Eric Shaw Quinn

Sans was almost out of money.

The Southern California job market had collapsed along with the real estate market and just about everything else.  The kinds of jobs he’d hoped would tide him over were the only ones anyone could get.  Mortgage bankers and real estate developers were working as waiters and clerks, so the clerks and the waiters were out of luck if they couldn’t get temp, part time or an acting gig.  And Sans was worse off than the waiters and the clerks.

He’d applied at every place on the boulevard and been turned down at least once.

About the only thing he had to look forward to was a date with Ryan, the porn star he’d met at Mickey’s a few nights earlier.  They’d exchanged a few phone calls during which Sans had found out little more than that his name was really Bryan, but that now everyone called him by his nom de porn, Ryan.  Sans hadn’t bothered to point out that if he was looking for anonymity, Ryan Candler still came up when you Googled Bryan Candler.  It didn’t seem to matter to Ryan and Sans was just glad that something was going right.

Sans hadn’t seen him since that night.  He also hadn’t seen much of his neighbor Ric.  The black eye that Ryan had given Ric had faded but the questions Sans had for Ric were still in sharp focus.

He was working on cleaning up just in case Ryan wanted to come by for a late night glass of Chateau du Two Bucks after their date.  On a final trip down to the dumpster, he ran into his new friend Bobbi crossing the motor court.

“Bobbi?” Sans said, uncertain it was.

“Florence!” Bobbi said, stopping short.  “What are you doing here?”

“I live here,” Sans said pointing to his open door.  “What are you doing here?”

“Running off ten pounds trying to please a client,” Bobbi said, rolling his eyes.

“What?”

“Oh, my boss is a designer,” Bobbi shrugged.  “He got this gig doing some crap reality show.  Translation I’m ruining a perfectly good pair of shoes running back and forth between my boss and the “Star” with swatches, chips and snippy remarks.”

“Milan,” Sans nodded, having heard about the show and their now frequent famous visitor.  “I’ve heard she was around but I haven’t seen her.  The landlord went berserk when the paparazzi followed her.”

“Tell me about it,” Bobbi said, holding up the laminated ID hanging around his neck.  “We have to post security whenever she’s over here or he’ll shut the production down or something.”

“I’ve only ever seen this kind of stuff on TMZ,” Sans said his brows arched.  “I have to put my visitor’s names on a list.   I guess she’s really famous, hunh?”

“Well, I’m counting the bitch as cardio,” Bobbi said, with Cher-toss of his imaginary mane.  “I’m here till two every night so I can do my actual job, once she’s outta here.”

“Are they at Cat’s?” Sans asked, laughing.

“Cat lives here?” Bobbi asked.  “I talk to her more than Milan, but I didn’t know that.”

“Yeah, I thought that’s why Milan . . .”

“Some writer guy, Michael?” Bobbi shrugged.  “When she’s not on set, she’s over at his place.  We haven’t really started shooting yet, just  a few pick-ups here and there for B-Roll and background.  So, she’s here a lot.”

“I don’t know him, but I haven’t lived here long,” Sans nodded, thinking better of mentioning that Bobbi’s favorite porn star lived with Cat.

“How’s the job search going?” Bobbi said, suddenly giving Sans a laser beam look.

Sans mimed taking a spear to the chest and made apropos gurgling noises.

“Not so good, hunh?” Bobbi asked, hands on hips.

Sans staggered back as he continued to go after the scenery with his hammy death scene.

“So you want a job?” Bobbi asked.  “To be fair, do you want this job?”

“It’s a miracle,” Sans said, pulling the invisible spear from his chest and finding no wound.

“No, it most definitely is not,” Bobbi said waving him off.

“So, you’re quitting?”

“Hell no,” Bobbi snorted.  “Fab is the only designer who hasn’t laid everyone off.  I don’t know where he gets the money.  Design trade is dead.  With the economy in the toilet, everyone in Beverly Hills is content to sit their fat rich asses on last year’s sofa.  But somehow we’re thriving.”

“But if I do this job . . .” Bobbi said, still not understanding.

“Then I can just do the job I actually got hired to do,” Bobbi said, putting an arm around Sans’ shoulders.  “And you can be Milan’s butt boy.  Come and meet your dominatrix.”

“Umm, there’s only one thing,” Ryan said, bringing them to a halt.  “I’ve got a date tonight I don’t want to miss.”

“Oh?’

“Ryan, from the other night,” Sans explained.

“Oh honey, I’ll do the donkey act with Milan for one more night for that,” Bobbi said.  “But you have to give me full details.  Everyone in town wants a lick of that Creamsicle.”

“My hero,” Sans said, giving Bobbi a peck on the cheek.  As he allowed himself to be lead to his doom.

The door opened only a crack when they knocked at Michael’s door, back right, garden court.

“Yes, what is?” the lanky man asked in his Eastern European patois.

He gave Sans the creeps.  He’d seen him around a couple of times and had only ever gotten the man’s wild eyed stare in answer to his pleasantries.

“Swatches,” Bobbi answered, undaunted.

“I’ll see,” he answered before closing the door in their face.

“Is that Michael?” Sans asked.

“No, I think it’s something Italian,” Bobbi said, head cocked skeptically.

“Italian?” Sans echoed Bobbi’s tone.

“Right?” Bobbi nodded.  “I just call him Lurch.  Take a seat, it’ll be a while.”

“What do you suppose they’re doing in there?” Sans considered, sitting next to his friend on the brick steps that surrounded the courtyard.

“Well, the trailer’s not rocking,” Bobbi said, turning his hands up.  “But then, it’s not a trailer.”

“What?” Sans asked, clueless.

“You are sooooo new in town,” Bobbi smiled.

“Hi Bobbi,” Cat said coming down the stairs.  “It’s Sans, right?”

“Hey Ca . . .” Bobbi began, his voice dying in his throat as Ric followed her down the stairs.

“Bobbi, this is Ric, Cat’s boyfriend,” Sans said, grabbing Bobbi’s arm.

“Who is?” Bobbi asked, incredulous.  “Boyfriend?”

“Yeah Bob,” Cat said, good naturedly.  “I bat for the other team.  I’m just tall.”

“And good at basketball,” Ric added with a twinkle in his not so blackened eyes.  He shot Sans a look of gratitude.

“That’s not exacatly . . .” Bobbi began again.

“I’m going to be working on the show,” Sans said, cutting him off and trying to kick Bobbi as he stepped between them.  “Bobbi just hired me to do shit work for his design firm.”

“That’s great, Sans,” Cat said.  “I know you’ve been looking.  With the shoot just across the street it’ll be perfect.”

“Any job will be perfect,” Sans said, laughing and trying to keep the conversation going in any direction other than Bobbi.

“Sans?” the familiar voice cut their mirth short.

“Hi, Ryan,” Sans said, wanting to run to him but afraid to leave Bobbi unattended.

“What’s up with all the security?” Ryan asked.  His expression changed and he stopped dead when he spotted Ric.  “What is he doing here?” he demanded, pointing at Ric as he advanced in Ric’s direction.

“This is Ric, my neighbor,” Sans said, stepping between them and dragging Bobbi along.  “And his girlfriend, Cat.  You’ve met Bobbi.  Say hi, Bobbi.”

“Deja, moi,” Bobbi said with a grin.

 

. . . to be continued.