Calf Read online

  The elevator arrived and ten of them crowded in. The husband-and-wife team had quieted down; they were taking deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth. The doors opened on the seventh floor.

  Lucky, Jeffrey thought.

  They stepped into an ordinary office hallway and again they lined up along a wall. A tall, thin guy wearing a woman’s blouse was working his way down the line with a Polaroid camera. When he got to Jeffrey he pointed the camera right in his face.

  “Smile!” he said and popped the flash before Jeffrey got the chance.

  “Write your name on the bottom,” he said, handing the blank photo to Jeffrey and proceeding down the line.

  “Excuse me,” Jeffrey said to the girl behind him. She turned her head just as her picture was being taken.

  “What? Oh no! Can you do another one?”

  “Sorry, one per customer.”

  The girl glared at Jeffrey.

  “I’m sorry, I need my pen back.”

  The girl scowled at him and turned back to her friends. She made a big deal of demonstrating how she waited for the flash to go off before asking her friend for the pen. They all looked at Jeffrey like he was crazy.

  The pen was passed back to him.

  As his face slowly appeared on the filmy surface, Jeffrey wrote “Jeff Hack” on the white border. He would use that as his professional name. Everybody in show business used a different name.

  When he finished, he offered the pen back to the girls.

  “Here you go,” he said. He was met with angry stares. “So you can write your name.”

  “I got one from someone else. Thanks.”

  The girls turned their backs to him and tightened their huddle. They didn’t need him anymore.

  It was the same deal up here, the same shuffling and waiting.

  The Polaroid guy sashayed back up the line.

  “If you’re asked to stay, be prepared to dance.”

  He repeated it about every five people. Jeffrey thought it was a joke.

  When Jeffrey was the third person from the front of the line, the Polaroid guy collected his picture and opened the door just enough to get his wispy body through the crack.

  A few minutes later, four people came out of the room. The Polaroid guy opened the door and said the next four people, Jeffrey included, could come in.

  Inside was a large empty office. There was a long table where two men and a woman sat smoking cigarettes and sifting through piles of papers and photos. The Polaroid guy went up to the table and laid the four snapshots out for them.

  Jeffrey didn’t know how this was going to work. He didn’t know if there was yet another room where he would have a meeting with someone one-on-one. Right now he just followed along. The four contestants lined up, standing up very straight, in a row, facing the table. They didn’t say anything. They waited to be spoken to.

  The table people mulled over the photographs.

  “Chuck and Diane,” they called out.

  The married couple took a deep breath and stepped forward. This is like going to see the wizard, Jeffrey thought.

  “What’ve you got for us today?”

  The husband gave a brief introduction, lathering on the charm. Then he and his wife took their places at opposite ends of the room and began a Broadway-style number walking toward each other, step by step, until they met in the middle, and then moved through the dance routine Jeffrey had seen them rehearse outside. They did their big finish, belting out the last note, holding their final pose, arms raised triumphantly in the air, until one of the table people said, “Great, thanks” without any shred of emotion. Chuck and Diane kept their perfect poise and walked back to their place next to Jeffrey.

  “Caroline?”

  This was one of the pen girls. Marcia Brady’s friend.

  Caroline stepped forward and gave a cheery, “Hi!”

  “What have you got for us, Caroline?”

  “I’d like to do a song that I wrote. I have a tape here with the music, if you have a player . . .”

  They had one on the table. Caroline popped in her tape and scurried back to take her position.

  Piano music drifted out of the tape player. It was a slow song and the table looked bored. They stopped her before the second verse.

  “That’s all we have time for right now.”

  Caroline covered up her disappointment with a cheery “Okay!” She walked over to the table, ejected her cassette, and returned to Jeffrey’s side.

  Jeffrey’s heart was pounding in his chest. He felt his legs go numb and he doubted their ability to hold him up. He swallowed repeatedly in an attempt to water his throat. He knew he was next. He wanted to step forward on his own and not wait for them to call out his name. His hand felt sweaty wrapped around the cassette case in his pocket, but he didn’t want to let go and wipe it off. The plastic case was the only thing anchoring him to the earth. Without it, his numb legs might lift off the floor like a hot air balloon.

  “And . . . Jeff.”

  Jeffrey swallowed the excess saliva in his mouth and stepped forward.

  “What’ve you got for us today?”

  Jeffrey pulled out his tape and offered it to the table.

  “Going to sing along?” one of them asked and popped open the tape player, exposing the naked little knobs.

  Jeffrey placed his tape in the machine feeling his hand shake uncontrollably the whole time.

  “Just uh . . .” he let his hair fall in his face as a protective measure, “going to play it.”

  Jeffrey pressed the PLAY tab down and took a couple of steps back. Guitar music and his soft voice flowed out of the machine. One of the table guys tried to turn the volume up. Jeffrey had recorded it in his Y room and the noise from the hallway and the street down below could be heard in the background.

  The lone woman at the table stared at him quizzically.

  “Are you not going to sing?” she asked.

  “I made the tape,” Jeffrey said. He kept his eyes on the machine, watching the wheels slowly turn and wondering for a second if he could hypnotize himself.

  Jeffrey dug the envelope out of his breast pocket.

  “Here are the lyrics if you want to follow along.”

  “But, you’re not going to sing for us right now?”

  The guy sitting by the recorder pressed STOP.

  “No, I . . . didn’t bring my guitar.”

  “Could you do something a cappella?”

  “I thought you wanted samples. That’s why I made the tape.”

  The woman smiled at him. He thought maybe she understood.

  “Could you give us just a little something?”

  Jeffrey didn’t know what to do. He stood there staring at his cassette frozen in the tape player window. The woman smiled again.

  “I can tell you’re not a show biz type,” she said softly, “but we have a lot of work for studio singers. It could be good work for someone like you. If you could just give us a little something. Anything really.”

  The table men weren’t looking at him anymore. One of them leaned over to the woman and said, “Let’s move on.” The woman looked at Jeffrey. He could tell she was deciding whether or not to give up on him.

  “What would you like?” Jeffrey asked.

  “Anything. Sing a few lines from your favorite pop song, or any musical you’ve been in. Anything you know.”

  Jeffrey’s mind went blank.

  “I’m having trouble thinking of something.”

  “How about ‘My Country, ’Tis Of Thee’? Everyone knows that. You sang it every day in school.”

  Jeffrey knew the song, he just didn’t know how to begin. He decided to do what everyone else did. He walked into the middle of the room. He took a deep breath and began singing. Problem was, he started too high. By the time he got to land where my father died, his voice cracked. He looked at the table to see if they noticed. The woman was mouthing the words along with him: land of the pilgrim’s pride, from
e-e-vry mountainside—

  “Big finish,” one of the men said jokingly. The other one cracked up.

  “Le-et freedom ring.”

  Jeffrey stood still for a moment.

  “Thanks.”

  Jeffrey walked back to his place between Chuck and Caroline the pen girl.

  “Okay, thank you, we’ll be in touch.”

  The group gave a cheery, cacophonous “Thank you” and walked toward the door. Jeffrey realized his tape was still in the player and headed back to retrieve it. He pressed EJECT, but then remembered his father saying always to leave a card. Jeffrey didn’t have a card.

  “You know what? Keep it.”

  He took out the tape and hastily wrote his name and address on the label. He placed it on the table next to his Polaroid. Then he followed Chuck and Diane out of the room and down the stairs. They were asked to use the stairs on their way out to keep the elevators free.

  Jeffrey felt upbeat. It didn’t matter that he had to sing a corny patriotic song. Now they had his tape. They’d figure it out. It was all set. No one else had a tape. Even Caroline the pen girl got stopped halfway through. They didn’t let her finish, even though she was an okay singer; not great. They let Jeffrey finish and now they had his demo. This is how it happens. This is how people get their start. He was on his way.

  Dear Jeffrey,

  I hope sunny California is treating you well. The weather we’ve been having here is just awful. Rain, rain, rain. You probably have a suntan by now.

  How are things in the music business? Don’t be discouraged if it’s hard at first. Your father had to knock on a lot of doors to get his business started, and a lot of doors got slammed in his face! He used to come home feeling rejected, just like you. You two are more alike than you think.

  Have you found a job yet? I know it’s hard. You do have restaurant experience and there are a lot of restaurants in Hollywood. Fancy ones too, where you might make extra money in tips. Maybe even wait on movie stars and get to see what they have for dinner.

  I worry that you haven’t written us yet. Please drop me a quick note and let me know you’re okay. You know how I worry. You left in such a rush and didn’t tell us anything about your plans. We had no idea you wanted to move. Your father worries that this was a hasty idea and you didn’t think it through. I want you to know that a lot of people try and fail, and there’s no shame in that. It takes some people longer than others to figure out their path in life. Remember Jesus was rejected at first too.

  How is Pam? I realize we never got a chance to meet her before you left. Maybe we could have her over for dinner at Easter. You will be coming home for Easter, I hope?

  Most of all, Jeffrey, I miss you. The house is very empty and quiet with you gone (not that you were loud!). I hope that you are doing well and that your dreams really do come true.

  All my love, Mother.

  Jeffrey let the note fall back into its folded shape. He was planning on waiting a little longer before writing to his parents. He wanted to draw it out as long as possible, figuring that would make them more and more anxious. It was always best when he came back from the dead. He had seen a television movie where a family was trying to get their daughter out of a cult. They got her home once, but she tricked them and ran back to the ashram. Years went by, and they had basically given her up for dead, when out of the blue she showed up on their doorstep looking like a completely different person, like a bum off the street. Everyone hugged and cried and lived happily ever after and they never bothered her again. Sometimes Jeffrey thought about joining a cult. They would take care of him, house him, and feed him. Of course, they’d be trying to cram Jesus or Krishna or something like it down his throat and he’d probably have to wear some kooky outfit while he passed out pamphlets on the street corner. Too many people. In the end, Jeffrey thought a cult would probably be like any other job.

  He had to change his plans because of a different letter that was slid under his door. The Y was limiting his stay. He could stay longer if he was a student or employed, but Jeffrey was neither. He would have to move on and, preferably, up. He was too good for this shithole. Jeffrey wanted his own apartment, but he was running low on funds. Anyone else with parents like his would have his own apartment, or at the very least, a decent efficiency unit. Jeffrey suspected someone had given his parents the advice of “tough love.” Throw him in the water and he’ll learn how to swim.

  Jeffrey sat up and made his way over to the desk. He was good at writing letters.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  Greetings from California! I apologize for not having written before, but it took a while to get my bearings straight. The Y is very basic, but generally okay, with the exception of a few shady characters. For the most part, nobody bothers me. Pam has been staying with friends of hers who have an extra room. She lives in a house full of aspiring actresses. They joke that they live in a sorority house. One of her roommates actually landed a part in a TV commercial.

  As for me, the music business has started off well. I was recently hand-picked at an audition for new musical talent. They are reviewing my materials and are interested in working with me. They said at first it would probably be studio work, playing backup for someone famous who is recording a new album, but that would only be temporary until my own career gets off the ground.

  I’ve been looking around for a good job because eventually Pam and I would like to get our own place. The job market is tough because all the out-of-work actors take up most of the restaurant jobs, but I’m still looking! I spend most of my days looking for jobs and “making the rounds,” as they say out here, which means dropping off demo tapes to people in record company offices. I made my own demo tapes on my tape recorder in my room. They’re not very good quality. I’ll have to get one professionally done soon.

  Sorry about the rain. It’s been nothing but sun out here. In fact, everyone wears sunglasses every day!

  Love,

  Jeffrey

  Jeffrey folded the letter and stuffed it in an envelope. He tore off an American flag stamp from the roll his mother had tucked in his bag right before he left. Letter in hand, he walked downstairs to the lobby and dropped it in the outgoing mailbox. Then he turned around, went back up to his room, and took out another sheet of paper.

  Dear Mom and Dad,

  I don’t know if you’ve sent any letters recently. You may have and I didn’t get them. The reason for that is I’ve been kicked out of the Y. It’s a long story and not my fault. I came home last week to find my room had been broken into. Everything was gone, my money, my tape recorder, even some of my clothes! Strangely the only thing they didn’t take was my guitar. Although I was shocked, I was not surprised considering the shady types that hung around the Y. I think it was probably one of my not-so-friendly neighbors. After that, I couldn’t pay the rent on the room and was kicked out.

  On the same day, Pam and I had a big fight and she told me she had met a new guy, a director, and that she and I were history. It was right after our last supper that I came home to my ransacked room. I didn’t really have a chance to make any new friends out here because I was so busy looking for a job, so I had nowhere to go. I’m ashamed to admit it, but I’ve basically been living on the street for the past three days. I clean myself up at the public library in the morning and get some breakfast out of garbage cans. I am really at my lowest low. Also, the company that wanted to start me as a studio musician now says they don’t need me. And on top of that, they never returned my demo cassette. I can’t make any new ones because the tape recorder is gone.

  I hate to ask this because it was my dream to make it out here on my own, but I think this qualifies as an emergency. Could you please send me some money? The one smart thing I did do was to get a post office box, so you can send it there instead of the Y. I feel like such a failure for asking. I know I’ve let you down more than once. Right now I wish I’d never come out here, but I’d feel like an even bigger failure if I gave up.


  I’d call, but I don’t have a dime to my name.

  Love,

  Jeffrey

  Jeffrey folded this letter up and sealed it in an envelope. He would need to wait a few days before sending it. Maybe a week.

  JEFFREY OPENED THE sliding patio door to the Sunrise Motel office. Two old ladies were behind the counter, knitting or crocheting or doing some other kind of old-lady craft. The TV was blaring game shows, Family Feud or Wheel of Fortune or The Price Is Right, come on down! One of the grannies turned around when Jeffrey walked in and put down her needles, the other one decided to buy a vowel. Jeffrey registered, obtained a key, and was told the pool was closed right now because it was being drained.

  As he climbed the steps to his second-level room, he noticed a woman standing under the stairs. She had one hand on her hip and a cigarette dangling from the other a few inches above her naked thigh. She was facing the parking lot and didn’t seem to be waiting for anyone inside. She was tall, black, and wearing a short skirt and a halter top. It wasn’t until he was halfway up the stairs and peeking down at her through the slats between the steps that Jeffrey realized she was a prostitute. Probably the whole place was full of them. He wondered if the two office ladies knew or if they just assumed that was the fashion girls were wearing today. Or the office ladies could be madams and the whole place could be some kind of operation.

  Jeffrey’s room was decorated with a dark blue worn-out carpet, a dark blue worn-out double bed, and a TV molded onto a white pedestal stand, which was the only thing in the room capable of reflecting light. He walked over to the window to close the dark blue worn-out drapes. Outside in the parking lot, he saw the black girl lean into the window of a red car. Jeffrey thought it must be customary to examine a prostitute’s tits before you hire her. This was LA, you have to audition for everything. A moment later she opened the passenger door and got in. The car did a three-point turn and exited the lot.

  Although he liked the Sunrise, Jeffrey didn’t feel as secure as he did at the Y. He felt the motel was on the edge of something. It was a place not many people knew about, a place someone came to only when he was lost and desperate and forgotten, a place someone came to only if he wanted to disappear. Maybe that’s what unnerved Jeffrey about it—the thought that he, too, might begin to vanish.