cynthia had gotten into his stash.

“Cynthia!”

At the top of the staircase, a door opened. “You’re home early,” came a groggy voice from the bedroom. Josh trotted up the stairs. Cynthia’s haggard face peeked at him through the crack in the bedroom door. How could he ever have thought she was pretty?

“What’s going on? You’re not supposed to smoke my stuff, Cynthia.” Her eyes had the drugged glaze he had seen so many times before.

“I just needed a little hit.” She walked away from the door and Josh entered the room. Cynthia flopped on the bed and pulled the covers over her. At the foot of the bed was a short table. On the table was a razor blade and a couple of lines of cocaine.

“You got into my coke?” Josh felt his temper rise. Cocaine wasn’t just expensive; this had been the best stuff he’d ever snorted. “What are you doing?! You know you’re not supposed to touch my supply.” 

She lazily gestured to the master bathroom. “It’s not yours. I got it from Johnny.”

A young man came out of the bathroom, buttoning his shirt. He looked like he was high. Johnny gave Josh a bright smile.

“Hey man, I’ve seen you in the movies. You’re a famous dude.” Johnny staggered over to Cynthia. “Hey baby, you didn’t tell me you were shacking up with a movie star. That is far out.”

 Josh’s eyes were burning holes through Cynthia. “Where did you get the money?”

 Johnny backed up against the bathroom door. “Hey man, it’s cool. I brought the stuff over.”

Unconscious of the “Juan” gesture he’d fostered, Josh ran a hand over his crew cut. He glared at Cynthia. “Get out Cynthia. And take Juicy Fruit with you.”

Josh stalked out of the room. He wasn’t surprised about Cynthia. She was just like the others. He had played this scene before with Monique, Carmen and Amy.

The hot tub was forgotten. Josh pulled on some trunks and jumped into the pool. He swam five, vigorous laps, working off the anger. It seemed like all those gorgeous women in his life wanted to use him. They were all so selfish.

He had a successful career. He was admired all around the world. Why did he have so much trouble with women? They were shallow for one thing. And they didn’t understand him.

He hoisted himself out of the pool and dripped over to the cabana bar. Having sworn off drugs and drinking for the duration of the film, he poured an orange juice. Then he added some vodka. Why not? The filming of “Motor City Fireman” was almost over.

Josh plopped down on the lounge chair and watched the sun sink into the west, over the Pacific. He heard Johnny leave and waited for Cynthia. After a half-hour, he went back upstairs to check on her. Johnny had scooped up the cocaine off the table. Josh looked at the lump under the covers with disgust.

“Okay Cynthia, let’s go.” The lump didn’t move. He pulled the covers back. “Out Cynthia!  Now!” Her eyes were closed and she was in a fetal position. Josh felt her pulse. It was weak. He cursed. This was all he needed. 

“Thanks a lot,” he said to the comatose girl. 

He wearily ambled over to the telephone to call an ambulance. It was too bad she was still breathing. He could have used the CPR technique he’d learned at the fire academy.