Excerpt Henry Richard hated to travel.
He hated motels; they made his skin itch.
He hated airports; they confused him and made him feel incompetent.
And he always packed the wrong clothes.
There were three travel agencies in the Humboldt Chamber of Commerce that sent him glossy brochuresMardi Gras in New Orleans; skiing in Telluride; tours of Napa Valley wineries. He looked at the brochures for the great graphics. But he had no desire to travel.
But you should travel, Henry, Tom Harly said.
My friends think its some kind of character flaw, not wanting to travel, Henry said.
Well, you should broaden your outlook, see other places--
Why? Is it some kind of civic duty? Who says I cant stay home on my vacation, and paint, and go out to dinner with Sally?
Worse, this was his fourth trip south in the past two months, not even counting the trip to Vegas to see Tony. And he hated to leave Sally alone in the store this long, even though Jen promised to go sit with her.
And what he saw of the San Fernando Valley, that northern suburb of Los Angeles, did not change his mind. People talked about the exuberance of Southern California architecture, the sense of breaking rules. But driving through this neighborhood, the buildings all looked alike: four-story apartment buildings, each apartment with a two-foot-wide balcony with a painted pipe railing, a tribute to the aesthetic taste of some developer 15 years ago.
What are those things? Henry glanced sideways at Tony, who was draped over an overstuffed sofa in a cocktail lounge filled with upholstered seating groups around small tables. The floors were pickled oak covered with dhurrie rugs and the walls were hand-trowelled vanilla colored stucco in a stab at anonymous ethnic. In one corner of the room was the discreet bar, and Henry noticed the waiters combed their hair straight back off their foreheads, unparted, European style. One waiter had a short neat braid in back, but it didnt look like the long scraggly braids Henry had seen on men in Plonktown.
Theyre called Little Angels, Tony carefully slit a packet and placed it in the French cuff of his left sleeve.
What?
Tony rotated his wrist and admired the diamond cufflink, which winked in the dim light. Because they make people sleep like Little Angels. Look at these links, arent they great? Sandra gave them to me for our wedding. Ah, when youre good, youre good.
Youre sure this stuff cant hurt Diesel? What if he gets sick?
Nah. We use them at the club where I work. Every once in a while we get a noisy drunk; somebody who makes it crazy for the band, nobody can perform. And if you turn loose the bouncer, sometimes we have to, but some of these drunks are big; its a real free-for-all.
Tony, what free-for-all? Henry swiveled his hips to move to the edge of his chair.
Tony knocked back a Scotch mist and signaled for another. So what we do is, somebody in the band offers to buy the guy a drink, and puts one of these in it. The drunk goes to sleep, and we pile him in the back room. He wakes up a couple hours later not remembering anything and figures he had a helluva time.
Maybe you better not drink another--
Little bro, in my business, you learn to drink and stay fresh as a daisy.
We dont even know Diesel comes in here--
Yeah, we do. Theres a picture of him in here in one of those articles you had.
But we dont know what day--
Yeah, we do. I came in here the other night, gave the bartender $20 and told him I want to meet Diesel because Im trying to get a gig for the band in one of his flicks. Hes gonna intro me, says Diesel comes in pretty much Tuesday nights, which is why were here tonight.
You gave him your name? What if the bartender remembers you and tells Diesel afterward--
No, no. This is my world and I gotta tell you, Henry, you dont know from this world.
It seems stupid to use your name--
Its his liquor license if somebody passes out here after drinking. Hes going to be very, very quiet. In fact, hes going to be grateful to us for taking care of a nasty situation.
Theres no point in taking risks we dont have to take
Henry, how come is it youre forever making the rules, and now youre making rules in a place where you dont know from nothing?
Diesel probably wont even come.
Tony sighed. I could of got one of the band guys to do this, but I figured its better between the two of us. Maybe I was wrong.
Henry stiffened. Ill be all right. You know that, Tony.
He thinks Diesel has a comadre near here because he comes in with a tall blond showgirl type.
Jesus, my stomachs in a knot. I cant drink this.
Leave the drink in front of you and eat some of these Japanese crackers they put on the table. And will you stop jiggling around? You break that bottle in your pocket, well never get the stuff off you.
Its him! Henry grabbed Tonys arm. The one with the kind of loose trousers, just came in, hes going to the bar.
Showtime, Tony stood up, shot his cuffs, and glided over to the bar to take a stool next to Diesel.
This is Tony Richard, the bartender nodded toward him, has a good combo. Tony, Zoltan Diesel.
Mr. Diesel, Tony flashed the dazzling grin, what a pleasure. Ive been trying to talk to you, send over a tape of the stuff we do, maybe for one of your films.
Im not looking at anybody for music right now. Diesel tilted his head and stared down his nose.
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