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

come on, but I couldn't see what she was doing from where I was sitting. I had barely started in on my coffee, but I really needed to go see what this chick was up to. I thought about going right up and talking to her, but then when I came here to spy on Gertie in the future, this chick might come over and say hi or tell Gertie that I was the guy who had been looking for her. No, that wouldn't work at all.
    After a few more sips of coffee, my brain got into the right mode of thinking. I stopped pretending to be writing stuff and called Gertie's office number on my shit phone. The young woman answered.
    “Gertie Elliot's office. Gertie isn't here right now because she's off doing it right! Can I help you?” she said in a perky voice.
    “Uh...who are you?” I asked.
    “This is Ellen, Ms. Elliot's assistant. Do you need to talk to Ms. Elliot?”
    “Yeah...I was wondering about a house or something.”
    “Great! I'll have Gertie get in touch with you as soon as she comes in. One second while I write down your number.”
    I hung up as fast as I could. A couple of seconds passed, and my phone rang. It was Ellen. Damn caller ID. She must have thought we had got cut off. I answered it.
    “Sorry about that,” I said. “Look, I'll call back later. I've got meetings all day today, so I don't want to be bothered. Don't tell her to call.”
    “Oh. Okay. But call us as soon as you can.”
    That wasn't very smooth, but at least I now knew that Gertie was supposed to come by the office today. All I'd have to do is wait around long enough, and that wouldn't be too difficult as long as I could keep myself occupied.
    To stay in good with everyone, I didn't even have to pretend to be writing anymore because I noticed that Old-Birkenstock Jerry hadn't written anything at all today, and everyone was being much nicer to him because of it. He would sigh, grimace, and drum on the laptop, or write a few words with soft, irregular tapping on the keyboard and then delete what he had written with hard, regular pounding of the delete key. And everyone understood what he was going through without asking him anything. Pocket-Watch Eddy even bought him his next coffee. Swell guys, these writers. The less you work, the nicer they are.
    At noon I was exhausted. I couldn't take the writers sympathizing with my lack of writing anymore. It was emotionally draining, and somehow it made me feel ridiculous, as if I were pretending not to be able to get it up around a bunch of impotent dudes just to be nice. And anyway, this writing crap didn't seem too difficult to me. I was thinking that I was going to come back after I was done pretending to be Dennis and write some serious shit. But for the meantime, I'd just write down descriptions of all the people who went into Gertie's office to talk with Ellen.
    I was really getting into my descriptions when the kid from Starbucks, Max, came out to pick up the empty cups that had been left on the tables. He looked over in my direction and saw that I had already thrown my cup away. I thought he was going to be happy about this, but instead he came over and said, “Ummm, these tables are for customers only. You can stay here as long as you want if you keep buying coffee.”
    This was getting expensive, this spying. I was going to have to bill Spieldburt for this. I went in and got another coffee. This time I asked for something inspector Clouseau would drink. I got an espresso, which wasn't cool because it was so small. I had to go back for another one every thirty minutes so I could keep sitting at the table. And although I had avoided running off to the bathroom so far, I couldn't take it anymore. I just hoped Gertie wouldn't blow through there while I was away from my post. Old-Birkenstock Jerry must have had to go too, because he got up and followed me into the restroom.
    We took our positions next to each other at the urinals. I started going and had to hold back what would have been orgasmic-sounding groans. I