“What?” said Stanley, utterly perplexed.
“Sharks,” Jetsam said. “Surfers don’t like the men in gray suits. We know all the stories about them.”
“Oh,” Stanley said without the slightest idea what the hell they were talking about.
“I say we give him a chance,” Flotsam said. “In memory of the Indianapolis. You down, partner?”
“I’m on it, bro,” Jetsam said. Then he looked at the drunk and said, “It’s a balloon test. Pass it and we’ll let you go. You good with that?”
Stanley said, “L-L-L-Lemme blow in the b-b-b-balloon. I ain’t that… that…” And he lurched to starboard, but Jetsam grabbed his arm before he crashed to the pavement, and said, “I think drunk is the word you’re searching for, Stanley.”
Flotsam said, “Anyways, you ain’t the one that has to blow, Stanley.” With that, he reached in his pocket and pulled out a yellow balloon.
He put it to his lips and blew it to the size of a cantaloupe, after which he pinched off the neck, held it in front of the drunk’s face, and said, “Game on, Stanley. If you can catch it, you’re a free man.”
Then he let it go. The balloon soared and dove and smacked the pavement while Stanley pawed the air in a futile attempt to grab it, with Jetsam holding his collar so he didn’t kiss the concrete.
“Best two out of three, dude?” Flotsam said to Stanley, who nodded eagerly and said, “Let her r-r-r-rip!”
Jetsam picked up the balloon, readying for another test, when Sergeant Hermann startled both cops by walking up behind them, saying, “What in the hell are you surfer goons up to this time?”
Both cops spun around, and Flotsam said, “Oh, hi, Sarge. We’re just, uh, trying to, uh, figure out how drunk this man is.”
Stanley said, “Come on, let’s d-d-d-do it!”
“Let’s not,” Sergeant Hermann said. Then to her cops, she said, “You can’t book him now, not that you ever intended to. You might have a bit of a problem explaining your balloon test to a judge.”
“Well, Sarge…,” Jetsam said, trying to come up with something plausible.
“Where do you live?” Sergeant Hermann asked Stanley.
“The R-R-R-Roosevelt Hotel,” he said, swaying precariously, “for a f-f-f-few days. Then I’m going home to Indi… Indi… Indi… aw, fuck it.”
“Take this man to the Roosevelt Hotel,” Sergeant Hermann said. “And don’t ever let me catch you two playing with balloons again.”
Without a word, both surfer cops got Stanley by the arms and marched him to the backseat of their shop.
When they got him inside the lobby of the Roosevelt Hotel, Stanley said, “Don’t leave. Let’s have a n-n-n-nightcap in honor of the Indi… Indi… Indi…”
“Aw, fuck it,” Flotsam said, finishing it for him.
SEVENTEEN
MALCOLM WAS GOING to treat himself to his second burger of the day, this time at Hamburger Hamlet, and he was also thinking about going to a movie. When his cell phone chimed, he felt sure it was Naomi Teller and didn’t bother to look, so he eagerly said, “Hi!”
“Clark, it’s Bernie Graham,” Dewey said.
“Oh, yeah, how you feeling, Mr. Graham?”
“I’m a lot better than yesterday,” Dewey said. “In fact, my secretary, Ethel, asked me to call. We’d like to take you to dinner as a sort of reward for what you did.”
“It’s okay, Mr. Graham,” Malcolm said. “You don’t have to do that. I only hope we can start working together soon.”
“We will,” Dewey said. “I need to mend a bit longer, but in the meantime, we’d like to take you someplace for a bite to eat after you get off work tomorrow. Do you know Musso’s on Hollywood Boulevard east of Highland?”
“No,” Malcolm said, “but I’ll find it.”
“It’s a very old place with good, wholesome food like your mother used to make.”
“My mother. Yeah,” Malcolm said.
“What about meeting us at Musso and Frank at five thirty? Pull around to the back and park in their lot. Come in and look for Ethel and me at one of the tables near the bar.”
Malcolm thought it over and said, “Okay, Mr. Graham, but I sure hope we can get started on my job real soon. I need the money.”
“We will, Clark, we will,” Dewey said and clicked off.
After Eunice returned from her banking excursion, one of many that seemed to last an unusual amount of time, Dewey said matter-of-factly, “Eunice, I made an early dinner reservation for tomorrow at Musso’s. I thought we could use a little R & R.”
As expected, she was dismissive. “Knock yourself out, Dewey. I’ll stay here and earn a living for both of us. Bring me two Whoppers after you’re through.”
Then he said, “I was hoping you’d come this time. I invited the kid, like we discussed.”
“Kid?”
“Yeah, the new boy, Clark. It’s the least I can do for the way he rescued me after I got beat up by that meth-crazed runner. I think he’ll turn out to be a good little moneymaker.”
“Did the kid say he’d come?” Eunice said, her voice rising in anticipation.
“Yeah, he’s coming,” Dewey said. “It’ll be fun to see the lad in a nice restaurant. A real treat for him. I wish you’d come along too. We haven’t had a night out together in a long time.”
She paused for only a few seconds before saying, “Well, it has been a while. I guess I can use an evening off. But why do you have to eat at the old places? Christ, drive down Melrose and pick one of the hot ones: Lucques or Bastide or All’ Angelo. You think you can recapture your youth by dining at Musso and Frank or the Formosa Café? Get real, Dewey. Old Hollywood is gone with the wind.”
He stared at her. There was nobody else on the planet who could come close to turning an invitation into an insult the way Eunice could. There was so much he would’ve liked to say, but all he said was, “The kid’ll feel more relaxed in one of the old places that serve comfort food. Let’s think of him.”
“Okay, have it your way,” Eunice said and lit another cigarette.
“Good,” Dewey said. “I made an early reservation because the boy works at his job all day and he’ll be starved.”
“I guess we really should do this,” she said. “He did you a big favor, all right.”
Dewey went to his bedroom and left the door slightly ajar and turned on the shower in the bathroom. Then he crept to the open door and listened.
He heard Eunice dial a number, and when it was answered, she said, “Hello, Henri, this is Eunice Gleason. You gotta take me tomorrow for a cut and dye. And I’ll need one of the girls for a manicure and pedicure as well.”
Dewey listened while she got her response, and then she said, “No, Henri. It has to be tomorrow. It’s important to me. I’ll give you a tip that’ll make you very happy.”
There was another silence and she said, “Eleven o’clock, and noon for the nail work. Terrific! Thanks, sweetie!”
When she hung up, Dewey heard her actually start humming a tune. He had to close the door when she came toward the hallway, so he couldn’t make out the song. With a grim smile he wondered if it was one from her childhood, like “Puppy Love.”
Malcolm finished his hamburger and paid the bill, and when he was in the parking lot, he started thinking of Naomi. He was surprised how disappointed he’d been when it had been Bernie Graham on the phone instead of his girl. He’d been thinking about what it would be like to kiss Naomi and have her kiss him back. He intended to find out next time.
The only girls he’d ever kissed were those sluts he went to school with in Boyle Heights. Those cholas with their eyebrows plucked bare, wearing eye shadow and mascara that made them look like those old punk rockers with painted faces. The making-out part and the gropes he got from them had never excited him much, not even on the few occasions when one of them would strip naked in his bedroom when his mother was at work. They’d certainly never excited him enough that he could keep an erection long enough to get the thing done, and after one of them taunted him and asked if he was a homo, he never even tried again. That was just before Malcolm and his mother moved to Hollywood, and it was one of the reasons the move had secretly been such a relief to him. Those little bitches were spreading lies about his failed performances, he was sure of it.