Promise Me (Myron Bolitar 8)

A mother and daughter came over and asked Rex for his autograph. He smiled grandly and puffed out his chest. He looked at the obvious mother and said, “Are you two sisters?”

She giggled as she left.

“Another happy customer,” Myron said.

“I aim to please.”

A buxom blonde came by for an autograph. Rex kissed her a little too hard. After she sashayed away, Rex held up a piece of paper. “Look.”

“What is it?”

“Her phone number.”

“Terrific.”

“What can I say, Myron? I love women.”

Myron looked up and to his right.

“What?”

“I’m just wondering,” Myron said, “how your prenup will hold up.”

“Very funny.”

They ate some chicken from a deep fryer. Or maybe it was beef or shrimp. Once in the deep fryer, it all tasted the same. Myron could feel Rex’s eyes on him.

“What?” Myron said.

“It’s sort of tough to admit this,” Rex said, “but I’m only alive when I’m in the spotlight. I’ve had three wives and four kids. I love them all. I enjoyed my time with them. But the only time I feel really myself is when I’m in the spotlight.”

Myron said nothing.

“Does that sound pathetic to you?”

Myron shrugged.

“You know what else?”

“What?”

“In their heart of hearts, I think most people are like that. They crave fame. They want people to recognize them and stop them on the streets. People say it’s a new thing, what with the reality TV crap. But I think it’s always been that way.”

Myron studied his pitiful food.

“You agree?”

“I don’t know, Rex.”

“For me, the spotlight has dimmed a touch, you know what I’m saying? It’s faded bit by bit. I was lucky. But I’ve met some one-hit wonders. Man, they’re never happy. Not ever again. But me, with the slow fade, I could get used to it. And even now, people still recognize me. It’s why I eat out every night. Yeah, that’s awful to say, but it’s true. And even now, when I’m in my seventies, I still dream about clawing my way back to that brightest of spotlights. You know what I’m saying?”

“I do,” Myron said. “It’s why I love you.”

“Why’s that?”

“You’re honest about it. Most actors tell me it’s just about the work.”

Rex made a scoffing noise. “What a load of crap. But it’s not their fault, Myron. Fame is a drug. The most potent. You’re hooked, but you don’t want to admit it.” Rex gave him the twinkly smile that used to melt the girls’ hearts. “And what about you, Myron?”

“What about me?”

“Like I said, there’s this spotlight, right? For me it faded slowly. But for you, top college basketball player in the country, on your way to a big pro career . . .”

Myron waited.

“. . . and then, flick”—Rex snapped his fingers—“lights out. When you’re only, what, twenty-one, twenty-two?”

“Twenty-two,” Myron said.

“So how did you cope? And I love you too, sweetums. So tell me the truth.”

Myron crossed his legs. He felt his face flush. “Are you enjoying the new show?”

“What, the dinner theater gig?”

“Yes.”

“It’s dog crap. It’s worse than stripping on Route 17 in Lodi, New Jersey.”

“And you know this from personal experience?”

“Stop trying to change the subject. How did you cope?”

Myron sighed. “Most would say I coped amazingly well.”

Rex lifted his palm to the sky and curled his fingers as if to say, Come on, come on.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

Rex thought about it. “What did you do first?”

“After the injury?”

“Yes.”

“Rehab. Lots of rehab.”

“And once you realized that your basketball days were over . . . ?”

“I went back to law school.”

“Where?”

“Harvard.”

“Very impressive. So you went to law school. Then what?”

“You know what, Rex. I got my JD, opened up a sports agency, grew into a full-service agency that now represents actors and writers too.” He shrugged.

“Myron?”

“What?”

“I asked for the truth.”

Myron picked up his fork, took a bite, chewed slowly. “The lights didn’t just go out, Rex. I had a full-fledged power outage. A lifetime blackout.”

“I know that.”

“So I needed to push past it.”

“And?”

“And that’s it.”

Rex shook his head and smiled.

“What?”

“Next time,” Rex said. He picked up his fork. “You’ll tell me next time.”

“You’re a pain in the ass.”

“But you love me, remember?”

By the time they finished dinner and drinks, it was late. Drinking for a second night in a row. Myron Bolitar, lush of the stars. He made sure that Rex was safely back in his residence before heading to his parents’ condo. He had a key. He slipped it in quietly so as to not awaken Mom and Dad. He knew that it would do no good.

The TV was on. His father sat in the living room. When Myron entered, Dad faked like he was just waking up. He wasn’t. Dad always stayed awake until Myron came home. Didn’t matter what time Myron returned. Didn’t matter that Myron was now in his fourth decade.

Myron came up behind his father’s chair. Dad turned around and gave him the smile, the one he saved only for Myron, the one that told Myron that he was the single greatest creation in this man’s eyes and how could you beat that?

“Have fun?”

“Rex is a pretty cool guy,” Myron said.

“I used to like his movies.” His father nodded a few times too many. “Sit for a second.”

“What’s up?”

“Just sit, okay?”

He did. Myron folded his hands and put them in his lap. Like he was eight. “Is this about Mom?”

“No.”

“Her Parkinson’s is getting worse.”

“That’s how it is with Parkinson’s, Myron. It gets worse.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No.”

“I think I should say something, at least.”