L.A. Success by Hans C. Freelac Page B

coffee for him all the time. Just wait here and see what he orders.”
    I stepped aside and got dirty looks from the next four or five customers as they came up to order. I took a closer look at the wormy kid while waiting for him to make it up to the counter. He was one of those guys who always have a five-o'clock shadow, but on him it didn't look tough because he was so scrawny. He also had a concave chest that made you think he had been stepped on by a horse.
    He made it to the register and then ordered without waiting for Daniel the manager to be ready.
    “Two skim vanilla lattes and a chai,” he said. His voice was whiny and pompous, like some new-England egghead.
    “Will you be drinking the chai, sir?” Daniel asked and looked over to see if I was paying attention.
    “Yes. And this is important because...?” asked the kid.
    “I'm just trying to memorize our regular customers' favorite drinks.”
    Daniel poured the coffee and gave it to the assistant, who paid and headed out. I was about to follow him when Daniel held up an extra vanilla latte that he had already poured. I paid for it, thanked him, and then left.
    I needed to talk to this assistant guy before he got away. I followed him to his car, and while he balanced his coffee tray and dug around for his keys in the pocket of his cargo shorts, I came up to him and tapped him on the shoulder.
    “You're the guy who works for that director, right? What's your name again?”
    “Grant. Do I know you?” he asked.
    “Well, no, but I'm trying to see your boss—”
    “Look,” he said, cutting me off. “Are you a writer or an actor? It's always one or the other.”
    “Uh...a writer.”
    “Okay. Yes—I read scripts for Steven, but the scripts are already picked from among the best available, most of which come from agents we've worked with for a long time. We don't take submissions from just anyone.”
    “But imagine someone came up to you with an amazing idea. If you were the person that discovered it and brought it to your boss, he'd think you were always doing your best to look for talent. That's the kind of guy he'd want working for him for a long time.”
    “And you're the guy who's going to give me this idea?” he asked, with one of his eyebrows arching up. “I'll tell you what. I'm headed out of here now—I need to get back before this gets cold. But some day, if I ever see you here again, I'll let you tell me about your idea the time it takes me to get through the line. And you'll buy the coffee.”
    This wasn't what I wanted at all. I was hoping he'd like my bogus idea and take it directly to Spieldburt. Of course, what he'd really be taking him would be a pile of papers with a note from me inside, explaining how smoothly I was handling his case. This Grant guy was turning out to be more of an obstacle than anything else.
    “Okay buddy. I got some ironing out to do on it, and then I'll come back and blow your mind,” I said. I was pretty sure I'd never see him again, and since he seemed to think he was better than me, I was happy about that. He got in his rusty hatchback and drove off. I had been right about him being a New Englander: the plates on his car were from Massachusetts. I got in the Charger, drank my coffee and listened to the radio for another half hour, then hit the highway.
     

Part 2
    1
    It was the day of the big open house, and I was feeling a little nervous. There were lots of things that I hadn't thought through enough, like what if I told Gertie I wanted to buy the house and, instead of calling her lover to celebrate, she called Spieldburt? Or what if she got so excited that she tried to do me instead of her lover? I really needed to get those pictures because after today she was never going to forget my face again. If I got caught following her after the open house, she'd probably come over and kick me in the kiwis.
    I checked myself out in the mirror. Dennis' clothes looked great, and for some reason they fit me better than