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.”“But the thing is.even if I wanted to let you back there to see him.it wouldn’t do any good.”“Why not?”“Because,” he says, “Mr.Schultz is in Barcelona at the Global Food Business Summit.”“Barcelona.Spain?”“No, Barcelona, Rhode Island,” he says.“He’s out of the country?”“Yes.”“And you let me sit here for over an hour?”“Yes.”“Why?” I ask in bewilderment.“I don’t know,” he says, like he genuinely doesn’t.And it comes out so matter-of-fact that I want to punch him in the face.“You’re an asshole,” I say.Obviously not the right thing to say, because as soon as I say it, the two security monkeys grab me and drag me out.They escort me into the elevator, and just as the doors are almost closed, that Spade wannabe sticks his arm out and stops the door.It opens up again to reveal the smug little prick standing there with his arms now crossed.“Oh, and by the way.” he says.“Mr.Schultz has his own private bathroom here, so even if he was in the office.you never would have actually had your little toilet conference.” And he turns and walks away.Just as the doors are closing again, I hear him say, “Who’s the asshole now?”He won.The little bastard won.When I get to the lobby I see Heaven and Strummer right outside waiting for me.As I come outside, she can tell by the look on my face—and the two security guards attached to either side of me—that things didn’t go as intended.“Did you at least get to see him?” she asks.“No.”“Did you get to see anyone?”“Yes, his receptionist.And, of course, the coffee teamsters,” I say, motioning at the two men who just tossed me at Heaven.“You were there an awfully long time,” she says.“I really don’t want to talk about it.”“All.righty, then.”“What about you? I hope you had a better time than I did?”She crosses her arms in front of her chest.“Well, I had an interesting one.Educational.”“Do tell.”“I learned that cat piss glows in the dark.Did you know that?”“No, I didn’t know that.”“Yeah, me either,” she says.I don’t know where she comes up with this stuff.Her mind.it’s like I’ve come upon this secret vault that science will someday discover—or probably never discover.Which is fine by me.Kind of like when there’s a band I really like but nobody knows about them.I want people I like to hear them, but when the whole world jumps on the bandwagon I get pissed.Because I found them first.Unless, of course, it’s one of my bands.in which case the world is more than welcome to jump.But Heaven.I’d prefer it if nobody else jumps on her.HeavenBrady and I grab lunch at this place called Honey Hole Sandwiches, which sounds slightly pornographic, but supposedly they make a mean sandwich.It has sort of a gothic bayou theme with a full bar that looks like a run-down bayou shack of sorts.The people that work here are friendly and seem to really enjoy making sandwiches.After lunch Brady changes out of his nice(r) shirt and throws on his old CBGB T-shirt.We get back into the car and drive over to the Convention Center, but there’s nothing going on.“Hmm.that’s strange,” I say.“I guess it’s not as big a deal as I expected.”“Guess not,” Brady says.“Then let’s just go to Viretta Park,” I say.“It’s right across the street from his old house.”“Lead the way,” he says, and I pull out our map of Seattle as we drive to pay our respects to Kurt.When we get to the park, which is right across from Kurt’s old house, I get chills as soon as we pull up.The neighborhood is extremely nice.Really big houses.Obviously an exceptionally wealthy neighborhood.I think we’re both surprised by how few people are there.It’s certainly not empty, but it’s not the thousands upon thousands of kids that were at the Seattle Center ten years ago.Then again, those kids are now grown up and probably have better things to do.We park the car and walk onto the grass.There are two hippie guys, stoned out of their minds and stinking of patchouli oil, leaning up against a tree.One of them looks at Brady and scoffs.“Hey, Trendy Wendy,” he says.“Trendy Wendy?” Brady says back, not sure what his deal is.“Yeah, Trendy Wendy,” he says and points at Brady’s CBGB T-shirt.“Where’d you get that shirt.at the mall?”“I’m from New York.And I got it in New York—where I live.”“Poser,” the stoner says.“Um.no.I live in New York,” Brady says
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