I met Mark here. Nice to know we're just meeting to talk about my possible lawsuit -- nice it's business and no more. We finish eating the combination platter, humus, falafel, baba ganoosh, great salads. I wonder why Mark never gets anything stuck in his teeth?
He tells me I got a pretty good case. That if I want to pursue, we can nail the little scumbag. Of course, I remind him of his poor Dad, Vincent. We both agree it'd take a huge toll on the old man...hmmm, food for thought.
I shift the conversation to something very strange. Something I just can't keep in any longer.
"You say his name is Ortiz?" Mark asks, finishing his lemonade.
"Yeah. I've seen several entries in Eric's filofax. Call Ortiz, meet Ortiz, pay Ortiz...."
"Maybe he's the gardener," tries Mark.
We both get the shivers thinking of why in the world Eric would be paying someone money.... of course, at first we jump to conclusions, and think Eric's into drug trafficking... we wonder if he's got a gambling bookie.
We wonder if the guy is blackmailing Eric...
Hah! Look at us -- two sleuths!
We catch ourselves. As the conversation grew more and more secretive, we moved in closer and closer to each other. We spoke softly, then we whispered. We were utterly caught up in this espionage.
Then we felt it. We felt something strong and intense.
We felt someone.
Watching us!
We got the spooks and jumped, even yelped out in terror. Then broke into hysterical laughter. Here it is, broad daylight in a terrific January winter in West Hollywood -- and we got our balls tense just because of a few bizarre entries in Eric's filofax....
God, what drama.
Later, at home I can't stop thinking of "Ortiz" and whoever that is. I take a chance and find Eric's last bank statement, with his canceled checks.
Clear. Nothing to Ortiz....hmmmmmmm.
Maybe he paid him in cash.....
