L.A. Success (31 page)

I looked at Gertie. My mind's eye
did a slow morph of her features, twisting them into an E.T.-ish,
wine-drinking, cigarette-smoking mess. She could tell what I was doing.

“Stop that! I don't look like that
alien, and you know it. But damn it, once you get the idea in your head, you
can't imagine anything else.”

“So what did you do? Didn't you want
to kill him?” I asked.

“I was stunned. I could barely hold
it together. I gave him a good slap and ran out the door with the photo album.
After a few minutes of crying in my car, I decided to kill him before anyone
could find out about what he had done. I thought that if it got out, I'd never
be able to go anywhere without someone calling me E.T. Back in the day, you
could buy guns immediately, so I went into a pawn shop and asked for one. Well,
I guess my makeup had run all over the place, and even though the pawn guy was
sleazy, he refused to sell me what I needed because he could see I was too
emotional. He told me to calm down and think everything over for a while. He
gave me a replica of James Bond's gun and told me it'd be better if I just
scared the shit out of whoever it was I wanted to kill, since that way I'd
avoid the slammer. That sounded smart to me.”

“So you pulled it on him?” I asked.

“Nope. I stuck the fake Walther PPK in
my glove compartment, where it has stayed ever since.”

“What? Did you just chicken out or
something?”

“Oh no. I drove back to his place
and was refreshing my makeup—a girl's gotta look good even with a gun in her
hand or else she's just not taken seriously—when I realized I already had the
best weapon for revenge. I went back in and laid it all on him. I told him I'd
show these pictures to everyone and explain where that wrinkly little alien
bastard had actually come from unless he forked over some serious cash. He
thought it over for a long time. He calculated what he thought he'd lose in
merchandising if parents decided E.T. dolls were perverted, and he made me a
deal. I took the money and started up my real-estate business.”

“Why do you still have the photos?”

“I told him I was keeping them in
case he ever tried to put me in a movie again. He didn't like the idea, but I
gave him my word that I'd never milk him for more over the E.T. thing.”

“So he must think I found out about
all this. He must think I'm trying to blackmail him now.”

“I'd be careful if I were you. He's
had to deal with a lot of stalkers over the years, and it's only a matter of
time before he cracks. You're lucky he didn't send professionals after you.”

I heard the shower turn off and decided
to get out of there before a wet, naked Tommy made an appearance. I closed the
album, handed it back to her and stood up.

“I'm going to take off now, but I
might need you later,” I said.

“Nothing's free, kid,” she said.

10

Back at home, I swallowed another
handful of pain killers and watched the TV for a while. It was way past dinner
time, but my dad still hadn't come out of my room. I went over and knocked
lightly.

“Hey dad, I'm going to pick up some
burgers. We'll eat when I get back,” I said and waited for a response. I didn't
hear anything, so I turned the knob and peeked in. The light was off. I reached
in and flipped the switch. The room was empty. I walked over to my bathroom,
but that was empty as well. Then, on the off chance he had decided he liked
Tommy's room better, I checked in there but once again found nothing. I went
outside and walked around the house, but he wasn't there either. Then I
remembered that I had told him he'd be sleeping at Dennis' place, so I went
over there to look for him. All the lights were off, and he was nowhere to be
found.

I was feeling terrible even with the
painkillers, but I drove down to Venice Beach to see if I could find him. I
looked in all the places he used to hang out. I even looked under the pier. The
dozen or so drug dealers who came up to me as I searched hadn't seen him, and
neither had any of the other homeless guys I recognized. I circled around the
same places for another hour before I forced myself to give up and go back
home.

11

When I woke up the next morning, the
pain was worse. I couldn't move a single muscle without setting off a wave of
aching throughout my body. The only thing I really wanted to do was stay put in
bed, but I was worried about my dad and wanted to find out why he had taken off
like that. I slowly got ready and then spent most of the day at Venice hoping
he'd go back to his old habits so I could find him.

While I was sitting on a low brick
wall not too far away from where my dad used to do the sand sculptures, I
decided to give Grant a call. I dialed and waited for him to pick up.

“I was wondering when you were going
to call,” he said. “Steven has been asking me every hour if I've heard from you
yet.”

“Well look, you can put his mind at
ease. He can have anything he wants. I don't care anymore. All I want is to get
the envelope back that I gave him on accident.”

“I'll let him know and call you
back,” he said and hung up.

I was returning to my car to give up
for the day when the shit phone rang. It was Grant.

“Okay, here's the deal,” he said.
“Steven doesn't know why you've changed heart all of a sudden, but he's ready
to play ball if you're willing to do one extra thing.”

“What's that?”

“He said he wants the photo album.
He said you'd know what he's talking about. You give him act three and the
photo album, and he'll give you the envelope.”

“I'm going to need a little time to
get the photo album. I'll call you when I have it.”

“Okay,” he said.

I drove back to my place, went to
bed early and slept longer than I had in years.

12

I woke up Saturday afternoon to the
whimpering of the big poodle. I still felt like I had a hangover from the
beating I had taken, but my muscles now felt slightly itchy, as if they were
letting me know that they were ready to be stretched. I threw on yesterday's
Arnold and some shorts, and walked Ballsack around the neighborhood to get
loosened up.

During the walk, I debated whether I
should come right out and tell Gertie that I needed the album. I tried several
times to imagine her smiling warmly and telling me that she would, of course,
do anything to help a good friend out. That naively optimistic hope would be
crushed by the image of a scrutinizing, ball-breaking Gertie, who would
simultaneously finagle a large cut of Ignacio's money for herself while making
weekly oral sex a part of the deal. No, I would have to try to coax the album
away from her when she was in a compromised state.

I came up with a plan. I went to the
store and bought a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne, three bottles of Korbel,
and a bouquet of red roses. Then I dialed up Gertie.

“
Well
well,” she said. “You've been calling me a lot lately, mister. Starting to
realize how lucky your roommate is?”

“
Yes,
Gertie. Listen. I can't get the image of you out of my mind,” I said, thinking
it sounded romantic enough to fly.

“
You
mean the image you took with your camera of me riding your roommate—the one you
whack off to every night?”

“
Yeah,
that one.” So much for romance.

“
Tommy
is going to be working on his computer tonight. Why don't you swing on by and
we can talk. And by talk, I mean you can bang me blind and get it all out of
your system.”

“
Okay.
That sounds great. I'll be by later.”

That evening I put on my newest
Arnold and headed over to Venice. When Gertie answered the door, I gave her the
roses and showed her the Veuve Clicquot. She was wearing an outfit that didn't
hold to her usual tastes at all: a long, black skirt that left no clues as to
what kind of underthings she had on, and a long-sleeved, frilly blouse buttoned
up to her neck. Her hair was pulled back. She was also wearing a pair of
dark-rimmed glasses. She could have come straight from an accounting meeting.

“
Wow
Gertie. I've never seen you like this before.”

“
We
are colleagues from work, you and I, who have come together for a weekend
meeting. You, being a polite guest, have brought some booze. We will drink it,
all the while breaking each other's personal space but fighting the urge to
jump on each other as best we can, because my husband and your wife would be
crushed if we succumbed to our animal desires—not to mention the children, the
poor children...But Phyllis just doesn't understand you. She doesn't see how
hard you work. All she wants to do is talk about her dysfunctional family and
invite her horrible friends over for dinner. I, for you, represent an escape
from all that. And you—you are the man I can get revenge upon my cold and
indifferent husband with. You got all that?”

“
Yeah,
I think so. What's my name?”

“
Clovis.
I'm Esmeralda. Come in.” I followed her to the kitchen. She took out a couple
of champagne flutes, and I opened the Veuve Clicquot. I put the three bottles
of Korbel, still wrapped up in the paper sack, in the fridge.

“
Wow,
Clovis, you really know your champagne,” she said. I poured the two glasses
full. We took them into the living room. Gertie snatched the bottle off the
counter as we went over.

“
Well,
I wanted to toast to that business thing we did,” I said. Gertie raised an
eyebrow.

“
Exactly
what business thing, my dear Clovis?”

“
Um...the
thing where we made the money.” Gertie rolled her eyes and sighed.

“
Look
buddy, for this to work right, you have to be a little more creative.” She then
smiled admiringly and seemed to glow from enthusiasm. “I want to have a toast
before we get down to work to celebrate how smoothly you negotiated the
takeover of Eddings Heavy Machinery. They fought so hard to block us, but you
tore all those walls down and convinced the shareholders that there was no
future without major restructuring. When I saw you standing in that board room,
I felt so proud to be a part of this organization. In any other context, I
wouldn't even notice you, but since we work together eight hours a day, I've
been feeling like you're the answer to all my domestic problems. I won't tell
you right away, but after we make love, I'll cry and confess that Harold's been
slapping me around lately, and I'll tell you that I expect you to kick his ass.
Here's to you!” she said, raised her glass and waited for me to reply.

“
Thanks.
During the takeover, I was only thinking about doing you in the janitor's
closet.”
 
She leaned her head a little to
the left and looked up thoughtfully.

“
Okay,
that's not a bad start.” She clinked her glass against mine. “Here's to being
with someone who really understands me.”

“
You
really think that?” I asked, slightly touched.

“
Yes,
Clovis.” She gulped down the champagne and poured another glass immediately. “I
love the taste of champagne. It's one of the few alcohols that I can always
tell the good from the bad.”

I was a little nervous at that last
comment. My plan was to let her drink all the wicked expensive Veuve Clicquot,
and then when her taste buds were numbed by the alcohol, start her on the cheap
Korbel. After five glasses of good champagne, I figured she'd just chug that
other crap down out of sheer momentum. But if she didn't, I'd be in trouble.
The idea was to get her so liquored up that she wouldn't be able to remember if
we did it. I'd tell her we had, of course. I'd tell her it had been the best
sex of my life but that I didn't think I could do it again without me risking a
heart attack. Then when we were lying back in bed, her on the point of passing
out, me reminding myself that sexually transmitted diseases couldn't be
obtained from dry humping, I would pretend to break down crying and explain how
desperately I needed that album. As soon as she said anything that resembled an
agreement, I'd jump out of bed, grab the album and erase from my mind the
feeling of her whiskers rubbing against me.

“
You're
kind of quiet tonight, Clovis. What are you thinking about?”

“
You
know me. Always thinking about doing,” I said, hoping this would turn her on.

“
Doing
what?”

“
The
doing,” I said. Her eyes
lit up.

“
When
you say it like that, it sounds new and fresh...You're going to take me into
unknown territory tonight,” she said and gulped down another glass. A long and
violent belch rolled up her throat. “Ah, the bubbles.” She grabbed the bottle
again and poured another, this time causing the white foam to overflow down the
side of the glass and onto her hand. She held it up to me.