L.A. Success (9 page)

She drove like a maniac. Sometimes
she sped up for no reason, and then after I matched her speed, she'd slow down
suddenly and I'd have to slam on my breaks to avoid hitting her. I got the impression
that she was looking for something in the glove compartment or trying to find a
station on the radio, because the Eldorado kept jerking to the left and right,
and would even slowly drift into the oncoming lane once in a while. But one
good thing about the way she was driving was that I could be sure she wasn't
looking around to see if she was being followed.

She continued until she arrived at
her house, a nice little place in Venice on the corner of Dell Avenue and
Sherman Canal. She pulled into her garage and parked. I drove by, pretending to
be just another tourist gawking at the houses on the canals. I got a good look
at her place and was happy to see that there was nothing blocking the windows.
Most of the canal houses have small lawns, so the owners plant a lot of trees
to give them some privacy. Gertie had a few trees, but the second-floor windows
were clear. The real problem was going to be trying to find somewhere to park.
All the streets in that area were permit only, and if I parked somewhere else
and walked around, that'd only fly for a while. I could take pictures and pull
out the binoculars—everybody does. But after a while people would start to get
suspicious. I drove north up Dell Avenue and then turned around and drove
slowly over the canal bridge, looking right into Gertie's windows. Then I
turned around and did it again, but she had already pulled the curtains closed.

I tried to make another pass, but
there were so many cars that it was taking forever and turning around was
getting difficult. I decided to park a little to the west on Pacific Avenue and
then walk back on foot. I'd pretend to be a creepy tourist until it got weird.
By the time I got back to her place, the lights were out. I couldn't tell if
she was still there. I did a tour of the entire canal system waiting for any
changes, but nothing doing. I either hadn't seen her leave, or she was in a
room I couldn't see very well.

21

I walked back to the Charger and got
in. The radio said it was almost seven in the evening. I hadn't eaten anything
in forever, and since I had just done some serious walking, I was feeling light
headed. Then I realized I hadn't ordered anything for my dad either, so he must
have been hungry, too. I drove back to Santa Monica, picked up some sub sandwiches,
and then went over to Dennis'.

When I walked in, I smelled
something funky. Ballsack had left a little package for me on the tiles in
front of the door. I guessed that it was his way of telling me he was pissed
off at me for staying out all day without him. I also noticed that my dad
wasn't playing chess. He was just sitting on the couch doing nothing.

“Dad, I'm sorry about this. I got
caught up in a bunch of stuff and just forgot.” He didn't look over.

I took out the sandwiches and set
everything in front of him. He waited a minute or two and then tore into his.
When I went to feed the big poodle, his bowl was already full. My dad must have
given him something to eat. That made me feel even worse. My dad was becoming
more responsible than I was. I downed my food, cleaned up the poodle poo, and
straightened up the place a little. Then Ballsack came strolling sheepishly
into the room. He must have thought he was going to be in trouble, so I stroked
his afro a little to make him feel better.

The dog and I went home to sleep
after I saw that my dad was back to normal. When I lay down, I could really
feel my body aching from all the walking I had done, but my brain was going
crazy thinking about everything I had done that day. The caffeine must have had
something to do with that. Even when I didn't want to think, everything was
turning round and round. I had to listen to more frog barking than usual before
I flushed that day out of my head.

22

I spent longer than usual in the
shower the next morning. I let the hot water massage all the soreness out of my
muscles. I hadn't been so active in a long time, and I certainly hadn't laid
off the booze like that in a while. If I kept this pace up, I wasn't going to
have time to be so fat anymore.

I got dressed and left Dennis' cool
clothes in the hamper for Tommy to wash. I was thinking about bringing a week's
worth of Dennis' clothes over to my place because going over to his house and
changing again every morning was starting to be a pain in the ass.

I grabbed a bunch of delivery menus
from the kitchen before I headed over to Dennis' house. I decided I was going
to leave them with my dad so that he could start ordering food whenever he
wanted. I had thought about picking up some groceries and stocking Dennis'
fridge, but I didn't think my dad was going to be ready to cook things, or even
to put sandwiches together. This delivery system would be easy for him. I'd
just leave some more money in the chess-winnings bag, and he would think he was
earning his own food now.

I explained all that to my dad while
I was soaping him up. Making him take a shower now was a lot easier than the
first time. He basically did everything by himself. The only thing I had to
make an effort on was the shaving. He still didn't like that at all.

23

I decided to take the big poodle
with me today. I changed cars so that if I had to tail Gertie again, she
wouldn't recognize me. Ballsack jumped in the green Mercedes and gave the
windows his usual licking over as we drove off to Culver City.

All my writer buddies were already
drinking coffee and hammering away at their laptops. I tied the big poodle to
one of the tables and went in to see my favorite coffee guy, Max.

“Okay,” I said when I made it up to
the register. “Give me whatever you would give Remington Steele.”

“Who's that?” asked Max.

“That's the name James Bond used to
use. I mean one of the old James Bonds, back when he was an investigator on
TV.”

“Which Bond? The ugly one no one
liked?”

“No, that Charles Bronson guy,” I
said. This Max didn't know a lot of stuff.

He thought it over for a while.
 
He started up a special brew of dark roast
from the largest cocaine-exporting country he could find, and then once he
found the biggest cup in the joint, he filled it up three-quarters of the way
full. Then he dropped a couple of shots of espresso in it. Now, whenever you
drop shots of anything in something else, you know you got a hell of a drink.
I'd never thought of this Remington Steele guy like that, so I was thinking Max
here was a little light in the loafers, but whatever.

I went outside and got into my
surveillance position. Although I now knew where Gertie lived, I was thinking
that it wouldn't hurt to watch both places. If she was doing a married guy,
she'd probably meet up with him during the day anyway.

I took a drink of my coffee. As it
flowed down my throat it felt like an ice pick was being jammed into my skull.
I took another drink to make that feeling go away. I felt like a car that had
needed a jump but was now purring softly. I downed half of it in a few more
gulps. I wiped away a couple of drops that were rolling down my chin before
they could stain my Arnold.

I set my cup off to the side and
started in on some fake writing, all the while keeping an eye on Gertie's
office door. I could see Ellen's shadow moving around more than usual, and that
made me curious. She seemed to be moving slow today, and, in fact, the guys
seemed to be typing slower than normal, too. Then Ballsack saw a squirrel and
jerked his leash so hard that he made the table move. My cup came off the table
and started falling toward the ground. Without even thinking, I reached out and
grabbed it before it had fallen halfway down.

“Niiiiiice,” said USC-Shirt Jake.

It was the caffeine. It had given me
some kind of super speed. I was feeling wicked invincible, like I could do
anything.

“Hey guys, guard the dog a minute. I
have to run an errand,” I said, and before anyone had time to answer, I was off
in a flash.

I ran over to my car to make the
guys think I had forgotten something. When I saw they weren't looking, I cut
back in the other direction toward Gertie's office. With this super speed, I
was going to find out what Ellen was up to. Maybe she was setting up an open
house for her boss. I could pose as a client and get some inside information.

I made two or three lightning-fast
passes in front of the windows. It looked like Ellen was organizing something
on her desk. She had a lot of stuff laid out all over the place, but I couldn't
tell what. On my next pass, I quickly smashed my face up against the window,
and when my view was blocked by the listings posted up on the glass, I slid
around until I had an unobstructed vantage point. All this I did so fast that—

“Can I help you with something?”
asked Ellen, who had materialized right next to me.

“Uh...Yes,” I said. I was thinking
about making a run for it, but seeing how I had already overestimated my
abilities once, I thought it would be better not to push my luck. And anyway,
all sorts of normal people who aren't spying on anyone look at the houses
displayed in real-estate office windows, right?

“You've got something on your nose,”
she said. She pulled out a tissue and handed it to me. “The pollution gets on
everything. We have these windows cleaned every week, but with all the cars...”
she said, pointing at the window. I noticed that my nose and hands had left
circular tracks all over it. And I thought I had just given a few sneaky peeks.

“I have to get some reading glasses
some day,” I said, wiping off my face.

“Come on in.”

Normally I'd have made up an excuse
to leave, but this chick had got me all confused by making me imagine myself
sliding my face all over the window. I followed her in.

“So, what's your name?” she asked.

I knew that the last name in the
world I should say was Dennis.

“Lonnie Herisson,” I said. Some
secret-agent guy I was. That was the second-to-the-last name I shouldn't have
said.

“Oh right—you called the other day.
I gave your number to Ms. Elliot. Has she got in touch with you yet?”

“Not yet.” I looked over at Ellen's
desk and saw that she had been putting together packets of information for an
open house.

“Are you looking for a new place?”

“I'm currently a home owner. I rent
out a room in my house, and I was wondering if I should keep doing that or if
I'd make more money by selling the place.” I was amazed at how fast my brain
could come up with stuff now that it wasn't blitzed on the booze.

“Well, the market is down now, so
you're probably right to rent it out, but Ms. Elliot will have to come by and
look at your property to be sure. I'll let her know about your situation and
she'll get in touch with you soon.”
  

“How soon? Has she got a lot going
on this week?”

“Ms. Elliot is one of the west
side's most successful realtors, but she'll make time for you.”

“Can I have one of these open-house
flyers? That way I'll have her contact info.”

“Sure. Here you go.”

I took the flyer and got out of
there. I walked back over to my table. All the guys had stopped writing and
were watching me.

“What was going on over there,
Lonnie?” asked USC-Shirt Jake.

I guessed it had looked pretty
weird, me running back and forth in front of the window and making a trail in
the pollution with my nose. But these were guys, and with them, and in almost
every other situation in life, all you need is the right excuse.

“I want to do that real-estate
chick,” I said, and everybody nodded and went back to work.

Gertie's flyer said that the open
house was in two days on Saturday. That meant that I knew at least three things
about her schedule. First, she'd have to pick up the flyers from the office
soon. Second, she'd probably be stopping by that house tomorrow to make sure
everything was ready. And third, I knew where she'd be all day Saturday.

The best thing that could happen
would be for her to sell the house and feel like celebrating. Then I could be
sure she'd call her friends and, maybe, her lover. Then I'd snap a few pictures
and that would be the end of it. But if she didn't sell it...No, I couldn't let
that happen. I wanted that E.T. money fast. I'd have to pose as an interested
buyer, using my wicked powers of imitation. I had a lot of experience at this
now, so I was sure I could pull it off.

Ballsack was getting antsy, so I
took him for a walk around the block. On the way back, I picked up some food
from an Asian fast food place, The Giant Angry Panda, bought a bottle of water
for the big poodle, and went back to my table.

For the rest of the day, I made up
details about the person I was going to pretend to be at the open house. I
wrote all this stuff down so I could study it and be sure not to trip up. I
decided to call myself something embarrassing so that when I told her my name I
could pretend to be ashamed of it, and that way she'd never suspect I was lying
because she'd be too busy feeling sorry for me. After much thought, I decided
on Dick Hedley, owner of an up-and-coming chain of all-natural fertilizer
stores whose headquarters had just relocated to the L.A. area. Here's what I
was thinking: if someone tells you his name is Dick Hedley and he sells shit
for a living, you're pretty much going to give the guy a break.