Life In the Fast Lane
Apr. 16th, 2004 07:59 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
mallorys_cameraLittle Eddie breezed into town this week, the new hunk in tow. They drove straight down from the Santa Cruz Boardwalk where they’d ridden the Giant Dipper five times in a row, and when the adrenalin is churning there’s no one who flies higher than Ed.
I liked the new hunk – Daniele, a soft-spoken Italian guy from Milan who’s working on a PhD in marketing at UCLA. Definite improvement over Ed’s last hunk, the Algerian porn star. One thing about Ed – the ignition switch to his libido is definitely keyed to foreign accents.
I gave them the Grand Tour of the store. All 440 square feet of it.
"I like it," said Daniele. I think he was being more than polite. Who knows? "Very new, very bold. I haven’t seen anything quite like it. But you need to cram it. A store like this – every inch must be used."
I took them upstairs for lunch. Wayne was just taking off his giant paper mache Louie Linguini bobblehead. He raised his eyebrows, shocked to see me, and gave us one of the primo tables right next to the ocean view. "You are so lucky to live here," said Daniele.
I smiled. "It has its percs. Also its dark side."
"Patrizia used to drive up to San Francisco four days a week! Can you believe it?" said Ed. "We worked together at that place on Second Street. Oh, honey – that place is a ghost town now. South Park? Totally empty."
"Camelot is ever only one bright shining moment," I said. "So what’s the hot gossip from [insert name of Big Los Angeles Talent Agency Conglomerate, the parent corporation to our South Park fledgling]?"
Ed laughed. "Remember Kimberly? Jeff’s Number One?"
"Who could forget?" I explained to Daniele, "The corporate subculture was one of high paranoia so Jeff B___ employed three personal assistants whose job it was to wiretap every single phone conversation that went on between the agents and their clients or potential clients. It was a laugh riot."
"Well, Kimberly went a little nuts. Started having an affair with her plastic surgeon –"
"You’re kidding –"
"No."
"There’s a ‘please, don’t squeeze the Charmin’’ joke waiting to be made there somewhere but I can’t quite figure how to phrase it," I said.
"And they started doing drugs together. Vast amounts of cocaine and ecstacy – "
"And they didn’t share," I said. "Shame on them."
"—and Kimberly missed a month of work. So she comes finally comes back, and she feels horrible and she tells Jeff, ‘I need your help. I’ve got a drug problem.’
"’Really?’ says Jeff, looking all concerned. And he picks up the phone and dials Security to escort her out of the building."
"Do you think she signed an NDA? Boy, if I were her, I’d write a tell-all," I said, picking at my crab sandwich. Not half bad. And the waiters were pleasantly servile too. I might have to notch Louie Linguini’s up several spots on my Touron Recommendation List. "What really goes on behind the walls of the great I. M. Pei-designed glass tower –"
"Oh, she’s got an even better shot at the big bucks," said Ed. "She had all these porn pictures of her and the plastic surgeon doing kinky sex on her home computer. So one of the IT guys at [insert name of Big etc] figures out a way to break into her computer, downloads them and passes them around the office. So she’s suing for invasion of privacy."
"I love it when stories have happy endings," I said. "If only I’d had kinky sex with a plastic surgeon, maybe Binkie would have picked up my novel."
I liked the new hunk – Daniele, a soft-spoken Italian guy from Milan who’s working on a PhD in marketing at UCLA. Definite improvement over Ed’s last hunk, the Algerian porn star. One thing about Ed – the ignition switch to his libido is definitely keyed to foreign accents.
I gave them the Grand Tour of the store. All 440 square feet of it.
"I like it," said Daniele. I think he was being more than polite. Who knows? "Very new, very bold. I haven’t seen anything quite like it. But you need to cram it. A store like this – every inch must be used."
I took them upstairs for lunch. Wayne was just taking off his giant paper mache Louie Linguini bobblehead. He raised his eyebrows, shocked to see me, and gave us one of the primo tables right next to the ocean view. "You are so lucky to live here," said Daniele.
I smiled. "It has its percs. Also its dark side."
"Patrizia used to drive up to San Francisco four days a week! Can you believe it?" said Ed. "We worked together at that place on Second Street. Oh, honey – that place is a ghost town now. South Park? Totally empty."
"Camelot is ever only one bright shining moment," I said. "So what’s the hot gossip from [insert name of Big Los Angeles Talent Agency Conglomerate, the parent corporation to our South Park fledgling]?"
Ed laughed. "Remember Kimberly? Jeff’s Number One?"
"Who could forget?" I explained to Daniele, "The corporate subculture was one of high paranoia so Jeff B___ employed three personal assistants whose job it was to wiretap every single phone conversation that went on between the agents and their clients or potential clients. It was a laugh riot."
"Well, Kimberly went a little nuts. Started having an affair with her plastic surgeon –"
"You’re kidding –"
"No."
"There’s a ‘please, don’t squeeze the Charmin’’ joke waiting to be made there somewhere but I can’t quite figure how to phrase it," I said.
"And they started doing drugs together. Vast amounts of cocaine and ecstacy – "
"And they didn’t share," I said. "Shame on them."
"—and Kimberly missed a month of work. So she comes finally comes back, and she feels horrible and she tells Jeff, ‘I need your help. I’ve got a drug problem.’
"’Really?’ says Jeff, looking all concerned. And he picks up the phone and dials Security to escort her out of the building."
"Do you think she signed an NDA? Boy, if I were her, I’d write a tell-all," I said, picking at my crab sandwich. Not half bad. And the waiters were pleasantly servile too. I might have to notch Louie Linguini’s up several spots on my Touron Recommendation List. "What really goes on behind the walls of the great I. M. Pei-designed glass tower –"
"Oh, she’s got an even better shot at the big bucks," said Ed. "She had all these porn pictures of her and the plastic surgeon doing kinky sex on her home computer. So one of the IT guys at [insert name of Big etc] figures out a way to break into her computer, downloads them and passes them around the office. So she’s suing for invasion of privacy."
"I love it when stories have happy endings," I said. "If only I’d had kinky sex with a plastic surgeon, maybe Binkie would have picked up my novel."
