Notes. From the Upper West Side. A Novel by Dan Wrench. Chapter 60.
The Check. It was around this time that the adventure started getting unpredictively complicated. I was obsessed with the pros and cons of becoming mini-part, and yapping about said pros and cons with Jessica and Libby and letting the whole subject make me stand stock still in the middle of my shift to the bar, where I'd stare off into space while customers fumed and carry nagged. And I was obsessed with the same pros and cons while I was walking down streets, and trying to watch TV, and trying even harder to sound cheerful in front of the wife.
Then boom. Out of another corner of the universe, a corner I just didn't have my eye on at the moment, another pair of things emerged to demand my attention, or else. Or maybe I'm just making it sound all grandiose because one of my connivances was about to catch up with me. Yeah, I guess it's possible I get more philosophical when somebody catches me in a big fat lie.
See, remember back when I said I'd give part my acting paycheck, that paycheck from the first day shooting Little Round Jewish Hat if he'd make me a producer? And remember how he said good deal, and I agreed the fork over? Well, I never really cleared that with Junior, because I knew there was no way to go for it. I mean, look it, I'm an actor.
I have a date job slinging suds. Why was I giving my paycheck to someone to let me produce something? Was being a producer something that lit my fire all of a sudden? Was I dreaming up projects, looking for properties, attaching actors, raising funds?
Of course not! Just thinking about it makes me want to swim to the bottom of a bottle of tequila and annihilate my last brain cell. And Junior knew it too. She knew I had no interest in the business end of the business.
Plus, I told her already that I was a producer on hat because part begged me to help him and I couldn't turn him down. So why did I own money now? But back when I promised to park the check it just seemed like clearing it with Junior was one of those bridges I crossed when I got to it. Eventually.
But then suddenly there it was. The bridge. Right in front of me. I was actually a little surprised it only took a week for the check to make it to my mailbox, even though the day it came was the day I should have been expecting it on the official schedule.
The ideal schedule. The schedule where all the years mesh perfectly. The human gears, the production company gears, the payroll company gears, but at least one of those gears usually jams up in the real world. So I was thinking there could easily be an extra week of waiting before the check arrived.
And an extra week of waiting meant an extra week for me to relax before I had to look at Junior in the eye and come up with an excuse. See, movie companies. Even dinky, little indie companies. Higher payroll firms to handle all withholdings for the government and the union.
Movie company fills out the paperwork and sends it to the payroll firm. The payroll firm cuts the checks and sends them to the union and then union sends the checks to the actors. I have no idea why it works that way. And like I said, usually all these parts moving means a delay of a day or two.
At least. But not this time. This time I came in from walking the boys home from school one day and saw it sitting there in the morning and looking all innocent in business life. Junior was standing at the sink where she always seems to be in my fantasy enhanced memory of those days doing dishes and fucking pumps and wearing tight jeans on a roundish ass.
Her back was to me but still somehow she saw me see the check because she said, yep, came on time. I'm making some deposits tomorrow so I'll take it down then. I thought about that for a sec. I suddenly had the sense of an impending confrontation, you know.
Some people are okay with that. They even invite it. I hate confrontation so I was quiet for a few seconds while I leaned against the counter and pushed my glasses up on my nose. Then suddenly I opened my mouth and heard these words come out.
Better leave that one out, hun. I promised to sign it over to part. I still can't believe I said that. What did I have a death wish?
I barely finished saying park when she shouted, what? And spun around to look at me. She grabbed a tiny towel and dried her hands real fast like she needed them to strangle something. Paulie are you freaking kidding me?
She yelped. Babe the kids I said. The boys were in their room doing God knows what on the internet but still they were only a few steps away and the door to their room is pretty thin. Junior got all whispering because I guess now we were both pretending that freaking was a grown up word.
We couldn't let the boys here say, why are you giving Tony freaking par bar money? I just stared at her face for a long time. You could feel my eyeballs scanning it, scan left, scan left. So we got I could hear a little click each time they change direction.
Well you know I finally said I'm a producer on this short. You mean after all the unpaid works you're taking still demanding something financial, something monetary? Well that night you helped him with the voice over his unpaid. You don't get to be a producer for that.
What time did you get in? Um not till next morning I said. I mean yeah you and the boys were church already. I guess I can see your point.
She heard the impending butt. The butt I was about to say. The butt that never got out of my mouth. She made a surprise little shriek and spun around and went back to doing the dishes.
You're checked. Do whatever the fuck you want with it. She said even though she was still all whispery she was able to machine gun the words out so I know she meant you fucking ass all year beyond the reach of hell. I turned around and went to the window and looked out at the market across Amsterdam Avenue.
Some guy in a dirty white jacket was holding the door for people in exchange for their guilt about not giving him their change. You know what? I said deposit the check. You're right.
Parp's got enough about me for one production. She didn't say anything for a few seconds just clattered a dish or two into the drainer then she said okay like she thought I might be human being again. Sorry Polly but it just makes me so mad sometimes the way you do and do and do and don't get any life you're on. I gave her a hug.
I get a bid. I said. But what I was thinking was that after the check was deposited and junior had time to forget about it I could ATM the cash and small amounts and pay Parp what I owed him. I mean what I promised him.
But then junior went into the boys room to see what they were up to when I thought about it some more. She was right. That promise I made Parp it wasn't extorted promise wasn't it. And what about those extra two days on the set?
What about going out to Long Island to pick up Belinda and showing that Skiz Kid had a role cable. That wasn't worth anything? Parp couldn't call me a producer in exchange for that. I didn't know.
I was tired and I had a shift to go to at the tavern. I decided to figure it out later. Notes from the Upper West Side is a work of fiction. The people depicted in this work do not exist.
Notes from the Upper West Side. Copyright 2013-2018. By Dan Wrench.