Acting Up Read online

  With that, I crumpled up my forms into a ball, tossed them into a nearby waste receptacle, which I only now noticed had a used condom dangling off the side of it, and headed out the door.

  At the entrance, the old broad with the pumped-up tits and a brand-new Camel now dangling from her mouth, said, “Bye-bye, honey,” for all the world like the church receptionist wishing me a happy Sunday and thanking me for the two bucks I’d dropped in the collection plate after prayer service.

  Infused with pride by the fact I had shown moral fortitude for one of the few times in my life, I picked my way through the weeds outside and headed home, skipping the bus this time. A walk would do me good. Plus I was down to three bucks and a roll of quarters I was saving for the laundry.

  While strolling back along Sixth Avenue in the opposite direction from which I’d come, I remembered what Beth had said back at the apartment when we ran into each other, me going out and her coming in.

  “I’ve got news!” she had said, before my audition stampeded itself all over the conversation.

  News. An innocuous word. Then why did I have a gut feeling this “news” was going to spell trouble for a certain starving actor, namely me?

  Only later, much later, would I look back on this moment in time and wonder if maybe I was showing my first signs of clairvoyance. For “trouble” was exactly what Beth’s news was about to dump all over my head.

  Not just my head, I’m afraid. But also my heart.

  And just when you were beginning to think I didn’t have one, right?

  BETH WALKED into the apartment with a load of laundry under her arm while I was punching in numbers on Beth’s landline. I held up a finger to plead for silence. She gave me an odd look, then quietly moved to the couch and started folding the clothes in the laundry basket while eavesdropping on my conversation.

  Luigi Von answered on the third ring. Since I had called from Beth’s phone, and a landline at that, there was no way for poor old Luigi to know who was calling. I had made the call to his landline as well. I’m no dummy.

  Nor was I without acting skills.

  I broke into my English accent again. It was one of the few impressions I was actually pretty good at. “Luigi Von, please. San Diego County Public Health Department calling.”

  That surprised old Elmer. I could hear it in his voice. “Who is calling?”

  “The SDCPHD. The San Diego County Public Health Department. Am I speaking to Mr. Von?”

  “Uh. Maybe. What’s this about?”

  “Might I ask what part of town you live in, Mr. Von?”

  “Well, gee, sure. I live in Pacific Beach.”

  “Ah. Then that would explain it.”

  “Explain what?” Elmer was starting to sound nervous now. Beth was starting to look intrigued. I was starting to have a really good time.

  “Mr. Von, I hate to be the one to inform you, but your name has been mentioned on several sexual contact forms filled out at our Venereal Disease Clinic in Pacific Beach. It seems you might possibly be the unwitting carrier of condyloma acuminatum.”

  “Say what? What do you mean my name has been mentioned? Mentioned by who? And that thing you said. Condoleezza whatever it is. What the hell is that?” Elmer had slipped past the nervous stage and gone directly to full-blown terror. I could almost hear the beads of sweat squeezing out of his forehead like toadstools popping out of the ground.

  I love doing British accents. You can say the most horrific things and still sound like you’re ordering tea. “Condyloma acuminatum. Venereal dick warts. It’s a nasty little disease that is currently sweeping the West Coast. Blimey, mate, you must have heard of it.”

  “Dick warts? Did you say dick warts?”

  “I’m afraid so, sir. It’s particularly nasty for carriers such as yourself, who may sometimes go several years before the disease manifests itself on the carrier. But when it does, ooh, diggity dogs! Wart city!”

  I thought I could hear Elmer tap-dancing in terror now. “What the hell does that mean? And excuse me, but did you just say ‘wart city’? Who says that? And who says ‘ooh, diggity dogs’? What the hell are you talking about? I don’t have any warts on my dick. I don’t!”

  “No, of course not, sir. If you had ’em, I’m sure you wouldn’t be living such a promiscuous lifestyle. Dick warts are a real turnoff. Yuk!”

  “Hey, now, wait just a minute! Who said I’m living a promisc—”

  “I’m afraid, sir, we’ll need you to come into the office right away. Perhaps we can catch it before you have to be quarantined.”

  “Quarantined?”

  “Yes, sir. For six months. It’s a law, I’m afraid. This isn’t like bringing illegal watermelons into the state, you know. This is a serious public health hazard. Sometimes even amputation is—”

  “Wait! What? What do you mean, amputation? What the hell do they amputate?”

  “Your penis, sir. Sometimes it’s the only way.”

  “Oh dear lord. I think I’m going to faint.”

  “Now, sir, try to remain calm. There are extremely rare occasions when amputation isn’t necessary, so I wouldn’t worry about it if I were you. Maybe you’ll get lucky.”

  “Lucky? Did you say lucky?”

  “Yes, sir. Now we need you to come into the office right away. Otherwise the hazmat team will be dispersed to bring you in. You wouldn’t want that, would you? A humiliating experience, I can assure you.”

  “Hazmat? Did you say hazmat?”

  “Yes, sir. Hazardous material. Face masks, white suits, barrels of disinfectant, big white truck. Gigantic tongs. You know the drill. Now, then, please come in right away. We have your series of shots ready to be administered directly into your scrotum. You never know, maybe we can catch the progression of this disease in time to….”

  Elmer gulped. I could hear it clearly. He sounded like a stopped-up sink. “In time to what?”

  I tried to put a smile into my voice. I always hate it when health professionals do that to me, so I figured it might prove enjoyable to do it to him. And I was right. It was most enjoyable. “To save your life, Mr. Von. Or at least your penis. Not that you can ever have sex again, whichever way it goes, but still it would be nice not to have to pee through a straw, don’t you think?”

  “But… but… but….”

  I rattled off an imaginary address, implored him to please hurry as every second was of the utmost importance, and quietly clicked off the phone before poor old Elmer could say another word.

  Beth was smiling down at me. “Your audition was a porno shoot, wasn’t it?”

  “Yes, it was.”

  “And now you’re feeling pretty good about yourself.”

  “Yes, I am.”

  “Has Elmer been paid back?”

  “He most certainly has. The prick.”

  Beth gave me a high five. Then a low five and a knuckle rap. Then I stood up and we bumped hips. She coughed up a malicious chuckle. “Venereal dick warts,” she said around a grin. “That should teach him.”

  I stood there with Beth’s phone in my hand, savoring the last few minutes, and then I turned to Beth and asked, “What news?”

  My question caught her off guard. Then I saw by the sudden light in her eyes that she realized what I was getting at. However, before she could answer, there came a knock at the door.

  She got to it before I could. It was our landlord, Mr. Boney.

  “Here you go, Beth,” he said, and without waiting for a response, he rolled a foldaway bed through the door and parked it in the middle of the living room. “Had one in storage downstairs. Thought I did all along. It just took me a while to find it.”

  Beth gave Mr. Boney a hug while I sat there wondering what the hell was going on.

  Boney nodded his head in my direction, returned Beth’s hug (meanwhile accidentally grabbing her ass while he did it), then split the premises, toddling off to dinner, or so he said. Personally I figured he was heading home to whack off while the feel of Beth
’s ass was still fresh on his fingertips.

  Straight people are such perverts.

  I stared at the foldaway bed dominating the room. “Lucy,” I said in my best Cuban accent, which was actually a pretty good impersonation of Ricky Ricardo even if I say so myself. “I theenk you’ve got some ’splaining to do.”

  To my horror, Beth immediately looked guilty. I say horror because Beth rarely looks guilty no matter what she’s done. If she was feeling guilty now, she must have done something really bad. And to make matters worse, that guilty grimace she was broadcasting told me whatever it was she had done, it obviously affected me. Personally.

  Oh God. My life flashed before my eyes. Well, no it didn’t, but I had a feeling it would be flashing before my eyes pretty soon.

  “What?” I asked. “What’s going on? Why do we need a third bed?”

  She humbly shuffled her feet. I didn’t like that either. A humble Beth was more terrifying than a guilty one.

  “Spit it out,” I said. “What have you done?”

  She gave a dainty cough into a dainty fist, all the while staring at the ceiling, at the window, at the door—everywhere but at me. With another wee cough to clear her throat, she said, “Remember I told you about my brother back in Missouri?”

  “The butch construction worker? Yeah. What about him?”

  “He’s a sweet guy.”

  “I’m sure he is. What about him?”

  “His name is Cory.”

  “Nice name. What about him?”

  “He broke up with his girlfriend.”

  “Sorry to hear it. What about him?”

  “He needed to get away for a while.”

  “Away from where?”

  “Missouri.”

  I felt my heart tumble down through the coils of my intestines, settling deeper and deeper. By the time it gurgled its way out of sight, I had figured out what Beth was getting at.

  “He’s coming here, isn’t he?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I tried to look on the bright side. Every situation has a bright side, right? I shrugged. “So why the long face? I don’t mind you having a visitor. Visitors can be fun.”

  “He’s not visiting,” she said.

  “What do you mean, he’s not visiting? You just said—”

  “He’s not visiting, Malcolm. He’s staying. He’s moving in. Probably for several months, until he finds work and saves up enough money to get his own place. I told him I’d help him out until then.”

  I stared at the foldaway bed. It was a big fucker. I stared at the living room. It was a little fucker and already bursting at the seams with all the mismatched furniture Beth had gleaned from the thrift store up the street. Beth liked clutter. Her bedroom was even worse. You could pass out cold in Beth’s bedroom and never hit the floor. In fact, the only room in the apartment that had empty floor space at all was….

  “My room!” I cried. “You’re putting him up in my room!”

  Beth shuffled her feet again. “It’s only for a few months.”

  “A few months. Did you say a few months? What am I going to do with a straight guy in my room for a few months?”

  She smiled. “I’m sure you’ll think of something.”

  “Beth, he’s from Missouri. They drag gay guys behind the barn in Missouri and beat the piss out of them.”

  “Oh, they do not. Well, not all of them.”

  “Beth, the only person I’ve ever shared a living space with in my whole life is you! And it’s all I can do not to shoot you every five minutes! And a construction worker? My God, he probably chews tobacco and carries around a paper cup to spit the juice into. He probably wears white socks with his plaid suit. He probably eats beans all day and farts all night. He probably runs around with a hammer humming Johnny Cash tunes and fixing things that don’t need to be fixed, pounding on this, pounding on that, all in the middle of the night while I’m trying to sleep. And what about his sexual habits? Haven’t you ever seen Deliverance, for Christ’s sake? He doesn’t play a banjo, does he? Please tell me he doesn’t play a banjo.”

  “Oh, don’t be silly, Malcolm. Cory’s a nice, quiet guy. His girlfriend broke his heart. He just needs to get away and start over.”

  “Here.”

  “Well, yeah. Here. With his little sister.”

  “And his little sister’s queer roommate.”

  “Well, uh, yeah. His little sister’s queer and understanding roommate. His little sister’s generous, kind, and magnanimous queer roommate.”

  “Oh please.”

  “There’s one other thing, Malcolm.”

  “Oh God. What is it?”

  “He has a dog.”

  “But I don’t like dogs.”

  “I know you don’t. But you’ll like this one. It’s sweet.”

  “How sweet? Is it tiny and fluffy? Like a Shih Tzu?”

  There she went, shuffling her feet again. “Well, no. It’s a little bigger than that.”

  “How much bigger?”

  “Twelve times bigger. It’s a pit bull.”

  My heart slipped through my anal ring and landed in a bloody puddle at my feet. I’m almost sure it did.

  “A pit-pit-pit—”

  “Pit bull. That’s right. Her name is Rosemary.”

  “Rosemary the pit bull.”

  “Yes.”

  “I’ll be sleeping in a room with a slavering pit bull.”

  “Yes. But hopefully without the slavering.”

  “Cory the construction worker and Rosemary the pit bull. I think I’ve seen this movie. It doesn’t end well for the little queer roommate.”

  Beth chuckled. She stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me, snuggling up close until her mouth was next to my ear and her tits were smashed all over my chest like water balloons. “There’s one more thing, cuddleumpkins.”

  I stiffened. “What?”

  She stepped back and studied my face, all the while trying to look chipper. “I also told Cory we’d help him break into show business.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean, Beth? Hell, we’re barely in show business ourselves.”

  “I know. But I told him he could follow us around to a few auditions. You know, just to let him get a feel for the trade.”

  I considered that. “Can he act?”

  “Probably not.”

  “Can he sing?”

  “No.”

  “Can he dance?”

  She laughed. “No. Well, maybe a little. I seem to recall he was pretty good at the funky chicken back when we were kids.”

  “Great. Directors always love it when they find actors who have classical funky chicken training. It enthralls them no end. Your brother will be playing New York and be up for a Tony in no time. He’ll probably get a sitcom. I’ll be so jealous.”

  Beth’s eyes narrowed. “You’re not exactly Fred Astaire yourself, Malcolm.”

  I glared right back. “And don’t I love it when you point that out.”

  I turned away to stare at the foldaway bed. The more I stared at it, the bigger it looked.

  I sighed. Then I sighed again. “This is already a done deal, isn’t it?”

  Beth nodded. “I’m afraid it is.”

  “So I should just accept it.”

  Beth’s features softened. Once again she walked into my arms and rested her head on my chest. “I’ll love you forever if you do.”

  “You’ll love me forever anyway.”

  “I know, Malcolm. I know. By the way, just as a general update, there are times when I’d like to shoot you too.”

  That didn’t surprise me. Nobody knows how annoying I am more than me. I almost smiled. “I’m sure there are, love.”

  I sucked in a deep, shuddery breath. Okay, I told myself, you can do this. It won’t be so bad. Maybe you’ll actually like the guy. All you need is a few days to get used to the idea.

  “When’s he coming?” I asked softly. “In three or four weeks? Maybe in a couple of months? Next year
? When?”

  “He’ll be here in five minutes. He just snagged a cab at the airport. Two cabs, actually. He had to vacate the first taxi when Rosemary tried to eat the driver.”

  “Wonderful.”

  “Cory said the dog was a little keyed up after the flight. I’m sure she’ll calm down before they get here.”

  “Oh, good.”

  There it was. My life flashing before my eyes. I knew it would be popping up sooner or later.

  Funny thing. I had imagined all sorts of scenarios that might conceivably bring about my demise. Car wrecks. Random shootings. Ineptly tap-dancing myself to death onstage in Washahammi, Wisconsin, after vaudeville came back. Then there was that perennial favorite, old age, which even I had to admit was pretty much a long shot. But not once did I suspect I might end up as a chew toy for a pit bull.

  I glanced at my watch. “So I have just enough time for a stiff drink before they get here.”

  “Yes,” Beth said. “Or two. Maybe I’ll join you.”

  At that moment the doorbell rang.

  “Or maybe I won’t,” Beth mumbled, moving toward the door.

  I stood there like a Milk-Bone, waiting for the end. At the sound of a bark—a really deep bark—on the other side of the door, I began to tremble.

  Then Beth yanked open the door and at the first sight of the gorgeous hunk of manhood standing there with a broad, beaming grin, I forgot about the dog completely.

  Chapter Three

  BETH’S BROTHER stormed through the door like Hurricane Katrina swooping in on New Orleans. He hoisted Beth off the floor and whirled her around while they both laughed like hyenas. The dog stood there staring at them with what I suspected was the same surprised expression I wore.

  I wasn’t surprised by the camaraderie, though. I was surprised by the man. The beautiful, beautiful man. He wore faded blue jeans, a plaid shirt with a denim vest pulled over it, and battered work boots. His hair was a maelstrom of black waves that looked like they hadn’t seen a comb in a month, but somehow the unkempt hair suited his brawny mystique. His shoulders were twice as broad as mine and appeared strong enough and welcoming enough to provide safe harbor from any storm. He stood a head taller than me and two heads taller than his sister, and he had a cleft in his chin.