My Friend Leonard (18 page)

 

F
all becomes winter.

I sit in front of my computer for hours I write what are you scared of dumbass, why are you scared?

A man at a bar tells me I look like a fly. I ask him why he thinks I look like a fly and he tells me that flies are born in shit and live in shit and he tells me that I look like shit and look like I've lived in, with and through shit, thus I look like a fly. I don't know what to say so I say thank you, my friend, thank you.

I meet a girl named Julianne she's Danny's friend she wants a roommate. We get along, she's from the South and her accent makes me laugh, I decide that I will be her roommate. We start looking for an apartment. We find a big apartment with two bedrooms, high ceilings, a living room dining room and kitchen, it should be expensive but isn't. We're trying to figure out why there is a loud rumble, and the building shakes and the windows shake and the floor shakes everything fucking shakes. Julianne wonders if we're having an earthquake, I laugh, walk to the back of the apartment, look out the window. The El tracks are ten feet away. I like the El tracks, like the shaking and the rumbling, like the apartment. I tell Julianne that I think we should move in, she agrees with me, we sign a lease. We move in and every fifteen minutes we rumble and shake, rumble and shake.

I meet another man at another bar he looks me in the eyes and he says I am mentally ill and unstable. I tell him I am mentally ill and unstable as well. He tells me that his doctors have advised him to never drink again, that it could kill him. I tell him my doctors have given me the same
advice. He tells me that he goes to bars because he doesn't know what else to do with his life. I tell him I know the feeling and I buy him a cola, an ice cold glass of cola.

I sit in front of my computer.

Every fifteen minutes I rumble and shake.

Winter in Chicago is cold as hell.

 

L
eonard's visits stop he hates the cold he avoids it. I talk to him once a week or so he calls me from strange places Venezuela and Costa Rica and Barbados, Guadeloupe and the Dominican Republic. I ask him what he's doing why he's traveling so much he says I'm TCB my son, T, C motherfucking B. I ask him what that means, he says it means taking care of business, taking care of motherfucking business.

 

L
eonard calls tells me he's sending me a plane ticket he wants me to come to his beach house for the Super Bowl. I get the ticket, get on the plane, fly to LA, get off the plane. My friend Chris is picking me up. I went to college with him, lived with him for a year. He works at a golf course in Orange County. He wants to own his own golf course at some point, right now he works as an Assistant Greenskeeper. I ask him what that means, he says it means I mow fucking lawns all day.

I walk out of the terminal it's bright, warm, sunny. Chris is waiting for me at the curb I climb into his SUV he says what's up I say not much he asks where we going I say Orange County and I give him an address.

The drive takes just over an hour. We talk about friends laugh he asks me how I'm doing I say well, I ask him how he's doing he says fine all he does is work. I see a big sign for the Pageant of the Masters, it makes me laugh.

We drive past an outdoor theater called the Irvine Bowl, which says it is the home of the Pageant of the Masters I laugh again. We get to Laguna Beach. We get lost. I call Leonard he gives us directions. We find his house at the end of a dead-end street. It's a large, white, contemporary house, all angles and glass, built into the side of a cliff overlooking the ocean. There are ten or so cars parked in the driveway and along the curb. All of them are expensive European cars: Porsches, Bentleys, Mercedeses, Jaguars, BMWs.

We park, walk to the door, there's a man at the door he asks for our names. I give him my name and he lets us in. We walk through the door into a large open living room. Everything is white, the floors, the walls, the furniture, there are white flowers in white vases, white lamps with white shades, long white linen curtains on the edges of the windows. There is a stairway leading down at the back edge of the room, we hear noise from below we walk to the stairway and descend. We walk into another large
open room. The front wall of the room is made of glass, beyond the glass there is a deck and beyond the deck open views of the Pacific ocean.

Along another wall there is a pool table with black felt. Along a third there is a bar a long white bar, a bartender in a white tuxedo stands behind it serving drinks. Along the back there is a huge television, the largest television I have ever seen, its image coming from a projector hanging on the ceiling. There are three large, soft couches in a U in front of the television. There are about thirty people spread through the room and on the deck, there are many more women than men. The men are diverse, black white and Asian, some in suits, some in shorts and t-shirts. The women are all white, all beautiful, most are blond. Most have surgically enhanced chests, and are all well-dressed, though some wear less than others. When we reach the bottom of the stairs Chris looks around and looks at me and smiles and says holy fuck, this is going to be fun.

I see Leonard on the deck he's smoking a cigar and talking to a man in his sixties with long white hair and a long white beard the man has a young blond girl with him. I walk toward Leonard he sees me raises his hand yells.

My son. My son has arrived.

The man and the blonde turn and look at me I laugh.

Hi, Leonard.

You just get here?

Yeah.

That your friend?

Yeah. Chris, Leonard. Leonard, Chris.

They shake hands. The man interrupts, tells Leonard they'll talk later. He walks away with the woman, who glances back at us. Leonard looks at Chris, speaks.

You live nearby, right?

Yeah.

You smoke weed?

Yeah.

You like fucking hot chicks?

Chris laughs.

Of course.

The guy who just walked away is the biggest pot dealer on the west coast
and the woman is his wife, who's a porn star. She likes to fuck and he doesn't care who she fucks and I could tell by the look she gave you that she wants to fuck you, so if you want either weed or her, let me know.

Chris laughs again.

Seriously?

Leonard nods.

Yeah, but you better be ready.

Ready for what?

She stars in S&M porn films, and she might want to beat you up before she fucks you.

Really?

Yeah, and she can kick some ass. I've seen the results. It isn't pretty.

Chris turns around, looks at the woman, who is standing with her husband near the pool table. He turns back to us.

You got any beer? I think I need to have a beer and think about it.

Of course I've got beer, I've got whatever you want. Go tell the bartender and give me a minute with my son.

Cool.

Chris walks to the bar. Leonard turns to me.

Thanks for coming.

Thanks for having me.

This may be the last of these parties. I thought you'd want to see it and I thought you'd enjoy it.

Why the last?

Making some changes.

Care to elaborate?

Not yet.

Okay.

I look around.

Who are all these people?

Gambling fools, a number of whom will lose enormous sums of money to me tonight.

All of them gamble with you?

All of the men, and a couple of the women. The other women are either with one of the men or were hired by me to keep the men happy.

Which ones are hired?

You like one of them?

Just curious.

See the one talking to your friend?

I look at Chris, who is standing by the bar. He is talking to a tall blond woman, she's taller than him, who is wearing a short skirt and a tube top, neither of which covers much of her body.

Yeah, I see her.

She's a pro, and at some point in the next couple minutes she's going to lean into his ear and offer to go upstairs with him.

He's gonna shit.

If he's smart, he's gonna go upstairs. It'll be the ride of his fucking life.

I laugh.

You do this often?

As I said, this may be the last time, but I usually do it for the Super Bowl, the NCAA basketball championship and the Kentucky Derby, which are the biggest betting days of the year.

Why here and not Vegas?

Same reason I've never brought you to Vegas.

Which is?

I get followed around in Vegas. My every move is monitored by people whose sole aim in life is to figure out some way to lock me up. You're already a blip on their radar, but if you were to show up in Vegas, you would become a much larger blip, which doesn't need to happen. I have parties here because I can control what happens in this house and what people see and hear in this house. It's no coincidence that it's at the end of a one-way street, and that it's built into the side of a cliff. Both things make surveillance of it much more difficult. I also found these former spies from England who opened a spy shop that sells high-tech spy shit and they sweep it once a month for listening devices.

They ever find anything?

Yeah, but not in a while, which means the government has either given up on this place or is using shit my guys can't find. Won't matter soon anyway, because, as I said, these parties are ending.

And you're not gonna tell me why?

Not yet.

He takes a drag of his cigar, speaks.

Everything good with you?

Yeah.

Keeping busy?

Yeah.

Doing what?

I wrote a movie script.

Leonard smiles.

Hah! That's fucking great. Why didn't you tell me you were doing that?

I didn't want to be embarrassed if I couldn't finish it.

You want to be a writer?

I thought I'd try it.

Can I read this script?

No.

Why?

It's awful.

Come on.

No way.

It can't be that bad.

It's fucking awful. I showed it to a couple of people and everyone agrees, even though some of them won't say it directly.

Why'd you write a script? I thought you were gonna write a book.

Scripts are easier and take less time and I thought I might be able to make some money at it.

Most movies are awful, so it's probably perfect.

This is awful even on the movie scale of awful, and it wasn't supposed to be awful. While I was doing it, I thought it was brilliant. Nobody in their right mind would give me a penny for it.

There are plenty of people in Hollywood who aren't in their right minds.

Some of them are here, right now, in this fucking house.

Trust me, even they would think it was awful.

You gonna write another one?

Yeah.

Good. You should write the dumbest, most commercial thing you can think of and I bet you'll sell it.

Maybe.

How's your money holding up?

I still have too much of it.

Go spend it. Buy something beautiful.

I saw a Matisse drawing recently.

I'll expect to see it on your wall next time I'm in town.

You should come soon. My friends miss you and they're hungry.

He laughs, motions toward the house.

Game's about to start, I gotta go in and take action.

Where's Snap?

Dallas is playing, and for some reason Snap, despite the fact that he is from New York, has always been a Dallas fan, so I got a pair of tickets for him and his brother and sent them.

You're a good man, Leonard.

He laughs.

No I'm not.

Yeah you are.

Let's go inside. I gotta get to work.

I follow him inside. Chris is still talking to the girl. Leonard walks toward the couches, a platinum selling R&B star is singing the National Anthem on the television. Leonard starts mingling with his guests, telling them jokes, laughing with them, shaking hands with them. I go to the bar, get a cola, find a seat, wait for the game to start. Almost immediately, Chris sits next to me, speaks.

Dude.

What's up?

That chick, I think she's into me.

I laugh.

What's so funny?

Are you into her?

Look at her. She's gorgeous. Of course I'm into her.

And why do you think she's into you?

She asked me if I wanted to go upstairs, have a private conversation.

What'd you say?

I said hell yes. She's grabbing her purse and we're going up.

I laugh again.

What's so funny?

I shake my head.

Come on, Dude. What's so funny?

She's a hooker, Chris.

No way.

Yes, way.

How do you know?

Leonard told me.

She's a fucking hooker?

Yeah.

I thought she was into me.

She probably was, though she gets paid to be into everyone here, literally and figuratively.

Goddamnit.

Get a drink. Let's watch the game.

He goes to the bar, gets a drink, comes back. As the game starts, most of the people in the house gather in the area around the television. Leonard is sitting in the middle of the couch taking bets. From where we are sitting we can hear the amounts fifty, seventy-five, one hundred thousand, we hear one man say two hundred and twenty-five, we hear another say four hundred. During the game, we hear more ridiculous bets. One man bets one hundred thousand dollars that Dallas will get a first down, he loses the bet. Another bets fifty that the other team's kicker will miss a field goal, he wins the bet. Leonard takes every bet offered, though he often adjusts the odds. There are bets on first downs, fourth downs, on extra points, passing yards, rushing yards, points above and below, there are bets on fucking everything. At halftime everyone goes upstairs, where a huge buffet has been laid out. There is prime rib, there are crab claws, there is Caesar salad, baked potatoes, creamed spinach. There are salmon steaks, there's pasta salad. There is a separate buffet with dessert cakes and tarts and pies and cookies and chocolates and éclairs. We get plates of food, go back downstairs, watch the halftime show. Chris meets two other women one of them is a hooker, the other is married to a record producer, I meet the owner of a chain of car dealerships, an Israeli weapons dealer, a man
who exports used American clothing to Japan, two professional gamblers, a man who says he is Iranian royalty and had to flee the Ayatollahs. Near the end of the show, Leonard sits down next to me. I speak.