My Friend Leonard Read online

  He sits in my lap on the ride back to my house. He cries and he shakes. He pees on me, pees on the seat, pees on the floor. Son of Cholo is scared to death, and he pees all over me.

  I call the puppy Cassius. He’s a smart pup he knows his name after a few days. I potty train him in a week. He can sit, shake, stay, lie down in two weeks. He goes everywhere with me, rides shotgun in my truck, sleeps in my bed.

  I go to parties with my friends. We go to apartments to the courtyards of apartment buildings to houses in the Hollywood Hills. When I meet new people the first question they usually ask me is what do you do? I tell them I am an unemployed aspiring writer and they realize I can’t help them in any way and they can’t use me in any way and they usually walk away from me.

  I send out my script everywhere to everyone I meet who might be interested in it I call them follow up with them no luck no luck. Hearing people say no doesn’t bother me, doesn’t discourage me. I’m confident in what I can do and I believe that, to a certain extent, I’m playing a numbers game. If I get myself and my work in front of enough people, sooner or later someone will like it.

  I go back to trying to write a book I spend most of my time staring at a blank computer screen.

  Jaylen and I decide to fill the third bedroom in our house, figure it will be good to have someone to share expenses. Jaylen brings an old friend from Chicago to the house, his name is Tommy. Tommy is Korean, grew up in a small farm town forty miles west of Chicago, his father and mother are both doctors. Tommy dresses like a thug and talks like a thug with a thick inner-city accent. He wants to be either a rap-star, a deejay or a rap video director. I ask him if he ever feels like a phony with his clothes and his accent and he says motherfucker, I grew up in the fields, but my heart’s from the motherfucking streets. I ask him if he’s ever been in a fight, been arrested, held a gun or dealt drugs, he says he keeps it real with a peaceful vibe.

  I see Leonard on Wednesdays he is always thinner, always looks healthier.

  Leonard calls says it’s a big, big day, round up some friends I’m taking you to dinner. I ask why it’s a big day, he says I’ll tell you when I see you. I ask when and where he says he’ll pick me up at my house, round up some motherfucking friends. I call Liza, Mike, Jenny, Quinn, Mark, my friend Andy who is visiting from New York. Everyone meets at my house, Leonard arrives in his white Mercedes, Snapper is driving. There isn’t enough room in his car so my friends drive their cars and I ride with Leonard. Leonard has a small briefcase at his feet. I look at it, speak.

  That’s not for me, is it?

  Leonard speaks.

  You’re retired.

  Good.

  And I want to do this one myself.

  Does that have to do with this being a big day?

  Indeed it does.

  I don’t need to know anymore.

  You can ask if you want.

  I don’t want to know.

  You can ask.

  That’s okay.

  Really, it’s fine. Ask away.

  No thanks.

  Snapper turns around.

  He wants you to fucking ask him, so ask him.

  I look at Leonard, speak.

  What does that briefcase have to do with the big day?

  Leonard smiles.

  My last truly illegal act.

  I laugh.

  Congratulations.

  He nods.

  It’s a big fucking day.

  Why are you bringing me and my friends with you?

  For a celebration.

  Are we at risk?

  Of course not.

  What’s happening?

  Russkies.

  Russkies?

  Yeah, the Russkies have come to town.

  So what?

  Leonard looks at Snapper.

  You want to take this one?

  Snapper nods.

  Sure.

  Leonard looks back at me.

  He’s taking this one.

  I nod.

  I got it.

  Snapper speaks.

  Russians are mean bastards, have always been mean bastards. They kicked Napoleon’s ass, kicked Hitler’s ass, kicked every ass they ever encountered. When people like us started coming over here, the Russkies were in Russia and had no interest. Then the Soviet Union kept ’em locked up for seventy years. Now those fuckers are free, and they see what we got, and there’s fucking hordes of ’em coming over here, and like I said, they’re mean fucking bastards. If I’m a six on the mean scale, they’re twelves.

  They’re greedy and aggressive, and now that we’re legal, I think we’d just as soon step the fuck out of their way. We can’t, however, just step away, because then we look weak and scared and then we get popped. So we work out a deal. We give them certain considerations that they want, they give us a bag of Russian sparklies that we sell. Everybody wins, everybody’s happy, nothing bad happens. We’re through with all the illegal rackets we had, and we can’t get caught for nothing, except maybe tax cheating, which might happen, because this is gonna be the first year I ever filed a tax return, and the IRS notices that shit.

  You have a good accountant?

  He laughs.

  I do, at least I think I do, and I better, or he’s in trouble.

  He chuckles again.

  Tax return. I’m actually excited about it.

  I laugh, turn to Leonard.

  So what’s in your briefcase?

  Nothing. It’s empty.

  And you’re trading it for one that looks like it, but isn’t empty?

  You learned well, my son. You were a natural.

  I laugh. We turn on Sunset start heading east, away from the glamour of the Sunset Strip and into the reality of Hollywood. The apartment blocks are lined with decrepit buildings. Because it is night, there are hookers, women who are women and men who are women and some unknown, walking up and down the street, standing in small groups on corners, they wave and shake their asses and flash their tits and yell at us as we drive past them. Every other shop is a pawnshop, the windows are filled with guitars and amps and drumsets filled with the dead dreams of rock super-stardom. There is a Space Burger restaurant their burgers are out of this world, there is a diner filled with people sitting alone staring out the window. It’s a common sight in Los Angeles, someone sitting alone staring out the window.

  We pull off Sunset. We pull up to a valet in front of what looks like a Mosque. It’s a large white building with a gold dome, it has spikes along the edges of the roof, iron doors with engraved Arabic words. We get out of the car. Snapper waves off the valet pulls down the street I look at Leonard, speak.

  What the fuck is this?

  Leonard smiles.

  Belly dance!

  Belly dance?

  Yeah, belly dance!

  My friends pull up get out of their cars. They seem to know the place I ask them if any of them have been here they say no. Leonard leads us inside. There is a large central room, it’s a light room, an open room. There is a fountain in the center of the room, an ornate tile floor, mosaics cover the walls. There are smaller rooms off the central room, smaller rooms in every direction, they’re dark rooms, thick dark oriental rugs cover the floors, they’re lit by candles there are people sitting on cushions on the floor. Leonard greets the host who leads us to one of the smaller rooms. We sit on cushions around a low, circular table. A waiter brings us water and menus Leonard waves off the menus, orders for the table. Snapper joins us sets the briefcase near his feet.

  Leonard introduces himself to my friends, introduces Snapper. He asks them where they’re from, why they live in Los Angeles, how they know me. Snapper sits, doesn’t speak, occasionally glances toward the entrance to our room, occasionally glances at his watch.

  A first round of food is delivered. It comes on large round plates. The plates have sections for meats lamb and beef, thick flat bread, dark heavy sauces. None of us knows what it is or how to eat it Leonard tells us it’s Persian we eat it
with our hands just dip the bread and the meat into the sauces don’t worry about the mess don’t worry about manners. The food is rich, strong, spicy, my friends drink beer I drink water. As we finish the plates, I see Snapper nod to Leonard they both stand with the briefcase.

  Leonard excuses them they leave the room.

  Our plates are taken away we wait.

  Our drinks are refilled we wait.

  Liza asks if I know where Leonard is I say I have no idea. Mark asks if we should order more food I say I’m pretty sure it’s covered. More food arrives it never stops. We wait.

  I think about going out to find them to make sure everything is okay, I laugh at myself know I’d last about five seconds against some mean fucking Russkie. I think about going to speak with the host I hear a bell, multiple bells, moving toward the entrance to our room. Above the bells I hear Leonard laughing, saying woohoo, woohoo, saying shake it shake it shake it. Everyone at the table turns toward the entrance. A belly dancer, in a traditional belly dancing outfit, her hips wiggling her stomach gesticulating cymbals on her fingers clashing clashing comes shaking into the room. She is followed by another dancer who is followed by Leonard hooting and laughing who is followed by a man with a guitar frantically strumming who is followed by two waiters with giant trays of food who are followed by a smiling Snapper carrying a briefcase identical to the one he was carrying when he left the room. The belly dancers start moving around the table. The waiters set the trays on the table, start unloading heaping bowls of rice and platters with stacks of kebabs beef, lamb and chicken. Leonard follows the dancers, pretending to be one of them, making a complete fool of himself, knowing he’s doing it, laughing. Snapper sits back down, smiles.

  My friends eat, drink, watch the show, laugh. Leonard sits and picks at a chicken kebab he says I’m watching my weight has the dancers start dancing again. Whenever I look at Snapper he nods and smiles, two or three times he mouths the words tax return, oh yeah, tax return, oh yeah. We stay at the restaurant for hours eating more drinking more listening to music watching the dancers laughing laughing laughing.

  It’s all legal now.

  Snapper is going to file a tax return.

  The phone rings I pick it up Leonard speaks.

  MY SON MY SON MY SON.

  I laugh.

  Hi, Leonard.

  How you doing?

  I’m good. You?

  I’m very upset with myself.

  Why?

  I forgot to give you the secret.

  What secret?

  The secret to kicking ass in dumbshit Hollywood.

  You know it?

  Of course I fucking know it.

  I laugh again.

  What is it?

  Be bold.

  Be bold.

  But not bold, be fucking BOLD.

  Okay.

  Every time you meet someone, make a fucking impression. Make them think you’re the hottest shit in the world. Make them think they’re gonna lose their job if they don’t give you one. Look ’em in the eye, and never look away. Be confident and calm, be fucking bold.

  That sounds more like the secret to kicking ass in life.

  It is, but I was gonna wait and tell you that some other time.

  Liza and her friend Mitch find a play they want to make into a short film. They ask if I want to direct it I say yes. Liza convinces the famous director she works for to fund half of it, her friend Mitch convinces the famous producer he works for to fund the other half of it. I’m not sure I’m a director, I have no real experience with actors and don’t really know how a camera works, but I pretend to be one, and pretending seems to be all that matters in Hollywood. Pretend to be something, be convincing, and people will treat you differently, as if you actually are what you are pretending to be. It’s a game, embarrassing and fake, but it is a means to an end here, so I play the game, and I quickly learn that I play it pretty well.

  Tommy and Jaylen decide they’re going to be deejay partners. They pool all of their money and they buy two turntables, a sound system and several crates of records. They stop working, spend all of their time smoking weed and spinning records.

  Cassius grows and grows and grows. At four months he weighs thirty pounds at five he weighs forty at six he weighs fifty. The weight is all muscle. His coordination lags behind his growth so he stumbles and trips and seems confused by his own size.

  I start to sleep again. I get used to going to bed without the rumbling and shaking of the El train.

  I go to meetings with development executives. I go to meetings with agents. Development executives are people who read scripts, hire writers to write or re-write scripts, agents are the people who arrange for the jobs and negotiate the deals. The meetings are general meetings, which means we say hello, nice to meet you, they tell me they’ve heard great things about me, I tell them the same thing, and we spend the next hour kissing each other’s asses. I try to make an impression with everyone I meet follow Leonard’s advice speak simply and directly and look everyone in the eye. Part of me hates going to the meetings they’re fake and stupid and I feel insecure after each of them, part of me knows I need to and I have to if I want to work and make money. Part of me is happy that I’m doing something other than making deliveries, working a bullshit job or going for walks. It feels good to actually do something.

  Tommy and Jaylen start throwing parties at our house. They set up the turntables in our living room and charge ten dollars to walk in the door. The parties start at midnight and end sometime near dawn. The parties keep me awake, I can’t fucking sleep.

  We finish the movie. Liza and Mitch want to have a screening and a party. The studio where they work has a theater they convince the man who runs it to let us use it.

  I tell my parents, who I talk to once a week or so, they want to come to the screening. I tell Leonard he wants to come to the screening. Liza and Mitch send out invitations they say there’s going to be a crowd of people at the screening, actors and directors and writers and agents and managers and producers. Most of them, Liza tells me, will be coming to see if they like my movie and want to work with me. I ask her how they know about me she tells me that she and Mitch have big mouths. I thank her, thank him. The days leading up to the screening drag I’m nervous. If it goes well I’ll get work, if it goes poorly I’ll be forgotten. I feel good about the movie but I also know that it’s not going to change the world. If I fail, I fail. I’ve been through worse.

  My parents arrive. They recently moved from Tokyo to Singapore, the trip to Los Angeles took twenty-six hours. I pick them up at the airport they’re tired. I tell them I’ll take them to their hotel they want to see where I live. I tell them I’ll take them to their hotel. On our way we talk I ask them how the adjustment to Singapore has been, my Mom says it’s a much easier place to live than Japan, everyone speaks English and they don’t hate foreigners, my Dad says it’s no different for him, an office is an office. They ask about Los Angeles I tell them it’s fine I’m getting used to it, they ask about my friends here, they know them from before, I tell them they’ll see my friends tonight. It’s good to see my parents, it’s easier than I expected it might be with them. Our relationship has been strained and difficult for most of my life, now it gets better and more healthy each time I see them. I know they love me they always have, I know they want the best for me they have always tried. It’s good to have them here.

  I drop them off at the hotel. I go home smoke cigarettes listen to Tommy and Jaylen practice, they sound worse than when they started, none of the beats match, the transitions from song to song are obvious and clunky. Time is slow as it always is when I want it to be fast I have nothing to do but wait. I sit in my room can’t think or talk on the phone because of the noise, if I make some money because of this movie I’m going to buy a bomb and blow those motherfucking turntables to bits.

  I take a shower put on some nice clothing, the same clothing I used to wear when I was working for Leonard and was pretending
to be a commuter. I laugh at the clothes they’re dusty from lack of use I brush them off. I leave the house drive to the hotel pick up my parents. We drive to the studio, pull up to the gate, our names are on the proper list, the guard waves us through.

  We park start heading toward the theater my Mom and Dad look around as we walk. Studios are large bland ugly places. The one we are on consists of a couple hundred acres of land dotted with what look like airplane hangars, a few simple office buildings built to look like houses, and a big, ugly, black tower. There is an amusement park attached to the studio where tourists pay for the privilege to be driven around the studio in long funny buses that look like giant golf carts. There are trucks and trailers parked outside of the hangars, casually dressed young people walk, ride bikes or drive golf carts, they all look like they’re in a hurry. The tourists all stare at them, hope one of them is a star that they recognize from TV or the movies, my Mom asks where all the stars are, I tell her I don’t know I’ve never seen one. My Dad asks what everyone is doing I say most of them are pretending to be busy so they don’t get fired.

  We get to the theater Liza and Mitch are standing outside. I introduce them to my parents, I take my parents inside and find them seats. People are starting to arrive I’m too nervous to sit down, I find Liza we walk around the back of the theater and smoke cigarettes. Five minutes before the screening is supposed to start we walk back to the front. There is a small crowd of people at the entrance, a few that I know, most I have never seen. Liza goes to talk to Mitch, I stand at the edge of the crowd wait for everyone to go inside, when they do I follow them. I stand at the door, wait for the lights to go out. I don’t want anyone to see me I’m nervous, much more self-conscious than I expected to be. When the lights are out and just before the movie starts I slip in walk to the back row sit down.

  I don’t watch the movie, I watch people watching the movie. I watch their reactions, hope for laughs when laughs are supposed to come, hope to move them when I want to move them, hope I make them happy sad curious hopeful. The reactions are fine, not great not bad, though I doubt anything aside from being carried out on the shoulders of a cheering audience would have made me happy.