It was a heady time for Toby Temple. He was forty-two years old and owned the world. He joked with kings and golfed with Presidents, but his millions of beer-drinking fans did not mind because they knew Toby was one of them, their champion who milked all the sacred cows, ridiculed the high and the mighty, shattered the shibboleths of the Establishment. They loved Toby, just as they knew that Toby loved them.

He spoke about his mother in all his interviews, and each time she became more saintlike. It was the only way Toby could share his success with her.

Toby acquired a beautiful estate in Bel-Air. The house was Tudor, with eight bedrooms and an enormous staircase and hand-carved paneling from England. It had a movie theater, a game room, a wine cellar, and on the grounds were a large swimming pool, a housekeeper's cottage and two guest cottages. He bought a lavish home in Palm Springs, a string of racehorses and a trio of stooges. Toby called them all "Mac" and they adored him. They ran errands, chauffeured him, got him girls at any hour of the day or night, took trips with him, gave him massages. Whatever the master desired, the three Macs were always there to give him. They were the jesters to the Nation's Jester. Toby had four secretaries, two just to handle the enormous flow of fan mail. His private secretary was a pretty twenty-one-year-old honey-blonde named Sherry. Her body had been designed by a sex maniac, and Toby insisted that she wear short skirts with nothing under them. It saved them both a lot of time.

The premiere of Toby Temple's first movie had gone remarkably well. Sam Winters and Clifton Lawrence were at the theater. Afterward they all went to Chasen's to discuss the picture.

Toby had enjoyed his first meeting with Sam after the deal had been made. "It would have been cheaper if you had returned my phone calls," Toby said, and he told Sam of how he had tried to reach him.

"My tough luck," Sam said, ruefully.

Now, as they sat in Chasen's, Sam turned to Clifton Lawrence. "If you don't take an arm and a leg, I'd like to make a new three-picture deal for Toby."

"Just an arm. I'll give you a call in the morning," the agent said to Sam. He looked at his watch. "I have to run along."

"Where you going?" Toby asked.

"I'm meeting another client. I do have other clients, dear boy."

Toby looked at him oddly, then said, "Sure."

The reviews the next morning were raves. Every critic predicted that Toby Temple was going to be as big a star in movies as he was in television.

Toby read all the reviews, then got Clifton Lawrence on the phone.

"Congratulations, dear boy," the agent said. "Did you see the Reporter and Variety? Those reviews were love letters."

"Yeah. It's a green-cheese world, and I'm a big fat rat. Can I have any more fun than that?"

"I told you you'd own the world one day, Toby, and now you do. It's all yours." There was a deep satisfaction in the agent's voice.

"Cliff, I'd like to talk to you. Can you come over?"

"Certainly. I'll be free at five o'clock and - "

"I meant now."

There was a brief hesitation, then Clifton said, "I have appointments until - "

"Oh, if you're too busy, forget it." And Toby hung up.

One minute later, Clifton Lawrence's secretary called and said, "Mr. Lawrence is on his way over to see you, Mr. Temple."

Clifton Lawrence was seated on Toby's couch. "For God's sake, Toby, you know I'm never too busy for you. I had no idea you would want to see me today, or I wouldn't have made other appointments."

Toby sat there staring at him, letting him sweat it out. Clifton cleared his throat and said, "Come on! You're my favorite client. Didn't you know that?"

And it was true, Clifton thought. I made him. He's my creation. I'm enjoying his success as much as he is.

Toby smiled. "Am I really, Cliff?" He could see the tension easing out of the dapper little agent's body. "I was beginning to wonder."

"What do you mean?"

"You've got so many clients that sometimes I think you don't pay enough attention to me."

"That's not true. I spend more time - "

"I'd like you to handle just me, Cliff."

Clifton smiled. "You're joking."

"No. I'm serious." He watched the smile leave Clifton's face. "I think I'm important enough to have my own agent - and when I say my own agent, I don't mean someone who's too busy for me because he has a dozen other people to take care of. It's like a group fuck, Cliff. Somebody always gets left with a hard-on."

Clifton studied him a moment, then said, "Fix us a drink." While Toby went over to the bar, Clifton sat there, thinking. He knew what the real problem was, and it was not Toby's ego, or his sense of importance.

It had to do with Toby's loneliness. Toby was the loneliest man Clifton had ever known. Clifton had watched Toby buy women by the dozens and try to buy friends with lavish gifts. No one could ever pick up a check when Toby was around. Clifton once heard a musician say to Toby, "You don't have to buy love, Toby. Everybody loves you, anyway." Toby winked and said, "Why take a chance?"

The musician never worked on Toby's show again.

Toby wanted all of everybody. He had a need, and the more he acquired the bigger his need grew.

Clifton had heard that Toby went to bed with as many as half a dozen girls at a time, trying to appease the hunger in him. But of course, it did not work. What Toby needed was one girl, and he had not found her. So he went on playing the numbers game.

He had a desperate need to have people around him all the time.

Loneliness. The only time it was not there was when Toby was in front of an audience, when he could hear the applause and feel the love. It was all really very simple, Clifton thought. When Toby was not on stage, he carried his audience with him. He was always surrounded by musicians and stooges and writers and showgirls and down-and-out comics, and everyone else he could gather into his orbit.

And now he wanted Clifton Lawrence. All of him.

Clifton handled a dozen clients, but their total income was not a great deal more than Toby's income from night clubs, television and motion pictures, for the deals Clifton had been able to make for Toby were phenomenal. Nevertheless, Clifton did not make his decision on the basis of money. He made it because he loved Toby Temple, and Toby needed him. Just as he needed Toby. Clifton remembered how flat his life had been before Toby came into it. There had been no new challenges for years. He had been coasting on old successes. And he thought now of the electric excitement around Toby, the fun and the laughter and the deep camaraderie the two of them shared.

When Toby came back to Clifton and handed him his drink, Clifton raised his glass in a toast and said, "To the two of us, dear boy."

It was the season of successes and fun and parties, and Toby was always "on." People expected him to be funny. An actor could hide behind the words of Shakespeare or Shaw or Moliere, and a singer could count on the help of Gershwin or Rodgers and Hart or Cole Porter. But a comedian was naked. His only weapon was his wit.

Toby Temple's ad libs quickly became famous around Hollywood. At a party for the elderly founder of a studio, someone asked Toby, "Is he really ninety-one years old?"

Toby replied, "Yep. When he reaches one hundred, they're going to split him two-for-one."

At dinner one evening, a famous physician who took care of many of the stars told a long and labored joke to a group of comedians.

"Doc," Toby pleaded, "don't amuse us - save us!"

One day the studio was using lions in a movie, and as Toby saw them being trucked by, he yelled, "Christians - ten minutes!"

Toby's practical jokes became legend. A Catholic friend of his went to the hospital for a minor operation. While he was recuperating, a beautiful young nun stopped by his bed. She stroked his forehead. "You feel nice and cool. Such soft skin."

"Thank you, Sister."

She leaned over him and began straightening his pillows, her breasts brushing against his face. In spite of himself, the poor man began to get an erection. As the Sister started to straighten the blankets, her hand brushed against him. He was in an agony of mortification.

"Good Lord," the nun said. "What have we here?" And she pulled the covers back, revealing his rock-hard penis.

"I - I'm terribly sorry, Sister," he stammered. "I - "

"Don't be sorry. It's a great cock," the nun said, and began to go down on him.

It was six months before he learned that it was Toby who had sent the hooker in to him.

As Toby was stepping out of an elevator one day, he turned to a pompous network executive and said, "By the way, Will, how did you ever come out on that morals charge?" The elevator door closed and the executive was left with a half a dozen people eyeing him warily.

When it came time to negotiate a new contract, Toby arranged for a trained panther to be delivered to him at the studio. Toby opened Sam Winters's office door while Sam was in the middle of a meeting.

"My agent wants to talk to you," Toby said. He shoved the panther inside the office and closed the door.

When Toby told the story later, he said, "Three of the guys in that office almost had heart attacks. It took them a month to get the smell of panther piss out of that room."

Toby had a staff of ten writers working for him, headed by O'Hanlon and Rainger. Toby complained constantly about the material his writers gave him. Once Toby made a whore a member of the writing team. When Toby learned that his writers were spending most of their time in the bedroom, he had to fire her. Another time, Toby brought an organ grinder and his monkey to a story conference. It was humiliating and demeaning, but O'Hanlon and Rainger and the other writers took it because Toby turned their material into pure gold. He was the best in the business.

Toby's generosity was profligate. He gave his employees and his friends gold watches and cigarette lighters and complete wardrobes and trips to Europe. He carried an enormous amount of money with him and paid for everything in cash, including two Rolls-Royces. He was a soft touch. Every Friday a dozen hangers-on in the business would line up for a handout. Once Toby said to one of the regulars, "Hey, what are you doing here today? I just read in Variety that you got a job in a picture." The man looked at Toby and said, "Hell, don't I get two weeks' notice?"

There were myriad stories about Toby, and nearly all of them were true. One day, during a story conference, a writer walked in late, an unforgivable sin. "I'm sorry I'm late," he apologized. "My kid was run over by a car this morning."

Toby looked at him and said, "Did you bring the jokes?"

Everyone in the room was shocked. After the meeting, one of the writers said to O'Hanlon, "That's the coldest son of a bitch in the world. If you were on fire, he'd sell you water."

Toby flew in a top brain surgeon to operate on the injured boy and paid all the hospital bills. He said to the father, "If you ever mention this to anyone, you're out on your ass."

Work was the only thing that made Toby forget his loneliness, the only thing that brought him real joy. If a show went well, Toby was the most amusing companion in the world, but if the show went badly, he was a demon, attacking every target within reach of his savage wit.

He was possessive. Once, during a story conference, he took Rainger's head between his two hands and announced to the room, "This is mine. It belongs to me."

At the same time he grew to hate writers, because he needed them and he did not want to need anyone. So he treated them with contempt. On pay day, Toby made airplanes of the writers' paychecks and sailed them through the air. Writers would be fired for the smallest infraction. One day a writer walked in with a tan and Toby immediately had him discharged. "Why did you do that?" O'Hanlon asked. "He's one of our best writers."

"If he was working," Toby said, "he wouldn't have had time for a tan."

A new writer brought in a joke about mothers and was let go.

If a guest on his show got big laughs, Toby would exclaim, "You're great! I want you on this show every week." He would look over at the producer and say, "You hear me?" and the producer would know that the actor was never to appear on the show again.

Toby was a mass of contradictions. He was jealous of the success of other comics, yet the following happened. One day as Toby was leaving his rehearsal stage, he passed the dressing room of an old-time comedy star, Vinnie Turkel, whose career had long since gone downhill. Vinnie had been hired to do his first dramatic part, in a live television play. He hoped that it would mean a comeback for him. Now, as Toby looked into the dressing room, he saw Vinnie on the couch, drunk. The director of the show came by and said to Toby, "Let him be, Toby. He's finished."

"What happened?"

"Well, you know Vinnie's trademark has always been his high, quavery voice. We started rehearsing and every time Vinnie opened his mouth and tried to be serious, everyone began to laugh. It destroyed the old guy."

"He was counting on this part, wasn't he?" Toby asked.

The director shrugged. "Every actor counts on every part."

Toby took Vinnie Turkel home with him and stayed with the old comedy star, sobering him up. "This is the best role you've ever had in your life. Are you gonna blow it?"

Vinnie shook his head, miserable. "I've already blown it, Toby. I can't cut it."

"Who says you can't?" Toby demanded. "You can play that part better than anyone in the world."

The old man shook his head. "They laughed at me."

"Sure they did. And do you know why? Because you've made them laugh all your life. They expected you to be funny. But if you keep going, you'll win them over. You'll kill them."

He spent the rest of the afternoon restoring Vinnie Turkel's confidence. That evening, Toby telephoned the director at home. "Turkel's all right now," Toby said. "You have nothing to worry about."

"I know I haven't," the director retorted. "I've replaced him."

"Un-replace him," Toby said. "You've got to give him a shot."

"I can't take the chance, Toby. He'll get drunk again and - "

"Tell you what I'll do," Toby offered. "Keep him in. If you still don't want him after dress rehearsal, I'll take over his part and do it for nothing."

There was a pause, and the director said, "Hey! Are you serious?"

"You bet your ass."

"It's a deal," the director said quickly. "Tell Vinnie to be at rehearsal at nine o'clock tomorrow morning."

When the show went on the air, it was the hit of the season. And it was Vinnie Turkel whose performance the critics singled out. He won every prize that television had to offer and a new career opened up for him as a dramatic actor. When he sent Toby an expensive gift to show his appreciation, Toby returned it with a note. "I didn't do it, you did." That was Toby Temple.

A few months later, Toby signed Vinnie Turkel to do a sketch in his show. Vinnie stepped on one of Toby's laugh lines and from that moment on, Toby gave him wrong cues, killed his jokes and humiliated him in front of forty million people.

That was Toby Temple, too.

Someone asked O'Hanlon what Toby Temple was really like, and O'Hanlon replied, "Do you remember the picture where Charlie Chaplin meets the millionaire? When the millionaire is drunk, he's Chaplin's buddy. When he's sober, he throws him out on his ass. That's Toby Temple, only without the liquor."

Once during a meeting with the heads of a network, one of the junior executives hardly said a word. Later, Toby said to Clifton Lawrence, "I don't think he liked me."

"Who?"

"The kid at the meeting."

"What do you care? He's a thirty-second Assistant Nobody."

"He didn't say a word to me," Toby brooded. "He really doesn't like me."

Toby was so upset that Clifton Lawrence had to track down the young executive. He called the bewildered man in the middle of the night and said, "Do you have anything against Toby Temple?"

"Me? I think he's the funniest man in the whole world!"

"Then would you do me a favor, dear boy? Call him and tell him so."

"What?"

"Call Toby and tell him you like him."

"Well, sure. I'll call him first thing tomorrow."

"Call him now."

"It's three o'clock in the morning!"

"It doesn't matter. He's waiting for you."

When the executive called Toby, the phone was answered immediately. He heard Toby's voice say, "Hi."

The young executive swallowed and said, "I - I just wanted to tell you that I think you're great."

"Thanks, pal," Toby said, and hung up.

The size of Toby's entourage grew. Sometimes he would awaken in the middle of the night and telephone friends to come over for a gin game, or he would awaken O'Hanlon and Rainger and summon them to a story conference. He would often sit up all night running movies at home, with the three Macs and Clifton Lawrence and half a dozen starlets and hangers-on.

And the more people there were around him, the lonelier Toby became.

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