SEVENTEEN
The presidency of Farrell Fine Hair (now Farrell Cosmetics) notwithstanding, James was the type of guy who always got what he wanted, and what he wanted was to drive me to my gig. Five minutes later I found myself on the 101 freeway, once again in the passenger seat of his Sixteen Candles Porsche.
I couldn’t help but notice how traffic parted for him as he sped down the highway. Every time I thought we would have to slow down because cars were backed up, all the cars in front of us would suddenly decide to move into another lane, just in time for James to speed through.
Watching this happening over and over again was a little awe-inspiring, and it made me think of that one Heart song from the seventies.
Try, try, try to understand, he’s a magic man.
. . .
I got to the appointment only a minute after my call time. It was just a simple cubicle birthday at a small shipping company. I sang “Let’s Hear It for the Boy” for a portly payroll administrator. Then I gave him a balloon and posed for a couple of snapshots with him and the coworkers who had ordered the BunnyGram for him.
It all went so smoothly that I almost forgot that James was waiting for me in the parking lot. Almost. But not really.
He was on the phone when I came back out to the car, but he got off as soon as he saw me and reached across the passenger seat to unlock my door.
“Who were you talking to?” I asked after I got in.
“Work,” he said. “They want me to go to this thing tonight. A store opening on Melrose.” He started up the car. “How did it go?”
“Good. Simple. Ten-dollar tip.”
James patted my knee like he could actually fathom being happy to get a ten-dollar tip. “Good job then.”
Having finished with the chitchat, I began what I already knew would be the hard work of trying to convince James to just take me home now.
“Thanks for driving me,” I said. “But I’ve really got to get out of this bunny costume and take a shower. If I get the suit musty, then I have to live with it, because I can only afford to dry clean it like once a month.”
“Okay, then let’s go back to my place. You can get out of your suit, and we can have some breakfast.”
My stomach leaped at the word “breakfast.” Singing first thing in the morning had made me hungry, but I tried to keep up my resolve.
“I’ve got rehearsal at the club at three p.m. And you’ve met my boss.”
“I can get you back by three p.m.”
I scrambled for another excuse, but all I could come up with was “I don’t have anything to wear after I take off the suit.”
He grinned. “Believe me, that won’t be a problem.”
He maneuvered the car into the right lane and headed toward the 5 South on-ramp.
I would’ve argued further, but I was hungry and hadn’t had my coffee. Plus I was overwrought, and truth be told, I was getting tired of having to fight him every step of the way. “Okay, breakfast,” I agreed. “But that’s it.”
James smirked in such a way that I knew he considered my last statement a line in the sand. A line that he fully intended to cross.
. . .
I had been to Griffith Park before, but I had never been up into the nearby Los Feliz Hills. I had only seen aerial shots of the luxury homes, many of which were owned by younger and B-level stars, in magazines like Celeb Weekly.
The roads seemed to become both steeper and narrower as the car twisted its way through the hills. Although my bunny costume didn’t give me much in the way of peripheral vision, I could see that the houses were also getting bigger. Then the large houses soon gave way to full-out mansions.
James drove with his hand resting on my furry knee. “You ever been up here before?” he asked.