Sunday, October 14, 2007

HUD GAMBLE

     I’m doing this thing for "scale." Less than "scale." The Union can blow me. What these shitheads don’t seem to realize is that it’s not the money, it’s the work. If I can stay busy, keep the name out there and still eat Cecil Burgers every night, I could give a flying fuck.
     Hud Gamble is not my name, it’s a fucking lifestyle. Back in the 70’s, that name had me living high on the hog. Hud was a bankroll, a free ticket to anywhere I wanted to go, the tap I turned on when I wanted hot and cold-running chics. But it was just a name, you understand. A name that I had to pick because the Union already had 14 "George Stone’s," with creative spellings that I could never have dreamed up. So, I took my favorite Paul Newman movie and combined it with a word that described this business in a nutshell. Hud Gamble. I got representation, and once I appeared in that fantasy crap that everybody knows me from, the offers wouldn’t stop. I saturated the market and I got paid big. But the drugs got out of control. By the time I kicked them, I was in the hole $80,000 with no offers coming down the pike. Divorce, alimony, child support, you name it, I got strapped with it.
     Seven years drought and now this little movie comes along. The name isn’t the reason people come to see it once it opens.  Not like in the 70's. New, hot director who makes has-beens into can-dos. At the screening, I sneak in 10 minutes after it starts and hide in the back row, just in time to hear the following conversation between two Hollywood ponytails:

"Hud Gamble?!!? He’s still alive?"

"Glad he’s still getting work, I guess."

     It phases me, but only for a minute. Jesus, I look good up there. Who knows? This might be the comeback. Just keep climbing that ladder, George. Mama was right, though. Hud is a fucking stupid name.




-SLL

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