Free Michael's Secrets by Milton Stern

cab?”
    Steve grabbed Michael’s arm, and said, “I’ll take you home. Geez, what are you afraid of?”
    Michael turned to look at him and said, “I’m not afraid of anything. I just don’t want you to get the wrong impression.”
    “Hey, big guy, it’s just a ride, lighten up,” Steve said as he opened the door and led Michael out.
    They walked to the parking lot around the side of the building, and Steve opened the driver’s side door of a black Toyota pick-up, clicking the lock release for the passenger side door for Michael, who thought a real gentleman would have opened his door first.
    “Mr. D.C. Falcon drives a Japanese truck?” Michael asked.
    Steve started the truck with a laugh and said, “Where are we going?”
    Michael gave him the address, and Steve drove him home. When Steve pulled up to the apartment, he asked, “Mind if I come in?”
    “Actually, yes,” Michael said. “I just moved here, and I’m a little tired. You have my number, give me a call. And, thanks for the ride. I appreciate it.” He then stepped out of the truck, and Steve pulled off. Michael hoped he wouldn’t call, figuring there was no reason to get involved with someone’s boyfriend even if they were on a break.
    As he closed the door behind him, his cell phone rang, and Michael didn’t recognize the number.
    “Hello,” Michael said, wondering who would call after midnight.
    “Hey, this is the guy who just gave you a ride home,” Steve said.
    “Oh, thanks again,” Michael said. “By the way, what is your last name, Steve?”
    He was silent then answered, “Smith, but my friends call me Smithy.”
    “Smitty?” Michael asked.
    “No! Smithy,” he corrected Michael.
    “Nice to have met you. I’ll call you Steve as Smithy sounds goofy,” Michael told him.
    “Nice to have met you, Michael; we’ll talk later, bye,” and he hung up. Michael figured he was not much of a talker on the phone, and he was certain he made that up. Smith? Who is named Smith anymore? And, Smithy? For his own mental well-being, Michael hoped Steve would never call him again and programmed his name into his phone, so he would know if he did.
    Michael took a shower and climbed into bed, and his cell phone rang again. “Is this guy persistent or what?” Michael said out loud, but he noticed the caller ID indicated it was Sam. He answered, happy to hear his voice.
    “Michael, how is Washington?” Sam asked, sounding as excited to hear Michael’s voice as he was to hear Sam’s.
    “It’s OK, although I’ve only been here a day. Why are you calling so late?”
    “Oh damn,” Sam said, “I forgot about the time change.”
    “It seems none of my friends can calculate time,” Michael said with a chuckle. He had to smile as he wished Sam was there, so they could see each other again, having not been face-to-face since they had dinner at Anna’s.
    “Guess what?” Sam asked and answered quickly. “Sid got me an audition for a small part in a movie, and they liked me! It’s only about three lines, but that’s three more than I’ve had before!”
    Michael was genuinely happy for him. It was a start, albeit a small one, but at least he would get to speak. “That’s great, Sam,” Michael said. “It could lead to more work. Who’s the director?”
    “Peggy Martin,” Sam replied. “Can you believe it? I’m going to be directed for forty-five seconds by Peggy Martin! I can’t thank you enough for telling Sid about me!”
    “Wow, Sam, a Peggy Martin film. This is big time. I know her very well. She was member of the ensemble on Los Angeles Live the first five seasons,” Michael told him, making a mental note to give her a call. “What’s the part?”
    “I play a bumbling valet at a Hollywood party. How is that for typecasting?” Sam said, and Michael could actually hear him smiling.
    “Well, I know you’ll nail that part! My car is still whining from you turn at the wheel,” Michael said half-jokingly. “Well, Sam,