L.A. Success (10 page)

24

I was about to call it quits for the
day when I saw the yellow '78 Eldorado Biarritz narrowly miss flattening an old
man who was coming out of the pharmacy. Gertie parked in one of the 15-minute
spots and opened her car door, releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke. When she
swung her feet out of the car and stood up, she pushed her door even farther
open and dinged the neighboring car, a hybrid. She looked around to see if
anyone had noticed, and, when no one had, she continued over to her office.

I quickly gathered up my stuff and
said goodbye to the writers. Ballsack and I went over to the Mercedes and got
in. I pulled around closer. I could see Gertie in her office talking on the
phone, looking out the window. As soon as she saw the meter maid pull into the
lot, she hung up, grabbed her stuff, and headed out to her car.

This time she headed north on
Overland Avenue. I had no problems following her because there was so much
traffic that she couldn't randomly hit the accelerator like she normally did.
My only worry was that she'd side swipe another car and have to spend the
evening dealing with her insurance company, but no matter how close she came to
getting into an accident, she always managed to pull out of it safely and then
to free up a hand long enough to give the bird to whatever innocent person
she'd almost run into.

She continued up to Century City,
turned west on Pico Boulevard, and then north on Westwood. There was so much
traffic on Westwood that it took us thirty minutes to get up to Wilshire
Boulevard, where she turned east after throwing her glowing cigarette butt into
someone's convertible.

While zigzagging east on Wilshire,
she lit up another cigarette and then dialed a number on her cell phone. The
traffic crawled to a halt, and she found herself next to a noisy semi truck
that was headed in the other direction. She reached down and cranked up the
window, probably so she could hear whoever she was talking to, and her car
started filling up with smoke. I could barely make out her silhouette after a
few minutes. When the traffic broke, she must have still been able to see the
road because she pulled forward and kept going. When she opened her window I
almost lost her in the clouds of smoke pouring out of her car.

Right before the L.A. Country club,
she turned north on Comstock Avenue and continued into a swanky neighborhood.
About a half a mile up, she turned into the driveway of a huge house with
marble columns and then walked up to the front door. I pulled over and watched
for a minute. A sexy, twenty-something woman opened the door and let her in. I
was a little disappointed because I was hoping she would be greeted by some old
dude she was doing.

I pulled on down the road a ways and
parked the Mercedes. I grabbed some of Dennis' spy equipment that I had put on
the floorboard behind the front seat. When the big poodle came bouncing out of
the car, I dropped the parabolic microphone. It was made out of plastic, so
nothing looked broken. The real problem was that the dish part was about
eighteen inches wide, and it looked kind of weird, me carrying it around.

I strolled back toward the rich house,
just a normal guy walking a big poodle. When I got a little past the house, I
could see that there was something going on in the backyard. I took out a
little monocular scope and focused it, putting it back in my pocket every time
a car came by. It looked like a group of women were there, standing around
drinking wine. I looked around to see if anyone was watching me, put on the
earpiece of the microphone and aimed the little satellite dish at the women.

“Oh my God! This cream is soooo
decadent. It smells so good I could eat it,” said one chirpy broad.

“The idea is for someone to eat it
off you!” said someone else, followed by a bunch of chick laughter.

“I definitely want a tube of this
stuff,” said a gravelly, dehydrated voice that I recognized as Gertie's.

“I have a gift box that includes
this cream and five other Bow-tay products,” said a different woman.

“I think I'll just take—”

“Hey, what are you doing?” asked
some guy in a jogging suit who had come out of nowhere. He was looking at me
all hostile. I didn't have much time to think.

“Bob! Hey Bob,” I said, as if I were
talking into my earpiece. “I'll have to let you go now. I'm headed over to the
country club. See you later tonight.” Then I knelt down in front of Ballsack
and took out his bottle of water.

“Hell of a day we're having, ain't
it?” I asked. I turned the parabolic microphone straight up and poured water
into the satellite dish. The big poodle came up and started lapping away, and I
could hear every splash perfectly through the ear piece.

“What kind of dog dish is that?”
asked the guy. I could see he was skeptical.

“The rod in the middle prevents this
dumb bastard from sticking his nose down too deep and drowning. I've had to
give him mouth-to-mouth before.” He watched Ballsack lap the water up. I could
hear the dog breathing, and every time his tongue hit the microphone it gave me
goose bumps. Some of the water in the satellite dish was leaking down the
center, and I knew it'd only be a little while longer before the thing was
fried.

“Wow. I didn't realize that was such
a problem. Did you buy that at Petco?” He looked like he was imagining having
to give mouth-to-mouth to his dog.

“No. I special ordered this from
Europe.” Whenever I wanted to make people, especially rich people, believe something
stupid, that's the magic word I used. They never doubted it. “The Europeans are
way ahead of us in anti-dog-drowning technology.”

“I'll have to look into that. My
wife would be crushed if our dog died like that.”

“Oh yeah. And imagine how sad you'd be
knowing you could have prevented it.”

Ballsack jumped a little, as if he
had just received an electric shock. The sound in my earpiece went out at the
same time. I dumped the water out and stood up.

“Well, water break is over. Have a
good jog,” I said and started walking up the street.

When I got back to the Mercedes, I
put the microphone in the trunk. I was hoping that it would work again after it
had dried out, but even if it didn't, Dennis would never be able to figure out
how it had got broken. Since I would soon be in close range at the open house,
I figured I could do my job without it.

The big poodle and I strolled slowly
around the neighborhood waiting for signs of anything. When the cosmetics party
finally ended, all the women came out together onto the driveway. They were all
young and doable—all of them except Gertie, of course. While they were kissing
each other goodbye on the cheek, a black Porsche pulled in. An old dude, about
Gertie's age, all gray hair and man boobs, got out of the car and walked over
to one of the hot chicks. I was thinking that she was probably his daughter,
but then he gave her a big kiss on the mouth and placed his hand right on the
top of her sweet ass. I could tell this stakeout was a waste of time. There was
no way that guy would prefer to sleep with Gertie.

I got in the Mercedes and waited for
her to leave. Some of the young guests walked past me toward their cars, and I
overheard them talking about Gertie.

“I don't know why she comes here.
She hardly ever actually buys anything, you know?” said the chick I wanted to
do.

“I know!” said the other chick I
also wanted to do. “I don't even know who she's friends with. How did she get
invited?”

“No idea, but if she thinks any
cream is going to help her smooth out that hide...” and then they had moved too
far away for me to do them.

I almost felt sorry for the old
broad. Or at least I would have if I hadn't been so turned on by all those hot
young chicks.

25

Gertie tore out of there a minute
later. I had to make a dangerous U-turn and hit the accelerator to keep up with
her. She must have been dying for a smoke during that party because she was
again leaving a white fluffy trail behind her car.

The sun was going down. Gertie drove
south to the 10 and turned west. When I made it onto the highway, the lowering
sun's rays coming directly at me turned all the cars ahead into silhouettes,
and I couldn't see shit. For a while I followed the trail of exploding
cigarette butts, but finally I lost her.

Since she was headed west, I figured
she was on her way home. I drove to Venice, parked on Pacific and walked with
Ballsack to the canals. I knew that with the big poodle I'd stand out, so I
tried to stay as far away from her house as possible while still being able to
see if a light came on. I got bolder after the sun went entirely down, but
there was still no sign of Gertie.

I had decided to give up on her for
the night when I heard a lot of honking on a neighboring street. Sure enough, a
minute or two later I saw the '78 Eldorado Biarritz pull into the garage. As
the garage door was closing, I saw Gertie get out of the car with a couple of
shopping bags from Victoria's Secret. I hung around the neighborhood long
enough to see that no one else was joining her that evening, and then I went
home.

26

Tommy was still up when I got back.
He did that thing again where he stares right at me while his lips start to
quiver. I knew that meant he had something he wanted to tell me, so I made an
effort not to look bored while I waited for him to get it out.

“L.O.,” he said.

“Hello Tommy,” I said.

“Err, uh...I yam taking message
earlier,” he said.

“All right. Lay it on me.”

“What?” he asked.

“The message. Tell me.”

“Oh. Okay. L.N. called. She saying
that nice to talk at you.” I knew that was all he had to say, because his lips
were smiling.

“Thanks.”

I didn't remember giving my home
number to Ellen. Those real-estate people were real leeches, tracking me down
like that. Gertie would get to talk to my alter ego Dick Hedley soon enough.

I decided to spend a little time
with Tommy. Maybe he missed me now that I wasn't around in the day. It had
crossed my mind that he would want to listen to me speak and that if he didn't
get to, he'd feel ripped off at having to pay a ridiculous rent to live with
me. But mainly I still needed to resolve the lint enigma, and I figured that
since the day was almost over, he had probably had enough time to accumulate a
bunch of it in that belly button of his.

He went back to watching some realty
show about a bunch of has-beens who had been forced to live with each other on
a farm in Africa. The current debate was over which has-been had to pick up the
giraffe poo. Different continent, always the same problem.

I sat down on the couch and watched
with him. I didn't know if he understood, but he moved his lips like he was
trying to repeat things they'd said. Then after a while I noticed that he
always laughed right after I did. Most people don't find all the same things
funny, so I was thinking that he was covering for the fact that he didn't
understand jack. I waited until one of those losers said something about how
this show had made him understand how important it was to protect endangered
species, and then I started laughing my ass off. Tommy aped me, the big fraud.

I could only take the show for a few
minutes more. I gave a few fake yawns hoping that I'd make Tommy yawn and
stretch his arms out, giving me the opportunity to check out the lint, but he
just sat there looking happy.

“You are tie-red,” he said.

“Yeah. I guess I'll hit the sack.”

I took the big poodle into my room
and we dozed off fast.

27

On the way over to Dennis' place the
next morning, I noticed that Ballsack had a lot of dirt matted up on his feet
and belly. I hadn't bought any dog shampoo yet, but I figured it wouldn't hurt
to soap him up once with a little human shampoo. I took him upstairs, put him
in Dennis' big whirly bathtub, and lathered up his poodle afro. I thought he
would enjoy the hot tub bubbles, but when I turned on the jets he freaked and
jumped out. He ran all the way downstairs, shaking soap everywhere as he went.
When I caught up with him, he wouldn't let me take him back upstairs, so I had
to stick him in the downstairs shower. I closed the glass door, reached over
the top of it and directed the nozzle all over him. He looked kind of dejected,
as if he knew he looked like a big rat when he was wet.

I let him out and dried him off. I
couldn't believe he wasn't shedding on the white towel—all the loose hairs must
have come off in the hot tub. I thought maybe he'd catch a cold if I didn't
completely dry him off, so I found a hair dryer in the cabinet, put it on low
so I wouldn't scare him, and dried him completely as I combed him a little.
When I got done, his afro looked even bigger than before.

28

Since the Gertie case was probably
going to be over after this weekend, I needed to find out how much to rip
Spieldburt off for. I found Dennis' number and dialed him up. It took a long time
for the call to go through, and when it finally started ringing, it sounded
different than it did normally.