Chapter 11. The Wesley Dialogues
IT WAS LATE MAY, and Pasadena was in the middle of a heat wave. I sat at my dining room table, surrounded by bills. Many of them had PAST DUE stamped on them in threatening red letters. Others contained direct threats about my credit rating and veiled threats about my personal well-being. When the phone rang, I cringed. I had run out of excuses for creditors, and I was scared about losing my house.
Anne walked into the dining room and sat across from me.
“I am so tired of this,” I said.
“Tired of what?” she said.
“Everything! I’m tired of court! I’m tired of lawyers! I’m tired of never getting cast in anything! I’m just tired of . . .” I picked up a fistful of bills. “THIS!”
I was humiliated. I was ashamed. I was frustrated. I was angry. How did I get here? How did I go from Mr. Big TV and Movie Star to Mr. Dodging the Bill Collectors?
“Maybe I shouldn’t have quit Star Trek,” I said. “You know, I quit to have this big fucking movie career, and that never happened. It’s just been one shitty movie after another.”
“You always say that when money gets tight, or you have a bad audition. You’ve got to stop worrying about a choice you made 15 years ago, because you can’t change it.” She took my hand in hers. “Maybe you could wr—”
“I’m not a good enough writer to write a book!” I said, “There’s a world of difference between writing for my website and trying to write a book.”
She sighed. “I don’t know what to tell you. Maybe you could auction something on eBay again. ...