Denise rewarded him with one of those smiles movie stars master, the goddess from on high toying with mere mortals. Elliott escorted Charlie and me to our table and ordered a bottle of champagne to celebrate the giving of the keys to the Empire Writers’ Building to Charles David Frye.

That lunch was the apex of my career to date. Charlie’s too. After lunch Charlie drove me home, both of us bathed in the glow of cocktails and great expectations. He was so happy when we got to my house, he came in, loosened his tie, and took me in his arms. He didn’t even put on John Philip Sousa.

Chapter Fourteen

Jonathan dismissed my idea that he audition for the role of Professor Bleeker in Fly Me to the Moon. He insisted he was a dramatic actor and would not discuss it further. But I’m not so easily dissuaded. I went to Casa Fiesta the following Saturday night, thinking I might have better success there, that others would chime in and tell him how foolish and stubborn he was being.

I parked my car on the street and wandered in; someone put a drink in my hand, and I drifted over to where Jonathan and Diana Jordan were arguing. Diana was fueled with alcohol and fury. She had just axed her bastard-louse agent, Irv Rakoff. In addition to heaping verbal merde on Irv (which, admittedly, I enjoyed), she and Jonathan and Bongo were arguing about the best jazz club in LA. Bongo was all for the Dunbar Hotel.

“Wrong! It’s the Comet Club,” Diana insisted, flinging her glass into the fireplace. “The Comet Club has the best jazz in this town, in this whole state!”

Jonathan put his glass down and said, “Prove it!”

And that’s how I somehow ended up with him, Bongo, and two handsome actors, Dwight and Dennis, or Don and David, or whoever they were who had played high school students in Blackboard Jungle. With Diana at the wheel we were on our way to Central Avenue. In the front seat Diana raged on, swearing at Irv, every name in her vast arsenal of insult. Occasionally she’d shout into the back seat to me, “No offense, Roxanne. I know you’re an agent too.”

“None taken!” I hollered back. With Jonathan pinned (so to speak) to the back seat, I worked on him all over again about the audition.

“You know I don’t do comedy!” Jonathan shouted at me over Diana’s harangue.

“You’ve never tried.”

“I don’t want to do comedy. I’m a serious actor.”

“Oh, come on, how serious was that last role? Wasn’t your name something like Gluteus Maximus? Would you rather go on saying lines like ‘My little dove of Canaan’?” I was pleased that he visibly squirmed. “You need to audition for Professor Bleeker.”

“What a disgusting name.”