Harry and Sean signed into the annual Eight-Three reunion and were greeted by Frankie the Face. Frankie always ran a good affair. The partners grabbed a couple of beers and headed into the hall to mingle with old friends.

They were called to a table by Wild-Eyes. Willy was sitting with Sugar Bear and the Vulture.

As Sean and Harry sat down they caught the end of Willy’s celebrity story.

“So we’re driving by and I see some skell sleeping under the El on Myrtle and Broadway. I go over and wake the fool up. It turns out he was a player for the Islanders. They had just won the Stanley Cup and he was out partying all night. He had no idea how he ended up under the El in Bushwick. So we run this Canadian asshole into the house so he can call for someone to pick his drunk ass up. Twenty minutes later a limo shows up and takes him away. Why can’t I get service like that?”

Harry said, “I know what you mean. If you’re rich and famous you live by different rules. I used to work personal security guarding celebrities for that place on Morgan Ave. Most were okay but one famous comedian was the cheapest son of a bitch I ever dealt with. This bastard would wear his underwear once then have them burnt. He had no problem buying new tighty whities and undershirts every day but treated us like garbage. When most of the clients would go out to eat you would sit at the table next to them and they would spring for at least a cup of coffee or something. But this cheap bastard would go into a restaurant order a meal that cost three or four hundred and not drop a dime for us. Then he would complain to us that we should order something so we aren’t so conspicuous, like we could afford to pay twenty dollars for a cup of coffee. A cup of coffee cost about thirty cents in the seventies. When payday came we didn’t see a dime. I had to go up to the boss of the security firm and ask what the problem was. He said that this multi-millionaire claimed to be broke. He played a tape he had of a phone call with this son-of- a bitch crying that he was cash poor. He made more in a week than we made in a year and he expected us to carry his tab. I told the boss I didn’t work for him I worked for you. You pay me, I really don’t care if he ever pays you. Just don’t call me next time he needs security. I deal with enough assholes on my regular job. I got my money and next time he was in town they called and I told them to go to hell.”

Sean gave his favorite celebrity story next, “I was working a barrier detail putting up no parking signs and blocking streets off with barriers for a parade one day. Me and Herb were just getting done with one corner when a car goes two wheels up on the sidewalk to get around us and the barrier. He drives halfway down the block and parks under a sign. It turns out he is a famous actor, a real man of the people type married to a singer even more famous than him. Anyway as he’s getting out of his car I yell to him to move the car that he can’t park there. He just looks at me and goes right on walking towards an office building.

Now I am getting a little pissed off and I tell him, ”Hey, move your fuckin car now.

He turns and says, “Don’t you know who I am?” and keeps walking.

I told him, “I know who you are and what you are. You’re an asshole and if you take one step into that building you will be an asshole without a car because I’ll have it towed.

He got all pissy and stomped back to his car. As he opened the door he yells out “I’ll have your job for this.”

I smiled and said “Then can I have yours it pays better.”

That really pissed him off. He got in his car and drove away cursing out the window. I don’t know if they let the stars get away with that shit in L.A. but it don’t fly in N.Y.C.”