Free The Autograph Hound by John Lahr Page B

tongue—the spots, the cavities. I could show my scar? Not dramatic enough. She wants me to run and jump. I can’t look like Joe Namath in slow motion.
    â€œIs it on?”
    â€œDo something.”
    The camera makes me feel stupid. I can see Gloria aiming at me. “I’m turning it on!”
    I hear the whirr. I hold my hands in my lap. Belly in. Chest out. Back straight. Chin up. It’s what I want—very President Nixon. I hold my breath, I don’t want to spoil the effect.
    â€œA little more toward me.”
    Some stars have their own special cameraman. They won’t be photographed by anyone else. They know what’s their best side, and what the public likes to see. I don’t have a best side yet.
    â€œBenny, smile at me. Pretend I’m Joan Crawford.”
    I can’t smile. I can’t explain to Gloria while the camera’s running. Just thinking Joan’s on the set gives me the creeps. I should be looking at her. She should be sitting down. I won’t smile. My teeth aren’t so good, they’ve got spaces in them. I should’ve had braces. Mom said we needed the money to move to Rumson. At MGM they took care of these things for you. It was like a family—teeth, nose, hair, anything you needed—fixed for free.
    I try to get Gloria’s real eye. “Let’s do the TV shows this afternoon.”
    I’m good at talking between my teeth. I practice with the waiters right under Garcia’s nose. He can’t tell what I’m saying, either.
    Finally, Gloria hears me and stops the camera. My feet are prickly. She looks at me smiling. “Am I forgiven?”
    â€œIt says here on my fortune—‘You have a very sympathetic nature.’”
    â€œGive me a minute to change,” she says. “One day could we go to the Passport Office and look at the pictures of some of the famous people on their first trips to Europe?”
    â€œWho have they got?”
    â€œSid Caesar, Faye Emerson, Louis Nye …”
    â€œSure.”
    Gloria goes into a side room. It gives me time to dry off and get the feeling back in my feet.
    On the way out, Faye stops Gloria. “Ten tomorrow, sweetie. Tell Louis B. Mayer there that Kim Novak might be with us in the afternoon.”
    We hurry down the stairs, past the breathing, and into the fresh air.
    â€œDo I really look like Louis B. Mayer?”
    Gloria turns my head to the side. “Yes,” she says. “That’s the first time I ever asked somebody how I looked. It’s hard to see yourself as others see you.”
    â€œWhere are we going, Benny?”
    â€œLet’s start at the top—the Carson show. Joe Namath’s on tonight.”
    Walking to Radio City, Gloria holds her purse on the outside. I’d like to run my fingers through hers. But I don’t. I’m no Speedy Gonzalez.
    The usher hands us the free tickets, and points to the line stretching halfway down the corridor.
    â€œI don’t understand it,” Gloria says. “If it’s free, it can’t be good.”
    â€œLet’s face it, Gloria, movies are make-believe—TV is real.”
    â€œDon’t tease me.”
    â€œThey call us the live audience, don’t they?”
    â€œAt the movies, you’ve got privacy,” says Gloria. “It’s the big screen, the popcorn, and you.”
    â€œTV’s more personal. You feel like you’re sitting in the living room with some pretty important people. You get to know them quicker. It’s good for collecting.”
    â€œOn TV, the stars look so small.”
    â€œI saw Shelley Winters accuse David Susskind of breaking up her marriage. She screamed and cursed, the same as on screen, only louder and with nothing cut.”
    â€œI like it when you sit through twice. People kissing, having fun—nothing changes. It’s the same forever. It gives you confidence.”
    â€œI was in the first row