by Cortney Gee
"Don't worry, Cameron, they can eat all they want. Lulu don't have no problem feeding these babies."
We said our goodbyes and I headed back my car. I entered the Jaguar, put the key in the ignition and before I could take off, two men (one black, one white) approached me with guns drawn. The first thing that came to mind was I was about to be the first nigga to get jacked at a babysitter's house. Fuck, now I had to give up my dream car to spare my life. Damn!
Then, I heard one of the men say, "Cameron Bernard, put your hands up."
CHAPTER NINE
Sweat was gathering on my forehead and pooling in my arm pits. I would have blamed it on the August temperature if I wasn’t staring down steel. My whole world slowed down. In my mind, I played out how I was about to lose my whip and the five thousand I had in my pocket.
Then, it dawned on me that these men had to be the police. I had seen every hood and gangster movie there was and I had never known a carjacker to say a motherfucker's whole government name.
That realization brought about a whole 'nother kind of dread. Fuck losing a lil bit of change and a used vehicle, these two men could take away something much more valuable - my freedom.
The Rodney King beating was still fresh in the consciousness of all Americans and I wasn't but thirty minutes from Simi Valley. These policemen didn't have to worry about me not complying with their demands.
I raised my hands as I was told to do.
"Excuse me, gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?" I asked as I could hear my heart racing.
"Slowly step out of the car," the white officer told me, sounding like he was hoping I moved quickly so he had a reason to give me a beat down, or worse, just shoot me.
Again, I did as instructed as the white officer and his black partner moved from behind my car to face me with guns still drawn.
"Cameron B? Cameron B from Def Comedy Jam?" the black officer questioned.
I nodded my head, confirming his thoughts.
"He's cool, Gus." The black officer motioned to his partner to put his gun down. Then, he said to me, "I'm Detective Sanderson, Van Nuys fraud division. This is my partner, Gus Coles. We want to talk to you about suspicious activity that has come to our attention through Bank of America. Do you know a Chris Swenson?"
Without hesitation, I explained to them that I did know Chris and that I had contracts stating we were doing business on a failed comedy tour.
"I ended up having to give him back the monies after we failed to secure venues and talent." My tone was meant to assure him that I had no knowledge of anything fraudulent.
"Would you mind if I looked over the contract?" Detective Sanderson inquired.
"Of course, it's in the glove box." I gave him permission to get it.
After perusing over the documents, the detectives concluded that I was no more than a pawn in a laundering scheme.
"Have a good day; sorry for disturbing you," Detective Coles told me.
Detective Sanderson laughed. "Man we didn't disturb this brother, we probably just gave him some new material."
"I promise nothing is funny about having guns being drawn on you. But you're probably right; when my blood pressure lowers to normal, I'll reflect on this comically," I said getting back into my car, happy that I wasn't riding in the back of theirs.
"We followed you here, but my partner saw you had your kids with you, so we decided to wait and see if you dropped them off," Cole said. I knew that was just his way of letting me know if they needed me, they knew where to find me.
The two officers returned to their unmarked Crown Victoria and darted off.
I was relieved to watch them disappear. I made up my mind right there and then that we were moving out of that apartment as soon as possible, fuck that lease.
I knew I was going to have to explain myself to Karen. I was sure that LuLu saw what had happened and was going to tell her about the police accosting me. No lame excuse was going to do.
Though I was still shaken from my morning encounter with Van Nuys finest, I still had to make my way to drop off my scripts at Lisa's office on Wilshire Boulevard. So, I hopped on the 101, and hoped that I would not find myself jammed in traffic. Much to my delight, the flow of the vehicles was smooth. I knew I was going to be ahead of our scheduled meeting time, so I called Lisa to see if she needed anything.
"I'm getting off the Hollywood exit right now, would you like me to get you anything?" I asked Lisa.
"Good morning, Cameron, how thoughtful of you. If you don't mind, I could stand a Starbucks Red Eye and one of those delicious double fudge brownies," she told me.
"You must have already sold my sitcom idea," I told her.
She laughed. "No not yet, why would you say that?"
"Because a brother would have to had struck the lotto to afford Starbucks if you haven't sold it yet."
"You are too much. Anyone who dresses as impeccably as you do and drives a car that would make most executives blush, shouldn't be complaining about money."
We both shared a laugh and I got off the phone. When I pulled up to the Starbucks, I was amazed. I didn't do drugs so I was no expert, but I would swear Starbucks must have been putting coke in their coffee.
People were standing in line, bent around the corner to get their caffeine fix. While I waited, I amused myself with thoughts of patrons trying to sell TVs and offering oral tricks so they could cop a venti Caramel Macchiato. When I finally made it to the front of the line, a young kid who reminded me of Sean Penn's character in Fast Times at Ridgemont High attempted to take my order.
"Welcome to Starbucks; what can I help you with today, dude?" he asked me, sealing the deal of my impression of him.
"I would like two large Red Eyes and two double fudge brownies, please."
"Okay, so you want two Grande Red Eyes and brownies?"
"No, I would like two large Red Eyes."
He looked at me like I was a damn fool and repeated his question again like I was a remedial student. This went back and forth a few times until I finally grabbed the sized-cup I wanted and told him, "Put the shit in this fucking size."
"Dude, you don't have to go all postal. I'm just asking what my manager insists I say."
I kinda felt bad for going at him so hard, but ain't nobody working for minimum wage going to check me. I paid for the coffee and carefully took it to my car in a cup holder. It was a good thing that I had about ten minutes of driving to Lisa's office because the coffee was hotter than molten lava. I found that out when I arrived at Lisa's office and spilled a little on my hand, causing me to blaspheme and use The Lord's name in vain.
After taking the elevator up six flights, I arrived at Two-Story Entertainment, which made no sense to me seeing it was on the sixth floor. Lisa was the sole soul who worked in the office.
"Well, good morning, Mr. Bernard. Why the long face today?" she asked.
I informed her of my crazy re-education with buying coffee that was overpriced and the probability of at least a second degree burn on my hand.
Lisa was amused.
"Please tell me you have written this down or you talked it into a digital recorder, capturing it in its raw humor."
"No, I'm just telling you what happened."
"Cameron, you have to record all of the zany things you observe. You do have a digital recorder, don't you?"
I didn't have any idea what she was talking about.
"I would have to say that I don't."
She rummaged through her desk drawer and retrieved what looked like an itty-bitty cassette player.
"Here, you can use this one." She showed me how to use it.
"Thanks, how much do I owe you for it?"
"Put it this way, think of it as me investing in our professional future. I'm sure something you record on it is going to make us a lot of money."
The optimistic attitude Lisa had toward my success made me want to do better so that I could live up to her expectations. I had reason to believe her opinion of me. N
ot only did she handle my career, but she managed Margaret Smith, who had just been awarded The Comedienne of the Year award from Comedy Central.
In the month since Lisa had been my manager, I'd been afforded some opportunities in mainstream clubs because of the success she'd had with Margaret. My partnership with Lisa had become quite fruitful.
"So do you have the scripts ready?"
I reached into my computer bag and handed Lisa the printed copies. "I tried my best with the Cheers script, it's cool but my original sitcom is by far my best."
Lisa looked over both scripts as I waited patiently, drinking my now-able-to-be-tolerated cooled coffee. From time to time I would hear her emit a chuckle or giggle. Finally, she had finished reading both of my creations.
"Cameron, your original script is fabulous. If NBC passes on it, they would be absolute fools. I mean they would have a charismatic handsome lead in you, and your vivid description and development of the supporting characters should make it easy to cast." She paused long enough for me to thank her for digging my script and seeing my vision.
"I appreciate it, Lisa, I really worked hard on a project," I told her.
"I can see you put all of your energies toward Barely Standing and not very much effort into writing the Cheers script."
I felt let down after hearing her opinion of the Cheers script that I had labored over. "What was so wrong about it?"
She held the script in her hand. "For one, it's filled with tired clichés, which shows me either boredom or laziness."
"Well, it's not that I was being lazy. To be frank, there were no black characters to bring out my brand of humor."
"Cameron, I disagree. Black humor and white humor are the same. I know you aren’t telling me because you couldn't write a few motherfucker's and bitches into the dialogue, that means it wasn't black, it wasn't your kind of humor?" she questioned, trying to drive her point home.
"No, I'm just saying if this was a Hanging with Mr. Cooper script instead of Cheers I would have had a better grasp of the material."
I sensed that Lisa understood where I was coming from, but it was her job to make me realize the serious opportunity I could be squandering.
"You could be living a plush life as a staff writer. I'm talking about one hundred fifty thousand a year to sit in a room with a bunch of nerds, writing funny things for talentless people to make come alive."
It took everything in me not to tell her I was sitting on almost double that amount for six weeks of scheming. But the reality that she was steering me to wouldn't have me being tailed by the fuzz nor find me staring down the barrel of a gun. That fact kept my arrogance at bay.
"So what do you suggest I do, Lisa? Manage me," I said with a huge smile that pleaded for a cease-fire.
"Well, now that I have you refocused, take this Cheers script and bring it to life with your own brand of comedy. You know the show, now make it yours. I'll stall Grace for a few days and while you're working, I'll put this Barely Standing script into as many producers and show runners’ hands as I can."
I agreed with Lisa and promised to give a better effort at the task before me.
Her phone rang and when she started talking, I figured whomever was on the other line was important and our meeting had ended.
I gathered my things and blew Lisa a friendly kiss goodbye.
When I returned to my car I decided it would be in my best interest to give Lance a heads up about my police encounter earlier in the morning. I know I should have called him earlier but I needed to deal with Lisa in order to decompress.
He picked up on the first ring. "This is Lance, The Great, how may I help you?" He answered the phone like he was expecting a call from Caesar's Palace to fill in for a magician spot.
"We need to meet. I'm sure you wouldn't appreciate this conversation over an unsecured line." I was being cautious. I figured if the cops were tailing me, they might be listening in as well.
"Oh, okay, I feel you. Where are you right now?"
"I'm on Wilshire headed toward Hollywood. Meet me at the Hunan Café for lunch," I told him.
Lance informed me that he needed thirty minutes and he would meet me there. I turned left onto La Brea, then made another left onto Sunset and arrived at the restaurant. I dug this spot, not only did they have great food, but you could rub elbows with stars and starlets while you dined. I would be lying if I didn't admit that my television appearances and new tax bracket made me feel like I belonged in the mix with them.
I was sitting out on the patio drinking iced tea, taking in the sights of Rolls-Royce limousines, Lamborghinis and Ferraris cruising down the Sunset Strip.
Cynically, I wondered how many of those drivers had copped their cars like I had at Statewide Auto.
As I tickled myself with that thought, Lance pulled up in his jet black-on-black Cabriolet 911. When he exited the vehicle, I saw that he was in his normal swag mode, not one hair was out of place. Lance was wearing a beige linen short-sleeved shirt with matching pleated linen pants. His burnt orange Mauri alligator shoes and belt finished off his outfit. As he got closer, I could see his thick black mustache was trimmed perfectly, and of course he was bumping DC go-go music when he pulled up.
"Wassup, Cam?" he asked while removing his sunglasses and sitting down at the table.
I looked around making sure no one was paying us attention before I spoke. "Yo, the boys accosted me today when I dropped the twins off at the babysitters." I kept my voice low.
Lance just sat there with a blank expression. I assumed that he might have been mulling over thoughts of me cooperating with them.
"So you obviously had the contract with you?"
I nodded. "Of course I did and I'm glad the one detective recognized me from HBO, otherwise I wouldn't be here, believe me."
"If you're wearing a wire, you could be here," he replied dryly.
"Nigga, first off, I'm no rat. If I go down, I go down alone," I spat, insulted that he would ever suggest I would fold.
His shoulders relaxed just a little. "No need to be upset, young blood, I meant no harm. I was just saying."
"You were just saying I wouldn't stand up. I'm from Cleveland and even though I'm not from the streets, I do live by the code of the streets."
Lance wasn't trying to be confrontational publicly. So, he apologized. I wasn't so far gone in my anger that I couldn't accept the white flag he was waving.
"So what has you in Hollywood today?"
I explained to him that I had a meeting with my manager about the two scripts I'd been working on. "So we're out of business I guess, huh?" I asked him, thinking that it was a good thing that I had prospects for making a legitimate living.
"Not necessarily; you just need to find somebody who's in a tight position with a bank account that is not in the negative," Lance told me.
He didn't give me any names, but I knew that he was referring to Anna. I had been doing my best to keep her from the clutches of the hustle, but she was in need of a come-up. Busting her ass at Denny's wasn't making her enough money to keep creditors from hounding her. I reluctantly told Lance I would mention it to her.
"Great because a closed mouth won't get fed. Speaking of closed mouths," Lance said as he got the attention of our waitress.
After ordering our meals, I asked about Chris. "So have you heard how Chris is doing?"
"Yeah, Amanda told me that he's been admitted to the hospital. He's been ignoring his condition and now it's turning for the worse."
I shook my head. "Man, that is so fucked up. I hope the doctors can do something for him."
"Excuse me, Cameron, but didn't you just tell me that the police came to see you?"
"Yeah." I frowned. "But what does that have to do with Chris?"
"You need to look at Chris's demise as a blessing. If he goes, the case gets buried along with him."
Wow! I couldn't believe he said that. "You are one cold piece of work, Lance."
"These things I'm saying about Chris
has nothing to do with how I feel about you. We used him to separate you from the account. You're my folks."
Just then, the waitress came over with our orders and I wasn't about to let my good food get cold just to argue a point. Lance had already instilled in me what he really felt -- we weren't friends, we were hustlers.
During lunch, he had continued to convince me that I should reach out to Anna and see if she would be interested in joining us in our criminal endeavors. I told him that the small amount he was giving to Chris wasn't going to cut it for Anna. She wasn't strung out on dope or facing a death sentence, so it wouldn't be cool to come at her like she was desperate.
"I feel you, Cameron. I see that you have developed feelings for the young lady. I'll figure out a way to get her a bigger share, I promise."
"That's cool. I'm not saying I've caught feelings or nothing. I just don't want to be in the direct line of fire if shit goes wrong. Proper pay gives birth to loyalty."
Lance and I finished our meals and hung out star gazing until around two pm, then we wrapped up our meeting and left the Hunan Café. Lance told me that he would see Sarafina as soon as I got back with him about Anna.
Feeling the pressure, I drove toward her apartment to gauge her interest in the proposal that Lance offered. I was in tight with her, but out of respect I called to make sure she wasn't busy.
"What’s up, Papa," she said when she answered the phone. "You finally missing me enough to pull your face out of that script and holla at yo girl?"
"I'm sorry, sweetie for neglecting you. Believe me when I tell you I've been working diligently on these projects. I wasn't lying. Of course, I missed you. I've missed you so much I'm headed over your way if you'll allow me to."
"Stop playing. You know whenever you want to come see me you have an open invitation. Mi Casa Su Casa."
I told Anna I needed about twenty-five minutes to reach her seeing that I was going to take the streets instead of the freeway. At this time of day, there would be nothing free about the 101 or 405.
I drove down La Brea and headed toward the airport, trying to figure out how I was going to drop the idea of putting a large check into her account. When I arrived at her crib, Anna was wearing nothing but an oriental robe, which hugged her Latin curves. She smelled as if she had just showered in rose petals; her scent was intoxicating and her long black hair cascaded down her back. I figured she must have just finished blow drying it.