od Boulevard. 'Course I had to help her ass out of the ride. Finally, he got me to my crib in the Hollywood Hills."That'll be $25, sir." He was gazing at the pad, trying to figure out who I was. "You work in the music business?""Head ringer, baby." I was inclined not to tip, but wanted to show I was still the man.The cat didn't look at the Jackson and Lincoln and a couple of Washingtons as he hefted my bags out of the back of the van. "I see you in the papers, right?""Not so much now, man.""Oh yes," he said, shaking a finger at me. "You've been in movies too, I know.""TV. Sports commentary." I was in a few flicks. B efforts where I was fifth billed or more likely a cameo. Build-up roles, my agent well, the agent I had then called 'em. Even shot a show for the WB. Me and this Asian actor were supposed to be trouble shooters. I was the burned-out alcoholic ex-cop and he was the idealistic software designer. The setup was that even though we disliked each other, we naturally have to work together to solve the case. We did three episodes. The WB aired two and canceled us. Didn't even get enough ratings on a network that keeps shows ranking in the 70s."Take it slow, champ." I picked up my stuff and made my way up the slope of the walkway past the iron gargoyles planted on either side of the dried lawn. One had a twelve-inch tongue poking out of its evilly smiling snout. The other had claws and wings raised like it was swooping down on a fat, juicy cow. I loved those beasts. Called them Dandy and Candy. Don't know why, just liked the way it sounded.Inside, the mail had been stacked on the coffee table by Adrianna, the cleaning lady I used to pay her to come twice a week without thinking about it, but not these days. I was pret
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