L.A. Success (30 page)

“Eeu! I jus vomi-ed in ma mowf!” she said and propped herself upright. She brought the Korbel up to her lips and downed the entire thing in a few deep, throaty gulps. Then she crisped her lips and gave a few involuntary shakes of her head. When she opened her eyes again and was able to ease her contracted features, she looked at me indignantly.

“Herisson, I just swallowed two liquids, and one of them tasted worse than vomit,” she growled. “You gave me the old switcheroo with the booze, which means...”

She jumped up from the bed and took off down the hall. As I got up to go after her, my foot got caught on the blanket, and since the bed was higher than a normal one, I wasn't prepared for the extra time it took my other foot to touch the floor, kind of like when you're going up a flight of stairs in the dark, and, when at the top, you try to step onto a final, imagined step. I tumbled over, knocking down the tripod at the foot of the bed. I popped back up and ran down the hall.

Gertie had already grabbed the album, which she now held tucked under her left arm. She was frantically digging through a kitchen drawer, causing a duo of sounds to splash through the house: the clinking of silverware and the pounding of utensils against wood. When she saw me, she picked up the last thing her hand had passed over and raised it into a stabbing position. It was a fondue fork.

“Gertie, this is all a misunderstanding.”

“We'll see about that,” she said and backed over to the fridge. She opened it and saw the bottles of Korbel, turned her head away and closed her eyes as if she had seen a photo of collateral damage from a pointless war.

“Oh the deception,” she said. “Using filthy booze and carnal promises to get what you want. I'd normally give you points for that, but you can't try it against me!”

“That's not exactly what I was going to do. I was going to ask you for the album.”

“After we got it on?”

“Well, no...”

“Ha!” she yelled and raised her fondue fork menacingly. “You lied to me, villain! I should call Tommy and tell him you tried to rape me!”

“Come on Gertie. Let's talk this over.”

“I'd never talk anything over with a backstabber like you,” she said, twisting her face into an expression of hatred. Then a calm came over her. “None of this potential violence and hate-filled accusation is making you horny, is it?”

I don't know what came over me. Maybe it was the stress, maybe the accumulation of tiredness and uncertainty about the future, but I started crying like a jackass.

“Oh Jesus, what the hell is this?” she asked. “No seriously, stop that right now.”

“I'm sorry Gertie,” I said, choking on my words. I could feel my nose starting to run, so I raised my arm up preparing to wipe it on my sleeve.

“Don't do that! It's disgusting! Wait a minute.” She grabbed a paper towel for me and came over. “Here you go. Let it all out.”

“Thanks Gertie,” I said and blew out what felt like a year's worth of suppressed frustration.

“What the hell's wrong with you, anyway?” she asked and led me over to the couch to sit down.

“I've screwed everything up. My dad's off wandering the streets again, my ex-girlfriend has gotten over me and moved on, my career is a joke and even if I got what I need from Spielberg, how long would that last me? I feel ashamed that I was going to take advantage of you for that album. I'm sorry Gertie.”

“Answer me this: what exactly do you want with those pictures you accidentally gave Steven?”

“The guy in the photos will pay me to keep—hey, how do you know about that?”

“Steven called me today. He doubted I had anything to do with this situation and wanted to see what I knew.”

“So you knew he had asked me to bring him the album?”

“Of course,” she said and opened the album. All the photos had been taken out.

“And you let me do all this without saying a thing? You were going to let me get naked and make a dirty internet movie for nothing?”

“Don't pretend you wouldn't have enjoyed that, Herisson. And anyway, none of this was for nothing. I needed to know what you were made of—to see if you were willing to go the distance. I've been thinking for a while now that I'm ready to go down to part time and take on a partner.”

“Because you're getting old and you're ready to retire?” She shot me a look of death and rolled her eyes.

“I'm nowhere near retirement, bozo. But this relationship with Tommy has made me realize what's important in life. I want to take more time to have sex with very young immigrants whose linguistic difficulties and ignorance of the way things work here make them ideal boyfriends. You can tell them anything followed by 'that's what we do here', and they believe it. I'm going to get my English-teaching certificate and then start doing one-on-one lessons.”

“But did I pass your test? Are you going to give me a job?” I asked, unable to hold back an optimistic smile.

“You could have done better. Taking advantage of me was essential for your plan, but you skimped on the champagne and blew it. Imagine what kind of message you'd be sending if you pulled that while trying to sell a house. Your potential buyers would start thinking that the property you were selling was just as crappy as the gimmick you were using to sell it. Remember, since we actually do nothing of value for anyone, we can't be insulting, because then clients get upset at having to cough up that huge commission.”

“That seems so clear now, but when I was getting ready for the evening, I didn't even think about it.”

“Rookie mistake,” she said. “But I'm willing to work with you, as long as you're willing to bring something to the table. People always work harder when they risk losing something. So what do you have?”

I thought about this for a moment. I couldn't risk my house, because when I did find my dad, I planned on putting him in it and letting Tommy help me keep an eye on him. The only thing I had was the money Ignacio was going to give me for the photos, and since I was going to have to tell Gertie about that anyway, I figured what the hell.

“I'm going to get a ton of money for those photos that Spielberg has, if I can get them back.”

“What kind of business have you gotten yourself into here?” she asked.

“They're photos that a guy doesn't want his rich wife to see. He'll give me a hundred grand to hand them over.”

“How did you get them in the first place?”

“Someone else is paying me to deliver them to the wife,” I said.

“And you think the guy who wants you to deliver them isn't going to kill you once he finds out what you've done?” I hadn't even considered the possibility, and Dennis would be arriving at the airport the very next day.

“Now that you mention it, yeah, he might. I've been told he's a little unbalanced.”

“One hundred grand is worth putting up with a lot. If you get it, we'll sink it into a sweet foreclosure and sit on it until the market rebounds. It'll be your first official project. You can live there until we're ready to sell it, and you can pay the mortgage with the money you're getting from renting out your house.”

“That would be perfect. You know, I'll have to give your album back to Spielberg to get the photos.”

“I got all the money I intended to get out of it. A little extra now would be a fine way to end the whole thing,” she said.

13

I woke up Sunday morning feeling like I had a weight on my chest. I could almost feel Dennis approaching in the airplane, as if he and I were opposing magnetic forces. I had originally planned on picking him up from the airport so that I could get that last check, but I needed to stay away from him now that I was going to give the photos to Ignacio. Dennis may have already called Ignacio's wife and learned that I hadn't delivered them. If that was the case, I certainly didn't want to go all the way down to LAX just to get punched in the nose.

As much as I hated it, I took Ballsack back to Dennis' place and left him in the courtyard. Stealing photos that Dennis had obtained questionably was one thing, but if I stole his dog, he'd have something to report to the police. Ballsack barked at me as I shut the gate, and it felt like he was accusing me of leaving him with a psycho. I said a teary goodbye to him and gave his afro one last tussle. Then I slid Dennis' keys through the mail slot, took a last look at the cars and left.

At about 10am, the shit phone started ringing. I waited until it went to voice mail and then listened to the message.

“Lonnie, it's Dennis. The plane has just landed. I hope you remembered me, because I couldn't sleep at all on the way back, and all I want to do is go home. I think I took too many sleeping pills. They say if you take too many, it has the opposite effect. I'll call you again from baggage.”

He called again twenty minutes later.

“Lonnie...I'm just waiting for my bags. When I get them, I'll head outside and wait for you,” he said impatiently.

I got another call a little later.

“Okay, you've obviously forgotten about me. I'm taking a cab, which I'll definitely take out of your last check. Thanks a lot.”

I called Gertie.

“Yeah,” she said.

“Gert, he's back in town and it's freaking me out. I really want to get this photo thing over with. Have you talked to Spielberg yet?”

“Yep. We're going to meet him at three this afternoon. After that, I want to go directly to your guy Ignacio and get the money before he gets any other ideas. Don't worry about anything. You'll never have to see that Dennis guy again anyway.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. Even if we bumped into each other on the street, I don't know if he'd recognized me. I've cleaned up a lot since the last time I saw him. Can you pick me up to go meet Spielberg? I had to leave Dennis' cars at his place, and I'm not ready to start driving my old piece of crap again.”

“Sure. No problem. Talk to you later.”

Talking to Gertie had made me feel better. It was true that I wouldn’t have to see Dennis anymore. Plus, there was no reason to feel guilty about what I was doing. He had planned to screw Ignacio over, and even if Ignacio deserved it, Dennis was definitely in a moral gray area. How could I feel bad for making money off that? Someone was going to make money; it may as well have been me.

I got another message from Dennis a short while later. He was in the taxi on the way home. I could hear the sounds of passing cars and the occasional honking. He sounded out of his mind.

“Lonnie, friend, I just called Mrs. Reyes. She said she hadn't heard from you. Why hasn't she heard from you? I'm heading home right now, and I'm going to get the envelope that you clearly must have forgotten all about, like you forgot about me at the airport. I think you should call me. Yes, give me a call.”

I don't know if it was the conversation with Gertie or the idea that I was soon going to get a huge amount of money for doing practically nothing, but I suddenly felt like I could tell Dennis off without worrying about anything. I hit the call button and waited for Dennis to pick up.

“Oh Lonnie! Jesus, I was worried stiff. I was starting to think you had dropped off the face of the earth.”

“No, I'm here.”

“Wait just a minute. We're pulling into the driveway.” I heard him get out of the car and shut the door. Then he began talking to the cabbie, who I couldn't hear. “If you want a tip, you'll at least carry the bags up to the door. My god you people. Why should you be tipped anyway? Your cab smelled less like urine than a normal cab, so here's some money? You didn't break any traffic laws, so here's your reward? On second thought, don't touch my bags. No, no! Put them down. Oh god, okay. Fine, now I have to give you a tip because you bravely lifted my bags out of your trunk. Great. Here you are. Have a nice day,” he said and started talking to me again. “These people! I swear. So Lonnie, what—”

“Look Dennis,” I interrupted. “I found out about you. I know what you were trying to do to Ignacio. I want you to know that I'm not handing the photos over, and if you think you can—”

“Oh my god! What the hell did you do to Manolete? He looks like a bear! Didn't you have him groomed?” It appeared he hadn't registered what I had said.

I heard growling in the background.

“What's this? You don't remember me? Jesus Lonnie, I don't think he can see me through that huge afro. He's showing his teeth now. No! Bad dog! Ahhhh!” he yelled. I heard more barking, the ripping of clothing, a door opening and shutting, and then panting. “What the hell was that?” he said, out of breath. “You've got to come over and calm him down.”

“Here's the thing. Those photos? I'm giving them to Ignacio, and you—you're going to stay away from me,” I said forcefully. “If you screw with me at all, I'll go fucking bat-shit nuts all over you. You got that?”

“You took my photos? You goddamn thief! I wanted you to deliver those photos to—what the hell is this homeless man doing on my couch? Hey!" he yelled. I heard a distinctly familiar voice utter an indistinct question. “What did you say?” continued Dennis. “No I don't want to play a fucking game of chess! What are you doing here? Answer me!” There was a brief, noiseless pause, and then Dennis started talking to me again. “Look Lonnie, I've got to call the cops. I'll call you back,” he said and hung up.

I once took one of those Hollywood tours, and the guy driving the van said that in Bel Air, the cops took an average of 44 seconds to get to a burglary. For everyone else, it took at least four minutes longer. My dad probably wouldn't rank as an emergency, so that would buy me a few more minutes.

I grabbed the keys to my shit car and ran out of the house. I threw the car's flimsy door open and jumped in, rocking that rust bucket like a canoe. After fumbling with the keys while letting out a string of obscenities, I started up the motor and floored it. After driving Dennis' cars for so long, I now felt like I was driving a car specially designed for people with visual impairments, for people who, if given the power of more than four horses, would veer off over cliffs, end up in a lake, or drive into a store front. I ran the stop signs, swerving around cars that had already entered the intersections. I passed everyone in front of me, but I had the feeling that the drivers allowed me to do this out of pity, that when they saw me in the shit mobile, they slowed down and only pretended to be offended at my supposedly aggressive driving so as not to hurt the fragile ego of the man who would drive such a car.