L.A. Success (12 page)

“One second. It's the office. Why don't you take a look around and I'll catch up with you in a minute.”

I walked quickly through the rooms and headed up to the third-floor balcony. It was exactly as I had thought. There was a pedestrian trail right below running parallel to the beach and it was full of babes on bikes, babes on rollerblades, babes walking slowly. I wished I could just rent the balcony.

I crept back down to the living room and stopped as soon as I was within earshot of Gertie's conversation.

“Disaster. Only the occasional beachgoer, curious to see how the well-off live. They've tracked sand in everywhere. I'm going to have to vacuum the place before I leave,” she said, then listened for a while. “What? I don't remember that. Why don't you give me the number now, since nothing else is going on?” She paused again. “Great. What's his name and what does he want?” Pause. “Okay, thanks Ellen. I'll talk to you Monday.”

I could hear her dialing. I stayed where I was, hoping to get more info about her weekend plans. Then my shit phone rang. I reached into my pocket and hit buttons until it stopped.

“Humph,” grunted Gertie. She dialed again. My shit phone went off again. I took it out of my pocket, hit answer and was about to whisper to whoever it was that I'd call back later when I saw who the call was from: Gertie Elliot. I froze up for a few seconds, which gave her enough time to walk right over to me.

“I think it's for you,” she said. I put the phone up to my ear.

“Uh...hello?” I said into the phone.

“Mr. Herisson. How nice of you to find me. You must have got tired of waiting for me to get back to you. I apologize,” she said into her phone and hung up with a smile on her face.

I was lost. I wasn't supposed to be here. Dick Hedley was supposed to be here, buying a house so that Gertie would be happy enough to celebrate with her lover. I didn't know what to say.

“Uh...hi. This place is nice,” I said.

“Are you in the market?”

“I think a place like this is a little out of my league.”

“It's out of everybody's league right now. The market is terrible...I didn't even bother putting out hors d'oeuvres today because moochers have started coming to these things to eat for free. I even caught a couple making out in the upstairs bathroom this morning. It's already tough to be on top of the real-estate market here when the economy is strong, but lately I've really had to be creative. There are very few buyers now.”

“That's why I'm pretty sure I'm going to keep renting my place out,” I said. I wanted to make sure she didn't think she could get anywhere with me. “Anyway, I'd have to fix my place up a lot before I could sell it. I don't even have grass in my yard.”

“It depends on the location. Where do you live?”

I told her my address. She did a double take and stared at me.

“Lonnie Herisson? No grass? Aren't you the guy who told the zoning committee that your lawn was an 'ecologically friendly, desert-landscape miniature?'” The tone of her voice had changed from friendly and professional to familiar and slightly sarcastic. “Now that was quite a maneuver. Fess up—you just didn't want to plant any grass,” she said, staring me down with a crooked smile and a cocked eyebrow.

“Hey, if I don't want grass, it's my house. I'll do what I want,” I said, probably a little louder than I should have. It's just that the grass thing always made me angry.

“I knew it! That was smooth, playing the environment card like that. You know how much money in home sales I've lost on that street because of your house? Ah Jesus...Let’s go up to the balcony and have a smoke. This open house is dead.” She passed in front of me and then walked slowly up the stairs, swaying her hips excessively. I could see the outline of her elaborate, pink thong underwear under her white skirt, and on one of her butt cheeks there was a tattoo that I couldn't see clearly. I didn't even want to look at it, but it was like an eye magnet. As I was trying to make it out, she whipped her head around and caught me in the act. She gave me an indignant look that changed into a half smile as she turned around and continued up the stairs. I felt like a peeping tom caught in the act, but then I realized that was exactly how she wanted me to feel. Gertie knew what she was doing.

When we got to the balcony, she took out a cigarette and lit it up. She took a huge drag while watching people pass by below.

“So what is it that you want?” she asked.

I decided to answer honestly, even if it revealed too much about my uniqueness and my dreams, and even if it risked my investigation.

“I want more money.”

“You came to the right person. Let me think about your situation. I also want to come by and estimate the value of your property.” She slid her finger around on her computer screen. “How about Monday afternoon?”

“I got a lunch date that day, but my renter should be home. He doesn't speak much English, so just point a lot, make approximative gestures with your hands, and say stuff louder than normal. People from other countries really appreciate that.”

“He's not some weird kind of foreigner, is he?” she asked.

“I don't think so.”

We both watched the beautiful, semi-naked people pass by on the path below for a few more quiet minutes. Then I said goodbye and went back to the Mercedes.

It took her another half an hour to clean the place up. I watched her come out, lock the door, and then take off in the Eldorado.

I tailed her back to her house, where she stayed long enough to freshen up and change clothes. Then she drove back to the huge house on Comstock Avenue, where I had spied on her before at the cosmetics party. At first I thought that she was going back to nail the oldster, but when I sneaked up to the window, I saw the hot chick sitting next to Gertie. They were all having dinner together.

I waited a while longer to see if she had any other plans for the evening, but she went straight home from there. 

5

The next morning I got up early and went on a stakeout at Gertie's. Within an hour she was on the road. I followed her on the Pacific Coast Highway from Venice up to Malibu. I thought she was going to check on some real estate, but after she turned up Malibu Canyon Road, she pulled into the parking lot of a Presbyterian church. I pulled into the parking lot and watched her get out of her car. She was wearing a yellow dress that fell below her knees and covered most of her neck. It was so baggy that if I hadn't already seen her in racy clothes, I'd have taken her for an old conservative grandma. It had extra-large white lace on the edges that made me think she had hand-knitted it. Then as I watched her walk over to a young couple standing by the door, I was amazed to see that she knew how to walk without swinging all that luggage of hers. This was the first time I had seen her in flat-soled shoes. The usual cigarette in her hand had been replaced by a bible, which she carried against her hip like the Statue of Liberty carries whatever the hell it is she carries.

She greeted the young couple, but kept a lot of personal space around her. She extended her arm stiffly and gave firm handshakes, and then they all went inside.

I thought about trying to go in and sit way in the back, but I had no idea how this place operated. I hadn't been to a whole lot of churches, but I knew some places made you lift up your hands and go crazy, and others made you tell everybody how the lord came into your life in ways that usually sounded a little fruity. If this place was similar, I'd have to stand in front of everybody to give my story, and then I'd be discovered.

I waited until everyone was inside, and then I sneaked up to Gertie's big yellow car. I looked around in every direction for passers-by, and then when I saw no one, I plastered my face against the driver's side window. There was the over-flowing ashtray and the expected layer of cigarette ash on the dashboard. There was the half-expected, wadded-up underwear on the passenger's side floorboard. But what caught my attention was a slender cardboard box sitting on the passenger's seat whose lid was lying off to the side. It appeared to be full of business cards. I decided to risk setting off the car alarm, if she had one, and pulled on the handle. The door opened without a sound. I reached in and pulled a card out of the box. In elaborate, gold lettering, it said:
Ms.
Elliot: Finding homes for good people.
Below, in smaller font, was written “
Yea
,
the sparrow hath found an house, and the swallow a nest for herself, where she may lay her young, even thine altars, O LORD of hosts, my King, and my God. Psalms 83:3.”

I felt a natural reflex to reach for the panties, but I fought it off by making my hand go to the glove compartment. When I opened it, packs of condoms came pouring out. As I was picking them up off the floorboard and stuffing them back in, my hand struck something hard. I pushed aside a few condoms, and there I saw a small, black handgun. I'd never held one before. I picked it up and felt its weight in my hand. It immediately made me feel like I was up to something dangerous and intriguing. I aimed it at an imaginary bad guy and gave my best scowl.

“Give me the money, cocksucker!” I said, several times, accenting it different ways. “Give me
the
money, cocksucker! Give me the money
, cocksucker
.
Give
me
the
money, cocksucker.” That last one didn't really work. It probably would have confused the dude I was aiming the gun at and ruined the moment. Even people who are about to croak have a strong sense of decorum.

I put the gun back and covered it up with condoms. When I shut the glove box, I saw the panties again. I snatched them up and stuck them in my pocket. Then I shut the car door and sneaked back over to the Charger.

The service lasted about an hour. Gertie came walking out frailly with the young couple, who looked all smiles. She walked them over to their car, gave a hug to the woman this time, and watched them drive away. Then she headed over to the Eldorado, now with a quicker stride and the familiar shake. She tore out of the parking lot and drove back to the PCH, sucking away at her tobacco cock.

The Eldorado started swerving more dangerously than normal as she drove south along the coast. Gertie slid back and forth in her seat a little and then, with cigarette still in mouth, tried to lift her dress over her head to take it off. The air rushing into the window plastered the yellow fabric against her face. She started gesticulating wildly and entered into oncoming traffic, where a group of motorcyclists on Harleys spread out like a school of fish avoiding a shark attack. As Gertie pulled the dress off her face, her car veered back into the right lane. She looked around to see what all the honking had been about, giving everyone the finger at the same time. Then she reached behind her and fished some clothes off the back seat. She pulled a tank top on and then wiggled into what I assume was a mini skirt, more or less without putting anyone's life in danger.

When she arrived in Santa Monica, she pulled into the left-hand exit lane to drive up the cliff. I started to switch lanes to get behind her, but someone driving up fast on my left honked and prevented me from getting over in time. I had no choice but to keep driving, so I exited near the pier and drove up to Ocean Avenue, hoping if I turned north I could catch up with her. I circled around the Promenade several times, but there was no sign of her.

I was in the mood to give up for the day. I knew she wasn't headed home immediately, so if I wanted to continue following her, I was going to have to wait at her house and hope that she would stop by between errands. The week had been exhausting, so I was thinking I needed a day off to relax and think about how I was going to handle this situation now that Gertie knew who I was.

6

I drove to Dennis' house to hang out with my dad. He was doing pretty well, but I figured I should take him out somewhere for the day so that he wouldn't get too sick of staying in the same neighborhood all the time. I decided he might like to say hello to his old buddies in Venice, so we got in the Charger with the big poodle and took off.

When we arrived, I bought some tacos to go. We scarfed them down while sitting on the beach. It was the first time I had really relaxed all week. As I stretched my legs out in the sun, I noticed that Dennis' clothes were looser than before. At first I thought it was because of the extra room I had now that all my schlong hair had been yanked out, but even my waist line felt thinner. It must have been all the coffee and moving around. I had also skipped several meals this week, and I hadn't had time to drink any booze either.

On the beach the big poodle was a chick magnet. They couldn't resist giving him a pat, and when they did, I tried to imagine that he was like an extension of me, as if the girls were coming over to tell me how cute I was. That was a big ego boost.

I took my dad over to the picnic table where he used to play chess. There was a homeless dude with his chess pieces set up waiting to play. The pieces were all dirty, and they clearly had been put together from several incomplete sets. The guy himself looked like he had been put together from several incomplete humans. He grinned at us as we arrived. He looked like what Einstein would have looked like if he had gone nuts and tried his luck at professional boxing. My dad looked at me as if he was waiting for me to do something.

“What is it?” I asked.

“Put shampoo on him, too,” he said.

“I don't think he'll let me. Hey buddy. You like shampoo?” I asked, shaking my head no sneaky-like so my dad couldn't see it. He smiled and shook his head no. “Sorry Dad. No deal. You wanna play Stinky here or not?”

“I play for money, after shampoo.”

I led him over to where he used to do his sculptures. He didn't want to do that either. I had a real homeless prima donna on my hands now.

We walked down to muscle beach and watched the steroid dudes sweat everywhere. Then I bought a few new Arnolds since I was, after all, at the place he used to hang out. I told my dad to pick out some T-shirts too, but he kept choosing tie-dyed Obama shirts with pot leaves all over them. I had no idea the president smoked so much weed. I didn't let my dad buy them because he would have really stuck out in Dennis' neighborhood walking around like that. He settled for a shirt that had a beer-drinking mule in overalls on it.