After graduating from Yale Drama School, Robby Rockman began his professional career performing in Vermont summer stock and Shakespearean classics in Stratford, Ontario. But it was as Norman Maine, the aging has-been in the Off Broadway revival of "A Star Is Born" where he was discovered by a young neophyte agent named Artie Eichman.
Artie had been an agent for less than a year at this point, having only graduated from secretary himself nine months prior. An NYU film grad with no talent of his own who craved being a someone in a glamorous world, he was nonetheless a million miles from the slick operator he would one day become. He had been instructed by the Mammoth partners to look for older character actors with fresh faces to stick in some of the big movies Mammoth was "packaging." He had heard good things about this "Star Is Born" guy, and decided to check out a Sunday matinee before the show shut down.
He was blown away. When Robby's Norman drunkenly interrupted his wife's acceptance speech at the Academy Awards, barking slurred insults at the fictitious Hollywood elite, Artie didn't know if he should laugh or cry. He wasn't alone. Both sobs and chuckles permeated the small theater.
Artie couldn't believe his luck. Robby was a fifty-year-old powerhouse who had never been seen before. In movies he could play the hero's boss, the villain's henchman, the virgin's father. In TV, he could be the opposing attorney, the unlikely suspect, the pathetic cancer victim. In commercials, he could be cast to sell anything from SUV's and fine jewelry to beer and burgers.
And like all anonymous character actors, this guy could keep working forever with no fear that his star would ever wane, generating a constant stream of income for the agency. And Artie would get full credit among the partners for the discovery.
But when Artie found out that Robby was a few months younger than himself, a good-looking kid with a warm smile and a genuine wholesomeness, it was too good to be true. Artie had surpassed his mission and found his own ticket to the top. The fact that Hollywood is littered with good-looking, warm-smiled, twenty-something actors didn't worry him because he knew most of them couldn't act. Robby was the real deal.
He took Robby and Trudy to dinner that night, and the Rockmans took an immediate liking to the short, Jewish New Yorker. Artie was friendly, affable, and well versed on every movie, TV show, book or play that Robby or Trudy had ever enjoyed. Contrary to their expectations of a Hollywood agent, they found nothing pretentious or deceitful at all about Artie, and that's because Artie was truly speaking from his heart. He meant it when he compared Robby to a thoroughbred horse, explaining that he'd be selective of which "races" he'd allow Robby to run -- and he meant it when he vowed that he would not rest until Robby was one of the biggest stars in Hollywood.
Robby loved the fact that he and Artie were the same age, that they were both starting out together, and he foresaw a deep friendship that could emerge that would transcend any rough times the industry might throw at them. Artie's promise that Mammoth's senior partners would help to represent Robby was unnecessary. Robby was intuitively suspicious of the Hollywood elders, but had total trust in "the guy their own age." Robby's Dad, the Iowa farm machinery salesman, had carefully instructed Robby to be wary of any "slick, show-biz types," and at this point Artie was anything but slick. If he had been, he never would've gotten Robby.
The age thing didn't matter to Trudy. What thrilled her was that she had only ever heard of five agencies, and Mammoth was one of them. The thick steak and rich cheesecake Artie paid for meant only one thing. Her husband was on his way, they could finally move out of their roach infested one-bedroom, and that quitting college a year early to support her incredibly talented man hadn't been a mistake after all.
By the time the sun came up, Robby and Trudy agreed to sign a three-year deal with Mammoth as their exclusive agency, with Artie as Robby's exclusive agent.
A year later, a year of Robby playing nothing but satisfied customers in fast food commercials, Artie got Robby an audition for a tertiary role in a network pilot. The fact that no one ever expected this pilot to get on the air was unimportant. What impressed everyone was that Robby walked out with the lead, a well-meaning first year teacher in a tough, racially mixed, inner city high school. It was called, "School, Sweet, School."
So almost two decades later, at Artie's Fourth of July bash, the irony was that all Robby had to do to ruin his agent's party was to reprise the role of the boozed-up has-been that had made Artie want him in the first place. The irony was lost on everyone, except Robby.
Robby hadn't been drunk when I saw him drop his drinks in the dead plant. He had been secretly pouring them out so he could remain cold sober in order to keep his wits as he delivered his command performance. His imperceptible wink to me had nothing to do with a mutual awareness of Hollywood bullshit. He knew I saw him pour out the drinks and he wanted me to shut up about it.
So as Robby floated face down in Artie's Olympic-sized swimming pool, a halo of blood circling around his head, the Hollywood elite stood motionless, too shocked to save him. Robby could only gloat to himself over his own performance.
Larry wasn't the only cokehead he had seen destroy himself and everyone around him, only to be welcomed back to superstardom with a simple apology. That kind of nonsense plagued Hollywood, and Robby was sick of it. If he needed to apologize to get work, so be it. Now he had something for which to apologize, and he knew it was just the beginning.
But as these thoughts poured through his head, the fireworks exploding above him, Robby began to realize that no one was coming to save him. He had been holding his breath for close to thirty seconds, and although he knew he could go a little while longer, it was starting to get scary. Why wouldn't anyone jump in to save him? Where was everyone?
It was actually quite incredible watching these kings and princes of action entertainment utterly freeze at the first sign of real-life crisis. I was over at the barbeque station on the opposite end of the estate at this point, stuck in line behind Spielberg, Murdoch and the Kelleys, pretending that I was too important to speak to THEM. We were all a good half-acre away and it would have been impossible for any of us to make it across the compound in time to save Robby. Even though I knew it was a hoax, I still would have tried had I been a little closer. All I could do was appreciate the purposeful drama.
Finally, the world-renowned filmmaker Anthony dePaulo screamed, "We've got to save him!"
He ripped off his own shirt, revealing perfect cosmetically implanted pectoral muscles, and waved it into the pool.
"Take it," he said. "Take it!"
Robby heard him shouting through his water-clogged ears, and felt the shirt tickling at his arms, but he knew he couldn't grab hold. He knew he had to appear unconscious for that was what everyone believed. To break character now would reveal his fraud and be too big an embarrassment from which to ever come back. Drugs, alcohol, guns and violence are all forgivable in the Hollywood scheme, Robby knew. Making fools out of the big boys is not.
But his air was running out.
"Take it! Grab a hold!" shouted dePaulo. "He's not taking it."
"I'm going in for him!" shouted Trudy, kicking off her shoes.
"No!" said Artie, jumping in front of her. "You're not supposed to."
"He can panic and take you down with him," added dePaulo.
All the educated Hollywood royalty around started throwing in their two cents on the correct way to save a drowning victim, although no one would actually do anything.
Robby could only think what he had believed about this filthy rich crowd all along. What a bunch of idiots.
But he knew that his time was running out, and that his only hope of being "saved" was to take his tale to the next level. He had very little breath left, but he exhaled it all so that he sank to the bottom of Artie's Olympic-sized pool.
Just so you know, Robby is exactly the kind of actor who would actually let himself drown to death before breaking character.
Some out-of-work bimbo actress with big fake breasts screamed.
"He's gonna die!" yelled Trudy as she ran towards the pool's edge to dive in to save her husband, only to be stopped by Artie.
"No, you can't!" he shouted.
"Take it, take it!" continued dePaulo.
And then Gloria Abrams, Robby's agent's assistant, dove in head first and swam her way to the bottom of the pool. She grabbed Robby by his hair and dragged him up to the surface, then across towards the pool's edge.
Robby had no idea who was "saving" him, and was somewhat upset that the person had to yank him by the hair because, as I later found out, it really, really, hurt. But he wasn't about to ruin the show just because he was in intense, horrible pain.
Gloria reached the edge of the Olympic-sized pool, and Artie, dePaulo and Trudy pulled Robby out of it.
"He's okay! We got him! He's okay!" Artie shouted to his guests, trying to calm them all.
But Robby stayed in character and held his breath, hoping that at least one person at this party would be smart enough to realize the crisis was far from over.
"He's not breathing!" shouted Trudy. "Someone, do something!"
"Oh my God, he's not!" added dePaulo. "Someone do something!"
"Who knows CPR?" shouted Artie.
Gloria had remained in the water, hanging onto the pool's edge, panting, and she couldn't believe what she was seeing. Could these really be the geniuses that would determine her future?
She quickly pulled herself out of the pool, dropped down next to Robby, and began to push on his belly and pound on his chest. Her sheer Donna Karan summer dress was soaked to transparency, and her naked body was totally visible beneath it. I'm embarrassed to say that every straight man and gay woman under seventy temporarily forgot about Robby and only stared at the curves of Gloria's hips, the lines of her vagina, and her protruding breasts and nipples. I'm even more embarrassed to say that I was no exception. But then again, she was my date, so I am absolved.
Gloria pushed and pushed on Robby's belly, and Robby knew his move was to spit up water and cough. But he had no water to spit because he hadn't actually swallowed any, so he continued to hold his breath. His eyes were closed, and he had no idea who was rescuing him, but he knew the end of this scene had to be as dramatic as its beginning.
And that's when Gloria gave him mouth-to-mouth.
Robby felt her cold wet breasts as she pressed against his chest, and he knew that it was a woman. He also knew that it wasn't Trudy for, although she, too, had perfect breasts, these were different. He did everything he could to stop himself from putting his tongue inside Gloria's mouth, but in it went. And he enjoyed it. It had been a very long time since he had been with anyone but Trudy, and these warm, soft female lips on his own awakened a passion in him that he had long forgotten.
For a split second, Robby opened his eyes to see a flash of the woman, backlit by the exploding reds, yellows and greens of the fireworks, the beautiful angel who had risked her own life to save his.
Robby was surprised. He never expected Gloria to show any degree of heroism, she was an agent after all. Perhaps a beautiful, voluptuous agent, but still an --
And then her tongue responded to his, wrapping around it playfully, teasingly.
"Glo-ria. Glo-ri-a!" the crowd began to chant, innocently believing this was nothing more than an act of heroism.
It took all Robby had to stop himself from wrapping his arms around her and taking her right there in front of all. Even while faking death, he felt more alive than he could ever remember. And he felt horrible about it. No matter how much he wanted her, he was still a married man and that should be the end of it.
At least that's what he told himself.
They would be alone together in each other's arms before the next sunrise.
*** Up Next: "Scandal In The Valet Parking" ***
The main characters in this e-novel are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual individuals, whether living or dead (except for Jeff Abugov who is a real screenwriter, director and producer.) Although certain real people and companies are mentioned in this e-novel, all of the events are fictional and are not intended to portray or resemble any actual events.
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