Sellevision - Augusten Burroughs [61]
fourteen
“I don’t know what to tell you, Max. I can’t create a job for you out of thin air.”
Slumping down into the couch, Max pressed, “Are you sure Discovery Channel has nothing? Did you actually talk to Radio 102?”
“Yes, Max, I’m sure and I did. The programming director at Discovery was familiar with the penis incident, and he—”
“Jeez,” Max interrupted, “do you have to keep calling it that?”
“I’m sorry. Okay, anyway, he knows why you were terminated from Sellevision and he’s just uncomfortable becoming involved with the situation.”
Max pounded his fist on his thigh repeatedly. “Well, what about Radio 102?”
“They feel—and this was said to me in the strictest of confidence—that they already have a sufficient gay male presence on the air. They’re looking for either an Asian or a lesbian.”
“A radio station doesn’t want me? Radio? God, well, what about something else?”
“Look, Max, so far I’ve been able to get you an interview, even an audition for the news anchor spot. That was a no-go. We tried the other shopping channels—nada. And that thing with E! I’ve run out of advertising agencies to contact for voice-over work.”
“I still should have gotten that cat food thing.”
“Well, that wasn’t your fault and you know it. They didn’t get FDA approval. Or maybe it’s PETA approval. Whatever. It’s just bad luck.”
“So what are you suggesting I do? What are you saying?”
“Well, didn’t you tell me you had a possible lead on Donny Osmond’s new show?”
“Donny Osmond? What are you talking about Laurie? I said Denny’s. I said I didn’t want to end up a waiter at Denny’s. Jesus.”
“Oh. Okay, that’s right, I’m sorry.”
“Well . . . ?”
“Well, Max, I’ve run out of options as far as what I can do for you as an agent. I think it’s probably the best use of our time if we part ways.”
“Excuse me?” Max said, running his fingers through his hair, changing the phone to the other ear.
“Well, I just don’t feel that I have any options left, and I need to focus on my other clients.”
“But you can’t just—you said . . .”
“Listen, sweetie, I’ve got to run now. I’ve got Lou Ferrigno’s publicist on the other line. Keep in touch. I’ll be thinking of you.”
Max hung up and sat for a moment, absorbing the reality of the situation. Without an agent, there would be no chance of work. Now he wouldn’t even be able to fail auditions for voice-overs because there would be no more auditions.
Running down his list of options, Max realized just how dire the situation really was. There just wasn’t a whole hell of a lot that a junior college drop-out, Barbizon School of Modeling graduate, and former Sellevision host was qualified to do. God, why hadn’t he just borrowed Miguel’s underwear?
At 33, Max was too old to return to his modeling career, which had never taken off anyway (unless you counted the JC Penney men’s briefs ad that appeared in a few newspaper circulars more than twelve years ago.)
But he belonged in front of the camera. He had a certain something that worked on air. Well, until it fell out.
Maybe he wasn’t thinking big enough. Why couldn’t he be the next Greg Kinnear? Hell, he was as good looking and funny as that guy. And look what happened to him—from Talk Soup host to three-time Oscar winner.
Max decided to drive over to South Street and pick up a copy of Backstage magazine. Maybe he’d even pick up some forbidden Kentucky Fried Chicken on the way home. As he gathered his keys and wallet then put on his leather bomber jacket, Max felt a small sense of hope and excitement.
Until he realized the hope and excitement wasn’t really about finding a job in Backstage, but about the Kentucky Fried Chicken. And the thought that such a simple pleasure could actually make him happy made him depressed, because there was no one around to appreciate the fact that Max appreciated the small things in life.
P
eggy Jean sat on a chair in the living room shaking uncontrollably as a