EVA: FAT MAN IN THE POLO LOUNGE

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Tags: Beverly Hills Hotel, Polo Lounge, Beverly Hills, freebies, Eva, callgirl, sex worker, escort agency, driver, factotum, jarvis, viral video, marquisdejolie, gypsy cab, confessions, hotel row, hotel restrooms, father and son business, Hollywood, Hollywoodland

Fat Man In The Polo Lounge With A Gorgeous Blonde On His Arm

“Guess we’ve got a little time til the next call,” I consoled Eva. “Chloie takes me to the Beverly Hills Hotel bar once in a while for those $10 cups of coffee during break times. You know, Eva, I always wondered what a $10 cup of coffee would taste like. Ever been there? Those cups are so small. I think they charge so much to keep the riff raff like me out. Looks like it works, too, ‘cause I didn’t see any other raff in there.”

No response. Eva was shakily lighting a fag she borrowed from my shirt pocket.

“Or she would take me to one of those quaint little outdoor cafes along Rodeo,” I pushed on. “I tell ya, that’s the one thing I do like about this job.”

“The free drinks then?”

“No,” I laughed, “being seen all over town in swanky places with beautiful young women like you and Chloie. It confuses the natives. You know, Eva, I try to dress as nice as I can, but as you can see I’m obviously not into Armani. So here I sit in some swanky place with a beautiful young woman and I can almost hear the young men next to me wondering what a cute girl like that is doing with the broken-down raggedy middle-aged . . .”

“You’re not that bad. . .”

“Thanks, but like Clint says, ‘A man’s gotta know his limitations’ . . .anyway, I sit at these swanky places wishing to high hell that just one, please Lord, just one of my Crookside friends could come driving by and see me chillin’ in a $10-a-cup Rodeo restaurant with a cute blonde on my arm. Man, that would be the greatest.”

“Can we go to a liquor store instead?” Eva laughed.

With no liquor store around, we ended up having a few drinks at the Peninsula Hotel bar which, several months later, would be the last place I would ever see Eva.

After a few Gin and Tonics, Eva was in a cheery, expansive mood. She had stopped talking about bloody Indians and perverted picture-taking customers and had moved to playing with my leg under the table. I figured her mood was right to ask for a favor:

“Would you mind if my son came along on the job with us a few nights, you know, to see what his daddy does for a living?” I asked as her toes reached my inner thigh..

“‘ow old is ‘e?”

“Oh, he’s 19. Very handsome and polite. The girls in Texas love him. He’s got a line around the block. . .”

“Sure,” she laughed as she ordered another Gin and Tonic, “More the merrier, I always say.”

Little Jimmy’s Restroom Hopping Apprentiship

Thus began my son’s apprentiship into the escort driving business. After we dropped Eva off, we’d go to the hotel restrooms and rate the soaps, toilet paper and hand lotions. Sometimes we took samples, but not very often. If we ever needed soap, the hotels would always be there. Hotel restrooms were our private offices. I liked the urinals that automatically flushed when you move away from them and my son appreciated those little hand towels rolled up like restaurant napkins.

I looked forward to those nights on the job with my son. They were a combination Career Day where the son gets to see what his dad does for a living and Sports day where the father and son go to the stadium together to watch the pomp and spectacle. There was always pomp and spectacle.

I showed my son the back entrances into the hotels in case he needed to use the payphones and taught him which hotel parking lots to stay out of unless he wanted to get hit up for security guard ‘tips’.

In two weeks, he knew more about Los Angeles hotels than Triple A and we had enjoyed a father and son bonding experience just like the American Express commercial: conversations with 11 year-old son: priceless. Conversation with 19 year-old son in the dark parking lot behind the Summit Hotel in Brentwood about the dangers of getting too friendly with the doped-up hookers in our cars: priceless.