Mikey Likes It

Mike Winikoff called. Mike Winikoff called. All Harry could think of that day was, Mike Winikoff called. Getting back to Harry with Feldman script notes. A day of reckoning.

And that disturbed him. The world had changed. The old boys bolted out of the starting gate like juiced-up thoroughbreds catapulted from a canon. Some like Mike were galloping towards a Triple Crown, others like Finkie, wiped out during the first leg of the race. The dynamics of friendship changed without notice and veiled behind self interest. Connections or rivals, scores kept fastiduously. A new world order.

Too late to rekindle old an friendship. Now there was a subtext to Harry's relationship with Mike and it made him uneasy. Would he have called Mike had it not been for the script? No. Did Mike blow him off? No. Would Mike help him? Maybe. But Mike Winikoff didn't owe Harry shit; that was understood. Harry would have to ingratiate himself with Mike, with grubby Mike who once laughed at his stories. And now he just felt like a ball-licker.

What did Harry know about scriptwriting? His mentor had gone schizo and Harry was an inexperienced neophyte. What chutzpah to call on Mike after all these years. Fucking Harry Starr, just another dilettante with pipe-dreams knock-knock-knockin' on Mikey's door.

But it opened a crack.

"It needs a little punching up and I'd rework the ending, but really, it's pretty good...It's funny. I love the idea of Gary and Herb dating twins. One thing about you, Harry, you were always funny."

Wow. Mikey likes it.

"Another draft and it will be ready to go out to an agent. You can try mine first."

Harry was heady with joy. Funny, agent, TV, Hollywood. "Hello world, here I come!"

"Why don't you stay for dinner, Harry?" Mike's wife, Brenda asked.

Brenda. Harry fixated on her. Not exactly a Hollywood wife, too real too nice. A real Brenda, a Rhoda's sister type. Bubbly, bovine and brunette-- almost attractive undrer the right light, a little dim. With the right clothes. If she lost a few pounds, if she put herself together better. A great soccer mom, a van driver, the kind of multi-talented gal who could unclog the kitchen drain and blow you at the same time. A Brenda, a Mother Earth and now an unwitting ally. The longer Harry stayed, the more the door would open. O Brenda, O Brenda.

"Sure, I'd love to...if it's not an imposition of course."

Harry tried to read Mike on the invitation. Was this his idea or a Brenda-generated instead? But Mike just smiled. Mikey likes it again.

Brenda giggled. One of those types that giggle after almost everything. "The sun is shining, ha ha ha." "Gotta pick up the kids at school, or I'll be late. Ha ha ha." "Now that I got you all alone. Ha ha ha." What a good way to be.

"Great, Harry. Mike's friend, George will be joining us. We're having a barbecue."

Baby. A barbecue and possibly another Hollywood connection. Maybe this George guy was a somebody, even if he had a name like George.

But he was nothing like a standard George, more like a Boy George.

"Harry, this is George, he's the set director on my show."

" ."

And judging by the way George milked hid gayness into the conversation, he was not only queer but proud. It was painful enough for Harry to play a movie word game, but this George made his spine crawl.

"F...Fletch. I love Chevy Chase's dimple on his chin."

Mike lapped it up, not so much the campy comments, but the fact that he successfully engineered himself into an unabashed liberal. This never would've worked if he never left his hometown.

"G...ahhh...Giant...Harry, your turn, H..."

"H...Himalayas."

"I never heard of that movie," George whined.

"Yeah, Himalayas, with Peter O'Toole. He discovers Shangri-La."

"Peter O'Toole has the most gorgeous blue eyes," George said, then bit his lip and let out a sigh.

"But he never was in a movie called, Himalayas. Harry, you're thinking of Frank Capra's movie, Lost Horizon." George obviously knew his stuff.

"Oh yeah, well it happened in the Himalayas."

"Good try, Harry. Try again, H," Mike said.

"H - Hamsters. Y'know that Mel Brooks spoof on Williard, but with Hamsters and starring Dom DeLuise."

"Hamsters? You've gotta be kidding...Unless you're talking about what's up Richard Gere's ass," George giggled.

"Good one Harry, but you're so full of shit. Funny, but still full of shit. Do you see a lot of movies?"

What was that supposed to mean?

"A few," Harry mumbled. Better get back into this stupid game. "Okay, okay...Halloween."

Fortunately Mike had enough and Harry was spared another round.

"Anybody into smoking a joint?" Mike asked. "Brenda just put Jaxon to bed."

Good idea.

Comfortably buzzed, sitting like a Buddha with a bellyful of beef, Harry sunk into oblivion, listening to the crickets sing. And that's all he wanted to do.