Big guys like that can be fun, if you know what I mean.
What wasn't fun was the guy's stinginess. I mean he was in the rackets and probably pulling down zillions. But he drove a ten-year-old clunker, lived in a fleabag motel, and dressed like Bozo the Clown. He took me out to dinner once-just once. It was a cheapie joint, but he almost fainted when the check came. He left a whole dollar for a tip.
I told him never to eat there again or the waiter would spit in his soup.
Finally I got sick and tired trying to pry some decent funds out of Gurk. So I started looking around for a new fish who didn't carry his roll with Scotch tape around it. I thought I found one at the club, a heavy drinker named Herman who was in the insurance business and seemed to be well-heeled.
I gave him a freebie, just as a come-on, you know, to prove my talent.
But the second time I met him at the club I laid it on him straight, and he got sore.
"Listen, kiddo," he said, "the day I have to start paying for it is the day I take up shuffleboard."
What a jerk! I mean he was probably taking women to ritzy restaurants and buying them clothes and expensive gifts, but he didn't consider that payment. A lot of guys are like that.
They'll buy a digger a mink coat but handing over cash offends them.
Go figure it.
So there I was, stuck with Big Bobby Gurk, a worldclass tightwad. I was getting a mingy alimony check every month and with what I was making (and boosting) at Hashbeam's Bo-teek, I was getting by. But my bank account was so flimsy I couldn't even afford to get sick. So I kept cruising and hoping.
Now take my girlfriend Jessica Fiddler. She has to take care of a rich geezer a couple of times a week, and for that she got her own home, a weekly salary, and lots of perfumes and cosmetics.
I'd be okay if I could find a mark like that.
Then something happened that turned my whole life around.
Bobby Gurk came over one night, but it wasn't for fun and games.
"I got a job for you, babe," he said.
"Great," I said. "How much does it pay?"
"Hey," he said, "don't you want to know what it is first? "
"I didn't figure you'd want me to rob a bank." , "Nah, it's nothing like that. This is something right up your alley."
"I've got a big alley," I said. "Okay, what is it?"
"There's this hustler I know who's got an in at a place that invents all kinds of medicines and stuff. An inside guy, on the take, sneaks the hustler new things they come up with. Then my pal peddles the new things to other people who rip them off and make a mint. Get the picture? Right now they're working on a pill that a guy takes and it puts lead in his pencil."
"You don't need it, Bobby," I told him, and that was the truth.
"It ain't for me, dummy," he said. "But if I can get hold of this pill I can have it copied, bootleg it, and make a nice couple of bucks."
I stared at him. "So? " I said. "Buy the pill from your hustler pal."
"He's going to hold me up," Gurk said. "I know he is."
"Oh-ho," I said. "Now I get it. You want to cut the hustler out of the deal."
"That's right. But to do that, I got to know who the inside guy is who's going to sneak him a sample pill. You follow?"
"Way ahead of you," I said. "You want me to cozy up to this hustler and pump him. You want me to ball him?"
"I don't care how you do it."
"Okay," I said. "A grand in advance."
"A grand?" he cried. "You nuts or something? A hundred now.
Another five hundred when you get me what I want."
"A thousand now," I insisted. "Another thousand when I get the stuff.
Or no deal."
Well, we went back and forth with a lot of yelling and screaming.
Finally, he gave me five yards in advance and promised another grand when and if I found out who the hustler's inside man was.
"It's called the ZAP pill," Gurk said. "And it's being made at a place called Mcwhortle Laboratory."
"I'll remember," I said. "Now how do I get to meet his pal you're going to shaft?"
We talked about several ways to arrange a meet so the guy wouldn't suspect a setup. But none of the scams we dreamed up seemed even halfway legit.
"Look," I said finally to Gurk, "honesty is the best policy.
What's this guy's name?"
"Willie Brevoort."
"Well, you tell Willie you know this roundheel who puts out at a moment's notice just for kicks. If he's interested, bring him around, introduce him, and then you take off."
"But what if he ain't inarrested?"
"Then the whole deal is dead, isn't it? If I can't be nice to him, how am I going to squeeze him?"
"Yeah," Bobby, the great brain, said slowly, "I see what you mean.
Okay, we'll do it. If it doesn't work, I'll try another way."
But it worked out just fine. Two nights later Gurk showed up with the hustler in tow. This Willie Brevoort was a slim, elegant guy with a long, pointy face. And dressed? Right out of GQ. I made his suit for a black-label Armani, and his suede loafers had those little tassels on them. What a dude he was!
The three of us had a drink, traded a few jokes, and, then Bobby said he had to get back to his office and took off. I poured Willie and me another drink-if you can call club soda a drink.
That's all he was having. I stuck to something with more vitamins, Absolut on the rocks.
"You got wheels, Willie?" I asked him. "Or did Bobby drive you here in that bucket of his?"
"No," he said, "I drove my own car."
"Smart," I said. "What do you drive?"
"A silver Infiniti."
"Love it," I said. "Listen, why don't we both get more comfortable."
"Suits me."
"I got a waterbed," I said. "I hope that suits you."
He didn't answer that, but he asked a question of his own.
"Are you a lady of leisure, Laura?"
"Hell, no," I said. "Wish I was. I'm the manager of a boutique." I wasn't, of course, just a salesclerk. But what's the dif?"
"A boutique?" he said, and he seemed to come alive, smiling and leaning forward. "That must be a fascinating job. I suppose you're getting advance info on the fall fashions."
"Some," I said. "Skirts are down and prices are up. But with me, prices are down and skirts are up."
He laughed, and we both started undressing. He was wearing aqua silk briefs. That figured. I stripped down and went to my walk-in closet.
Willie followed and looked over my shoulder.
"You have a lovely wardrobe, Laura," he said. "Unless I'm mistaken, there's a lot of Donna Karan. You like her designs?"
"Love them," I said. "They make me look smaller."
"Yes," he said, "you are a rather large lady. I imagine you and I might wear the same size."
"Wouldn't doubt it," I said.
We were both needle-naked. I yanked a plumcolored chiffon robe off a hanger, and Willie grabbed it.
"What a gorgeous peignoir," he said. He looked at me. "Do you mind if I try it on?"
I wasn't shocked. Listen, if you've been in the game like I have, nothing men do surprises you. I once had a john who liked to play a ukulele while I was blowing him.
"Go ahead," I said to Willie Brevoort. "Slip it on." it fitted him perfectly.
I've been in the manufacture and marketing of phari'maceuticals most of my adult life, and I knew from the git-go that the ZAP Project was a no-brainer. It wasn't that a testosterone pill couldn't be developed gregory Barrow was a dynamite research chemist, and he might just do it-it was the public reaction that would condemn it to become just a chemical curiosity.