Free Michael's Secrets by Milton Stern Page A

it’s after midnight here, so I’m going to bed. Keep in touch and tell me how it goes. When do you film your scene?”
    “Monday!” he yelled. “Oy, I have such diarrhea I am so nervous.”
    “Nervous is good,” Michael said. “It’s when you get too over confident that you screw up. You’ll be great, and Peggy’s a sweetheart. Break a leg! Good night.”
    “Good night, sexy man,” Sam said. “I’ll call you later this week to tell you how it went.”
    “All right, kid, take care.”
    Michael was genuinely happy for him. Sam was a really nice guy, and Michael also hoped that if he became successful, it wouldn’t go to his head. Michael had seen so many people become such egomaniacs once they had a small taste of success. He wasn’t that sleepy, so he called Peggy Martin, knowing it was only after nine on a Saturday night, and she was known to stay home more than go out partying.
    “Hello?” she answered with her well-known nasal, whiny voice.
    “Peggy, it’s Michael Bern,” he said to his old friend, who was now one of the most respected directors in the business.
    “Michael, how are you? Did I hear you moved to Washington? What the hell are you doing there?” she asked.
    “I’m co-writing a screenplay with Sharon Gorman. Remember Sharon?” Michael replied.
    “Oh yeah. I always liked her. Who’s directing it?” Peggy asked.
    “I’m not sure as we haven’t even started writing yet. I just arrived yesterday, Peggy.”
    “Let me know who as soon as you know,” Peggy said. “So, why are you calling me? I thought Stanley King directed all your pictures?” she asked sarcastically.
    “If by all, you mean one, yes, for the moment,” Michael said.
    “I was an idiot not to go for that one. Word around town is that it’s going to be a huge hit,” she said, making Michael nervous because whenever a film was declared a hit six months before its release, it was surely going to be a flop.
    “Well, I’m making no predictions. But that’s not why I called,” Michael said. “You have an actor, who I think is playing a bumbling valet on your picture.”
    “Oh yeah. Good-looking kid and loaded with personality. I was impressed by him seconds after he read for me,” Peggy said, putting his mind at ease. “He’s never had a speaking part. I wonder how that alta cocker Sid found him?”
    “Peggy, are you sure you aren’t Jewish? What Italian says alta cocker ?” Michael asked. “Anyway, I just wanted to put in a good word for Sam. He really is a nice kid and deserves a break.”
    “What, are you worried I’ll make his life a living hell? Why are you so concerned? Wait a minute, did you fuck him?” she asked.
    “No,” Michael insisted. “I discovered him.” There was silence. “Peggy?”
    “I was banging my head to see if there was wax in my ears,” she said half-jokingly. “Since when do you discover people?”
    “I don’t, but this kid parked my car at Sylvia’s party a few weeks ago, and something told me he had a chance, given the right circumstance,” Michael assured her.
    “OK, Michael, for you, anything, but only if you promise to insist I direct your next picture,” Peggy said demandingly.
    “You have a deal,” he said.
    “Good night, Michael, and I’ll be kind to the kid,” Peggy said.
    “Thanks, Peggy,” Michael said. “I won’t forget this, good night.”
    Peggy, Sid and Michael were proof that there were actually nice people in Hollywood. They always looked out for up and coming talent. Unfortunately, in most cases, these brats would turn into divas the minute they earned six figures. Michael helped a young actress get a small part on Los Angeles Live a few years ago after she pleaded with him at a party in the Valley. She did pretty well, but she never thanked him. A year later, after she was cast in a few prime TV roles, Michael ran into her again at a party, and she acted as if she never met him. Michael wished he could say that was the only time that