Read Heatstroke (extended version) Online

Authors: Taylor V. Donovan

Heatstroke (extended version) (3 page)

BOOK: Heatstroke (extended version)
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Richard Bancroft had not only been gay, but also in a relationship with Manuel Guzman before

 

he'd gone and married Grandma Elizabeth; and there was no way that this Mary mentioned in the

 

letter wasn't his grandmother. No frigging way.

 

"Holy fucking shit."

 

Manuel Guzman had been Latino, and going by what Charlie said, a famous baseball player as

 

well. It didn't get any more jock than that. Still, he had begged Richard not to get married and run

 

away with him instead. Michael could only imagine the kind of love he must have felt for Richard, in

 

order to be willing to give up everything for him. And Richard had gotten married anyway.

 

Had he not loved Manuel? Had he been experimenting with the guy? Did he ever make it to that

 

game Manuel had invited him to? Because, that had been after his wedding, right? And why did he

 

disappear after getting married? Had he changed his mind?

 

Michael reached for his backpack and took out the plastic folder he had brought with him from

 

California. It contained everything he'd been able to find on Richard Bancroft. There were

 

newspaper articles of his movies, his accomplishments, his wedding and the birth of his son,

 

Richard Lewis Bancroft the Third. Michael even found pictures of him and Manny together at the

 

beach, what seemed to be a concert and a baseball game, but everything was dated prior to 1968.

 

The news articles that mentioned the wife Michael kept carefully separated from everything else.

 

There wasn't much information other than her being from New Jersey and twenty years old when

 

she married Richard. But there were also a few pictures. Mary Bancroft had been a very pretty lady.

 

She also happened to look an awful lot like Grandma Elizabeth.

 

The first time Michael came across a picture of Mary Bancroft, he'd been struck stupid, and now

 

that he had found Richard's stuff in her possession, Michael didn't have any doubts his grandma had some explaining to do.
Chapter Three
Michael claimed a stomach virus and skipped dinner that night. He couldn't face his grandma just

 

yet, and he was far too anxious to sit with the family and pretend everything was okay. He had to

 

figure out what had happened with Richard, and was hoping to find the answer in one of the

 

journals the guy had kept. The sooner he started reading, the better.

 

February 10, 1960
Tonight I was sent to bed without dessert. I think I would have been excused from the table without eating
anything at all if I had not waited until dinner was served before sharing my news with my parents. I would have
preferred to wait a little longer, but I was running out of time. My parents needed to know that I'm not attending
college after I graduate from high school in a few months. I knew they wouldn't be happy. They want me to be a
dentist, just like Dad. I was expecting them to be upset, but not so much. Mother said it was all her fault for taking
me and Helen to see Ages of Man on Broadway. She cried so much she almost choked on her tears and my old man
pounded me so hard I'll probably feel it for a month. They finally sent me to my room. That's fine, though. I know
Helen will bring me a slice of Mom's delicious apple pie as soon as my parents go to bed. She's the best sister in the
world. It makes me sad that they feel disappointed, but this is my life. My dream. Hopefully someday they'll understand
this is something I have to do. I feel like I was born for it. It feels as if I would die if I don't get to perform on a
stage. And I won't give in if they insist on sending me to college. I've been saving money. When I turn eighteen, I will
score a ride to New York City if I have to.
My name is Richard Lewis Bancroft and someday I will be a primo actor. Just like James Dean.
June 9, 1960
I have tried my best to get my parents to understand my passion for film and theater, but they refuse to listen.
Night after night I tried to explain it to them, but my unwavering resolve to get them to see things my way got them
more upset every day. I have now graduated from high school and they are barely speaking to me. I don't blame them,
but I resent their attitude.
July 17, 1960
I had promised myself I wouldn't allow my parents' disapproval to stop me from going after what I want, and I
did not. Only one week after graduation I packed a suitcase, collected my savings and boarded a train to New York;
determination my only traveling companion from my hometown in New Jersey to the City of Dreams. I wish it
would've been different… I would have liked to been able to count on them.
October 23, 1960
I thought it'd be easier. I had convinced myself I just needed to move to New York and everything else would work
itself out. I thought I would be able to start auditioning for roles at once. I was very naïve. I'm barely surviving.
It would have been much harder had Helen not given me her own savings. She insisted I take the money and keet
it for an emergency. Now I'm grateful for her foresight. It has taken longer than I thought to find work, and suitable
accommodations are costly. I manage to make a coin occasionally helping ladies carry their packages, but it isn't enough. It is my sister's money that has kept me fed now that my own savings have run out.
I'm starting to get worried. Did I make a mistake by coming here? Maybe I should have waited a little longer…
at least until I had saved more money…
November 23, 1960
I'm cold. And hungry. I miss Mom's cooking. Helen says I should come home for Thanksgiving, but I don't
think that's a good idea. My parents are still mad. They haven't answered any of my letters. I'm just going to go to
bed early. If I'm not awake I won't notice how hungry I am.
December 2, 1960
I finally found work. Steady work. I will be a waiter at a very nice restaurant close to the theater district. The
owner said Broadway actors frequently eat at his place. I cannot wait to see them. Maybe I will even get to serve
them… and some day, I'll have supper with them.

 

"Seriously, Richard?
Seriously
?" Michael turned a few pages on the old notebook he was reading

 

and rolled his eyes. "If you liked writing so much you should've been an author instead of an actor,

 

dude." He glanced at the other notebooks and journals that were hidden in the closet and groaned.

 

"There's gotta be hundreds of journal entries there. This is going to take forever!"

 

He put the notebook down and groaned again. He was very tempted to skip a few dozen entries.

 

He already knew Richard had succeeded in becoming an actor, but curiosity won over impatience.

 

Even if it took him all night, Michael would get as familiar as he could with Richard Bancroft.

 

December 31, 1960
I miss my family so much. February 19, 1961
I'm exhausted. My job as a waiter is not glamorous. I work hard. I work long hours and I don't get to sleep
much. I'm not going to bemoan my situation, as working at the restaurant allows me to meet many personalities from
the entertainment business. I'm also making enough money to pay for my classes at The Actors Studio, and that is
exactly what I came all the way to New York for. There will be time to rest soon enough.
May 3, 1961
I got my first paying acting job today. It was through a talent agent who is also a regular costumer at the restaurant
that I learned about the auditions for a soda pop commercial and I got it!
September 13, 1961
I have done four different commercials now. My face is known in both television and gazettes. I have also
auditioned for twenty different plays and musicals, but I have not been called back. So frustrating…

 

Michael wiped the drool off his cheek and blinked several times, trying to focus on the numbers

 

displayed on his mp3 player dock.

 

2:51 A.M.

 

He left the journal he was still holding on the bed and headed to the bathroom. Last he read,

 

Richard had been doing commercials and getting impatient but there were no juicy details. Nothing

 

as revealing as Manny's letter had been. No wonder Michael had fallen asleep.

 

It wasn't that the entries were boring. Unlike Manny, Richard had obviously enjoyed writing in his

 

journal. It was going to be awesome to get to know the man through his most intimate thoughts, but

 

at the moment, Michael was more interested in what had happened between him and Grandma Elizabeth than he was in his feelings.

 

He went back to his room and kept on reading.

 

October 29, 1961
I landed a small part on an off-Broadway play. Finally!
November 25, 1961
I still miss mom's cooking, but this year's Thanksgiving was much, much better than last. I was signed by a very
prestigious talent agency and invited to a formal dinner party. I have now made some friends… it isn't so lonely
anymore. No time to feel lonely, between work and acting classes. The work at the restaurant is a thing of the past.
April 6, 1962
Having an agent made all the difference in the world to me. I have now appeared on several television shows and
worked in two more plays. I'm making money and gaining recognition at what others say is an outstanding speed. I
could not disagree more.
I wonder if my parents know… wonder if they still think I'm a failure for not becoming a dentist. More than
anything I would want to know if they still love me.
September 16, 1962
I was offered a lead role in
Café Au Lait
, a Broadway musical about a white man striking a friendship with a
black man who was born on the wrong side of the tracks. My agent doesn't think it is a good idea for me to take it,
but I think I will. I want to take this opportunity and deliver a message of equality to the audience while at the same
time doing something I love. There seem to be so much segregation out there… so much judgment… October 23, 1962

 

Café Au Lait
has been well received by the audiences. The show is a hit, and there is some noise I might be getting
nominated for a Tony.
Richard Lewis Bancroft, best actor in a musical.
November 29, 1962
Some people are born under a lucky star, and the thunderous sound of applause coming from the audience when
the cast of
Café Au Lait
took its final bow on closing night made me realize I must be one of them. How else could
I explain my success and popularity after only two years since leaving home?
I'm sad that
Café Au Lait
has closed, but excited about what's coming next for me and my career. There were
some Hollywood producers in the audience tonight, and after the curtain fell on the last act they came to my dressing
room. They were so impressed with my performance that they have offered me a big part in their next film. Tomorrow
they'll be meeting with my agent, and if the terms of the contract are mutually agreeable, I will be moving to Los
Angeles soon.
I wish I could share my exciting news with my family, but, they still don't talk to me. Fortunately, Helen does. She
writes me letters often and even came to see my plays a few times with her friend Mary Elizabeth. She's still the best
sister in the world… my only family, perhaps. I'm going to miss her dearly when I leave New York.

 

Michael almost jumped out of the bed when his phone went off in his shorts pocket. Service so

 

high in the mountains was crappy at best. He hadn't been expecting to get any calls, and a quick

 

glance at the screen had him wishing he still didn't have a signal.

 

He groaned when he saw it was 4:30 A.M. He'd fallen asleep again.

 

Michael left the voicemail pick up the call and didn't bother to listen to the message. He didn't

 

feel like talking to Paul. The guy had ignored his instructions to not call him on his house phone in California and managed to get him in a whole lot of trouble with his parents as a result. Now

 

Michael was pissed at Paul, both for acting like a clingy bitch and for running his mouth about what

 

they had done. He needed to decide how to deal with that situation. School was over, and so were

 

things with Paul. He was going to college soon, and he had to tell the guy again, in no uncertain

 

terms, that there was no future for them.

 

But not right now. Michael didn't have the head or the time for anything other than Richard

 

Lewis Bancroft, and discovering the role he had played in Grandma Elizabeth's life and, ultimately,

 

his own.

 

He grabbed a journal, shuffled through a few pages and kept on reading.

 

February 17, 1963
Upon my arrival in Los Angeles the studio set me up in the apartment that I now call home. Leighton Place is
very nice. I particularly like the explosion of color around me. The coral paint on the walls provides warmth, and the
climbing roses and bougainvillea give me some privacy from my neighbors. It's nothing like my place in New York. I
have been here for a month and I love it, but that won't stop me from moving to Beverly Hills when I can afford to buy
one of those mansions. It will be a while, though. Not making that much money yet.
May 5, 1963
Filming movies is nothing like I thought it would be. The magic only happens on screen. The effort it takes to
create that magic can be grueling at times. But I'm fascinated with the process, and being able to learn new ways of
bringing my characters to life is quite a rush. Being in the presence of movie stars I have admired for years is a dream
come true: working with them, an honor. I treasure everything I've learned from them so far. Still, I miss the theater,
as no other experience can compare to having direct interaction with the audience and getting their reaction to your
work at once. I can't wait to do it again. Hopefully soon. July 26, 1963
I miss seeing Helen. The distance is so great between us that it isn't easy for her to fly out to see me. We write
letters all the time, but it is not the same.
I feel lonely here. I'm always surrounded by people, but somehow apart from them all. The only person outside
work I talk to is Francis. He cleans the pool in my apartment complex and takes care of small repairs around the
place. We started a conversation once, and I guess we have become friends. I wish I had more time to spend with him.
He has many interesting stories, even though he's only three years older than me. He makes me laugh. I feel good
around him.
BOOK: Heatstroke (extended version)
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