Free Jaine Austen 2 - Last Writes by Laura Levine Page A

Jausten
    FROM: Daddyo
    SUBJECT: Exhibit “A”

    I have proof positive that your mother is having an affair. Yesterday I happened to be looking for a Kleenex in her car, when I found a bottle of Love Oil!

    TO: Daddyo
    FROM: Jausten
    SUBJECT: Huh?

    Love oil? What do you mean? Love oil?

    TO: Jausten
    FROM: Daddyo
    SUBJECT: Wake up and Smell the Coffee, Part II

    You know. The stuff they advertise in the back of men’s magazines. Right next to the inflatable sex dolls. Your mom and Mr. Koskovalis probably rub it on each other, as a prelude to their sick, kinky sex.

    TO: Jausten
    FROM: Shoptillyoudrop
    SUBJECT: Love Oil

    Wait till you hear the latest. Your father claims he found a bottle of “love oil” in my Camry. I asked him to show it to me. He went out to the car, and searched high and low, but of course he didn’t find any “love oil” because there was no love oil to find. I really think he should be seeing a therapist. Please ask Kelsey Grammer if he knows a good one here in Florida.

    TO: Shoptillyoudrop
    FROM: Jausten

    Mom, Kelsey Grammer isn’t really a therapist. He just plays one on TV.

    TO: Jausten
    FROM: Shoptillyoudrop

    How about his brother Niles? Maybe you could ask him.

Chapter Nine

    “F or this, I’m missing Jeopardy?”
    Mr. Goldman was pissed. He and the rest of the Shalom gang were in the audience waiting for the taping of my show to begin. They’d been sitting there, cooling their heels, for the past forty-five minutes. The show was supposed to have started taping at seven, but we had to wait for Stan and Audrey to get back from a network meeting out in Burbank. According to Bianca, they were stuck in a massive traffic jam on the Hollywood Freeway.
    I’d come out into the audience to say hello to my students and was beginning to wish I hadn’t.
    The young comic who’d been hired to keep the audience in a festive, ready-to-laugh-at-anything mood (known in sitcom circles as the warm-up guy) was getting desperate. He’d long since run through his supply of jokes and was now asking the audience to hum the theme songs from their favorite sitcoms.
    “Feh,” Mr. Goldman said in a stage whisper that could be heard in Pomona. “You call that funny? That’s not funny.”
    Unfortunately, the rest of the audience seemed to agree with him. People were squirming in their seats and looking at their watches. Great. Just what I needed. An audience of malcontents.
    “I’m hungry,” Mr. Goldman whined. “They keep us waiting so long, they should serve refreshments. A canapé. A pig in a blanket. A potato puff, maybe.”
    “Have a Tic Tac,” Mrs. Pechter said.
    “I don’t like Tic Tacs. I like Certs.”
    Mrs. Pechter rolled her eyes in annoyance.
    “And where’s Vanessa?” Goldman said. “I didn’t come all the way across town to see some pisher comic. I came to see the babe with the big tits.”
    “Please, Mr. Goldman. There are youngsters in the audience.”
    “Okay, I came to see the babe with the big bazooms. Is that better?”
    “You’re impossible, Abe,” Mrs. Pechter said, shooting me a sympathetic look.
    “You think maybe you could get me Vanessa’s autograph?” Mr. Goldman asked.
    “Sure,” I said, eager to escape. “I’ll see if I can find her.”
    “See if you can find some food, too,” he shouted after me. “An M&M would be nice.”
    I hurried backstage, where I found Wells and Zach hanging out at the coffee machine. Wells was telling Zach about the time he played Mercutio to Laurence Olivier’s Romeo. Zach was pretending to give a damn.
    “Hi,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt, but have either of you seen Vanessa?”
    “No,” Zach grunted, clearly upset at having been reminded of his lost love.
    “I believe she and Quinn are still in their dressing rooms,” Wells said.
    Zach clenched his fists into angry balls. No doubt he was thinking what I was thinking: that Vanessa and Quinn were probably together in the same dressing room, boinking their brains