My Friend Leonard Read online

  It’s the middle of the night and he’s not close.

  I don’t want to wait till morning.

  I’ll call my guy. He can be here in an hour.

  The trooper goes back to the cruiser gets on the radio, he comes back and tells us the mechanic is coming. He gets back in the cruiser and drives away.

  We wait. I sit on the side of the road and smoke cigarettes. Kevin paces back and forth, he’s worried we won’t get back in time for his audition.

  An hour passes, two hours it is starting to get light when we see a tow truck approaching us. It pulls over behind us, a tall skinny man his arms covered with tattoos, a cigarette dangling from his lips, gets out of the truck starts ambling toward us he speaks.

  Looks like you’re having some trouble here.

  Yeah.

  What happened?

  Funny noises and smoke.

  Pop that hood the fuck up.

  I reach in, pop the hood. He opens it, looks at the engine. Kevin and I stand behind him, watch him as he looks around the engine, he turns around.

  You’re fucked, man, fucking fucked.

  What happened?

  Your engine blew up.

  How?

  Was somebody messing around with it?

  I motion toward Kevin. The man speaks.

  He forgot to put the radiator cap back on and all your coolant evaporated and the thing, boom, blew the fuck up.

  Kevin speaks.

  Impossible.

  Nah, that’s what happened. I’m looking at it.

  I put the cap on.

  It ain’t there, and as far as I know, they can’t take themselves off.

  Kevin gets angry, defensive.

  You’re not funny.

  Ain’t trying to be funny, just trying to tell you what happened, and what happened is there ain’t no radiator cap on here and the motherfucking engine blew.

  That’s not what happened.

  I look at the mechanic, speak.

  How long will it take to fix it?

  He thinks for a moment, speaks.

  Probably a week, ten days. Ain’t quick, this kind of job.

  Kevin speaks.

  A week?

  At least, man. The engine is fucked, that shit is fucking fried.

  Kevin turns to me.

  I have to be back, I have to be back soon.

  I look at the mechanic.

  Any way to do it faster.

  Nope.

  Is there a truck rental place nearby?

  In Flagstaff.

  How far is that?

  110 miles or so or something like that.

  Can you tow us there?

  I’ll tow you to Japan if you fucking pay me, man. I’ll tow you anywhere.

  How much will it cost?

  Well, it’s four thirty in the morning and I fucking hate Flagstaff and my wife don’t like me right now and I need some money to make her happy, so it’s gonna be pricey.

  How much?

  Seven hundred fifty bucks.

  No way.

  Five hundred bucks.

  Three fifty.

  My wife’s really fucking mad, man, I need five large.

  Fine let’s go.

  The mechanic goes back to his truck, pulls it in front of my truck, starts hitching my truck to the towing mechanism on the back of his truck. Kevin is still angry, still doesn’t believe this is happening, absolutely doesn’t believe he had anything to do with it. I get in next to the mechanic, Kevin is next to me, we start driving toward Flagstaff.

  We watch the sun rise over desolate flats. The mechanic talks and smokes he talks about his wife he says she hates him, about his two brothers he says they hate him, about his girlfriend he says she hates him. He talks about his truck he calls it Wayne it is his prized possession. He talks about shooting guns in the desert he’s hoping to find someone who will sell him a bazooka so he can do some, he says, real true-to-life destruction-style shit. I listen to the mechanic and laugh for most of the trip. Kevin stares out the window, clenches his jaw and shakes his head.

  We pull into Flagstaff. It is still early morning. Almost everything is closed we find a gas station with coffee and cigarettes and beef jerky. The mechanic drops us, with my truck, in the parking lot of a truck rental company. I write him a check, he says thank you and advises me to leave Flagstaff as soon as possible. I ask him why he says strange things happen around here. I ask him what he shakes his head and says man, just trust me, there is fucking ugly, scary, wack-ass shit in the air here. He gets in his truck and leaves us.

  Kevin and I sit and wait. We have two hours until the office opens Kevin spends most of it cursing the mechanic and his faulty diagnosis. When the office opens I rent a large truck and a trailer and I push my poor broken-down truck onto the trailer. We start driving west. I haven’t slept in twenty-four hours. The desert plays tricks with my mind with my eyes I see mirages, I see silver flashes, blue lights. I drink coffee, smoke cigarettes, turn the volume on the radio all the way up, hallucinate.

  Once we enter Los Angeles County it takes four hours to go sixty miles. When we pull into West Hollywood I can’t think straight, see straight, walk straight. I leave the trucks my truck on the trailer and the big truck on the side of a street they take up half a block.

  I call Leonard I told him I’d call as soon as I arrived. He wants to have lunch with me. He gives me the name of a restaurant, tells me he’ll be there on Wednesday at one o’clock.

  I get a ride to the restaurant. I arrive a few minutes early. I walk inside the Maitre d’ is at a stand just inside the front door. I give him Leonard’s name he tells me that Leonard has not arrived I should wait for him at the bar. I walk to the bar, which is a few feet behind him. I sit down on a stool, look around me. It’s crowded, noisy, I am the youngest person in the restaurant, and the worst-dressed. Most of the customers are middle-aged men in suits, the suits are all gray, black or navy blue they look like expensive suits. Most of the men are immaculately groomed perfect hair, smooth tans, manicured hands, those that aren’t look deliberately ruffled, as if they spent the morning in front of the mirror making sure their hair was just the right kind of messy. The walls are covered with cartoon drawings of famous people almost all men who are regular customers, some are movie stars, some athletes, some famous directors and producers. I order a nice cold tasty cola and I wait for Leonard.

  He arrives five minutes later he’s wearing a suit, he’s with the Snapper who is also wearing a suit. He sees me I stand we hug each other.

  Welcome to California, my son.

  Thanks, Leonard.

  We separate, I shake hands with Snapper.

  Welcome, kid.

  Thanks, Snap.

  The Maitre d’ leads us to a table. We sit in a booth along a wall Leonard and Snap sit on one side, I sit on the other side. Leonard speaks.

  Here you are, in the land of sunshine and dreams. You will either love it or hate it, and you will either flourish or fail.

  I’m looking forward to finding out.

  Love it, my son, and flourish. FLOURISH.

  What are you doing in town?

  I was seeing a nutritionist.

  Why?

  Because I want to live forever.

  I laugh.

  Seriously?

  Yes, seriously. A proper diet may be the key to immortality. I would like to be immortal.

  I laugh again.

  That’s crazy, Leonard.

  Snapper speaks.

  That’s what I told him.

  Leonard speaks.

  To each his own.

  You really think a special diet will make you immortal?

  No, I don’t, but I do think it’ll keep me here awhile longer.

  Probably.

  Definitely. So, now I’m going to see this nutritionist once a week, on Wednesdays, for the foreseeable future.

  I look at Snapper.

  Do you go?

  Snapper speaks.

  Fuck no
. I like cheeseburgers, pizza, fried chicken, ice cream, all the good stuff. I don’t care if it kills me, I’m eating it.

  I’m with you.

  I’ll dance on your graves, spin and yelp and sing happy gravedancing songs.

  I laugh, Snapper speaks.

  If I die, it won’t be cause my fucking diet.

  We all laugh. A waiter comes to our table says hello to Leonard says nice to see you again, sir he gives us menus we order. I get a ribeye and creamed spinach, Snapper gets a porterhouse, French fries, onion rings, tomatoes and onions and a blue cheese salad, Leonard orders a chopped salad. As we wait for the food Leonard asks about Liza I tell him it’s too early to tell. He asks where I’m living I tell him I’m living at Liza’s. He asks about my job prospects I tell him I may work shitty production jobs while I try to sell the script. He tells me he has friends in Hollywood that will help if I want them to, I tell him I want to do this on my own. The waiter brings Snapper and me steak knives, refills our drinks. As he walks away another man walks toward us, Snapper sees him alerts Leonard to his presence.

  The man is probably in his fifties, but looks older. He has dark wavy hair it looks like it’s been dyed, he’s extremely thin and extremely tan his skin looks like leather. He’s wearing a suit and a sparkling watch and a pinkie ring. Snapper looks at Leonard speaks.

  He still owe you?

  Leonard speaks.

  Yeah he does.

  How do you want to handle it?

  I don’t want to deal with him. This is not the time or the place.

  The man arrives at our table looks nervous slightly shaky he’s starting to sweat he speaks.

  Hello, Leonard.

  Leonard looks at him, speaks.

  It isn’t a good time.

  I need to speak to you.

  It isn’t a good time.

  I’m sorry about my payments, I really am, I won’t miss . . .

  Snapper interrupts.

  We’re having lunch. We would like you to leave.

  The man continues. Leonard looks away.

  I’m sorry, Leonard. If you could just give me . . .

  Snapper interrupts again.

  We would like you to leave.

  People at tables near us turn, start watching, Leonard shakes his head, the man continues.

  Please, Leonard, please . . .

  I see Snapper reach for his steak knife the man doesn’t see it he’s looking at Leonard who’s looking away. BOOM. Snapper slams the knife into the table and pulls his hand away. The knife is sticking straight into the table it’s wobbling a bit the man looks shocked. Snapper stands, towers over him, stares at him, speaks.

  It isn’t a good time.

  Everyone near us is silent, staring, the man’s eyes are wide and filled with fear, he turns and walks out of the restaurant. Snapper sits back down, takes the knife out of the table, wipes it with his napkin. Leonard speaks.

  That guy’s a fuckhead.

  Snapper speaks.

  Just say the word.

  Fuck him. Let’s enjoy our lunch.

  Snapper chuckles.

  Someday you’ll let me.

  Our food comes we eat Leonard eyes my steak I offer him some he says no. After we finish eating we order dessert Snapper gets cheesecake I get a hot fudge sundae Leonard gets a fruit plate. After dessert Leonard says I’ll see you next Wednesday?

  I say I’ll see you next Wednesday.

  I stay with Liza we talk for hours I get along better with her than any woman I’ve ever met we laugh and laugh we sit and talk for hours. As easy as it is to be with each other and as much as we like each other there’s still something missing. We both feel it we both know it there’s something missing between us and we both mourn it.

  I take my battered truck to get fixed it’s going to take ten days.

  I drive around with Liza start to get a feel for the city. It’s a strange city, unlike traditional cities. There is no central downtown. What is called downtown is a ghost town, empty but for a few high-rise office towers filled during the day. The only residents of downtown Los Angeles are the people who live in a self-governing ten block area filled with cardboard box houses and tents. The rest of the city is broken into small neighborhoods, though there is no feeling of neighborhood in them. The sidewalks are empty, people don’t interact with each other. There is a feeling that people are living where they are and waiting to move somewhere better, that the dream is almost fulfilled, and when it is, they’ll move to one of the wealthy areas of the city and finally make friends with those that live around them.

  I find a house. It’s a three-bedroom Spanish-style house on a busy street. It stands out among the other houses on its block because the front yard is filled with garbage. I walk around the side of the house and the backyard is also filled with garbage. I look in the windows of the garage it’s filled with garbage, I look in the windows of the house also filled with garbage. I ask one of the neighbors what’s happening with this house she tells me no one has lived there for three years, occasionally a truck comes by and drops off more crap. I go downtown to the city tax office find out who owns the house call them. I ask them if they’d be interested in getting the house cleaned up and fixed-up, tell them I’ll do it for free if they’ll let me live there. The man tells me to meet him at the house later in the afternoon I meet him his name is Al he’s a mechanic and inherited the house from his grandmother. He agrees to let me live there he also wants a small amount of rent fine with me.

  I clean the entire house, the yard, the garage. I tear out carpets there are nice wood floors beneath them. I get a mattress, a desk and a table, somewhere to sleep somewhere to work somewhere to eat. I get a roommate. His name is Jaylen. I know him from Chicago, where he was a wholesale weed dealer, never selling less than a pound at a time. He says he’s through selling weed, that he wants to be a music video director.

  I go out every night. Go out to bars with my friends, friends from the old days who have migrated here, all are working in some area of the entertainment industry. We go to the Three of Clubs, the Room, Smalls, DragonFly, the Snakepit, Jones, El Coyote. The bars are filled with beautiful young people it’s as if the three best-looking people from every town in the country have come to Los Angeles. Everyone wants to be famous, everyone is well-connected. Everyone is just a step or two away they’re waiting for that break it’s almost there they can taste it fucking taste it.

  I miss Chicago. I miss my friends, miss walking, miss seeing Lilly, miss living without ambition. Los Angeles is a lonely city. Everyone is focused on advancement success fame and money, it is hard to adjust to a culture based on always wanting more, on never being satisfied. I’m lonely, I miss my old life.

  I see Leonard for lunch every Wednesday. He looks thinner and in better shape each time. Snapper and I both eat steaks and multiple side dishes and dessert, Leonard sticks with salad and fruit.

  I decide I want a dog. I start paying attention to other people’s dogs, to their temperaments, to their habits, to their needs, their cost. I meet a pitbull named Grace 2000. Grace 2000 is short and heavily muscled, white with brown patches, she has deep brown sparkling eyes. She’s very excitable, runs in circles around my friend’s house, loves to play catch. Sometimes she bites the end of a spring attached to a thick branch of a tree and bounces from it. Sometimes she chases her tail. She never barks and she loves to give kisses. She’s a fifty pound ball of energy and love.

  I decide that I want a dog like Grace. I buy a paper, look in the classifieds, see ad after ad after ad, pitbull pitbull pitbull. One of the ads says Sons of Cholo. I didn’t know what Cholo means or who Cholo is, but I like the sound of it, so I call the number and get an address. I start driving.

  The address is in East Los Angeles, in a working-class Hispanic neighborhood. I park walk toward the house there are two men sitting on the front porch they’re drinking beer and smoking cigarettes their arms are covered with tattoos. I stop in front of them, they stare at me,
I say hello they nod. I ask if they’re selling the dogs, they say no habla inglés. I don’t speak Spanish so I hold up the paper, say Sons of Cholo, they smile, nod, one of them stands up and motions for me to follow him.

  We walk around the house. In the backyard there is a small fenced area. Inside the fence is a small doghouse. The man whistles and a giant pit storms out of the doghouse and starts barking.

  I’ve never seen a dog like him in my life. He’s short and gigantic, has layers and layers of rippling muscle, his coat is the color of milk chocolate and he has bright green eyes. His head is huge and thick, as if carved from a block of stone, and it’s covered with scars. He stands at the fence and snarles at me, his teeth are huge and a perfect white. I stare at him. He barks and snarls, looks like he wants to eat me, I am scared to death of him. The man taps me on the shoulder and points and smiles and says Cholo, undefeated campeón. He motions for me to follow him.

  We walk to a garage. He lifts the door and puppies begin streaming out, adorable little chocolate puppies, small versions of Cholo, minus the scars, minus the snarling. They yip and tumble over each other, jump on my feet, bite at the bottom of my pants. The man points to the puppies and says Sons of Cholo.

  I smile, sit down on the concrete. The puppies run into my lap, start jumping on my chest, licking my face. A hierarchy has been established among them and the larger puppies start muscling the smaller puppies away. The smallest of them falls off my lap and immediately starts climbing back. He gets pushed off again, starts climbing again. All he wants is to get close enough to lick my face.

  I stand up, the puppies start nipping at my feet again, I look at the man and point to the smallest puppy. The man nods and holds up three fingers. The price had been listed in the advertisement, I brought cash with me. I take it out of my pocket and hand it to him he picks up the puppy and hands him to me. We shake hands he says gracias I say gracias.

  I walk toward my car. The puppy starts whining. The further we get from the garage, the louder the whining. When I open the driver’s door, the puppy starts crying, looking toward the garage, where the other Sons of Cholo are still running around. I sit down in the driver’s seat. I brought some puppy toys and puppy treats with me, I hold the little fellow in my lap and try to get him interested in them, he just looks toward the garage and cries. I give up trying to make him stop and I start the car and I drive away.