Read Online L.A. Success by Hans C. Freelac - Free Book Online Page A

sleep.
    After dinner I walked home with Ballsack. Tommy said something like “I 'ave I-runned you cloziz” to me when I passed through the living room, but I was so tired that whatever he meant didn't register. I only grunted and kept going.
    That night I dreamed all sorts of weirdness. I think the caffeine in my body was making my brain remember stuff. I dreamed about my meeting with Spieldburt the other day, but this time, since I wasn't wasted, all sorts of details I had missed the first time were coming back to me. I now remembered, for example, something I had asked him. This is how I remembered it in the dream:
    “So Spieldburt, when you did that E.T. movie, did you ever think about how ridiculous a similar but reversed situation would be? Like, if a human scientist went to another planet and got stranded, would he be standing there going 'hmm...I have to improvise a complex intergalactic-communication device so that I can contact my scientist colleagues who left me here by accident—oh look! There's candy on the ground! I love candy! I should pick up the pieces slowly and pay no attention at all to where I'm going.' I mean, come on, was this the dumbest E.T. on the ship or what?”
    “You have a sound point,” Spieldburt answered, stroking his beard. “I really could have used someone like you to point out these glaring contradictions in my film. Perhaps after you find out whether my lover is cheating on me you could read through some of my newest projects?”
    “It would be a pleasure,” I answered.
     
    19
    I woke up the next morning and got ready as fast as I could. When I went into my closet to get a fresh Arnold, I saw that Tommy had ironed my clothes. Life just kept getting better and better.
    I took my dad some fruit for breakfast. He was already up playing chess on the computer. He was really looking good nowadays, but I was going to have to buy him some more clothes and make him take a shower again soon.
    I arrived at the Starbucks before 9am. Some of the writers were already there. We said hello, and I went inside to get a coffee. The same guy as yesterday was working, so I waited in his line. The name on his badge was Max. He remembered who I was.
    “Okay, now imagine that Columbo is coming in for some coffee. Give me whatever you would give him,” I said.
    The kid thought for a while and then grabbed a big cup and filled it up. No steamy, foamy stuff this time around.
    “Dark roast,” he said. “Put two creamers and a pack of sugar in it, because Columbo has a soft side.”
    I thanked him and did exactly that.
    I went outside with the writers and took out my paper and pen. I was going to have to pretend to be writing something from now on if I wanted to maintain my cover. The guys looked at me with admiration, as if I were an old kung-fu master keeping an ancient fighting style alive.
    This coffee was exactly what I wanted. It was rough at first, just like when you look at Columbo and think what an ugly guy he is.
    I looked up from my coffee and noticed that the bald USC guy from yesterday was wearing the same sweatshirt again. In fact, all of them were wearing something they had worn yesterday. One guy had on the same hat. Another, the same scarf. I, of course, was wearing the same T-shirt. I started thinking that after this P.I. stuff was over, I'd have to give a try at the writing since I apparently fit the profile.
    “I forgot to introduce myself. I'm Lonnie.”
    They all told me their names. USC guy's name was Jake. Scarf guy was Al. Hat guy was Leonard. Then there was pocket-watch guy—it actually took me a few more times before I realized that this was his thing—whose name was Eddie, and old-Birkenstock guy, whose name was Jerry. I tried never to sit too close to Jerry. Occasionally, no matter where I sat, a gust of wind would remind me he was there.
    At about 10am, a young woman walked up to Gertie's office. She took out a key, unlocked the door, and went inside. I saw the lights