Vic Daniel 6 - As she rides by

handy memo pad—courtesy M. Martel, Stationers—the name and address of the boys’ ex-manager, also Tex’s home address, the location of his thirty-six-track studio, also the name, address, phone, and room numbers of the hotel where Tom ‘n’ Jerry were temporarily staying; then Tex produced from a secret pocket in his belt a check already made out to me and presented it to me with a flourish. I glanced at it, then murmured, “Satisfactory,” which is one way of describing a check for two thousand dollars and no cents. He then handed over a thick manila folder tied up, appropriately, with red tape.
    “Articles of my company’s incorporation,” he said. “Writers’ contracts, recording contracts, semi-annual royalty statements, you name it, it’s all yours. The little woman’s an actuary, among other things; she keeps track of all this stuff.”
    “You came well prepared,” I said.
    “What’s to lose?” he said.
    Rickie’s girlfriend was stirring when we trooped back down to the front room. She was introduced to me as Big Red. As she was tiny and was also a blonde, I presumed the moniker was just one more amusing example of musician’s humor. After asking me what the weather was like up there, which was not the first time I’d been asked that particular question, as I stood a manly six foot seven and a quarter inches in my socks, she pressed me to stay on and eat Chinese with them. I said thank you ever so but I had a previous engagement, called the dog, patted the pocket in which nestled the check, and dog and I departed.
    “Wasn’t that all very strange,” I remarked to my companion as we headed back over the Hollywood Hills to my side of town. King wagged his tail in agreement. “Let us look at it logically. Tom and Jerry are wary. That is logical. Tex knows they are wary. That is logical. They will not sign with him until they are unwary. That’s logical. So he hires me to unwary them. That’s almost logical. Obviously, he wouldn’t hire me to unwary them if there was anything in his background, foreground, or playground even to make them even warier. What’s not logical is, what’s making me wary?”
    King came up with the perfect answer, as he usually did—drink first, think later. So we did. He drank some water from his Peter Rabbit bowl at home, gave me a hurt look when he realized I was on my way out again without him, then collapsed by his deluxe wicker basket in the kitchenette that had set me back a pretty penny, I can tell you, over at Paula’s “Pets Pending.” By the basket, you will notice, not in it. As if I cared. Then I strolled around the corner and up the street to Jim’s joint, the Two-Two-Two, where I was to meet Evonne Louise Shirley. I was comfortably ensconced in the corner booth with my second brandy and ginger and an old copy of Cosmo I’d grabbed from the stack of magazines on the end of the bar when she arrived.
    She said hello to Jim, then came over to me, said, “Hi, sweetie,” then gave the curls at the back of my neck a good tousle.
    “Hi sweetie yourself,” I said. “Pardon me if my eyes are closed, but I’m not allowed to look at you until I finish this.”
    “This what?”
    “This here form in Cosmo I’m filling in—’How Well Do You Know Your Mate? Please complete without any research or visual contact with your lover,’ it says. Some of the questions are real tricky, too.”
    “Yeah, I’ll bet,” she said, grabbing the magazine rudely from me and sliding in next to me. Jim’s gorgeous bargirl, Lotus, brought over the rum collins Evonne’d ordered at the bar; she took a long swig, and read:

    Born: in the sticks in the middle west somewhere dusty
    Birth sign: Libra
    Age: 35—doesn’t look a day over
    Height: 5’ 7 1/2"
    Weight: 112
    Hips: 36
    Waist: 26
    Bust: 36-B
    Eyes: primrose blue
    Hair: corn-silk blond
    Hobbies: Me. Growing veggies, mostly green. Bridge. Potted briefly.
    Likes: Bad Italian. Eggs Benedict in bed. Magnum. All women writers including Shirley Collins.
    Dislikes: her school principal. Rhubarb. Psychiatric jargon. My line of work. My reading westerns. Kidneys.
    Birth/beauty marks: 3 freckles on face, 43 on shoulders and back
    Favorite color: yellow
    Favorite singer: Madonna
    Car: 2-year-old Celica, unwashed
    Major faults: slapdash with eye shadow. Loves dancing to disco. Likes kids. Leaves skins on when frying ‘taters.
    Major virtues: Insane legs. Insane shape. Adores V.D. Insane face. Heartbreaking lips.