L.A. Success (26 page)

“I can't play chess on the computer anymore?”

“Of course you can. You can keep the computer. It's all yours.”

“But someone will steal it from me.”

“No they won't, because you're going to come live with me. You remember that guy I introduced you to the other day? He lives there, too. It'll be like a frat house or something.”

“I don't know that guy. He looks weird.”

“Yeah, I know, but he's all heart inside. Anyway, he's a student so I don't know how long he'll be staying with me. When he leaves it'll just be you and me.”

He sat still for a long time without saying anything. I couldn't tell if that was good or bad.

“I got your stuff loaded up in the car. I'm going to unplug the computer now, but we'll take it with us. I thought we could stop off and get you a haircut and a shave before we go get settled in. What do you say?”

He still didn't answer, but he got up and walked outside. I packed up the last of the stuff and joined him.

He was still nervous when we arrived at the barber shop. Sometimes he breathed heavy like he needed more oxygen. At first I thought it was because I had asked the barber to cut his hair even shorter than before so that it would look good even if he didn't comb it, but when I asked him if he was okay with the cut he said yes.

We stopped at the Giant Angry Panda to get some takeout. I figured if he had something good to eat on his first night at my place he'd adapt better, but I was wrong. He barely ate anything. He just sat on the couch staring down at the floor. I even hooked up the internet chess again, but he didn't show any interest. I was out of ideas.

Later in the evening, Gertie and Tommy walked in. Both of them gave me weird looks and waited for me to speak.

“Hi guys,” I said. “Tommy, you remember my dad. Dad, this is Gertie, my boss.” My dad didn't look over, but Gertie didn't even notice. She was just standing there staring at me with a puzzled look on her face. I waited for her to say something, but she didn't move.

“Something wrong, Gertie?”

“Oh, so that's the way we're going to play this, eh? Just let it go and don't say a word about it, right?”

“I can bring my dad over here if I want. It's my house,” I said.

“No, no, pal. You know that's not what I'm talking about. I want to know why the hell you came in on us last night while we were doing it and took pictures. I'm not sure I even want to know why you grabbed Tommy's navel lint, put it in a jar and yelled 'the dweller is blue, it's always blue!'”

“We were pretty drunk last night, Gertie. You might not remember this, but you asked me to come in and join you.”

Tommy was looking increasingly hostile, his lips quivering all the things he would have said if only he could have strung them together properly.

“You son of a war!” he finally said.

“Hold on Tommy. I probably did ask him to do that. You have to keep an eye on The Gert when she's lit up. The animal in me gets released. But you...,” she said, looking over at me again, “you had an invitation to paradise, and you passed it up. That makes you suspicious.”

“Um...I knew Tommy would be upset if I took you up on it, but I was overpowered by the idea of your nakedness,” I said, digging down deep for a big lie. “So I took the pictures so I could, you know, go get with the auto-doing.”

“That is repulsive!” she said. "You men make me sick with your lusting after me.”

“I'm truly sorry, Gertie.”

“Let's forget about the whole thing. But can you give me copies of those photos? I'd ask for the originals, but I know you'll do anything to keep a copy somewhere.”

“Yeah, sure. I'll give them to Tommy later.”

“All right. Let's go to bed, Tommy.”

“Son of a war!” he said one more time.

“Jesus, Tommy. How many times do I have to tell you? You don't pronounce the 'w', only the 'h',” said Gertie as they entered Tommy's room. “Now come give your little 'war' a kiss.” They shut the door, muffling their animal noises and giggles.

The exchange had made my dad even more uncomfortable. I could see that this wasn't going to work out yet, so I decided to try again tomorrow.

“Look, my friend isn't getting back until Sunday, so why don't I take you back over and let you sleep there for a couple more days. Just remember, you've got to come back here soon, so start trying to get used to the idea,” I said, but before I could even finish, my dad had stood up and walked to the door. I grabbed a change of clothes for him, packed up the computer, and took him back over to Dennis'. After he was feeling comfortable again and ready to sleep, I went home with the big poodle and hit the frog barking.

5

The next morning I brought my dad to my place for the day so that he could get used to it. I told him he'd be sleeping at Dennis', so he seemed a lot more relaxed than the day before and even started playing chess on my couch. That would give me enough time to rent a carpet cleaner and straighten up before I had to meet Spieldburt at the plant-dinosaur fountain.

I swung by the grocery store and rented a carpet cleaner. I hauled it into Dennis' living room and went to work. By around eleven I had everything looking good, so I put the machine in the trunk of the Charger and went back inside to grab the envelope for Mrs. Reyes. I figured I'd have time to return the machine, give the screenplay and photos to Spieldburt, and then drive up to Beverly Glen to find Mrs. Reyes before the end of the afternoon.

I tucked the manila envelope under my arm and walked out of the house. After exiting the courtyard, I turned around to lock the gate. While I was digging in my pocket for the keys, I heard quick footsteps coming in my direction. I turned around and saw an outstretched hand reaching for my envelope. I locked my arm down tightly over it and spun around, but the envelope was on the verge of sliding out from under my arm. I dropped the keys and grabbed the envelope with my free hand. I felt a couple of strong kicks in the rear.

“Let go of it you bastard!” said a voice I had heard only a few times but recognized instantly: it was Spieldburt. With both hands on the envelope, he started pulling it from side to side. With each tug he gave, I was losing my grip on it. I needed both hands to get it under control, so I raised the arm that the envelope was tucked under, hoping to flip around and add my free hand to the tug of war. As soon as I took my arm off the envelope, it shot out of my grip.

Spieldburt took off running but got his foot caught on a tree root that had grown up from under the sidewalk and went sprawling down on the grass. He immediately started pushing himself up with his hands, so I jumped on him like a luchador, wrapping my arms around his legs. He hit the ground again and started thrashing to break free of me, but I was clamped on like a pit bull. He picked up the envelope, tossed it a few feet forward, and then managed to twist around so that he could see me. He reared back and clocked me on the top of the head with his fist and then grimaced in pain.

“Ah! I think you broke my hand! Let go of me!” he yelled, flopping around like a fish in a canoe. But still I held on.

Then he reached down with both hands to cover my mouth and pinch my nose. I wasted a good twenty seconds of airlessness having no idea what to do. The best thing I could think of was to try to bite his hand, but I only ended up licking his salty palm. Then I started seeing lots of quick-moving paisleys everywhere, and things began to go blurry and dark. I had to let go of him and knock his hands off me or else I would have passed out.

He sprang up to his feet. I gasped in the thick L.A. air and tried to prop myself up. Everything was swimming around me. I saw Spieldburt bend over to pick up the envelope and the pair of sunglasses that had fallen off his face during the tussle. I leaped forward, snatching the envelope out of his hand, but I landed on my side in the grass right next to him.

Then the Sharkburt in him came out. He gave me several kicks to the stomach. I'd always thought this would hurt terribly, and for the most part, I had been right. But the most annoying thing about getting kicked in the stomach is that you can't breathe. The pain actually goes a little numb after the first few kicks.

I rolled over on top of the envelope. Spieldburt tried to push me off of it, and even though I had started thinking of myself as a thinner guy, I was apparently still too fat to be moved by an enraged movie director.

My face was straight down in the grass, so I couldn't see much. He stopped pushing me, but I didn't want to look up for fear that he'd go after my nose and mouth again. Then I felt him grab my feet and tug. This also was unsuccessful. My god, how fat had I been before I stopped drinking so much? He let me go and my legs flopped in the grass. Then there was a pause. I was afraid to look up, but I was so freaked out by the calm that I had to know what he was preparing to do. I crooked my neck around but didn't see him anywhere. Then I heard the jingling of keys behind me. I sat up, pressing the envelope tightly against my chest. I turned around to see that Spieldburt had picked up my keys from in front of the door. He hit the unlock button on the Mercedes' key fob, causing the car lights to flash. I didn't like where this was going. He had a sinister look in his eyes as he circled around me and headed toward the car.

I had trouble catching my breath, so it took me a while to get to my feet. By the time I had staggered over to the driveway, Spieldburt was in the Mercedes and had already started the motor. I saw the car move slightly when he put it in gear.

“What are you going to do, steal my car?”

“No. I'm going to ram this car into your other cars, and then I'm going to get out, go into your house and break some shit. All you wanted was a miserable five grand for what you've got in that envelope. I'm going to make you lose a hell of a lot more if you don't give it to me now for nothing. I've reached my limit with people like you. I refuse to give you a single dollar!”

“But you asked for it!”

“It's all in the past, and that's where it's going to stay. Now toss it over!”

I could tell by the psychotic look in his eyes that he really was willing to do what he had said. It made no sense to me. Last time I saw him, he laughed at my fee like it was nothing. Now, he was willing to destroy property to get my third act. One thing was sure: I wasn't going to give it to him until I found out why.

“Fine. You win. Take it. Just leave me alone,” I said, holding out the envelope.

“Wise choice,” he said. He took a set of keys out of his pocket and hit the unlock button on the fob. The lights of a BMW parked across the street flashed. “Put the envelope in the front seat. No funny business, or the demolition derby begins.”

I backed away slowly and then turned and walked over to the BMW. I opened the driver's side door and tossed in the manila envelope that I was supposed to give to Mrs. Reyes. Dennis would just have to replace whatever was inside it and deliver it himself when he got back. A delay of a couple of days couldn't possibly matter that much.

I walked back over to the driveway. Spieldburt stepped out of the Mercedes but didn't stop the engine. He reached into the car, shifted it into neutral, and then gave a little push on the door frame. The car started rolling down the driveway. He took off toward his BMW. I ran over behind the car and tried to stop it, but my feet just slid backwards on the pavement. I stepped to the side, jumped in the car and put my foot on the brake. A loud honk went off behind me, and the culprit, a teenager in a car he couldn't possibly have paid for himself, flipped me off as he changed lanes to avoid smashing into me.

6

Spieldburt was gone. He didn't have what he had come for, but now I was thinking that it didn't really matter. It was clear that he had lost his mind, so there was no way I was going to get the money he owed me anyway. All I wanted to do at this point was finish straightening up the house and get out of there before Spieldburt realized he had the wrong envelope and came back. I felt a little guilty that I'd be leaving a nasty situation for Dennis, but to each his own shit, as they say.

I was tired and aching all over. Now that the adrenaline was fading away, I could feel every kick, every knock, and every strained muscle. And all of a sudden I was thirstier than I had ever been.

Wine came to mind, but not because that was what I wanted to drink. When I thought of it, there was this second odor that surged forward in my memory, one that reminded me of having a plastic bottle in my hand. Gatorade—that was what I needed. My body was hinting that it wanted me to replace all the nutrients that I'd had beaten out of me.

I went inside the house to the kitchen. I was about to open the fridge to see if Dennis had left any Gatorade when I saw that another pane of glass had been smashed out of the kitchen door, which was now standing ajar. I couldn't remember when I had been in the kitchen the last time. Had someone broken in yesterday when we were back at my place? If so, they must have been polite burglars, because nothing looked messed up. Did it happen this morning after I took my dad back to my place? Or during my fight with Spieldburt?

I was going to have to check all the rooms to see if anything had been stolen, but first I definitely needed something cold to drink. I opened the fridge. What I saw caused me to travel back through my memories and replace the flawed ones I had formed based on an incomprehensible act of drunken self-deception with real ones, in which my actions now seemed almost schizophrenic. There, on the shelves of Dennis' fridge, were my dad's chocolate sculptures. He had put them in from the top to the bottom shelf in the order he had sculpted them. There were three of them per shelf, three shelves in all. They were all of the same man. Starting from the most recent ones at the bottom, I saw sculptures of the man peeking into the courtyard, presumably pressing his face against a window, and hiding behind a shrub. On the middle shelf he was opening the gate of the backyard fence, reaching through a broken window pane to unlock the kitchen door, and climbing over the backyard fence. And on the top shelf he was trying to pick the lock of the front door, sitting in his car, and finally, in the very first sculpture my dad had done, he was talking to me in the courtyard.