Letter from a Fan

Did you ever get one of those letters that just makes you stop in your tracks, makes your heart skip a beat, and makes your throat go instantly dry?  And while you may enjoy a good jaunt on a roller coaster, this ride can make you doubt everything you ever thought to be true.  Well that kind of experience is something I have lived through recently.  Let me tell you all about it.

First let me introduce myself, my name is Boris Smenaski, but in this part of the world, I am known as Marty Gladstone, character and commercial actor.  I’m sure you must’ve seen me as my face is the face of Celestial Cream guaranteed to remove all wrinkles and make you look twenty years younger.  Hmpt ha, if you believe that malarkey, I have a little bridge in Brooklyn I’d like to see you. Anyway, my critics have not been so kind, calling me a has-been who never quite made it to “been.”  I came close, you must understand.  Did a couple character parts in movies when I was twenty years younger.  One of my roles got noticed by a critic who said that the remarkable empathy I showed in playing this role was worth paying attention to.  Can you believe it, praise from the ivory tower.  Now don’t get me wrong, I make pretty good coin doing what I do, but I have long given up the notion that I would be a star.  No amount of Celestial Cream will wipe out the twenty years of desperation and now I carry the label of  distinguished.  Good God, I hate it.  Better I be found in a vertical file in a mausoleum out there in a place known as Shady Rest than put that on my resume.  Distinguished gentleman.  I am ready for my close up, Mr. DiMille. Well you get what I’m getting at, right?

Being an actor was never a question for me.  I was useless at everything I had ever tried to do and I was such a disappointment to my father who immigrated from Stalin’s Soviet Union.  I was told I was cute and had a funny accent and instead of being insulted by these comments, I turned them into a vocation.  Do you remember that guy who’d pop out of the bushes and yell, “Vell I navah vould have known dat.” Yeah, that was me.  Made quite a splash with that commercial, didn’t I?  It’s okay, I get that kind of razzing all the time.  You know, I don’t even have the accent anymore, but people come up to me all the time and ask me to do it.  Do the accent.  Do the accent.  C’mon do the accent.  Finally I give in and do the accent.  It makes their day if you can imagine.  It was the panache that carried it, right? Otherwise it just sounds stupid.  

But the other day, I get this letter and as you can imagine this letter nearly knocked me out.  My agent Ross Benner hasn’t called me in months as I am not a hot ticket item I used to be, if ever.  He’s got this twenty something kid with a face the girls swoon over and everything out of his mouth is pure gold, if you know what I mean.  No commercials.  No bit parts.  First class all the way, so when it comes to me, I’m chopped liver if you know what I mean.  

Ross, feeling sorry for me a few months ago, throws me a bone and tells me we’re getting the entire gang together to do a review with the old shticks including that line I just told you dressed like some Russian spy.  It’s not  half as funny anymore since the Cold War went away, but I thought, sure, why not.  It’s not like I’m setting the world on fire.  

What you got there, pastrami?  Yeah, this deli is pure kosher.  I’ll introduce you to Sammy.  We go back a long way, but he got smart and got out of the small time to open up this place.  Does pretty good business here on the east side. This is my usual hang out.  You know we were a duo singing some of the pop tunes of the time, but that didn’t last, because I’m not exactly Enrico Crusoe, if ya catch my drift.  Where was I?  Oh yeah the letter, the reason I am sitting here right now. 

At first I disregarded it since I did not know the name nor address on the envelope, but you know how it is when evening rolls around and you find yourself in this foggy landscape just before retiring to bed.  

Sherman Craigten?  I have no idea who this schmuck is.  So what do I have to lose, I open the dang thing.  It’s all done up on this special acid free paper they sell at the fancy boutiques and on it the words:  

Dear Marty Gladstone,

I am your biggest fan. There is something I must discuss with you.  Meet me at Sammy’s Deli on June 6th at 10 am. 

Sincerely, 

Sherman Craigten 

See here it is.  What do you make of this?  To tell you the truth, I’m a little apprehensive.  Some of the big shot stars have bodyguards to prevent perverts from doing bad things to them, but I am not an A List celebrity.  If they want money, I have very little.  If they want my watch, the can have it because it’s a crummy Timex I’ve had for years.  What could they possibly want that I’ve got?

More coffee?  Sure honey, hit me with another cup.  Hmpt, check my watch.  It’s almost ten and this thing runs a little slow.  

Do you think he’s a creeper?  So what?  I’ve spend my life surrounded by odd balls and lunatics.  Everybody wants a box of chocolates and are willing to sell their own souls for the cheap thrills that only last as long as the sweet taste in your mouth.  What if he’s armed?  Do me a favor and pull the trigger.  Let the obituaries begin.  Has-been actor shot dead in an east side Manhattan deli.  Sammy will get some business.  I can hear it now, “Hey Sammy is this where that guy--what’s his name was gunned down by some nut?” Story will last about three hours and that’s being vain and optimistic, doncha think?  Heh, ha, ha.

You want to know what’s strange?  Yeah really, I had my hair cut yesterday for this occasion and even put on some Celestial Cream.  Here, can you tell?  Yeah, it’s getting harder to tell, ain’t it?  Even splashed on some cologne.  Yeah, really, Eau de Old Geezer.

You’re right, I am a bit depressed about aging.  In my business it’s like exit stage left.  Curtain call and then the curtain falls once and for all.  

I was married, you know.  Lasted a whole three years.  I was on top of the world at the time.  Doing a lot of Off-Broadway stuff and getting reviewed in the Village Voice.  Such a heady time.  Vietnam War protests, Bob Dylan hanging out in some of the beat poetry joints that were packed each night.  Smoking marijuana openly in the clubs and catching glimpses of Andy Warhol from time to time.

Do you think that person over there could be the guy?  He’s been looking at us for a few minutes out of the corner of his eye.  His girl companion is kind of cute.  I wouldn’t mind getting to know her better. Yeah, I know she’s probably a student at NYU.  I get it.  If I had stayed married, she could be my daughter.  Still, you never get too old to admire good art.  Beauty is still beauty even if you have to wear an adult diaper. Maybe I should go over there and find out.

Alright, alright, I will sit tight and wait like a good boy.  You never know who this Sherman Craigten is, right.

Maybe this guy is one of my father’s old friends.  Did I tell you he was in the KGB back in the Cold War?  He came over here before I was born to get a look at some of the secrets of the atomic bomb, but he was a dollar short and a day late, but he still could not believe how naive the people were back then.  He said everyone was looking for commies in the gay bars or the clubs where the beatniks hung out, but not one of them had a clue he was a spy. Even now people are always on about who is responsible for the decline in this country, but don’t recognize the enemy in their own reflection when they look in the mirror.  Sorry, that was pretty heavy.  Sometimes I get like that.  Comes when you spend the better part of your day alone reflecting and there is no one in the room who will disagree with you, eh?  Yeah, I guess that’s my biggest problem, too much time alone...thinking. 

All that crap I wanted to do when I was young and now, I see I only got about ten percent of it done and not even the part that mattered the most.  You draw that line in the sand and tell yourself, you will never cross it, but when you do, you redraw the line and keep doing that until you find your back is against the wall and there’s nowhere left to go.  Did you ever feel that?  Ah, you’re still young.  You still got some years, but take it from me, don’t sell yourself short.  Don’t be the jerk popping out of the bushes saying,  “Vell I navah vould have known dat.”  Don’t be that guy.  

She walked out because I found I was not cut out for domestic life.  She deserved better. Yes, I fooled around.  Fooled around with actresses I was working with at the time and I can’t remember their names.  None of them, but when Gwendolyn walked out, her name was indelibly marked in my brain forever.  It was my penance for being such a schmuck to her.  Once I went to her place, I went to ring the front doorbell, but then I heard a little girl’s voice followed by a man’s voice.  Now I’m not the sharpest tool in the shed, but I knew she was married and had a daughter.  I had blown it.  I had blown it bad.  No, I’m not looking for pity.  I have made my bed and I must lie in it.  But there are times when I’m sitting in my empty apartment all alone and I start to answer the voices that ain’t there.  I see faces of friends long gone asking me, “How did that work out for you?” in

How do you think it worked out for me?!!!

How does it look like it worked? 

Phone never rings.  I read about some old friends passing in the obits. And I’m supposed to be okay with that!  Would you be okay with that?  

Yes doll, I’m okay.  More coffee would be good. Thank you.

Sorry, I didn’t mean to shout or raise my voice, but sometimes I get angry when I think about my life and all of the times when I chose the easy way instead of the more difficult route that would have given me a much more satisfying outcome.  Like that old Robert Frost poem about the two paths diverging in that yellow wood.  My choices haven’t always produced the fruit I was hoping.  It’s all my fault, it’s on me.

Regret is a horrible reward for the race you have run when you realize there is so much you have missed in your urgency to get from Point A to Point B. Stop and smell the roses, they told me, but I never took the time.  There was always something else waiting just ahead.  Got people looking at me now.  I wonder which one was supposed to meet me at 10?  Here I am.  Waiting.  I am alright.  Nothing to see here.  Nothing, nothing at all.

No, I appreciate your concern, but I want to see this Sherman Craigten.  It would be great if he was an agent and wanted to cast me in some upcoming production. It’s been a while since I had a regular gig.  You know I shaved.  What do you think he wants to talk to me about?  He’s my biggest fan.  I’ve never had a fan before, not really.  I’ve waited my whole life for that one big break.  My whole life.  Maybe this is it you know.  They say the sun will shine on every dog’s ass if he waits long enough, right. Maybe it’s my turn,  What do you think?  You’ve been awfully tongue tied for a bit.  Isn’t it about time?  Waited so long.  You’re looking at me like I’m some sort of lunatic you meet on the bus who starts talking to you about Jesus when he smells like piss because he’s slept in some alley.  Well, I am not that guy.  So don’t look at me like that.  You know who I am.  I’m the guy who made,  “Vell I navah vould have known dat.” 

I guess some folks have left behind a lot less of themselves when their time came and they realized they did not cross off one thing on their Bucket List.  But not me, I’ve got my resume.  It’s right here. See it?  Here’s my portfolio.  I brought it just in case Mr. Craigten wants to have a gander.  You never know, right?  Yeah that’s me playing Stanley Kolowski in Streetcar.  “Stella! Stella!”  Never would guess I’d be doing Tennessee Williams drama up here on the east side.  It was some off-off-Broadway company.  Did summer stock, too, up there in Syracuse in the Salt Playhouse. Shakespeare.  Can you believe it?  Played a very convincing Prospero.  Standing ovation.  You should have seen it.  But you know that was the zenith, the acme and what you are looking at is my nadir, rock bottom.  Last week I came in here and talked to one of those guys who smell like piss and hard core rot-gut whiskey, just like I’m talking to you, because I was so tired of sitting up there in my room, my single room with hot plate, small fridge, a bed and a bathroom no bigger than a phone booth and I’m supposed to be alright with that.  No, no, you seem like a decent type.  What do you do for a living?  Oh, you’re a collector?  What do you collect?  You don’t say.  So you go around and talk to strangers like me who spill their guts and make all kinds of confessions about all kinds of crap I’ve done and stuff I wish I had done?  And then what? You know, I’ve been blabbing here and I don’t think I caught your name.  You didn’t say.  Well, good sometimes I don’t listen too good.  What is your name? The hell you say.  Is this some kind of joke, Mr. Craigten?  All that while I’ve been sitting here telling about this guy who gave me this note and it turns out that you are that guy.  Well Mr. Craigten, I am not amused unless you have some kind of offer or a steady gig.  If you don’t have that, I’m out of here.  I don’t have time to waste on this type of humor where you make me look like a Putz.  

Hey doll, I’m going to pay my tab now.  My business is done here.  Bagel with cream cheese and lox with coffee and refill.  No Mr. Craigten, I don't want you to pick up my tab.  I can take care of this myself. Put it away.  Your plastic is no good here, sir.

Business.  Business, but you aren’t telling me what business. Here doll, keep the tip on account you are an angel to me.  Mr. Craigten, what business? I just want to go home and watch The View just like I do every morning.  Don’t be telling me that you need to collect me.  I ain’t something you collect.  Yeah, sure, things are a little slow, but I have plans.  Big plans, just you wait and see. There are better days ahead. Big plans.  You know, I’m feeling kind of funny all of sudden.  Do you have anything to do with this, Mr. Craigten?  I’ll bet you do have something to do with this.  Look at us, we are floating in air like there ain’t no gravity.  This could be my big break, you know.  Me flying and all.  America’s Got Talent?  I can see it now.

Maybe you could call my agent.  He’s a putz, too, tells me, “Marty, I got nothing for you this week.  I thought Mr. Connelly would squeeze you into one of the daytime soaps, but no potatoes.”  How do you like that?  The man would not know talent if it bit him in the ass, eh? 

What are all those sirens for?  You hear them?  Like they are parked right outside or something.  I am feeling so lightheaded suddenly, like I am missing my afternoon nap. Look at how far up we are.  Careful don’t drop me, Mr. Craigten.  That would be awful.  So if you are a fan, what was your favorite part I played?  This is great.  I’ll bet this flying thing could be big...