Page 2 of Men or Paws
He was joking, of course.
Thanks to the success of my acting career, Oliver was the most sought-after agent in Hollywood and would never have to worry about money. Nothing made me happier, since I wouldn’t have had an acting career if it weren’t for him. He was the one who had discovered me.
Oliver had approached me as I came out of the water after catching some waves at Redondo Beach a little over ten years ago. He had taken twenty minutes to talk me into auditioning for a national TV commercial for Fruit of the Loom underwear. I was skeptical at first. He appeared to have good intentions, but he had sounded like a used car salesman, plus I question the sanity of anyone who wears long pants to the beach when it’s eighty degrees outside. But the bottom line is, Oliver told me he was going to make me a star.
He was right.
I nailed that audition and got the part. The subsequent commercial aired to millions of viewers during the Super Bowl, which led to a small supporting role in an independent movie that then ended up garnering the top awards at the Cannes Film Festival.
Suddenly, I was on Hollywood’s radar and everyone was calling.
Who knew I would be a natural in front of the camera?
Oliver knew, but certainly not me.
As for my bad-boy reputation, that was a misunderstanding that started with me dressed up in a black leather jacket as John Travolta’s character, Danny Zuko fromGrease,and ended with some unjust jail time after my Good Samaritan act had blown up in my face. And while I was greatly embarrassed at the time, it ended up being the best thing that could’ve happened to me.
Oliver advised me not to reveal the truth to anyone, even though I was innocent of all the charges, and to milk that arrest for all it was worth because Hollywood loved James Dean types.
He was right again and the rest is history.
My superhero trilogy,Captain Clapton, has earned almost a billion dollars at the box office and now even more people want a piece of me.
Everything I had was because of Oliver. It was something I would never forget, no matter how much it bothered me that he was calling when he should be enjoying the surf and sand of Maui.
“Why is it taking you so long to read the scripts?” Oliver asked.
“Houdini won’t let me work,” I said.
“I told you rescuing that dog would complicate your life, but did you listen to me? Nooooo.”
I shook my head. “My life is not complicated.”
“Get Marcello to watch him.”
“No way. He’s already got way too much on his plate. I want him to have a life.”
Marcello was my personal assistant. We grew up in the foster care system together and I hired him as soon as my life got hectic from Hollywood pulling me in every direction. He was my gatekeeper, the man who controlled access to me and the one who kept me sane by doing all the little tedious crap I had no interest in doing.
“There’s nothing wrong with putting Houdini up for adoption, you know,” Oliver said. “You gave it a shot and there are plenty of good families out there who would happily take him off your hands.”
“Not going to happen,” I said.
Giving my dog away was out of the question.
Houdini had already endured three owners over the last three years. There was no way I was going to just get rid of him like everyone else had done.
I knew firsthand what it felt like to be abandoned.
“That dog is cramping your style,” Oliver said.
I laughed. “Yeah, right. Don’t forget to feel sorry for me and my difficult life as I pull my Maserati out of the garage.”
“Like you ever drive that car . . . You never drive any of your cars, for that matter.”
“But I could if I wanted to,” I said. “And just because I don’t drive them doesn’t mean I don’t appreciate them. People have coin collections, but they usually keep them in drawers. Same thing, but my drawer is a garage.”
“Okay, most of those coins are not worth three hundred thousand dollars. That was a horrible comparison.”
