Thank You for My Service - Mat Best Page 0,61
selfishness, rudeness, and disrespect that oozed from so many people in L.A. just going about their day doing absolutely nothing with their lives made me alternately furious and depressed. I knew that the shittiness I personally endured wasn’t deliberate or overtly directed, but so many of these douchebags in their Sweet Sixteen convertibles and Mercedes G-wagons would just as soon run me over by accident as look right through me on purpose. Forget about Fort Rucker, the Army should move SERE (Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape) School here. Set the headquarters at Urth Caffé on Melrose, where they’ve mastered the art of pretending you don’t even exist, and let only the strongest survive. Let the rest wonder, as I did, what the hell was I doing here?
Chapter 13
Party Patrol
My last day in private security was actually at night. I had a day off from my regular gig, and I was recommended for another job doing security for after-hours parties at a house in the Hollywood Hills. As was customary, the owner of the house wanted to meet and interview me. The email I received with all the details said to come up to the house where I’d be working around 11 P.M. I called the owner’s assistant to see if the listed time was a typo. That couldn’t be right.
“Hi, this is Mat Best. I’m calling to confirm a meeting this Thursday. It says to be there at 11 P.M. That’s supposed to be 11 A.M., right?”
“No. 11 P.M. is right. Actually, I’m surprised it’s that early,” the assistant said.
She sounded high as shit.
“Excuse me?”
“Yeah, Goush usually wakes up at 10 P.M., so this is unusual. It’s typically way later. He must be really mad about the flamingo incident.”
10 P.M.? Goush? Flamingos?
In the Rangers, it was understood that some combatants could provide valuable intelligence that might help us do our job better moving forward, so it didn’t always make sense to kill everything we saw. In this case, the guy’s assistant had tipped her hand that she was in possession of valuable information that would make doing this job much easier, so I didn’t hang up on her.
“Tell me about the flamingo incident,” I asked, trying not to sound either excited by the ridiculousness or amused by the excesses of men like Goush.
“Ughhhhhh, so much fucking drama. Goush bought this statue of a rare South African flamingo at an auction, and someone broke the head off of it and threw it in the pool. He’s been like, literally, destroyed over it. He wants security ASAP.”
“Got it. I’ll be there at 11 P.M., then.”
“Right on,” she said.
“Please extend my sincerest condolences to the flamingo too.”
“Thank you. He’ll appreciate that.”
What the fuck is wrong with the people in this city? Who buys a flamingo statue in Africa and carts it halfway around the world to put next to a pool? This thing must be made out of rhino horn and panda whiskers.
The next night, I drove as far up into the Hollywood Hills as one can go without falling over the other side. I pulled up in front of a long driveway right at 11 P.M. A valet met me at the driver’s-side door, ready to take my keys.
“Hey man, I’m here for a meeting. I can just park in the driveway.”
“I wouldn’t recommend it,” he said.
“Why not?”
“If you’re parked in the driveway after the party starts, you’ll never get out of here. You’ll be blocked in ten cars deep.”
“There’s a party tonight?”
All the valet guys started laughing. “There’s a party here every night.”
“What does Goush do?” I asked.
“No one knows,” he said. “Here’s your ticket.”
I handed him my keys, took my ticket, and stepped out of my truck, slightly confused. As I headed up the driveway, the house looked like something out of Scarface. It was the biggest house I’d ever seen. The hill it was set into was so steep that you really couldn’t appreciate the size and scope of it from the bottom of the driveway.
Goush was a fucking baller.
When I got to the front door and rang the doorbell, I was greeted by a hot blonde girl in her early twenties wearing a nearly see-through lingerie thing with no bra. This being L.A., she was either a girlfriend or the assistant—those were the only two reasonable possibilities—so I immediately diverted my eyes and gave a polite wave to hedge my bets.
“Hey, if this is a bad time, I can come back if you guys are—”
“Are you Mat?”
“Yeah,