By Dan Fante
In la, suffering telemarketer-writer and part-time under the influence of alcohol Bruno Dante is jobless back. The ebook of his booklet of brief tales has been do away with indefinitely. looking out the wish advertisements for a gig, he unearths a chauffeur task. whilst Bruno calls the quantity within the advert, he discovers the boss is his former big apple agency David Koffman, who's establishing a West Coast department of his thriving limo provider. Koffman hires Bruno as resident supervisor of Dav-Ko Hollywood lower than one situation: he needs to stay sober. yet quick company luck triggers an abrupt booze-and-blackout-soaked downward spiral for Bruno, forcing him to confront his personal insanity as he struggles to maintain his outdated generic demons from getting the easiest of him once more.
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In l. a., suffering telemarketer-writer and part-time under the influence of alcohol Bruno Dante is jobless back. The booklet of his publication of brief tales has been do away with indefinitely. looking the wish advertisements for a gig, he unearths a chauffeur activity. whilst Bruno calls the quantity within the advert, he discovers the boss is his former new york organization David Koffman, who's beginning a West Coast department of his thriving limo carrier.
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Ha-ha. ” Suddenly I had an overwhelming need for a drink. For the last thirty seconds I’d been controlling the onset of leg tremors by tightly crossing the fuckers at my ankles. Even now the heebie-jeebies appeared to be traveling their way up my body to my upper torso. Maybe I was about to get a sudden spell of the flyaways because my left hand had just begun to shake—my coffee cup hand. I slid it under the table then pinned the prick beneath my thigh. “Right,” I said. ” “I see,” said Koffman, whose hands never seemed to shake at all.
Dav-Ko’s “hip” trademark was a red hankie in the breast pocket of each chauffeur’s suit jacket. A. entertainment big shots. For the last week he’d been renting a bungalow at the Beverly Hills Hotel and intended to be in town for as long as it took to make Dav-Ko Hollywood a turnkey operation. Trust was important to Koffman. I could tell that he liked the idea of having a known quantity—a former dispatcher-driver like myself—working with him again. For David, us having refound each other after so long was a kind of sign.
Portia was my height, five foot six or seven, but weighed no more than a hundred pounds. She wore black horn-rimmed Gucci glasses and her boy’s haircut was dyed Madonna white blond. Somewhere along the line she had surgically endowed herself with what appeared to be two NFL footballs for breasts. These two incongruous protrusions would arrive in a room long before the skeleton attached to them. When she sat down I noted that it would take three of her to fill one of our office swivel chairs—excluding her tits.