The Sportin' Life (16 page)

Reaching for one last ray of hope, I dialed a number of a friend of Arnie
’
s mother that he had used and left by my phone. Maybe she knew where he was and what was going on. Maybe Arnie
’
s mother was there and I could speak with her, but no, his mother was no longer there, having returned to her home in
Arizona
after the funeral last week. Last week? Apparently Arnie had known of his grandmother
’
s death all along and the fact that he hadn
’
t bothered to show up for the funeral was why his mother had been berating him so. Gloria, the friend, had little sympathy for me. She said that Arnie was another Baby Face Nelson, and no doubt right now he was probably selling all of my things for any amount he could get.

I thought I would throw up then and there. How could I have been so foolish? But the really stupid thing was I still loved Arnie and believed in him, and hoped that he would return to say something that would rescind this whole crazy set of circumstances. Well, he did return, and I did get my clothes back, and although he tried to say something to set my mind at rest, it was clear that he was lying. I had never met such a smooth liar before, and for the first time I could see through him, realizing at last that he was truly pathological. How else could he have gotten away with all of it.

I had to break it off. There was nothing else to do. Arnie left then and I looked around at all the stuff which now needed to be unpacked. What a waste. Why did he make up all those lies anyway? I didn
’
t care if he were a millionaire. We could have gone on with our romance just as we had been, with him sleeping over at my place and us dating. Why did he make up all that stuff about
Malibu
? What a pathetic waste.

I called in sick at work and took several days off to heal my wounds. By then it was Saturday and I decided to retreat to the movies where my mind could be distracted. Before buying my ticket, I went to the bank
’
s cash machine, and then I realized my ATM card was gone. Arnie! With fear and apprehension, I called their emergency number to learn that over the last several days, both my accounts had been cleaned out. I didn
’
t have a cent and besides my rent check had bounced. That son of a bitch.

The bank closed my account and because I had given out the pin code, they were not liable to return the money. The police took a report on the theft but offered little hope of finding Arnie or the money. My boss agreed to give me an advance to cover the rent and some spending money for the future, but I knew that I would be in debt for a long time before it would be paid off. There was despair and misery in my heart for days, and each night Samson and I would snuggle in front of the television and even in that act there was little solace. The only good thing was that I was too depressed and too poor to eat, so I didn
’
t gain any weight.

Then Arnie called. I couldn
’
t believe it. At first he denied taking my money, but then he admitted it, apologizing and telling me how much he missed me and still loved me. He sounded so completely sincere, it was easy to believe him. I asked him to return my cash and he swore that he would do that, that doing so was the only thing on his mind, because all he really wanted was my forgiveness and a chance to get back together because he loved me so much, but in the background I could hear a woman
’
s voice. Who was that? She was a friend, he claimed, helping him out with a project. They were staying at the Beverly Hills Hotel. He still had the Jaguar but he was planning to return it. Could he drop by and see me?

Not only did I want my money back, but I wanted to see Arnie too, and it was so tempting just to believe his declarations of devotion despite the woman
’
s presence in his hotel room. We had been so happy together and Arnie had treated me so wonderfully that it would have been impossibly not to fall in love, and despite everything, I missed him terribly. But I pretended that all I wanted was my money back. He came over and gave me every cent in his pocket, about a hundred bucks, and promised that he would get the rest tomorrow. I demanded that he do that, plus call Joe, who was still in constant touch with me and worried sick about the car. He arranged to let Joe know where to pick up the Jag tomorrow, and I felt huge relief. Maybe he was going to reform. Maybe I could forgive him and we could go on as we had been. Only he could leave smaller tips if he weren
’
t a millionaire. For all I cared, we could go Dutch.

The next evening I heard from the police instead of Arnie. Apparently the manager of the Beverly Hills Hotel had grown suspicious about all the money he and his girlfriend were charging on their bill there, particularly as the credit card they were using was in someone else
’
s name. He called the police, who picked Arnie up. Did I know his last name? He had given my number as his own, but gave a different last name than the one on the auto theft complaint. I couldn
’
t believe it. I gave them all the information I knew. Apparently he had a record a mile long and ties to the underworld as an errand boy. It seemed that he had been trying to get my money back by running a scam with his grandmother
’
s credit cards, buying things on credit and returning them for cash. And this was only one of his schemes. No wonder he so easily left those monster tips
—
easy come, easy go.

Then Arnie called me, complaining that I wasn
’
t supposed to give out his name to the cops. At that point I was sorry not to be able to tell them more. This guy was a menace. Now he was in big trouble with the cops. And Joe had hired some kind of thug to track him down and beat him up for taking the car. He was scared and he needed my help. After all, it was really my fault since he put himself on the line for me.

I was worried about Arnie, but it was over. This clearly was some kind of lesson I was meant to learn
—
to pay better attention or something. It was a regrettable experience, but it was also wonderful. He was devoted and a truly loving person. The only thing wrong was that he was a psychopath and a pathological liar. The romance we shared was perfect except for that.

Maybe I
’
m too much like Joe E. Brown in
Some Like It Hot
, when he turned to Jack Lemmon and said,
“
Nobody
’
s Perfect.
”
Because I know that another romance, just like that, with a guy who will adore me and who will treat me wonderfully will come along. Just because this didn
’
t work out, it doesn
’
t mean that there
’
s anything wrong with love at first sight or true love. They are real and as possible as before. So in many ways, my romance with Arnie was the best thing that could have happened to me, because it reaffirmed my belief in true love. I just had to find a better partner.

Day by day I reclaimed my life and paid off the debt to my boss at the video store. Eventually I was free of the financial burden and the emotional burden that Arnie had placed on me. I was free of my love for him and ready to meet someone new.

One day as I was restocking the shelves, I saw him. It was The Pirate, the man I had admired so long ago in Bumblebee
’
s. He was walking toward me, hopefully wanting more than just a movie. I looked directly into his eyes, smiled my most becoming smile, and hoped for the best.

Lou

Love for
Sale

Women in
Los Angeles
make money the old fashioned way
—
they fuck for it. Oh I knew what I was getting into
—
every creamy, golden inch I was getting into
—
when I met Tawny, but when a beauty queen falls into your lap, you can
’
t help wanting to fuck her, even if she is fucking you, if you get my drift.

I saw her sitting there in my waiting room, and my heart skipped a beat. She
’
s the typical, long-legged, well-built blonde that every guy wants to take home when mother
’
s not around. At first I thought maybe she was my patient, and that could have been nice, but then we get into a question of ethics, and ethics are something I would rather avoid, if possible. So I walked right up to her and said,
“
Sorry, beautiful, you
’
re going to have to find another gynecologist.
”

Her blue eyes opened wide with questioning and bewilderment.
“
Why is that?
”
she asked, completely sincerely.

“
Because if you were my patient, I couldn
’
t marry you.
”

That remark put her on edge. I know what to do with the beauty queens
—
you can
’
t talk in terms of dating. Every guy they know wants to date them and most will put up with anything to do so, including months without any physical payback for all the elegant dinners and trinkets offered. That
’
s a lousy route. I go right for the jugular
—
dangle the big one in front of them like a gold plated carrot off a money-hungry donkey
’
s nose. Of course I can
’
t say how well this technique works for an ordinary slob, because marriage isn
’
t that much of a coup then, but they probably figure that even a two-bit schmuck has a diamond in him somewhere. With a doctor, the rewards multiply, so it
’
s the fucking big time.

“
Wait a minute,
”
she said slowly,
“
I thought that Dr. Creamer was a woman. That
’
s what I was told.
”

“
Oh you
’
re here for Creamer. Well that
’
s just fine
—
she
’
s one of my partners, and I know for sure she won
’
t make you the same offer I just did. So what do you say? How about tonight to get acquainted, and then we fly up to San Fran for the weekend?

I fixed her with my most piercing glance, the one in which my eyes flash and seem to penetrate to her very soul, and hopefully would get her hooked before she realized that the term six feet might apply to an insect more readily than to me. And she responded appropriately, with that blank, accepting stare that I like so much in a woman, whether she
’
s a patient or merely a passing cunt making a pit stop enjoyable for me.

“
Well, sure, why not?
”
she answered slowly, almost hypnotically.

“
I
’
m Dr. Shrift. Give your name and address to my receptionist, along with your dress size. I
’
ll send you something to wear tonight. See you at eight.
”
And then without so much as a smile to break the tension, I walked away. But of course I ducked into one of the changing room where I could see her walk over to my receptionist and provide the requested data. Good obedient girl. Just my type.

Privately I informed my receptionist to do the usual. She was trained by now and it saved a lot of headaches to have her run out and buy a hot dress, something I
’
d enjoy removing (although she doesn
’
t know that
—
or maybe she does
—
what the fuck) and arrange to have it messengered. It
’
s worth every penny of the fifty bucks extra I pay her each week. During that moment, I first found out Tawny
’
s name, and it was a real turn on. It
’
s the quintessential
California
beauty queen label and she looks just like her name.

The first two weeks were the best. Then we spent time getting to know each other without pressure and she made almost no demands. Of course she was worried about some guy named Ace, probably a mechanic or some other dumb schmuck, who she was dumping because of me. He kept coming over and hitting on her, and she felt guilty for cheating on me. Frankly, I didn
’
t give a shit because a cunt can take a lot of use and as long as hers was vacant when I wanted to park in it, so what if it got an occasional other pump? Of course I couldn
’
t tell her that because no broad wants to think a guy
’
s that liberated. So I listened, affecting the kindly manner they taught in school until I decided the hell with pediatrics and that my area of interest was gynecology. Eventually we hit on the plan that she would tell the guy she had a yeast infection and her doctor told her to abstain from sex. He would probably get discouraged and disappear. She worried about this problem on and on, and I say, why bother me with this trivia? I
’
m showing her a good time, and that doesn
’
t entitle her to bore me with the crappy details of her life. If she wanted a sympathetic ear to bend, why not fuck a psychiatrist
—
if she could find one able to manage a hard-on, that is.