“Little children, keep yourselves from idols.”
1st John 5:21
Williams/Chapman Agency Santa Monica Boulevard-1978.
Charlie Chapman was Betty’s partner for thirty years. Now he was agency head
and his client, Josh Smythe sat in front of his desk. Charlie slapped his hand
on top of a stack of scripts two feet high.
“Josh, these
scripts represent the finest writers, producers, and directors in the business.
And all of the people behind these projects want you.”
Josh looked at the
stack of scripts as he sipped his bottle water. “That’s quite a stack, Charlie.
It looks like the Capitol Records Building.”
Charlie looked at
him evenly. “You haven’t made a picture in three years. For most stars, that’s
professional suicide. People forget you. Fans are fickle. Of course, in your
case, you are as hot as ever.”
“I’m flattered
Charlie, I really am.”
Charlie walked
over to his big, picture window and looked out over Century City. Being on the
20th floor offered a wide vista of concrete, glass towers, mountains
and brown sky.
“I really need to
move the offices to the west side of the building so I can see the ocean,” he
lamented.
“Have you read all
of those scripts, Charlie?”
“Every one of
them. Three times over.”
“What’s your
recommendation?”
Charlie turned from the window and picked up
the script that lay on top. “Here’s one about Jake La Motta, the boxer. Marty
Scorsese is slated to direct. It’s a
super part, Josh.”
Josh’s eyes
focused out the window as he took another sip of water. “What else?”
“Wayne Hampton is
working on a re-make of “The Third Man”. He even has Joseph Cotton and Orson
Welles on board for cameos.”
“What else?” asked
Josh.
Charlie picked up a script about twice the
size of the others. “Irwin Allen’s got a disaster film to end them all. It’s
about a nuclear war and it will have an all star cast. He wants to cast the top
ten roles with Oscar winners. Irwin’s talking about James Cagney playing the
President. Cagney hasn’t made a film in eighteen years. This would be history,
Josh. It’s a prestigious film. And Allen’s guaranteeing you eight million
dollars, plus points. I’m not sure if Newman and McQueen got that much for
“Towering Inferno.” Peanuts compared to
this.”
Josh stifled a
yawn. “Nuclear war. I guess that’s a movie asking the critics to refrain from
using the word “bomb” in their reviews. Charlie, I appreciate your time, but
money and prestige are no longer inducements. There’s just nothing there that
excites me.”
Charlie flopped
down in his plush chair, totally defeated. He had high hopes that the disaster
film would intrigue Josh.
“I don’t know what
to tell you, Josh. You’ve done it all. You’re far from forty, and you’re acting
like your life is over.”
Josh gave a sober nod. “I know Charlie. I
thought after I laid off for a couple of years, some role would come up and
slap me on the face. I would like to do another film, really. I’m just a little
choosy.”
“Choosy,” Charlie
sighed. “Josh, if I could write you a part, I would. I’ll keep looking for you,
but this stack here is the cream of the crop. Why don’t you take some of these
scripts and give them a look?”
Josh shrugged. “I
could use some reading material on the plane. Zela wants to visit the Holy
Land, so we’re headed over there. I want to see some friends in Cairo. I met
them when we were shooting “Sky Rockets”. He is an Israeli living in Cairo. Can
you believe that? His wife is Egyptian.” Charlie’s mind was on the sexy Zela.
She looked like a model, the kind that attracted Josh, but he didn’t think she
had ever modeled before.
“I didn’t realize
Zela was religious.”
“She’s not. She
saw “Roots” on TV and now she wants to trace her own roots.” Josh had met Zela
at a disco near Culver City. She was an exotic beauty with a good sense of
humor. What really attracted Josh was, she didn’t seem to care that he was a
big star.
“Sounds like
you’ve finally found someone,” said Charlie, probing.
Josh shrugged
again. “Zela’s fun. She’s still all shiny and new to me.” Josh got up and
grabbed two or three scripts. “Who knows? Maybe I’ll just retire from show
business, Charlie.”
He left a pale and
shaken Charlie popping a valium and chasing it with a shot of bourbon.
The streets were
dusty and dirty. It was old Jerusalem and Zela was having a ball.
“Look Josh, that
stone building over there must be two thousand years old! Just think of the
people who walked by it.”
“Yeah, it’s old
alright.”
This had been a
big mistake. Josh was bored out of his mind. Zela was discovering her ancestry
and he was itching to get to Egypt. The Wailing Wall did not impress him. The
idea that Jesus and the apostles used to hang out in this area did not intrigue
him.
When he shot “Sky
Rockets”, he played an Israeli pilot. To research his role, he took flying
lessons from Youssari, a commander in the Israeli Army. Josh spent a lot of
time with Youssari and his Egyptian wife during the filming. They had visited
Josh in Los Angeles, bringing their kids to see Disneyland.
Josh was not close
to anyone. He kept his distance with most people. Even his affairs were
distant. Few and far between. Youssari and his family were probably his closest
friends and they were half a world away. Maybe that was why Josh liked that. He
could keep his distance.
“Josh, look!” Zela
exclaimed. “There’s the temple!” She took his hand and dragged him down the
narrow street. There was a gauntlet of vendors selling trinkets and Zela
stopped short of the temple entrance to buy some jewelry.
“That’s your third
Star of David,” he observed dryly. Zela’s dark beauty had a true glow.
“Isn’t it
exquisite?”
“It’s beautiful,”
he said with no enthusiasm.
“I’ll give it to
my aunt Letka.” She pulled him towards the entrance.
“Hold on Zela.”
“What is it?”
Josh pulled a wad of bills out of his wallet.
“You are really enjoying yourself. Here’s a plenty of money to keep you busy.”
He started back up the dusty road. Zela couldn’t keep the surprise off her
face.
“Josh? Where are
you going?”
“Back to the
hotel. I’ve got to make a phone call.”
“But I thought you
were having fun.”
“You know the old
saying. Too much fun makes Josh a dull boy.” He felt a twinge of guilt when he
saw the hurt on her face. Josh walked back to her and put an arm around her
shoulder. “I need to call Youssari. And no, I’m not having fun. This is your
history, your people, Zela. I want you to have a good time discovering your
roots.” Her eyes grew wet. She gestured at the street activity.
“Doesn’t this mean
anything to you?”
Josh looked around at the history that
surrounded them. “To a boy from New Mexico? No.” He touched her gently under
the chin. “Enjoy yourself, Zela. We’ll have dinner later.”
The next day, Josh
flew to Egypt, leaving Zela with enough money to stay in Jerusalem for three
months. While he was in Cairo, Zela flew back to Los Angeles and moved out of
Josh’s Malibu house.
Solomon Branch
rolled the smoking sausages over the grill. The Bee Gees played loudly from the
pool cabana and competed with the hum of the partygoers. Solomon’s wife,
Sharon, quietly came up behind him and gave him a hug.
“Happy Birthday,
Darling.” Solomon pecked her on the cheek.
“I enjoy being
fifty seven with you,” she said. Sharon took a long fork from him and started
moving sausages around the grill. “I’ll take care of these. You go have fun.”
“Hey Sol!” shouted
Jerry. “You got any Glenn Miller? Doc Wilson said he’s leaving if you play “How
Deep Is Your Love” one more time.”
Doc Wilson came out of the house with a plate
of chips and hamburger buns. “Don’t believe him, Solomon. I love the Bee Gees.”
With a hint of sarcasm, Doc Wilson added, “I saw “Saturday Night Fever” seven
times.”
Solomon’s
fourteen-year-old daughter, Trisha, who sat on the edge of the pool, gave a
low, impressed whistle.
“Really Doc? I’ve
only seen it three times. Isn’t John Travolta creamy?”
“Yeah, creamy,”
Doc replied. Trisha looked across the pool to the man in the white suit.
“Now there’s my
John Travolta!” The man in the white suit tossed his jacket behind him and
struck a dance pose like the famous poster for “Saturday Night Fever”. As he
posed, Goldie handed Judd his cane.
“You better take
this Mr. Travolta, before you fall.”
Judd took his hand
off the bar and shifted his weight to the cane. He limped over to a lounge
chair by the pool. Goldie handed him a diet soda.
“Here, don’t spill
it on your suit.”
“Yes ma’am,” Judd
said obediently. Goldie sat by him and watched the festive activity around
them.
“I need a decision
Judd. I’m flying to New York tonight to cast a sit-com. I can’t wait much
longer.”
Judd shouted
across the pool to Solomon’s daughter. “Hey Trish! Could you do an old man a
favor and bring us some of those tortilla chips over on the table?”
The girl grabbed a
large plate of chips and hot sauce off the buffet table. She skipped around the
guests, balancing the large plate and bowl of sauce. “Here you are Uncle Judd.
Do you like my new bathing suit?” She twirled her colt-like legs, modeling her
blue, one-piece suit.
“You’ll break John
Travolta’s heart someday,” said Judd. “What do you think, Goldie?”
“Definitely a
heart breaker,” she said.
Trisha spotted
Jerry who was just inside the living room filing through the record albums.
“Hey Jerry. I’m
coming in there to break your heart!” She dove into the pool and swam gracefully
across it towards the house.
Judd laughed
softly to himself. “Kids.”
Goldie nudged him. “You’re a kid yourself. You
keep avoiding me.”
Judd put his hand
on her arm. “Sorry. I’m still thinking about your proposal.”
“I heard Jerry is
going to be the stunt coordinator on that new Clint Eastwood film,” said
Goldie.
“Yes, he’s going
to Arizona next week I think. Eastwood is really going to like him.”
“He should. You
trained him.”
They sat in
comfortable silence, watching the activity around the pool.
“Solomon’s offered
me a position at his stunt school.”
“That would be
good.”
“But I’m still
thinking about your proposal.”
“It’s your
decision, Judd.” He sat in silence. A sharp pain shot up his leg. The nerves
were still sensitive, even after his long recovery.
“The logical
choice is to stay in the business. I can still be a stunt coordinator.”
“Yes you can,”
Goldie agreed.
“On the other
hand, with this bum leg, it wouldn’t be the same.” His eyes scanned the
partygoers as he thought out loud. “And lecturing at Solomon’s ranch wouldn’t
be the same either.”
Goldie had offered
Judd a job with her casting company. He wasn’t much of an actor, but he had
displayed a good eye for talent. Two years before, he’d suggested Trisha for
the role of William Devane’s daughter in “Countdown to Armageddon”. Trisha
proved to be a natural and got great reviews. To Solomon’s relief, his daughter
wasn’t interested in pursuing an acting career. For Trish, pursuing boys and
driving lessons were her main interests.
When Judd saw an
unknown Christopher Walken in a play in New York, he told Goldie that he was
destined for stardom. Judd had been right. Walken was a hot commodity in
Hollywood, having wowed the critics with his performance in “The Deer Hunter”.
“So what do you
think? Would you like to try your hand in the casting game?” Judd tried to
ignore the pain shooting up his leg. He tried to avoid painkillers and kept it
at low doses. It was getting harder.
“Go on to New
York, Goldie. I’m not sure what I want to do.”
“Alright,” she
sighed. “But I’d sure like to have you up there with me.”
He gave her an apologetic shrug. “Sorry to
leave you hanging.” She patted his knee lightly, not realizing it was sending
new tremors of pain up his leg.
“I know you’ll
make the right decision Judd.”
What he didn’t
want to tell her was, he felt that her offer was an act of charity. Judd Wagner
was a self-made man. He didn’t need her or anyone else to give him something he
hadn’t earned. He would stick with the stunt world and ignore the pain rampaging
through his body.
Senta sat up in
bed, spooning hot soup down her wounded throat. The bandage would be coming off
in a couple of days and she was now able to talk without breaking the stitches.
The prison nurse brought her a letter.
“You’ve got mail,
Senta.” Senta nodded, still not confident enough to do much talking. She took
the letter and saw that it was from Paul. She put down her spoon and opened the
letter.
DEAR SENTA,
I HOPE YOUR
RECOVERY IS GOING WELL. YOU DON’T KNOW HOW HAPPY I WAS TO FIND OUT ABOUT YOUR
BAPTISM. RIGHT NOW THERE ARE ANGELS SINGING EVERYWHERE. ANNA IS A REAL
SWEETHEART. SINCE YOU’RE LAID UP, ZEKE AND I HAVE BEEN VISITING HER AND PRAYING
FOR HER TOO.
I’M GLAD THEY
TRANSFERRED THAT WOMAN WHO TRIED TO CUT YOUR THROAT. SHE SOUNDED CRAZY. LET ME
KNOW WHEN THE PRISON HOSPITAL RELEASES YOU AND WE’LL COME SEE YOU.
I SENT THOSE BOOKS
YOU REQUESTED AND HOPE THE PRISON LIBRARY CAN PUT THEM TO GOOD USE. ZEKE ADDED
ON TWO MORE THAT YOU MIGHT LIKE.
ANNA MIGHT HAVE
TOLD YOU ABOUT THE FILM I’M WORKING ON. OUR WORKING TITLE IS “THE TEACHER”, BUT
I STILL LIKE THE TITLE, “JESUS”. THE SCRIPT IS HARD TO WRITE. HOW CAN YOU
IMPROVE ON THE BIBLE? BRETHERD HAMON, THE PRODUCER, KNOWS THE BIBLE BACKWARDS
AND FORWARDS. SO FAR, HE LIKES WHAT I’VE WRITTEN. I’M TRYING TO STAY AS
SCRIPTURAL AS POSSIBLE, BUT SOMETIMES YOU’VE GOT TO FILL IN THE BLANKS. GOLDIE
HAMON IS THE CASTING DIRECTOR. WHEN THE SCRIPT IS FINISHED, SHE WANTS TO SEND
IT TO AL PACINO, JOHN TRAVOLTA AND JOSH SMYTHE. SHE MIGHT EVEN SEND IT TO JEFF
FENHOLT. HE TOURED AS JESUS IN “JESUS CHRIS:SUPERSTAR”. UNFORTUNATELY, THIS IS
A LOW BUDGET PICTURE, BUT GOLDIE WOULD STILL LIKE TO GET A BIG STAR IF SHE
COULD.
ANNA TELLS ME YOU
COULD BE UP FOR PAROLE IN EIGHTEEN MONTHS. WE WILL KEEP PRAYING FOR YOU WHILE
YOU’RE IN THERE. I AM SO HAPPY FOR YOU, BECAUSE YOU ARE MAKING THOSE WONDERFUL
DISCOVERIES ABOUT GOD.
KEEP CHRIST NEAR YOU,
LOVE, PAUL
Senta put the
letter down. Paul. What a good person. He’d stood by her even after she’d
stolen from him and accused him of dealing drugs. Why didn’t she see his
goodness back then? She had been so blind. But Senta had one objective. Get out
of jail. Get out of jail and she would pay her brother Paul back. That’s what
he was to her. A brother. Family. Something she’d never had.
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