Chapter 13.
The trip home in the limo with Chuck and Rufus was the highlight of my day. Chuck made trumpet noises with his lips, to jazz music blaring on the limo’s big sound system. I barked with excitement and jumped from side to side in the back of the limo. Rufus was too preoccupied to tame me. He was sprawled across the back seat with a large cognac resting on his signature, ‘Pete’s Printing’ t-shirt. Chuck always brought out the wildness in me. He drummed and slapped the steering wheel and dashboard until Rufus couldn’t take anymore.
“Hey Buddy Rich, give it a bone would you. You’re driving me nuts back here. Don’t make me close the window.”
“Last day schlepping this bad boy around for a while Uncle Rufe,” he said. “You might as well live it up but go easy on the mini-bar. Check out Chums, he’s lovin’ it.”
I snorted in the air through a crack in the window. It was just wide enough for me to get my muzzle out. For a dog, sticking your nose out the window of a car while zooming through a city, is like a human sitting in front of a giant outdoor cinema screen, with blindingly vivid imagery, blaze across you – some good, some bad, but either way, it’s a wonderful experience.
The offices of Creative Reality Productions had an air of unhappiness. Beneath the shiny surface it was dull. The people there, seemed like they were acting in some soulless play – the actors touted their work lives, as exciting and wonderful, but in truth they felt miserable. My family doesn’t pretend – when things are bad they band together and when things are good, celebration comes easily – simple. It’s not like they don’t drive each other crazy most of the time but there’s an honesty and loyalty, that I rarely see in other human beings. ‘Office Dog’ was a job that brought treats to my family and if it took off as a show, we’d be good for quite some time.
“Hey Rufe, you hear from Murray recently?” Chuck asked, in a sudden pause from his jazz performance. “I want to get all this stuff sorted out before I head south.”
“By stuff, you mean rolling a car down San Fernando highway at cock crow?” Rufus said, peering through his large brandy glass.
“If you’re going to be a smart ass, then maybe you should put the snifter down and walk the rest of the way home.”
“Just joshing ol’ boy. But no, I haven’t seen him since we did Chumley’s deal for Office Dog,” Rufus said.
“Shit, I’ve been trying to call him for the past few days. I need representing.”
“I think, he said he had some real estate thing going on, with some Polish clients. Or maybe they were Hungarian. Dunno, you know Murray, he’s got his iron in many fires.”
“Hey Chums I’m gonna be heading south soon, you know that?” Chuck shouted, over a trumpet solo, that blared throughout the limo. He conducted the imaginary jazz quintet with his hands. He pointed to the drummer and then to the double bass player, he teased the tenor sax and finally shook both hands maniacally for the big trumpet break. I barked and jumped up against the opening that separates the driver and passenger. I wanted to jump into the front with Chuck. I poked my head through the open window.
“Ola Senor Chumley,” he said, ruffling my head.
Chuck stuffed his face with a fistful of chips and held up the bag. I dipped my nose into the salty mess and chomped as much as I could before we braked for the approaching red light.
“What happens if Murray can’t get you off the hook?” Rufus asked.
“Don’t say that, I don’t like the negative vibes Rufe,” Chuck said, spitting chips over the steering wheel and a few bits on me. “But it’s not like I’m up on a murder charge. Personally, I think it’s ideal timing. I’m going to be working in Mexico either way, even if I lose my license. I can’t stay here. Manny, Manuel who owns the limo is back next week, so this gig is done and dusted.”
“What about your pest control thing?”
“That’s deader than a drowned rat. Anyway, if I lose my driving license, I’ve got to keep things on the down low.”
“That’d be a first,” Rufus said.
“Well, driving around in a van, with a giant cockroach on the roof, is just asking for trouble. Or am I overreacting,” Chuck said.
Chuck landed a stuntman job through his friend Manny, who owned the limo. He was going to be working on a Mexican feature film titled, ‘Vampiros Del Diablos’. It was a low budget, schlock horror feature film, centred around three sexy vixens, who entrap men at remote, roadside diners. They kill the men that they meet, to buy their souls back from the devil and get a second chance of a life on earth.
One of the leading actors was American and insisted, for safety reasons, that the only way he would star in the movie, was if the producers brought in an American stuntman. Little did he know he was getting someone of Chuck’s pedigree. At first glance, Chuck’s stunt reel did look impressive. The opening of every shot, looked undeniably orchestrated but each scene was cut, before the real unscripted carnage was revealed, in all its set shattering glory.
It’s strange how film careers can begin. The first film job I booked was for a milk commercial. A casting director saw me on stage with Rufus on one of our early collaborations, off, off Broadway. The play was ‘Oliver’. Rufus played Bill Sikes and I played his loyal dog, Bulls Eye. My limp was much worse back then – years on the streets didn’t do my hip replacement any favours. One of the casting director’s kids was in the play, as one of Fagan’s thieves. She was looking for an animal to play the part of John Wayne in her milk commercial. At first they were going to get a chimp to play the part. They thought a dog might be funnier. Someone also said that John Wayne fans might be insulted if they used a chimp, as it would look like they were making a monkey out of John Wayne. She thought I walked a lot like John Wayne because of my limp. So, with my limp and solid performance, as Bulls Eye from Oliver, I was offered a screen-test. I aced the part. It was easy. They dressed me up in a little cowboy outfit with a cowboy hat. I even had two little six shooters. The scene, required me walking up to a human who was sitting on a horse and stopping for a beat. The horse turns to me and says, “git along lil’ doggie” and I look up at the man and say, “get down off your horse and drink your milk.” They dubbed in a John Wayne impersonator’s voice for my line, over my mouth movements. To get me to open and close my mouth they gave me a very, very chewy toffee. I found the toffee impossible to eat, so it looked like I was shouting the line at the cowboy on the horse. Lots of people laughed when the commercial was finished and it won a lot of awards. I was in high demand after that. That was the beginning of my ascent in the film industry. A long line of managers and agents came thumping on my family’s door.
Minnie was making the weekly collections from everyone when we arrived home. She did show mercy to anyone that didn’t make their end that week, but a side glance that could cut glass, reminded those that they were below par. Minnie never wrote anything down. Maybe it was decades of hustling and grafting on the theatre circuit but she handled money like a Vegas pit boss.
“You’re short again this week Rufus,” she said. “That’s four straight. You need to sort that out. This old place is not cheap to run.”
“He’s short every week Grandma, it’s called genetics,” Chuck said.
“I’m working on something, ok?” Rufus said.
“Aren’t we all dear brother,” Teddy said, wandering into the kitchen for some food between his telemarketing calls.
Teddy was wearing one of those big headsets that the sports commentators wear during the NFL. He dabbed a little pate on to a small triangle of toast and placed it carefully on a napkin, like it was a precious jewel.
“Don’t worry I’ll pay my dues,” Rufus assured. “But I’ve got Chumley’s end.”
Rufus folded out three cheques for my acting fees.
“That’s a fat end,” Teddy said, stealing a glance.
“Chumley’s been a busy little Beagle,” Minnie said, eying the balances. “But you know I think he needs a break from it all. We can manage if he needs a break.”
“Hey you don’t say that to me, while I’m out there trading my wares,” Chuck said.
He handed over a sweaty wedge of notes. Minnie peeled back a few notes from the thick stack of low denomination bills.
“Dare I ask where this came from?” Minnie asked.
“Don’t ask, don’t tell, Grandma,” Chuck grinned.
“You know just because you’re leaving, you still have to pay half. House insurance, maintenance and utilities don’t get a holiday just because you’re gone.”
“No problemo Granmadre, I’ll cover my end. My new gig in Mexico might not be a big earner but I’ve got a feeling that it’s going to open some doors.”
“Just don’t go crashing into any of them,” Max said.
“That’s a good one Max,” Chuck said. “I didn’t know you’d branched out into standup.”
“I could do a hell of a lot better than most of these schlubs calling themselves comedians these days.”
“Speaking of schlubs, you seen Murray recently?” Chuck mumbled, with half a Pierogi dangling out of the side of his mouth.
“I’ve been trying to call him about Dallas’ contract but keep getting his answering machine,” Minnie said.
“You know mother, no one uses answering machines anymore, they’re called voice mails,” Rufus said.
“No, he uses an answering machine. I’ve seen it. It’s the size of a large suitcase,” Minnie said. “He’s had that thing since, forever.”
“They just don’t make quality anymore. There was once a time when you could buy two pairs of pants and you’d bid farewell to your tailor for three years,” Max said.
“Oh God, here we go. I once had a pair of shoes that were handed down from my ancestors and they were as good as new. In fact they got better as they aged, like a fine wine,” Chuck joked. “All you had to do was, slip them on with your magic pants and they’d actually walk you home.”
“Cheeky pup. Your generation knows nothing of quality,” Max said.
Chuck laughed and Max threw his folded up racing times at him.
“Can you tell Murray to call me when you hear from him,” Chuck said. “I’m not paying him for nothing you know. You realize, what I had to go through to make that fist of cash?”
Minnie squeezed the palms of her hands tightly over her ears. “No, I do not.”
“The minute you walked in the joint, da, dad a dada dada dada da diddly dada dadaddadadada,” he crowed, pulling his limo driver’s tie off. He threw it at Minnie.
She giggled. “Crazy boy. I’ll have peace when you’re gone.”
“You’re gonna miss me Grandma when I’m gone and you know it. Hey big spendaaaaaaa.”
He tried to cover her with his jacket. Minnie whipped Chuck away from her with his tie. I ran over to join in the fun. I grabbed the end of the tie between my teeth. Chuck grabbed the other end. He pulled. I pulled. He pulled me across the floor. I shook my head and pulled back. He laughed.
“I’ve got a big one on the line. There’s a lot of fight in this old boy yet,” he said.
“Careful of his teeth,” Rufus shouted. “You pull one of those out and you’re going to be stripping at the retirement home, until they have your room ready.”
I snarled out of excitement. Minnie hit Chuck over the head with her Polish knitting magazine.
“Give him the tie Chuck, it’s not like you’re going to need it,” she said.
Chuck rubbed the side of his head. “Looks like he’s not the only oldie with fight left in them.”
Chuck slowly released the tie from his grip. I ran into the living room and around the couch with my trophy. I chewed it for a little bit and then left it there. Teddy was sitting in an armchair talking to one of his customers. I could never understand why he affected a different voice when he spoke to his clients. He nibbled little pieces of the triangle of toast and dusted his tweed jacket off with a napkin, after every bite.
“Yisss Maam, the carpet does come with a quarter inch underlaaaay. Yisss Maam, that is currrrect. I’ll call ya’ll back in two shakes once I confurm that offer. Ok darlin’ I’m jus’ gonna check with Daryl in the warehouse. Yisss... yisss.. deep shag, that is currect. Let me jus’ check for ya’ll, but I’m pretty sure you’re good,” he said.
He hung up, sighed heavily and handed me the last piece of his toast. I love pate but I can’t eat too much of it or it – it’s too rich and makes me vomit.
“You’ve been working hard Chumley, dear fellow maybe it’s time you threw your bones down for the night,” he said wearily.
He patted me on the head and massaged the back on my neck, while I sniffed for crumbs on the floor. Teddy always reminded me of one of those old guys that you meet in the park who feeds the ducks. They wear a shroud of loneliness but they seem to keep going, for what, I can never tell.
Teddy’s career had come to a grinding Hollywood halt in ninety-eighty-four. He spent the following decades, clambering for the brass ring that he’d held tightly for over nine seasons, as private detective Sonny Jackson. He vied for parts against actors such as George Hamilton and Burt Reynolds but always seem to come up short.
We had worked together on a pilot for a series about a time traveling professor called Dr. Eon and his trusty sidekick Quark. The studio fired us both – they argued Teddy wasn’t ‘butlery’ enough and I was humping every dog in the studio, including the producer’s Berniedoodle and the director’s Cavapoo – the Cavapoo gave birth to three of my pups, much to the disgust of the director. The studio suggested that I should go for sex addiction therapy. My entire family rallied behind me. I didn’t go. The director sued us for pup maintenance. They dropped the case when Murray suggested the only way we’d pay was if we got visitation rights. Ten minutes with Chuck, Rufus and Max was enough for the director. I assumed the tipping point was Max reliving his Vaudeville wheelbarrow routine, while the director was entertaining potential investors for his next pilot. The case was dropped.