The Basement Audition

It was apropos that Harry Starr blew it in the basement. He was after all, a subterranean kind of guy.

Unlike Stevie Dash who clip-clopped down the basement stairs in his spiffy new clogs; he never blew a thing. Time for his smoldering look : Stevie dipped an eyebrow and squinted. He huffed away at a deliberately misplaced shock of dippity-dooed hair gracing his noble brow.

"Pffffft..." The peaked tuft of hair danced in the humid basement air from his blustery puff.

Stevie Dash - cool, hard and gorgeous. Sculpted like a block of marble. Built with pride. Destined to win.

Harry gritted his teeth and smiled. He yearned for a mallet and a pick, maybe even a pile-driver. Reduce that block of vanity to rubble. What kind of guy gets a nose job anyways? And still in college? Actually "film school" as Stevie liked to say. And to think that there were quivering bunnies out there taking accounting. Ac-count-ing. Snicker, snicker.

There he was in full glory - Stevie the Magnificent. The new and improved version.  Nature's undesirable mutations like the old hooked beak, carved and whittled away into perfection. His new nose, the centerpiece of a glorious equine profile was punctuated with petulantly flared nostrils perpetually exhaling imaginary steam. A warrior that Stevie Dash -- so cool, so hard, so gorgeous. Say it again: Stevie Dash.

Harry's stomach muscles tightened, immediately regretted taking Stevie Dash's call. Something disturbing about being alone with Stevie Dash. The boy wonder swaggered down the last stair and huffed again at his luxuriant shock of honey-blond hair. Manufactured - maybe, but a breathing work of art in his own right. All that concentrated handsomeness lit up the basement burrow. Two prized bucks alone together in one room; it should've been on film. An ode to beauty, a testament to the work of The Almighty.

"Harry, Harry, Harry! How long has it been?"

Not long enough. Why am I doing this?

Harry hated Stevie Dash - not really, but he did, even when they were close friends and he never understood why. So Stevie was in love with himself, so was Harry.

"I dunno, Stevie, three - four years?"

Before film school. Before you drove a yellow Corvette douche-bag mobile. Before you became a "filmmaker."

"That long, man? I've been so busy, it's like I lost track of time."

Busy - the new buzz word. Busy, Harry's life was anything but busy. Somewhere between mellow to inert. Coasting through college, switching his major to theater halfway through his degree. Theater, English, Sociology, what did it matter? Just get the degree and wait for something big to happen Why bother pushing when you've got it all? That would be uncool. Instead, Harry Starr languished comfortably in the basement, while Stevie Dash pushed and pushed.  Always moving forward that Stevie Dash. Didn't he understand that youth was to be frittered away  in a Baba O'riley wasteland?

"So how's film school, Stevie?"

"Amazing, I've learned so much and the fringe benefits are sweet."

He's waiting for me to say, "Fringe benefits?"

"Yeah. pussy. The chicks smell Hollywood on you and then spread their legs."

"Really?" It wasn't that way in theater.

Stevie sifted a hand through his mane and huffed. "Man, I even scored with a real Hollywood actress."

"Are you serious?"

"Well, a B-lister, but a start."

He's waiting for me to ask, "Who?"

"First, you have to swear on your life that you don't tell this story to anyone. If it gets out, lives will be ruined."

"I swear to God, Stevie, that my lips are sealed."

"Okay. I'm trusting you with my life, Harry. So here's the story: Ben Silver, whose father is Mel Silver the movie producer, invites me to a wrap party at house for Target One, the latest low budget, piece-of-shit Mel Silver production. As you may already know, Oona Sweeney starred in it."

"Oona Sweeney?"

"Yeah, Oona."

"Oona."

"So it's an older crowd there, except for me, Ben and Oona Sweeney. Meanwhile she's bored to death, but vibing me all night. Anyhow, I had a joint on me, so I  ask her if she'd like to smoke it with me."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. Everyone in Hollywood knows she likes to party, at least according to one of my contacts there."

"You have contacts in Hollywood?"

"Of course, my Uncle Bernie's in the business. He owns a place that does the trimmings on costumes for the studios. Remember The Munsters?"

Harry hummed the theme song and nodded.

"Uncle Bernie did the costume trimmings, the lace on Lily Munster's gown, the bolts in Herman Munster's neck...So during our last Passover Seder, he was telling us that Oona Sweeney is the wildest teenager in Hollywood...So I go up to her and ask if she's having fun. She tells me that she's bored out of her mind. Then ask her if she'd like to party with me. She doesn't even answer me, just grabs my arm and leads me outside behind the pool shack in the backyard."

"Are you serious?"

"Absolutely. So we smoke the joint. She's still vibing me up and down, thinks I'm like a blond Travolta. Before I know it Oona's  French kissing me. One thing leads to another and then she unzips my pants...You guessed it -- next she's going down on me..."

"Oona Sweeney blew you?"

"Fucking right, amigo, but you better not tell anyone."

"Of course," Harry couldn't wait to tell the story, to his best friend, Finkie. He'd know if it was bullshit.

"Crazy man, isn't it, Harry?"

"Yeah, crazy."

Stevie sifted his hand through his tousled mane and said,"So I'm making this film for my program and I'm going to enter it in the Cannes Student Film Festival..."

Cannes?



"It's a hot script Harry, and since you're been doing some acting at McGill, I thought about you for the lead. Everyone wants to be in this picture. Between you and me, one of the chicks auditioning for the female lead is even willing to go to bed for the part."


Yea, right. Stevie Dash was still fucking  full of himself.


Harry Starr, a leading man. Tall dark and handsome, Harry Starr. Born with real talent and real good looks; he didn't have to do a thing to be gorgeous. Just sit there slumped in his sagging brown corduroy couch, at one with the comforting ambiance of the wood-paneled basement. It was enough just to be born Harry Starr. Cary Grant-gorgeous. Au  naturel. He admired his reflection in the glass top of the coffee table.

"My script is about this young Jewish guy, Ernesto, who's born in Paraguay right after the Second World War. He moves to Israel and becomes this big war hero, but later finds out that his father is Hitler."

Harry drew a deep breath. "How did that happen?"

"His mother was spared during the Holocaust because of her great beauty. She was brought to Hitler and became his personal masseuse. Let's just say she did what she had to to survive, only to find out she was pregnant after Hitler committed suicide. Obviously she kept the kid."

"Tough choice."

Great premise. Why didn't I think of that?

"After the war they move to Israel, just her and Ernesto, her only kid. The boy grows up as a star and by twenty-one becomes a famous war hero touted to one day lead the nation."

"Like David, King of the Jews."

"Fucking right, man! He's a modern day King of the Jews...That is, until he finds out the truth about his past."

"Shit."

Shit, did I underestimate the egomaniac. He's smarter than me.

"And I want you Harry Starr, to play the lead."

"Me, the son of Hitler?"

"The star of the film, Harry. I'm calling it, The Heritage."

"So I'd be the son of Hitler...With or without the mustache?" Harry wiped the sweat off his brow with his sleeve.

"No mustache, just your good looks and a touch of evil will do."

"I dunno, Stevie. The son of Hitler? Heavy stuff. What would my grandmother say?"

"Oy vey. Who gives a shit what your bubbe says? This is the part to launch your career, Harry. Trust me on this."

"Trust me." Famous last words. 


"Ernesto dies of course. His own men from his battalion are assigned to kill him, the same men whose lives he saved in battle. Tons of conflict, loads of action. But it's a tragedy, ultimately the son pays for the sins of the father."

"So I die too."

"Obviously..."

Harry scratched at a mosquito bite on the back of his head. "Do I have to die? Maybe Ernesto's determined to atone for his father's horrible sin by pledging his life to the State of Israel? His fame and fortune grow until ultimately Ernesto becomes the prime minister of Israel...all the while knowing that he'd the son of Hitler..."

Stevie huffed away at an unruly tuft of hair.

"No...I just can't see this story ending well. Hitler's seed, must die. It's a box office thing, Harry. But enough said. Why don't you read from the script now?  We'll take it from the scene where Ernesto finds out his true identity."

Stevie handed Harry the dog-eared script. Harry studied the title:

The Heritage, written by Stevie Dash.

Stevie set up the scene."So Ernesto stumbles on this journal that his mother's been keeping. He reads the part about his mother and Hitler....He vomits, passes out...eventually wakes up...He's weak, all his energy spent...Ernesto clutches the journal in his hand like Hamlet holding the skull..."

Harry held back from rolling his eyes while Stevie read the monologue:

"O mother, my mother

From whose belly I grew

Whose love was greater than the demon seed of my being
Can a mother's love conquer all?

Can good reign victorious over evil?

Am I man or monster?

Despised in heaven or celebrated in hell?

I am not of this world

Do I take my life

Atone for what I am,
But did not ask for.
No, evil will not win this battle.
I choose life
I choose God."

And while there wasn't an audience, Stevie still expected applause. Harry sat on the couch and rolled his bloodshot eyes.

"Can't do it," Harry said while nodding his head side-to-side.

Stevie pfffft at his hair in disbelief.