Read Online Three Ways to Die by Lee Goldberg - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Lee Goldberg
Ads: Link
rest of the class, which included a stockbroker, a corporate safari booker, a basketball referee, a hair dresser, and a 17-year-old girl pulled over for text messaging while driving.
We had a ten-minute break at 11 and I practically ran out of the classroom onto Hollywood Boulevard. It was drizzling outside, but I didn't care. I needed air and I hoped the rain would wake me up.
The streets were virtually deserted, the wet weather driving the bums into alcoves, the hookers into their motel rooms, and the tourists into the trams at the Universal Studios tour. The black terrazzo sidewalks were shiny and slick, the water washing away the accumulated cigarette butts, dog crap, french fries, and chewing gum from the Walk of Fame.
I stood on Jack Webb's pink star, hands shoved in my pockets, and looked around. The Metrorail station was next door. The Pantages Theatre, a dive bar, a hotdog stand and a donut shop were across the street.
Jack's star was near the entrance to a parking lot and beside what was once a phone booth, until the coin box was ripped out, the receiver was torn off, and people started using the post as urinal. If having a star there was one of the rewards of fame, I was glad I was unknown.
I took a Krispee Kreme napkin out of my pocket, bent down, and wiped some dirt off the bronze letters of Jack's name. It was the least I could do, considering what Jack meant to my wife. I sensed somebody standing beside me. It was Titus, smoking a cigarette.
"So what's worse," I said, standing up. "Prison or traffic school?"
I didn't really care, I was talking to cover my embarrassment at being caught buffing Jack's star.
Titus snorted derisively. "This makes solitary confinement seem appealing. You aren't scared of me?"
"Should I be?"
He shrugged. "Everybody else in class is keeping their distance."
"Maybe they just don't want to get wet."
Titus flicked his cigarette butt on Jack's star. "Which episode of VIP did you write?"
I kicked the butt off of Jack's star and into the gutter. Titus noticed.
"The one with the evil twin lesbian hit women," I said.
"You wrote that? Shit. That's my all-time favorite episode."
"You saw it?"
" VIP was big in prison," he said.
I motioned towards his tattoo. "Nice tattoo. Is she an old girlfriend?"
"Don't you recognize her?" he flexed his muscles creating the illusion that the tattooed woman's boobs were bouncing. "It's Pamela."
I studied the tattoo. Yeah, I suppose it could have been Pamela Anderson. It could also have been my wife.
* * * * * *
We spent the next two hours taking a multiple choice traffic law quiz and going over the answers. The last question was: Is it permissible to have an open alcoholic beverage in a) the glove compartment, b) the back seat, or c) the trunk."
"The correct answer is 'c,' the trunk," Irma said. "Unless you're in it at the time."
We broke for lunch at 1:00 and were told to be back in forty-five minutes. Titus and I ended up at a pizza-by-the-slice joint that was next-door to a sex shop. I thought about going into the shop and browsing. It was our fifth wedding anniversary on Tuesday and I still hadn't found anything for Carly. Maybe if I got her something kinky she'd think it was cute. Or not. Nothing I did seemed to please her anymore.
When I couldn't land another script assignment, and had to take a job at The Acorn to pay the bills, she was disappointed in me. That disappointment turned into resentment and was edging towards hate. She was talking about leaving me and "jump-starting her life." I'm not Dr. Phil, but I think it was a whole lot easier to be disappointed in me than in herself.
I wanted her to love me again. I wanted to save our marriage. I just had no clue how to do it.
"You want to stop by the sex shop before we go back?" Titus asked between loud slurps of his extra large coke.
"Why do you ask?"
"The way you looked at the place when we walked past it."
"My fifth wedding anniversary is coming up," I said. "I can't
We had a ten-minute break at 11 and I practically ran out of the classroom onto Hollywood Boulevard. It was drizzling outside, but I didn't care. I needed air and I hoped the rain would wake me up.
The streets were virtually deserted, the wet weather driving the bums into alcoves, the hookers into their motel rooms, and the tourists into the trams at the Universal Studios tour. The black terrazzo sidewalks were shiny and slick, the water washing away the accumulated cigarette butts, dog crap, french fries, and chewing gum from the Walk of Fame.
I stood on Jack Webb's pink star, hands shoved in my pockets, and looked around. The Metrorail station was next door. The Pantages Theatre, a dive bar, a hotdog stand and a donut shop were across the street.
Jack's star was near the entrance to a parking lot and beside what was once a phone booth, until the coin box was ripped out, the receiver was torn off, and people started using the post as urinal. If having a star there was one of the rewards of fame, I was glad I was unknown.
I took a Krispee Kreme napkin out of my pocket, bent down, and wiped some dirt off the bronze letters of Jack's name. It was the least I could do, considering what Jack meant to my wife. I sensed somebody standing beside me. It was Titus, smoking a cigarette.
"So what's worse," I said, standing up. "Prison or traffic school?"
I didn't really care, I was talking to cover my embarrassment at being caught buffing Jack's star.
Titus snorted derisively. "This makes solitary confinement seem appealing. You aren't scared of me?"
"Should I be?"
He shrugged. "Everybody else in class is keeping their distance."
"Maybe they just don't want to get wet."
Titus flicked his cigarette butt on Jack's star. "Which episode of VIP did you write?"
I kicked the butt off of Jack's star and into the gutter. Titus noticed.
"The one with the evil twin lesbian hit women," I said.
"You wrote that? Shit. That's my all-time favorite episode."
"You saw it?"
" VIP was big in prison," he said.
I motioned towards his tattoo. "Nice tattoo. Is she an old girlfriend?"
"Don't you recognize her?" he flexed his muscles creating the illusion that the tattooed woman's boobs were bouncing. "It's Pamela."
I studied the tattoo. Yeah, I suppose it could have been Pamela Anderson. It could also have been my wife.
* * * * * *
We spent the next two hours taking a multiple choice traffic law quiz and going over the answers. The last question was: Is it permissible to have an open alcoholic beverage in a) the glove compartment, b) the back seat, or c) the trunk."
"The correct answer is 'c,' the trunk," Irma said. "Unless you're in it at the time."
We broke for lunch at 1:00 and were told to be back in forty-five minutes. Titus and I ended up at a pizza-by-the-slice joint that was next-door to a sex shop. I thought about going into the shop and browsing. It was our fifth wedding anniversary on Tuesday and I still hadn't found anything for Carly. Maybe if I got her something kinky she'd think it was cute. Or not. Nothing I did seemed to please her anymore.
When I couldn't land another script assignment, and had to take a job at The Acorn to pay the bills, she was disappointed in me. That disappointment turned into resentment and was edging towards hate. She was talking about leaving me and "jump-starting her life." I'm not Dr. Phil, but I think it was a whole lot easier to be disappointed in me than in herself.
I wanted her to love me again. I wanted to save our marriage. I just had no clue how to do it.
"You want to stop by the sex shop before we go back?" Titus asked between loud slurps of his extra large coke.
"Why do you ask?"
"The way you looked at the place when we walked past it."
"My fifth wedding anniversary is coming up," I said. "I can't
Similar Books
