Haskell himself, p.24
Haskell Himself, page 24
I could see in the distance the Sea Serpent, a wooden Hi-Boy roller coaster soaring over the edge of a pier. I had read about the Ocean Skyway, the Diving Bells, and Davey Jones’ Locker. I knew I couldn’t go on any of these rides. “If they’re anything like the thrill rides in Atlantic City, I’ll be throwing up and getting dizzy,” I told him. “But I’d love to just walk through the park, if possible.”
It all seemed quite seedy, though. The buildings around the amusement area had been torn down leaving piles of brick and lumber, and many of the streets leading to the park were closed. It didn’t look safe parking the Maserati in any of the empty lots, and my dad couldn’t find a lot that had an attendant.
“No worries. We can go another time,” I told him.
So instead, we drove down the Pacific Coast Highway toward Malibu. Dad told me stories about his women, his malaria, his typhus, his bout with syphilis, even his battle with alcoholism, cocaine, and other narcotics. “My life has been such a mess! It’s all going to change now that you’re in it.”
By nine that night, we landed back in the Valley at his favorite haunt, the Fireside Inn. I had passed this restaurant dozens of times. It was not far from The Queen’s Arms, but its architecture couldn’t have been more of a contrast. This restaurant was once an old brick building used by the Spaniards in the eighteenth century to store grain and wheat. It was now a fancy nightclub and bar, famous for its piano players, red leather booths, and a bevy of single, attractive, middle-aged women. Put plainly, it was a pick-up place, and Tony’s favorite haunt.
“This is where I met your mother some seventeen years ago. You know, Miriam was six years older than me. I met her when I was only twenty-four. She sat right there, sipping a Manhattan.”
He pointed to a red leather stool near the oak bar.
“I loved her more than any other woman I had ever met. All these years, I haven’t met her match. I come here hoping and searching. To be honest, I may never marry again because I will never find a woman as wonderful as your mom.”
Speaking of bull, I had heard a completely different story. Mom said she met him at the studio commissary where he was acting and finding small parts in B movies, some of the same movies my mom was in. They went on a whirlwind weekend trip to Las Vegas, spent most of it drunk, got married, and within the year, Mom asked for a divorce. “If it weren’t that it produced you,” she said, “I’d consider the marriage the biggest mistake of my life.”
My dad had an entirely different memory. In fact, he hinted that it was my mom who wanted him back. “Miriam often said the year we spent together was the best twelve months of her life, and I agree. Too bad we couldn’t work it out. I think your mom wanted a more settled existence. She was no longer finding work in Hollywood, and she missed New York. I didn’t want to move back there with her. How could I? I had landed my first good producing job at Universal.”
My mom said he couldn’t control his temper or his alcohol or his dick.
Somewhere between these two versions of the story was the truth, and I wasn’t probing further. I also knew something about moving from one coast to another.
“Haskell, I asked you here for a reason, so I’m going to get down to it. As part of the acting community, you will sign a contract. You’re aware of that?”
I told him I was.
“This is one of the reasons I wanted to spend some time with you, so I could explain the contract before you sign it.”
“Fine,” I told him.
“This contract details your salary and a number of other financial responsibilities the studio has. If there are sequels, the contract requires your participation. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Sounds good.”
“Oh, one more thing. The morals clause. Were you aware you’d be signing one?”
I shook my head. “My mom always signs contracts for me.”
“Well, I talked to her, and she said if you agree to all the stipulations, she’ll sign off on it as well. Let’s go over it together, shall we?”
He removed a four-page document from his briefcase and set it on the table.
“I’m going to read you a few sentences from it. It says you will ‘uphold a certain behavioral standard so as not to bring disrepute, contempt, or scandal to the other individuals or party and their interests,’ meaning me and the studio. It also says, ‘This contract attempts to preserve a public and private image of such a party.’ In essence, the studio is lending its good name and reputation to you, and the studio wants it protected. ‘The party does not want any irreverent or amoral behavior spoiling or damaging its image.’ Everybody signs this. Not everyone, as I said, understands the repercussions.”
“I’m not sure I know what you’re talking about.”
Morals clause? Why would he possibly be worried about that? I was only sixteen years old. I never had sex with anyone, at least not yet. I hung onto my morals whether I wanted to or not.
“Let me just give one example. Many years ago, in the 1920s, Fatty Arbuckle, one of the biggest names in silent film comedy and a rotund guy—hence the nickname—was accused of murdering a young woman. Some said that in an attempt to seduce her, he lay on her and squashed her to death. He claims she had a stomachache, left his room, went into her own room, and eventually died in a hospital of a ruptured bladder. In any case, Arbuckle was accused of the crime and went through three notorious trials. In the third trial, he was acquitted. He was a big star, as big as they come, yet with his reputation ruined, he would never recover from the bad publicity.”
“I’m not planning on squishing anyone to death,” I told him.
“I know you’re not. You’re a good kid. I only use this example because it was the case that changed Hollywood. Ever since, we’ve had this morals clause. Let me give you one other example. One famous actor, I’m not going to mention his name, enjoys the company of other men. At first he’d take his boyfriend with him to various clubs and parties, pretending he was his ‘best friend,’ but word got out. They were lovers. Gossip travels, and before he knew it, Hedda Hopper, the powerful gossip columnist, threatened to write up the whole story, accusing him of sodomy. You know what that is?”
“I have a pretty good idea.”
“The studios didn’t want trouble. They paid off gossip columnists and gave the actor an option. Either he marries and creates the pretense at least of living a ‘normal’ life, as they called it, or they would fire him, and he would never work in this town again. Which one do you think he chose?”
I shrugged. What would I do? Job or boyfriend?
“Well, of course, he chose his career over love. He dumped his male lover, or so he said, and married his secretary. They have three children, live happily in Beverly Hills. Whatever he does on the side, he keeps very private, because he makes hundreds of thousands of dollars a year starring in major motion pictures. I’m telling you a cautionary tale. If there is something people shouldn’t know about you, don’t let them find it out. Understood?”
“It’s clear, yes.”
“And you may also be aware that one of Disney’s biggest stars most recently was found having sex with a boy in a swimming pool, and he was fired immediately. His career is dust.”
“I’m getting the picture.”
“Great. Glad to hear it.”
“I think I’ve heard enough.”
I was fuming. Obviously, he was giving me these examples because my mother must have mentioned the party I attended where I was kissed by a boy. She may have even gone as far as sharing my concerns about my sexual orientation. My mother and her big, fat mouth.
“So, can I ask you something? What brought this up?” I asked.
“I’m giving you the same speech I’ll give each and every boy who is going to spend months out of the country where the rules are very different. Watch yourself.”
“I always do.”
“Good. We bring a bunch of good-looking American teenage boys to Buenos Aires, things can happen. Sex. Prostitutes. Venereal Disease. Drugs. Alcohol. We’re asking that you follow certain rules of behavior. Otherwise, you take the risk of being thrown off the movie.”
“I’m about the last person you have to worry about.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“Thank you for this evening. I promise you, I’ll behave.”
“I’m sure you will follow all the rules.”
My problem wasn’t the rules. It was that the first dinner we’d had together in years, he chose to focus on a few examples of the studio’s intolerance for queers.
What choice did I have? I’d believe him. Maybe this was the same speech he would deliver to all the other actors. And yet it was also the perfect opportunity for me to tell him about my complicated sexual identity. Goddammit, I was a two on the Kinsey Scale, not a six or a five, and I hadn’t ever had sex with a guy. All I may have done was lusted after Henry Stoneman, who hated me. Lust was not a crime. You couldn’t arrest someone for thinking lustfully, could you? So I kissed a guy once in a bathroom. Big deal.
I didn’t open up, although I began to wonder, what was his problem? He'd been a bachelor since divorcing my mom. He had a history of picking up women, and with his history of venereal disease, there must have been many of them. What kind of morals clause was he breaking every night?
My dad paid the bill. “Let’s go for a ride,” he said, “and we can talk.” I hated that phrase. We can talk. My mom used the same technique when she wanted to dump some bad news on me. When you get home from school, we can talk.
We didn’t talk, though. We sat for the longest time in complete silence. He took an exit and pulled over. It was dark. No street lights. Just a big cement wall up against the freeway.
Here it goes. He’s about to dump some bad news on me.
“Tony?” I had no interest in calling him Dad. “Drop me off at home. It’s been a great night. Thank you. But I could use some sleep.”
“One minute. I don’t know if you know this, but before you were born, your mother and I couldn’t agree on a name for you. I liked Oscar. She wanted to name you after her father.”
“His name was Solomon.”
“Exactly, so you’d be Sol Hodge, which I thought was terrible. We were in our apartment in Burbank. Your mother’s water broke. We knew that night or the next morning our baby would be born. The doctor said there was no hurry getting down to the hospital—labor could last hours—but he suggested we leave right away. And as I was driving down the 101, on the way to the hospital, we threw out some other names. If it was a girl, your mother said, ‘How about Barbara?’ Which I thought was very plain and ordinary. I suggested Laramie. She suggested Betty. We went back and forth. But your mother and I were not in sync regarding a name, so we figured we’d wait until you were born. The name would come.
“We were driving on the same freeway we were just on when your mother noticed smoke coming out of the engine. I kept driving, but soon we could hear a grinding noise coming from under the hood. I had no choice. I had to get off the freeway. I pulled off onto a road—this road we’re on right now. Your mother panicked. ‘Oh my God, what if I have the baby right here, right now!’ And sure enough, she began having not just cramps but real contractions. It was happening faster than we expected. I figured I better get some help, so I ran out of the car, knocked on the door of that house, right over there.” He pointed to a dark tan, one-story house with a shake roof. “I knocked on the door and this lovely lady seemed more than happy to help us. She brought out a bowl of hot water and some towels.”
“Was she going to deliver the baby herself?”
“I don’t know. She called the hospital, and they sent an ambulance over. Fortunately, it arrived just in time.”
“What does that mean?”
“You were delivered in the ambulance.”
“Mom said I was born at Valley Hospital.”
“You were born right here, on this spot. As soon as you were born, your mother nestled you in her arms, looked up at the sign above the freeway, which said Haskell Avenue, and shouted, ‘What a perfect name! Let’s call our son Haskell.’”
“I was named after a freeway off-ramp?”
“Not too many kids can admit that, can they? You’re very special.”
And Dad was a very special writer with an inventive sense of originality and wit. This tale nearly rivaled the ridiculousness of Lost at Sea. He was about to restart the engine when I put my hand on the steering wheel and stopped him.
“Dad, why did you make up that story?”
“It’s the truth.”
“All of it?”
“Most of it, yes.”
“How can this be true when my mom said she named me after my grandfather, Harris Hodgeberg.”
“I don’t know what to tell you. As far as I can recollect, that is how we came up with the name.”
I wasn’t going to make a big deal of it. My dad chuckled. He seemed excited as he slapped my knee lightly and then leaned over and put one arm around my shoulders. “I’m not sure your mom would like me telling you this story, but it’s the truth. It really is. Want me to knock on that woman’s door and you can ask her?”
I shook my head. “No, she probably doesn’t live there anymore.”
“I wouldn’t count on it. Come on. Let’s go knock on her door. I bet she’d get a kick out of seeing the little baby all grown up.”
“No, that’s all right.”
If Dad was being honest, now I wanted to be a hundred per cent honest with him. Not that it mattered much, but tonight I was deeply bothered by his whole lecture on the morals clause. I was almost certain Mom told him about the kiss at the party, and I had the feeling his lecture was a warning: Be careful. Hide my true identity. Don’t do something that could ruin my career before it even got started.
I thought I should say something, but my heart was beating too fast for me to speak coherently.
“Dad?”
“Oh, Haskell. I love it when you call me that.”
The words finally fell from my mouth. “I kissed a guy once. That was all it was. I might be gay. I think that’s the word they’re using these days. But I’m only sixteen. I’m reluctant to label myself. I’m not certain of anything. I’m more confused than ever, and I’m upset because it’s not like I’m going to board the boat and start kissing every guy on the ship. Still, I feel compelled to tell you this. Sometimes I’m in total agony. I have these desires that I can’t control.”
My dad gripped the wheel tighter. Was he angry? Dammit, should I have kept this to myself?
We sat for the longest time, not saying a word. I could feel tears stream down my cheek. Why did I speak up? Now he’s probably angry at me.
As we headed into traffic, he said: “Let me be blunt.”
Oh no.
“I knew about this story.”
“My mom told you?”
“No. Your mother never said a word.”
“Scout’s honor?”
“I was never a scout, but yes, I swear this is true. The boy you kissed? Tom Shapiro works for me. He attends USC, and he’s in our apprentice program. When he saw your screen test, he recognized you. It’s a small world.”
If this were true, the world couldn’t get any smaller.
“His story is slightly different from the one you just told me.”
“What did he tell you?”
“It doesn’t matter.”
“Nothing else happened.”
“It doesn’t matter. This is an important lesson. There are no secrets in Hollywood.”
“I told you the absolute truth. He tried pulling my zipper down. I escaped as fast I could.”
“I don’t care if you’re queer or straight. The only thing I care about is your safety, your health, and your future. Being gay in this business, as Tom well knows, is the absolute shits.”
I wanted to close my eyes and let the silence swallow me whole. Why did I go to that party? Who would think one party would haunt me?
“You’re a wonderful kid, Haskell. I can see this really bothers you. It worries me that you may not be able to brave what’s ahead. If you’re queer, son, you can make it just fine, but it’s not going to be easy.”
If the boulder housed on my chest could grow, it had reached massive proportions.
“And maybe it’s my fault,” he laughed. “Maybe, had I been around, taken you camping, coached you in football—”
“Made a man of me.”
“Exactly!”
I shook my head. “I don’t think it works that way.”
I felt flushed. I could also feel my head growing hot, as if I were coming down with a fever.
“I’ve been fighting this my whole life, and I’m realizing I can’t do anything about it. I have to accept who I am, and it’s painful. Frightening. My mom’s best friend was queer, and he was brutally killed. I would lie in bed at night and pray for my urges to go away. That didn’t work. I dated Delia hoping she’d make me straight. That didn’t work. What am I going to do?”
“So, if I may give you a piece of advice?” His tone sounded awfully earnest. “If you want a career in Hollywood, you have to stifle your impulses. For the public, you’re one person and one person only. A big handsome movie star who makes love to women. In private, you may be someone else. Not everyone, however, is good at juggling two identities. I know some movie stars who stay in the closet and somehow keep their sexuality hidden from the public. It’s difficult, and they do it out of necessity.”
“You went over this with me.”
“I don’t want your career to take a nose dive before it even gets started.”
Was this supposed to make me feel any better? It was so unfair and uncomfortable. And contrary to what Madame Scheherazade warned me about: “Your only obligation in your lifetime is to be true to yourself.” Why would she say something like that to me if she hadn’t suspected I would endure these challenges?
