86'd: A Novel - By Dan Fante Page 0,62

books she had ordered, then home to the bungalow.

I arrived on time. J.C., as usual, was dressed handsomely and ready to go. I walked her to the car carrying her bag. After she got in my Pontiac and had nestled her fat cat on her lap, I went around to the driver’s door and got in too, then placed her bag on the seat between us. “I always appreciate your help with my bag,” she said.

“No big deal,” I said.

“I beg your pardon,” Mrs. Smart hissed.

“I said, no big deal.”

“Just say ‘you’re welcome,’ for God’s sake. Why on earth would anyone above the age of ten use a phrase like no big deal?” The English teacher/critic in my customer was still a tyrant. She could not stop herself. She was like a kleptomaniac in a button store. She couldn’t get enough. The shit was relentless.

“In fact, I have a term for your type of grammatical carelessness,” she sneered. “I call it TV speak. You, apparently, have mastered it. In lieu of an actual education, the majority of the American population—I don’t necessarily mean you—has acquired its English usage by viewing Oprah or that simpering fraud Dr. Phil. Or possibly from the staggering array of situation comedy and police drama implanted nightly in their brains via that absurd and hideous box.”

“I’ll try to clean up my act,” I said, smiling.

“Merciful Jesus.”

“Where would you like to go first, J.C.?”

“The usual,” she said. “Dr. Prescription-Pad, in Santa Monica. But first, may I change the subject? I have some positive news for you. Would you like to hear it?”

“Yes, I would. I’ve had nothing but bad news machine-gunned at me for a while, especially from inside my head, so some good news would be nice.”

“I’ve read the manuscript you gave me. Your stories are good, the characters well developed, and your sentences clear and succinct. In fact, absent the vitriol, profanity, and blatant pornographic content, your writing is often excellent. In some ways, in fact, your style reminds me of the writer H. H. Munro. Saki. Are you familiar with him?”

“Yes. It’s been a while, but, sure, I’ve read his stuff.”

“May I make a suggestion?” she said.

“Sure. Please do.”

“I still have a friend or two in the publishing business. Small press publishers. With your permission I will send each of them your manuscript.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Thank you very very much. You absolutely have my permission. You’ve made my day.”

J.C. was smiling. “Not at all. You deserve to have your work in print. You’re a good writer, Bruno Dante.”

In Santa Monica my client was her usual twenty minutes at the doctor’s office. For once she left Tahuti behind in the car. Her devoted cat was getting on in years too, but when I petted the monster a little he managed an approving purr.

From Santa Monica we drove over Topanga Canyon to Woodland Hills and the Motion Picture home. J.C. liked that route best because of the green and the natural beauty of the canyon.

She and her pal Dawn had tea for an hour at an upscale English joint in Calabasas. After that we drove back to the Motion Picture home to drop her friend off.

But, as we were getting on to the Ventura Freeway on our way back to Hollywood, I noticed that my client had slumped against the passenger door. Her eyes were closed. I leaned across and touched her arm. “J.C., are you all right?”

She opened her eyes slowly. “I’m not sure,” she said. “Please don’t be alarmed, Bruno, but I think perhaps you should take me to a hospital. Just now I’m not feeling well at all.”

“Sure. Of course,” I said. “What’s wrong? Do you know?”

“It’s probably nothing. But please hurry.”

I got off the freeway at Warner Center, where I knew there were at least two hospitals. Five minutes later we were in the emergency room.

They wheeled J.C. in right away while I waited nervously in the lobby.

Forty minutes passed. I went to the admitting window a few times to ask about her condition but no one would give me a straight answer. Finally, a nurse came out to talk to me. “Are you Bruno?” she asked. “You’re here with Mrs. Smart?”

“Yeah. I am. How’s J.C.?” I asked. “Is she okay?”

“Mrs. Smart appears to have had a fainting episode. We believe she took too much of her blood pressure medication. But she seems much better now. She’s asking for you. Would you like to go in?”

“Absolutely. I want to see her.”

“Are