at each other in amazement. It turns out that Los Angeles was full of people who were constantly scouting for new and unique talent to help their movies stand out from all the rest that rolled out of Hollywood. The town was full of actors who would have given their eyeteeth for such an opportunity.
Like cheetahs who’ve gotten a scent of prey, they ran after us. I heard their footsteps just behind us. Papa and I stopped. He turned around to face our pursuers, his face red.
“Please, Mr. Erlich . . . hear what we have to say. It’s a great opportunity for this bocher (young boy) and your family. All we ask is fifteen minutes,” Ash pleaded.
That was a one-in-a-million chance. At that instant I didn’t stop to think about the downside, about how scary it would be to leave my family in El Paso, to move to Los Angeles alone and to work in pictures. Somewhere deep inside I didn’t feel frightened. I just felt desperate. I understand that sometimes fate uses desperation to make itself heard. For the first time in my short life I had the opportunity to reach for the brass ring. When would somebody like me ever get a chance like that again? No matter what Papa thought, I couldn’t let it pass me by.
“I think we should listen to what they have to say,” I said.
Papa turned to look at me. We were both surprised at my audacity. You see, in those days, neither of us was accustomed to me speaking up like that. Asserting myself would be a lifelong challenge.
Papa must have seen the determination in my eyes. He looked away and grumbled a word or two in Yiddish and stared out over the railing on the pier to the ocean. He looked as if he were waiting for something or someone, perhaps a tramp steamer from Shanghai that carried a mysterious passenger who would tell him how to resolve his ambivalence about what to do next.
“Okay, okay, but just fifteen minutes is all.” Papa finally agreed.
To this day I don’t know why Papa changed his mind. Maybe it was his destiny, too. I felt relieved. Ash and Meyers looked like they just received a stay of execution from a firing squad. Papa looked like he was still ready to pull the trigger.
The four of us ducked into The Crab Catcher, a seedy restaurant at the end of the pier. The first thing I noticed when we entered that place was the smell of stale beer and the two drunken sailors at the bar, their heads pillowed on their arms.
An apron-clad waitress with curly blonde hair and very red lips led us across the sawdust-covered floor to a small table in the back. From the moment we sat down with the well-dressed cheetahs I sensed Papa’s impatience. Three of us ordered cherry pie and coffee; Papa just waived his hand curtly: “Nothing for me.”
For about five minutes no one said a thing. After Papa’s initial outburst, Ash and Meyers seemed to be cautious, politely avoiding any semblance of a hard sell. They just sat there and looked at us as they ate their pie.
I looked up at the thick, black fishing net and white buoys that hung from the roof of the darkened restaurant serving as ersatz maritime décor. When Papa took out his Hamilton pocket watch to check the time, I saw myself as a huge swordfish, frantically thrashing about in that net.
What Meyers and Ash didn’t know was that when Papa said we only had fifteen minutes, he meant business. Now there were only ten minutes to go. Soon Papa would say time was up. Hurry up you schmendriks, I thought. Finally, Ash put down his fork and wiped his lips with the napkin.
“Mr. Erlich, we would like to offer your son a contract to try him out working as an actor in pictures at Century Comedies. We can make him a star. Someone like your boy would be perfect for—”
“Huh?!” my exhale was punctuated by a question mark and shock. The whole thing felt unreal, like a dream.
“Whoa, whoa!” Papa almost yelled, as if he were still in the Russian Cavalry. For a moment I imagined him atop a runaway horse that had his ear shot off, sawing at the reins, and trying to stop his stampeding mount.
I felt sick. I felt I was about to cry. I put my hand over my face. He’s going to ruin it. He’s going to ruin it. I don’t know what it is yet, but he’s going to ruin it, I thought. Patience was a virtue I had yet to learn. Suddenly, I confronted the loss of a destiny I hadn’t even known I had just a half hour before.
“My son’s not an actor, much less a professional actor,” Papa argued.
I stopped myself from slamming my hands down on the table. I felt wild. “Papa don’t you remember, I’ve had a year of drama at El Paso High?” I pleaded.
“Don’t worry about that,” said Meyers. “We can teach him to act. He’ll make a good living. Anyway it’s only for one picture. If you or Jake is unhappy after we finish shooting, then you can stop. But if he likes it—and you like it—this could be the beginning of something big.”
“What do you have to lose?” asked Ash.
“Yeah, Papa, what do we have to lose?” I added for emphasis.
Papa held up his hands. My father could be stubborn, especially if he felt forced into something. But I couldn’t hold myself back. I experienced a unique feeling I’d never had; certainty about what I wanted to do. That kind of certainty would be in short supply when it came to making my decision about staying or leaving the circus.
After a minute, Papa looked at me and then at the two men. He looked down at his folded hands on the gingham tablecloth. Then, as though it weighed fifty pounds, he slowly lifted his head.
“This is a ganza (big) decision. I need to think about it and talk to the Missus. I will contact you within the week.” Papa abruptly stood up and extended his hand.
Myers and Ash looked uncomfortable. After all, they were so close to closing the deal. I bet it was unnatural for them, but they must have sensed the need to go slow with someone like Papa.
At that moment I was elated, flying, but I bit my lower lip almost until it bled. That forced me to come back down to the real world. I reminded myself that Mama would be more difficult to convince than Papa.
On the taxi ride back to our hotel I couldn’t believe what was happening to me. I was so anxious my head spun. I could barely think, let alone listen to Papa speak.
“I don’t know, Jakey. The movies . . . such a big city . . . what about school? We’ll have to call Mama.”
I took a deep breath as he spoke. I whiffed the scent of something sweet yet distant, like the aroma of the first tiny honeysuckle blossom in the desert in late winter. You can’t see it, yet you’re sure it’s there. You might say that for the first time since I was seven, I smelled hope.
XXXX
That night, sleep was definitely out of the question. But that sleeplessness was different than what I had experienced earlier in the summer. I wasn’t haunted by memories of what Epstein and the other doctors had foretold for my future or by the traumatic memories of cruel taunts and teasing. I was thrilled but also frightened.
Earlier that night, Papa had challenged me. He recalled how I had spent the summer hiding in my room and how, in my effort to avoid people, I had even skipped out on my job as a lifeguard at the reservoir. Later, tossing and turning in the cramped hotel bed, I played and replayed Papa’s words. They were like a song in my head, the kind you can’t forget.
“How will you ever handle all the attention?” he’d said to me.
Papa was right; I loathed attention. Yet, the December before, when I wore the raggedy Santa suit in front of my parents’ store, I remember how I felt absolutely carbonated. That mangy costume felt comfortable. When I did my Saint Nick impression, the ragtag group of children and not a few adults swarmed me on the sidewalk. The commotion brought out Morris Thurmond, the photographer whose studio was across the street. When he set up to take my picture, about a hundred shoppers—Mexicans, Texans, and a few Tigua Indians—all rushed to be in that shot. The three hours I spent in costume went by like three minutes. I felt free in a way I’d never felt before. I never told Papa or Mama, but I couldn’t wait for next