MAY 2019

has-been
Nowadays, Chuck avoided mirrors for he couldn’t handle to see the face of a dying man.
He knew the sickness was spreading across his body: he’d wake up every morning
covered in sweat, his joints hurting, his skin was sagging. When he was delivered from his
godhood, he didn’t grasp the consequences of mortality. He used to like pictures, but his
fist clenched every time he’d lay eyes on the grinning face of a younger Chuck Sahara.
He envied his youth, when he took things for granted, as he was now fading away: he
knew that every breath he’d take could be his last. He knew the clock was ticking.

He noticed his disease when he went to the convenience store last Friday. He craved a
margarita, so he decided he would buy the kind that comes in a can. He took the item
to check out, along with a few bags of chips and about fourteen Snickers since he was
running low on lunches. Of course, Chuck was a Oh! Henry man himself, but all they had
at this peculiar convenience store were those jumbo sizes where they pack two
chocolate bars in the same wrapper, which Chuck reasonably shunned. He was a man
of wisdom; he knew that a Oh! Henry was a big enough snack on its own, and even if he
were hungry enough to eat two Oh! Henry’s, he cannot let his life be organized by jumbo
sizes. What if he isn’t hungry for two Oh! Henry’s? Is he supposed to eat one bar and leave
the half-eaten remains crumbled in the back of his cupboards in a used wrapper? He
was a man of class too, he always finished what he started, which meant that he would
have to eat the rest of that jumbo Oh! Henry even if he wasn’t hungry for a second bar.
He knew this would be a path that would only end with a second chin and a swollen
stomach. That is why a posh man such as him settled for the clearly less nutritious Snicker
bar, which ranked #3 on his list of most nourishing chocolate bars, ranking below Mars
bars, but Chuck knew he shouldn’t eat Mars bars following what happened in the
infamous events of last Hanukah.

Chuck brought this week’s groceries to the cashier, thinking that this day would be like
any other, but it wasn’t. The clerk looked at Chuck’s items and scanned them, but then
he asked if he needed anything else. Something was wrong, but Chuck first thought that
the clerk probably didn’t see his whole order, so he pushed his Snickers on the side,
making sure the margarita was in sight. The clerk looked at the can and back at Chuck,
he didn’t seem to understand his mistake. But Chuck is understanding, he assumed that
the clerk was just out of formation and probably thought that he was buying a can of
lemonade, so he took the can and held it high, holding one of his hands under it,
underlining the alcohol percentage.

“I’m sorry, good sir, but I am not purchasing just any beverage, this is a can of your finest
margarita, an alcoholic drink.”

“Good for you sir.”

“—an alcoholic drink, good man, which signifies a minor—someone under the age of 21,
couldn’t possibly buy without a valid ID.”

But the clerk only stared, blinked, and replied:

“Okay, so do you need anything else?”

Preceding that moment, Chuck was in denial, his mind wouldn’t accept what had
happened to him, but this had put him face-to-face with the truth.

That same night he looked himself in the mirror and he almost screamed in terror. He
didn’t recognize the man in the glass, as what he caught were the sights of a monster.
Like a chimera he grew a pair of crow’s feet next to each of his eyes, he bore the mark
of the beast, the dreaded 11 between his two eyebrows, but most importantly his
pompadour had shrunk one centimeter. He looked 30-year-old. He was hideous.

He quickly connected the dots: his career wasn’t going well lately, his previous one-man
show had only one attendant, two if you count the woman who quickly came into the
room because she mistook the door for the restroom. At least, Chuck had one devoted
fan who was there to see every one of his shows. He was a homeless man, which really
touched Chuck because it meant he was spending the little money he had to see all of
his shows. He didn’t know much about his number one fan, except for he always sat at
the same seat and that he doesn’t breathe.

Chuck auditioned for a lot of roles, but he was never called back, at first, he thought it
might be because he might not have been as talented as he thought he was, but now
it made sense. As they say in Hollywood, male performers lead prosperous careers until
they’re 50, while the career of an actress ends at 30 to only be resurrected in their 60s.
Until now, Chuck has always seen himself as a Marlon Brando, or at least a George
Clooney, but maybe he was a Meryl Streep all along. Show business was over with him, it
exploited him when he was young and innocent and now it would wait until he reached
60, so he can play strong female mentors and likable grandmothers. Chuck was always
in touch with his feminine side; he enjoyed the occasional bubble bath, and he played
the lead role of Princess Odette in every performance of the Swan Lake back in Roselake.
He was surprised the industry also saw him that way.

A part of him was happy it wasn’t his fault, but he was devastated that he couldn’t do
anything about it. Chuck lived for show business, it’s the only thing he ever knew, so what
was he supposed to do until he reached the golden age? What is a middle-aged Meryl
Streep supposed to do? Record workout tapes? Chuck didn’t believe in physical
exercise, he knew the best way to get abs and rock-solid biceps was to practice his
subtractions, which is the toughest type of math, which trains the brain, the strongest
muscle in the body.

No, it was hopeless, he knew it. His career was over, he was officially a has-been. Even
Roselake forgot about him, as if he never acted in the highest-grossing Roselake film
Golden Thunder, and its sequel, Transformers 6. He had to come to accept he wasn’t
going to act for a very long time, he’d probably have to go live in a monastery until he’s
old enough to play the witch in Into the Woods or supporting roles in Oscar-nominated
biopics. He could also try his shot in the theater scene, but he wouldn’t be comfortable
knowing that the people in the back couldn’t see his gorgeous face well; that’s why he
will never do radio, that would be too cruel.
But as he was dragging his toaster into the bathtub so he could eat Pop Tarts while he re-
enacted the best moments from Titanic, he heard a knock on the door. He knew it
couldn’t be his agent, as he distinctively remembers him saying “Sir, I can’t help you, this
is a Home Depot” last time he saw him, which is subtle Hollywood slang for “I’m going to
Cancun for three months”. His second thought was that his number one fan probably
followed him to his apartment, but if it was really him, he would have recognized his
distinct scent of a homeless man that has been dead for a month.

Clueless, he went and opened the door right after he put on his pink fluffy bathrobe,
making sure to show his cleavage, his best remaining feature, just in case it was a casting
director looking for someone to play a hot mother.

“Yes?”

He looked at the two men standing outside his door, they seemed familiar, but he
couldn’t tell if he did meet them before or if he was just having a seizure again.

“Mr. Sahara? Can we come in?”

“Oh, sorry boys, I was about to take a bath… I didn’t expect guests at this time of the
day… please, do come in while I put something more… suitable.”

As he swayed out of the way, holding an arm against the doorframe to let the men in,
Chuck slid one of his robe’s sleeves off his shoulder, almost revealing his bare chest. It was
a risky move, but that was the money shot.

“Whoopsie!”

He giggled, biting his lip. He looked at the two men and the two looked at each other.

“No problem, Mr. Sahara. We’ll wait.”

The two men came in, not even looking at Chuck. At first, he felt hurt, but he knew his
MILF routine was rusty; he’d have to step up his game if he wanted to impress these two
casting agents who were dressed with suits and ties and sunglasses with respective name
tags “Agent Jupiter” and “Agent Mercury” with the letters “S.T.A.R.” embroidered on the
back of their windbreakers. What a weird attire for casting agents, he thought.

Chuck knew he couldn’t waste a minute; he’d have to impress the two men, or he wasn’t
going to act for a long time. He had to bring out the big guns, and by big guns he meant
the sexy night gown he bought in Amsterdam. He found it under his kilt in his bottom
drawer: he knew he packed it with him. The actor changed quickly and walked into his
dining room, stretching his silhouette inside his bedroom’s doorframe, allowing the
nightgown to embrace his delicate waistline. The two men stared at him, stunned. It was
working.

“U-Uh, Mr. Sahara, do you remember us? We met in Roselake during an investigation. We
wanted to talk to you, about a recent case.”, said the short one, trying to look away.

Chuck stayed in character, he put his wrist up to his forehead and sighed.
“Oh, how could I forget! Since last time we were together I couldn’t stop thinking about
you, and now I want more! I need you; do you hear me?”

Chuck was holding one of the agents’ hand and holding it against his chest, over his
lungs.

“Can you feel it, this is my heart longing for you!”

The agent pulled back his hand and brushed it off his legs. The other continued.

“What we’re trying to say, sir, is that we want you back in. We need you.”

Chuck stood from his seat and laid his back on the dining table. He took the other agent’s
hand and he was rubbing it against his face.

“Oh, and I want you too, but we can’t! We mustn’t! If Harry hears about this, he’ll kill you!”

He started crying, he was really giving them his all. If this wasn’t going to get him a role,
he didn’t know what would.

“Sorry, sir, but I think there has been a misunderstanding. We request your skills in an
ongoing investigation.”

Chuck stared at the two of them. He suddenly felt embarrassed: did he misread the
room? Of course, this is just like the time he wore his ghost costume to that Jordan Peele
horror film, unless this time they weren’t calling the police. How could he have been so
blind, he must have seemed really stupid right now, but he was still able to save that
audition, all he needed was an incredible performance. He didn’t have time to change,
so he ripped off his nightgown; he’d have to do this scene shirtless, luckily it fit the
character.

He changed for a somber voice and a strange accent Chuck thought was very
convincing but none of the agents could tell what he was trying to do, although one
guessed German and the other Canadian.

“Oh, I understand.”

He got up, he was trying to remember his lines, but he wasn’t sure if he even read the
script. Screw it, he’d have to ad lib this one. He turned his back to the two agents and
looked out the window, he scowled.

“But I’m sorry, men, you know I retired long ago. I haven’t fought since ‘Nam, I’m too old
for this.”

“Well, if you say so, we’ll just—.”

The shortest one of the two tried getting up, but the other restrained him with his hand.
He looked at his partner, convincing him to keep trying. The short one sat back down,
the other continued.
“We got a… covert operation in the East and… well, our computers ran simulations and
out of the hundreds of our potential agents, your name appeared as one of the only
three who could complete this mission.”

His partner looked at him, but he gave a subtle nod that meant “just play along”, which
the other replied with a roll of the eyes and a grunt.

Chuck raised an eyebrow. Did he remember the script after all? It sure sounded like it;
maybe he was a cinematographic genius. Wait, what was he thinking? He knew he was,
it was proven when he started only watching the last 30 minutes of any film he’d see,
since that’s where the best parts are.

“But why now? Why me?”

“It appears we need a man like you, a man with, uh… your peculiar sets of skills? Your
charm, charisma, and your, uh…, intriguing talent in gymnastics?”

“I knew all these years of ballet would pay up, but I’ve given everything I had to the force
and you dare come back to my house and disturb me when I’m retired. You promised
me it was over.”

Chuck clutched his jaw and looked at his wall. There was nothing on the wall, but he
imagined that’s where he would’ve put his family portraits if his wife died to a communist
hitman and his daughter were captured by Viets. He pretended to remember his family,
but before he could start his monologue, one of the agents interrupted him.

“Seriphina asked for you, sir.”

Chuck’s heart stopped. He instantly turned around and stared blankly at the two men.
The agent who spoke up was being scolded by his partner’s stare; he wasn’t supposed
to bring that up.

“Seri-Seriphina? What?”

It was totally out of character, and he knew he probably just blew it, but he hasn’t heard
that name in a long time. He didn’t see her since… since…

“Seriphina, she’s with us. She told us you were the perfect man for the job.”

“She’s—where, where is she?”

Chuck couldn’t think, he wanted to see her so badly. He missed her so much.

“I can’t disclose that information, sir, but if you come with us, you’ll be working with her
again.”

He couldn’t believe his ears—he would see her again? Did they say she asked for him?
He couldn’t blame her, he has that effect on people, but seeing how things ended, he
imagined he’d never see her again.

“And all I have to do is do your mission?”

“Correct.”

Chuck couldn’t have hesitated less.

“Then, there’s no time to wait! Get in the car, boys, I’ll get my things!”

Chuck dashed to his bedroom. He took his suitcase from under his bed and started
packing. This wasn’t what he imagined, but that would be a way to spend his time until
he’s an old woman. To see her again… he felt something fuzzy in his chest; he was happy,
but he was also anxious. He didn’t understand why she’d want to see him again, after all
that happened.

Before leaving he looked at himself in the mirror one last time. He was still old, and he
might have lost some of his youthful charm, but he was more mature now. He’d have to
put his career aside, but it was worth it: people were counting on him now.
“Chuck Sahara is back, America!”