A _Mirror_ sub-head: Draft Dodger Catcalls Plague Fading Star. “I was busy last night, or I would have seen this coming.”
“Seeing things coming is not your strong suit. You _should_ have accepted Sam Giancana’s invitation to be on call for Chicago Mob gigs, and if you did you’d be playing big rooms today. You _should_ have testified before that grand jury and named some Commies. You _should_–”
“I don’t know any Commies.”
“No, but you _could_ have gotten a few names from the phone book to make yourself look good.”
“Get me some movie work, Howard. Get me a movie gig where I can sing a few songs and get the girl.”
Howard sighed. “There is a certain wisdom to that, since young snatch _is_ your strong suit. I’ll look into it. In the meantime, play a few bar mitzvahs or something and stay out of trouble.”
“Can you get me a few bar mitzvahs?”
“That was just a figure of speech. Dick, be calm. I’ll call when I’ve got you ninety percent of something.”
Click–one abrupt hang-up faded into noise outside–brake squeals, gear crunch. I checked the window–fuck—-a tow-truck had my bar bumper-locked.
I ran out. A man in a Teamster T-shirt held his hands up. “Mr. Contino, this wasn’t my idea. I’m just a poor out of work union man with a family. Bob Yeakel said to tell you enough is enough, he read the papers this morning and saw the writing on the wall.”
The bumper winch ratched my trunk open. Record albums flew out–I grabbed an _Accordion in Paris_.
“What’s your name?”
“Uh. . . Bud Brown.”
I pulled the pen off his clipboard and scrawled on the album cover. “To Bud Brown, out-of-work union man, from Dick Contino, out-of-work entertainer. Dear Bud: why are you fucking with my beautiful Starfire 88, when I’m just a working stiff like you? I know that the evil McClellan Committee is harassing your heroic leader Jimmy Hoffa, in much the same way I was harassed during the Korean War, and thus you and I share a bond that you are trespassing on in your current scab status. Please do not fuck with my beautiful Starfire 88–I need it to look for work.”
The tow-truck driver applauded. Bud Brown fisheyed me–my McClellan shtick hit him weird.
“Mr. Contino, like I said, I’m sorry.”
I pointed to the albums.
“I’ll donate those to your Teamster Local. I’ll autograph them. You can sell them yourself and keep the money. All I’m asking is that you let me drive this car out of here and hide it somewhere.”
Raps on the kitchen window–Leigh holding baby Merri up. Brown said, “Mr. Contino, that’s fighting dirty.”
Worth the fight: my baby blue/white-wall tired/fox-tailantennaed sweetie. Sunlight on the accordion hood hanger–I almost swooned.
“Have you guys got kids with birthdays coming up? I’ll perform for free, I’ll dress up like a–”
The tow-truck radio crackled; the driver listened and rogered the call. “That was Mr. Yeakel. He says Mr. Contino should meet him at the showroom pronto, that maybe they can work out a deal on his delinquent.”
* * *
“. . . and you know I’ve got my own TV show, ‘Rocket to Stardom.’ My brothers and I do our own commercials and give amateur Angeleno talent a chance to reach for the moon and haul down a few stars. We put on a show here at the lot every Sunday, and KCOP broadcasts it. We dish out free hot dogs and soda pop, sell some cars and let the talent perform. We usually get a bunch of hot dog scroungers hanging around–I call them the ‘Yeakel Yokels.’ They applaud for the acts, and whoever gets the most applause wins. I’ve got a meter rigged up–sort of like that thingamajig you had on the Heidt Show.”
Bob Yeakel: tall, blond, pitchman shrill. His desk: covered with memo slips held down by chrome hubcaps.
“Let me guess. You want me to celebrity M.C. one of your shows, in exchange for which I get to keep my car free and clear.”
Yeakel yuk-yuk-yukked. “No, Dick, more along the lines of you produce _and_ celebrity M.C. at least _two_ shows, _and_ perform at the Oldsmobile Dealers of America Convention, _and_ spend some afternoons here at the lot auditioning acts and bullshitting with the customers. In the meantime, you get to keep your car, and we stop the clock on your delinquent interest payments, but not on the base sum itself. Then, if ‘Rocket to Stardom”s ratings zoom, I might just let you have that car free and clear.”