So Mia Drops by with Her Kids...
Location: In N Out Burger, Los Angeles, CA
OK, so get this. I just got out of the shower, ready
to head out to grab some mid afternoon
breakfast/dinner down at
Lord
Fletcher’s.
I couldn’t wait to get my choppers into the beef
short ribs and a side salad with the special
dressing. My suit’s on, my mouth’s watering, I
grab my orange windbreaker and I’m heading for the
door. I go out to the driveway and am greeted with
this:
I thought it was a weird scout troupe who had heard I
was back, trying to hustle me for some cookie
“dough”, when out of the throng comes Mia. My eyes
rolled like slot machine wheels.
Fuck.
“Hey Frank! It’s so good to see you! I heard you were
back, but I couldn’t believe it. How’ve you been?”
She gives me a hug, wrinkling my windbreaker.
“I’m fine Mia.” I say as I politely try to
disentangle myself from her boney embrace. “Who are
all the kids?” I ask, dreading the answer.
“Oh Frank, don’t be silly. Their mine!”
Fuck. I knew it.
“Mia, I thought your litter would’ve all been grown
up and on their own by now, adopting their own army
of children... somewhere far from here.”
“They are Frank, they are. That was the first batch.
This is the 2nd and 3rd rounds of my adopted
children. Come on, let me introduce you. This is
Mishanawa from Thailand, she was abandoned by her
aunt in a rice paddy and this is Oshwan, he...”
“Mia, Mia, Mia,” I interrupted. “I was just heading
out to dinner. I haven’t eaten all day and the help
is all Splitsville at the moment,” I didn’t have the
heart to tell her that I couldn’t track down George.
He could have handled this mess without me having to
get involved. Truth be told, it’s her fault he got
fired in the first place.
“I’m a little out of sorts here, doll. Can we do this
another time?”
“Oh, I’m sorry Frank. I knew I should’ve called, but
none of your phone numbers ever seem to work. We
didn’t mean to interrupt your dinner plans.”
Relieved, “Hey baby, no problem. Like you said, you
had no idea of my itinerary.” I could charm the dead.
“Your so sweet Frank. You run along to dinner and
we’ll wait here until you get back. We’ll be fine.”
Fuck.
“Mia, sweetheart,” (I’m pouring on the charm now, I’m
all teeth and eyes at this point, and I’d give both
to get the fuck out of this), “I really don’t know
what time I’ll be back. I mean, it could be hours
baby. You know The Chairman when he swings out on the
town. The clock holds no sway...”
“Oh Frank, really, we’ll be fine. You’ve still got the pool in the back, right? Listen, if it gets too late, the kids can sleep in the guest houses and the living room and the front lawn. Really, don’t worry.”
FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK, FUCK!!!
There are times in a man’s life, no matter how powerful or accomplished he may be, he must do what he has to do to extricate himself from the worst of fates. To mete out a just action to bring his difficulties to a charitable yet agreeable solution. In other words, when he must “un-fuck” himself. In this case, a cartoon rat that sells rubberized pizza was the best I could come up with on short notice.
“Mia, I just thought of something. You know there’s a Chuck E. Cheese out on the 111. I’m sure you and the kids...”
“Oh Frank, what a great idea...”
Whew! The Chairman snatches another victory from the fire. But, just as I begin to bask in the glow of my own genius, Mia continues...
“Hey kids, Uncle Frank’s gonna’ take us all out to Chuck E. Cheese, isn’t that great?”
FUCKING HOLY FUCK!!!!
As she continued repeating herself in 15 different languages to her league of underprivileged nations, I nearly lost my lunch right there on the driveway. I’m sure “Mr. Cheese” runs a fine establishment and all, but I just don’t eat anyplace that has a cartoon for a logo. I don’t even work for Disney. I’ve got a rep to cover and for Christ’s sake, this wasn’t going to be my coming out party.
Her multi-colored minions piled into the three busses she brought along. I declined the ride and told Mia I’d need to have the car with me, as I forgot I had to jet out to Vegas for a late show (why the fuck hadn’t I come up with that idea before this fucking disaster?).
FFUUUCCCKKK!!!
So we drive out to the 111. There I am, the greatest singer the world has ever known,. The greatest entertainer of the 20th (and soon to be 21st) century and I’ve got an entire third-world country following me in three busses with my ex-wife. I had a plan though. The Leader is wise, baby.
See, Mia’s a sweet dame, but a little spacey upstairs, if you get my drift. Her elevator don’t always stop at every floor. Me and Kasparov always used to joke that Mia stood for “Missing In Action”. I wish it really stood for that right at the moment.
So anyway, we pull into the parking lot and I slide my bird along side her bus.
“Mia, you go on inside with the kids and get set up. Shoot the works.” What was it going to cost, I thought, $20? “Tell the manager to put a tab on my address. I gotta’ gas up the Bird and I’ll be back. I’m running on fumes.”
It was enough fast talk and complex detail to confuse her into going along. And with that I made my escape. I haven’t driven in a while, but I got enough road smarts in the driver’s seat to push that Bird like a union stunt-man. I drove all the way to L.A. at about 100 mph before I stopped at one of them “In-N-Out” burger joints (love the name, my kinda’ place, huh?). It wasn’t Lord Fletchers, but it wasn’t dinner with Mia’s United Nations either.
WHERE THE FUCK IS GEORGE?!?!
