“I should be,” Nate said.
The phone buzzed and Nate heard Raleigh Dibble answer it in the butler’s pantry, and then Raleigh entered the great room.
He said, “Mr. Brueger needs his heating pad and perhaps a back rub. I’ll be in the cottage, Mrs. Brueger.”
“Fine, Raleigh,” Leona said.
After Raleigh was gone, she said to Nate, “My brother-in-law had a stroke last year but he’s doing pretty well for a codger his age. I think he’d be dead without Raleigh. I can’t imagine a more dedicated caregiver, not to mention that he’s a fine butler and a divine chef. I’m so lucky to have him. I’ll never let him go.”
“Give my regards to Mr. Ressler, please,” Nate said and turned to leave.
“Oh, he’s gone the way of all second-raters,” Leona said boozily. “He was only going to marry me for my money, which was okay with me until his limited charm ran out in Tuscany. I’ve decided not to move to Napa. I’ll just drink wine and forget about making it. I think this house in the Hollywood Hills is a good place to grow old in. What do you think, Nathan?”
“It’s a beautiful home,” Nate said.
“Money is an answer,” she said. “How soothing money is when we can’t attain our real dreams. Thousands of failed actors will never know that because they’ll never see enough of it.”
“That sounds like me you’re talking about,” Nate said. “If I was a method actor, I’d think of a grapefruit or something else I hate and start crying now.”
“Why don’t you visit me from time to time, Nathan?” she said. “Who knows? I might meet another director. Maybe even a first-rate director who could actually promote you. Maybe I can help you keep your dream alive. Would you like that?”
He was silent for a moment and remembered what this fire-proof aging woman had said to him when they’d first met: that in Hollywood everything is for sale if you know how to shop. Then Nate said, “Somehow I don’t think I’m ever gonna see my name on the curb at one of the studios. Thank you anyway,… Mrs. Brueger. I gotta get back to my beat now.”
Leona Brueger gave him a long look, and then with a sigh of resignation and sadness she said, “Bye-bye, gorgeous.”
Snuffy Salcedo was gone from Hollywood Station on the next transfer. And Hollywood Nate found himself teamed with Flotsam again during the new deployment period.
On their first night together in early March, Nate said, “How’s your partner?”
Flotsam said, “Dude, my li’l pard’s not only ready to come back to the Job, he’s ready to try out his new foot at Malibu. I am totally amped. We been going to the beach for months and I think he’s ready to go for it. I know for sure he’s ready to do police work, but surfing, that’s another story. But if anybody can do it, he can.”
At 8 P.M., a call was given to 6-X-46 to see the woman at a souvenir shop on Hollywood Boulevard. It seemed that the Wedgie Bandit was back. He’d slipped into the store with a clutch of customers, and when an attractive young woman was bent over a shelf examining some Hollywood memorabilia, he sidled up behind her, grabbed her underwear, and gave her a world-class wedgie.
Nate said to Flotsam, “Hey, I’ve had some thoughts about the Wedgie Bandit and where he lives in relation to the library. You know that apartment building on Franklin near Ivar? The white one? Let’s just post up over there and see who we find running home in a hurry.”
Hollywood Nate was heading for Franklin Avenue when Flotsam said, “Dude, the Wedgie Bandit’s a series offender. He likes to do a few jobs at one time. Maybe we should check the subway station. There’s lotsa potential victims down there.”
“I like my idea,” Nate said. “Let’s first check out the apartment building on Franklin.”
Flotsam said, “Maybe he headed for Grauman’s. All those tourists looking at Batman and Spider-Man? They’d never notice that little freakazoid sneaking up behind them.”
The urgency in the surfer cop’s voice puzzled Nate for a moment, but then he remembered the hospital conversation and he got it. Nate said, “Maybe you’re right. My idea is dumb. Let’s cruise on over to Grauman’s Chinese Theatre. The Wedgie Bandit’s probably there right now going after big game. Maybe the Green Lantern or even Darth Vader if he can get under Darth’s cape.”
Flotsam grinned in relief when Nate turned away from the apartment building on Franklin Avenue and headed west. He said gratefully, “Dude, until my li’l pard gets back, I gotta teach you some vocabulary so we can, like, communicate as equals, okay? Now to start with, a fibro is a surfboard.”
“Fibro,” Nate said. “Got it.”
“Getting tubed is when you’re inside the wave, right? So it might apply to certain things in life.”
“Roger that,” Nate said. “Getting tubed.”
“A goat-boater is one of those donks that kayaks into our surf. So that’s a pushy dude.”
Nate said, “Never goat-boat the kahunas. How am I doing?”
“You’re boglius, dude,” Flotsam said. “That means you are one coolaphonic copper and it is rad to be sharing your shop for a while.”
Nate said wistfully, “And I guess being a coolaphonic copper is even better than being a movie star the way you see things.”
“That is rightous, dude. So, are you, like, finally coming around to that conclusion in your own life? Has the old acting bug been sorta swatted?”
“No way,” said Nate. “It’s just been on hiatus. I’m still determined to grow old and die in the Motion Picture and Television Country House. You can come see me when I’m there and feed me Jell-O shots. Just check my diaper if you bring fastidious people with you, and pour some premium vodka in my sippy cup when the nurses aren’t looking.”
“Whatever happened to your movie connection up in the Hollywood Hills? Where we dropped the business card on the butler that time?”
“Didn’t work out,” Hollywood Nate said. “I’ve seen Sunset Boulevard too many times.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Joe Gillis always ends up facedown in the swimming pool.”
“He shoulda went to the beach,” Flotsam said, “where they got lifeguards.”
“Speaking of old movies,” Nate said, “we’d better head for Grauman’s Chinese Theatre right this minute before we’re too late.”
“Go for it,” Flotsam said. “It’d be way wack and totally bleak if little kids witnessed the dude giving a humungous wedgie to Batman.”
“And can you even imagine the shock and awe on the Walk of Fame,” Hollywood Nate added, “if that fiend had the gall to give a wedgie to, let’s say, Marilyn Monroe? Oh, the horror! Would it be scenery chewing to drive there code three?”