L.A. Success (2 page)

A couple of hours later, there was a knock at the door. It was Tim, the only neighbor I liked. He lived at the very end of the street, which was probably why my crappy house didn't bother him. He was a good guy. He worked with computers or sold hiking gear or something.

“Hey Tim, who ya doin'?” said me.

“Lonnie, just swell.”

“You're doing me, you dirty perv? Well come on in then.” I said.

“Not enough time. Just got home from work and I have to go walk the dog, but I wanted to come over and wish you well. Helen dropped by before she left to give me back a thing or two you had borrowed, and she told me.”

“Oh yeah? What'd she say?”

“Not much. She said it was over. She looked pretty beat up over it.”

This Tim guy wasn't as round as me. I used to wonder why Helen didn't leave me for him, since he had a job and a nicer house.

“Did she say she'd see you around?” I said, feeling clammy.

“No.”

I saw him glance quickly behind me at the empty walls, at the stuff that was different. It's written all over the place when a woman leaves for good. He looked at me again and now he seemed sadder, and I knew he'd been dumped bad before, too.

“Hear about Alice?” he asked. Alice was the special or challenged or gifted—whatever means not too bright now—woman who lived on our street. She was nice, but she had a short memory. She kept asking me if I was going to plant some grass. She asked every week. And then, just to mess with her, I said I already had and it was going to need mowing soon. For months after that she would stop to stare at it every time she passed by, looking really close for the blades. Then she started over again with the planting question. I couldn't avoid her because she was always going up and down the street when she walked all the neighborhood dogs. She did other stuff that cracked me up. One day, when traffic was routed through our neighborhood because of the presidential visit, Alice went out into the intersection and started directing the traffic, sending cars left and right. And since none of those drivers had ever been down our street, they just did what she told them to, running the stop signs and everything.

“Nah, I been busy,” I said.

“Her uncle found a group home for her. They thought her being alone all day might not have been the best arrangement. I'm happy for her, but I have to admit I don't know what I'm going to do with Buster while I'm at work.”

“Good luck with that,” I said.

“Well, I was thinking. Just temporarily, perhaps, it might take your mind off things to walk Buster. Given that you've not already found something to distract you, of course. It sounds ridiculous, I know, but Alice actually charged us a fortune, so it wouldn't be that big of a waste of time.”

The other thing I remembered about Alice was the bunch of pink plastic gloves she kept tucked in her pocket. For the poo that she didn't touch.

“I got something right now,” I said, hoping he wouldn't ask me what. It sounded like a good idea, but I needed a night to decide if I could deal with the gloves.

“No prob. Again, hope you're feeling all right. We'll get together for a drink soon.” And he was off.

4

After sleeping on it, I decided I was going to walk that dog. I needed distraction and money. I hadn't given up on the Arnold plan, and the shirt I had was getting smelly. Two more days at the most and I would need a new one, so I had to make a little cash.

That evening, when Tim's restored Mustang came tooling down the street, I walked down to talk to him. He was looking at some letters he had pulled out of the mailbox when I arrived.

“Hi Lonnie. Feeling okay?” he asked.

“I'm surviving. Just wanted to see about Buster. I'm thinking of walking the little bastard after all,” I said.

“Well, sure. That'd be great. It'll help me out a lot.”

“So what did you give Alice to do it? I mean walk Buster.”

“I gave her thirty dollars a week to take him out in the mornings and afternoons.”

I calculated the math on that and I was thinking it wouldn't be worth it. Tim could see I wasn't going to go for it.

“But you should consider that everyone on this street is in the same position as I am now that Alice is gone. There are twelve dogs that need to be walked. Alice took them four at a time, a total of about three hours a day.”

Damn, that gifted Alice was smarter than I'd thought. That was tax-free money.

“That's great. I'll walk them all,” I said, still counting money in my head.

“Sounds good. I'll phone the neighbors and tell them I have someone. Come by my place in the morning and I'll give you the list.”

“Can you spot me a little?” I asked, and he said no problem. He gave me the first month in cash. And like that I had a job.

I went down to the pier to get some new Arnold shirts. Then I picked up some hamburgers and fries to go from In-n-Out, and some bottles of booze. I made it back home just after sunset.

While I ate, I thought about my schedule for the next day. I had to get up early because Tim worked regular hours. I had been staying up late forever, so I decided to get sloshed so I could fall asleep before midnight. But when the time came, I didn't feel tired, even with the booze. My mind was racing. I hit play on the frog CD and got into bed anyway, and everything in my head got flushed out when I heard the hypnotizing barking, as if I had taken a strong sleeping pill.

In the morning I put on a fresh Arnold. I figured I'd go get the list fast and then come back to eat breakfast. Tim was pulling out of his driveway as I came down the street. He stopped, pulled back in, got out of the car, made some gestures with his hand like he was pointing up in the air, and ran inside. He came out a few seconds later with a piece of paper and a key chain full of keys.

“I almost forgot about you. I'm in a rush. Here are the people who need their dogs walked. I wrote down the names of the dogs and their breeds, along with vet numbers, should anything happen. And here are the keys.” He handed it all to me, got back in the Mustang and hit the road.

At ten o'clock I went to get my first four dogs: two weimaraners, a beagle-looking mutt, and a terrier. Before I even stuck the keys in the locks, they were at the other side of the door waiting for me, making dog noises. I wondered if they'd be disappointed when I opened the door and they didn't see Alice, but they didn't give a shit. I liked that. I could've been a dirt bag or something and they would've wagged and wagged their tails anyway.

Everybody had left leashes by the door, but as I was walking down the street with the mutts, I realized what I was missing. We came to a sweet lawn and one of the weimaraners kind of rounded his back and looked like he was going to stand up on his back legs, but he froze when his front paws were really close to the back ones. Then he got this queer look on his face and stared right at me. And then the turds. They were big, those turds. I was thinking, okay, I gotta go get a trash bag and use that until I can get some poo-touching gloves. So I was walking away when I heard this crazy voice yelling in Mexican. I turned around and this fat woman came running over from behind the bushes and pointed at the turds. I explained, but she didn't understand. She kept pointing to the turds, saying “No leave, no leave.” Every time I opened my mouth, she started up again with the “no leave” and the pointing. So I took off my shoe, and she got all scared as if I was going to throw it at her. Then I took off my sock. I put my hand into it and scooped up the turds. I held that warm, steamy poo out as far from my nose as possible and walked over to the nearest trash can. I didn't keep the sock. That lady didn't even say
gracias
.

The next dog that wanted to take a dump got a little kick in the ass, followed by a sprint to my yard. I got the idea of letting all the dogs crap on my lawn since I didn't have any way to pick the stuff up. I stood there with them in front of my house, but they refused to cooperate. I knew they were dying to do their business, but they had to walk around and get inspired by a nice lawn first. Okay, I guess I kind of do that in my own way with the sex, so I understood. We walked around for a while, and whenever one of them would arch its back and get that crazy look, I'd kick it in the ass and take off running to my place. At the end of the day, I had a dozen or so piles in front of my house. I'd had enough of dogs for a while, so I just left the turds there.

5

Tim had been right about how the dogs would help me take my mind off things. It's like everything was falling into place, and my days were nice and broken up now. I'd wake up, have some breakfast, and then wash an Arnold, usually in the sink unless I had a whole load of clothes to do. Then I'd take my morning dog walk, eat lunch, and take the afternoon dog walk, this time with my Gatorwine or Gatorbooze. Then after dinner and a little bit of the tube, the frogs would bark me to sleep. I was thinking this setup was pretty sweet.

I was glad to have a routine. If you don't have something interesting in life, you need a routine. It substitutes nicely. Right before the dog walking, I had thought about taking up smoking so I could have a routine. Imagine a really addicted smoker guy. No matter what he does throughout the day, he has to stop to go smoke every thirty minutes. So he's sitting around thinking about how much life sucks, and after a while he says “time for a cig!” so he puts all that on hold and puffs away. Then he says “hmm...what was I thinking about? Oh yeah, life sucks.” He's got emotional hills and valleys. But me, I wondered if I would be a good smoker. You can't just take it up like that. If you don't have the will power to start with a pack a day, you have to ease into it slowly. Maybe try the nicotine gum, and then do a couple of cigarettes a day and work up from there. I didn't have time for all that.

6

Over the next couple of weeks, things started to get pretty blurry. My consumption of booze increased a lot because I was feeling frustrated about having been dumped and I didn't know how to deal with it. I kept up the routine as best I could, but now I was getting an occasional surprise.

One evening Mrs. Oldhag came over and knocked at my door.

“Hey baby, nice to see your old bones,” I said. I was thinking she'd like this because she was old and crusty and probably never got called baby anymore.

“Mr. Herisson,” she said, “I was totally against the recommendation of your services, but took pity on your current state when it was explained to me, by the only neighbor who appears to care about your feelings, that you were currently 'down and out'.”

“Thank you, Mrs...” I stopped myself from saying Oldhag, which is what I called all the oldster women in the neighborhood.

“But I must now inform you that you are never to walk my dog again. I've come here to pay you what I owe you and end our agreement. Mrs. Jurgensmeyer will doubtless be over to do the same.” She took a couple of bills out of her designer purse and held them toward me. I took them with a smile.

“Thanks Mrs. Oldhag,” I said. Oops. She puckered up her lips and squinted when she heard that. “Hey, wait a minute. Why can't I walk your dog anymore?”

“Twice this week I have had to retrieve Mr. Noodler from the Jurgensmeyer's house when I returned in the evening. Grey, Mrs. Jurgensmeyer's weimaraner, destroyed several articles of clothing and chewed on various pieces of furniture in my house, where you misplaced him.”

“Look, I'm sorry, but it won't happen again. Those two weimaraners look a lot alike. I'll start looking at their tags before I bring them back so I won't mix them up,” I said.

“My Mr. Noodler is a dachshund, Mr. Herisson.”

So I guessed that had settled it. I went and got her the key to her place, and she left.

I had Mrs. Jurgensmeyer's key ready for her when she arrived. I just handed it to her without saying anything, and even though I must have looked all pathetic, she didn't care.

“Mr. Herisson,” she said. “My nephew Franky will be walking the dogs from now on. You may give me all the keys, except for Tim's. He alone has decided to remain your client.”

“Okay, look, I messed up this week. Your dog chewed on some stuff, and that's not cool. But I won't do it again.”

“You have long been aware of our collective feelings about your residence. You have done nothing, even after our insistence, to beautify your home. As a result, the value of all of our homes on this street has decreased substantially. Did you think we were going to continue to pay you to make your home even less desirable by leaving dog excrement all over your lawn for weeks at a time?”

“I picked all that up. That's not fair!” I said.

“You've picked it up only one time in over three weeks. I'm not here to argue with you. It is, after all, my dog and my choice. The keys, please.”

I handed her the keys. I gave her Tim's key as well.

“He can walk Buster, too. One dog isn't worth my time.”

“Good evening, Mr. Herisson,” she said in a way that made me understand she didn't think I deserved to be called mister.

7

One afternoon I was looking for something to watch on TV when the doorbell rang. I looked over and could see the shadow of someone through the window. I had no idea who this could be, and I didn't really want to talk to anyone. Also, I wasn't wearing shoes and I was thinking that to cross through my living room I was going to have to step on a lot of trash. But at the same time, I had a real mystery here. Who was going to ring my doorbell at this time of the day? Everybody was supposed to be at work. I stood up, and, instead of lifting my feet to walk, I just slid them forward. I made a path through the cans, bottles and pizza boxes all the way over there. Then I patted down my crazy hair and unlocked the door.

“Who the hell is it,” I said as I opened the door. I like to keep the upper hand on these kinds of surprises, so I always act all pissed off as if I don't want to be disturbed because I'm in the middle of some important crap. But then I had this dude in front of me who was throwing off my tough-guy act with his bizarreness.

The first thing he made me think of was a giant pear with skinny legs. His belly was a little smaller than mine, but me, I'm all round and compact, and this guy was jiggly. He had girly-looking arms sticking out of his sleeveless, Motorhead T-shirt. And then that head. His mouth was tiny with thin little lips. He had bulging fish eyes. There was too much room between his lower lip and the bottom of his chin. He had a pointy little nose, was wearing a real feather earring, and had a narrow forehead. He had a receding hair line that he couldn't disguise even though he combed his wispy hair straight down. He kept it short all over except for the back, where it fell down to his shoulders. He had on a pair of jeans, the acid-washed kind from the 80's. And on the smallest feet I'd ever seen on a man were black cowboy boots made out of some kind of lizard.