Foreword by Stan Lerner: the following novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” is a work of fiction meant to give the blog reader a unique literary experience. “Breakfast at Bottega Louie” is a love story that examines the intersection and repair of two broken lives. I am writing it daily and will post it as such—and I promise there will be an ending, although I have not yet punctuated it in my own mind. If you care to comment as to where you would like the story to go—please do so!

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART THREE

          Post Breeze’s departure I sat at Bottega Louie and resumed work on a script long overdue to be finished. Hollywood is a funny little place filled with men and women that split at the seams with self-importance all according to a formula that calls for the less the talent variable to be supplanted by the arrogance constant in every possible calculation. It’s enough to make anyone with even the slightest skill wish that they didn’t have it—so they could then join the ranks of the Hollywood Happy. Me, I do it (write) because I can no longer bring myself to masturbate five or six times a day. Rather, I put my words on paper, usually a hundred pages or so, and let the creative executives do so in the round.

            Currently I am writing the screen adaptation of my novella horror classic titled “Blast”. “Blast”, only available as an ebook for Amazon Kindle, is a gory affair. Kids throwing a rave in a defense plant left vacant and full of death implements of every possible kind. There is teenage rape, cop killing, drug abuse, best friend infidelity…Excuse me I have to yawn…Oh, and the always classic biting off of the bad guy’s penis while being forced to commit oral copulation—always a crowd pleaser that one is. No doubt the MPAA will think this masterpiece deserving of an R rating, anything less would ring disappointing to me. No. I’m not a sellout. I feed these sows this ever increasingly bad slop hoping that they will one day bankrupt themselves, financially speaking since there is no moral account for me to raid amongst this band, and cause their likes to leave the town allowing the type that don’t use the word commercial in every other sentence to once again make motion pictures.

            Later that day—lunchtime, I stood in my high-rise two-bedroom two-bath condominium trying to digest not a peanut butter sandwich I had not eaten yet due to Breeze’s excitement at the improvement she had made to my office, which she insisted I see at once. Continue reading BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART THREE →

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: the following novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” is a work of fiction meant to give the reader a unique literary experience.  “Breakfast at Bottega Louie” is a love story that examines the intersection and repair of two broken lives. I am writing it daily and will post it as such—and I promise there will be an ending, although I have not yet punctuated it in my own mind. If you care to comment as to where you would like the story to go—please do so!

BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART TWO

          “My name is Breeze Goodwilling! But my friends call me Breezey and not because it rhymes with easy….You are?” Her hand jutted out toward me.

            “I’m…”

            “No, don’t tell me. I’m just going to call you Man…Like in that book “Anthem”.”

            Forgetting to let go of her hand I asked the obvious, “You’ve read the least known work of Ayn Rand?”

            “And “The Fountain Head”. And “Atlas Shrugged”.” She snapped the fingers of her left hand, which remained free from my grasp. “I’m not going to call you Man, too seventies street, I’m going to call you Roark, like Howard Roark. But you kind of remind me of Hank Rearden also.” She shrugged and clasped her now free hands in her lap in front of her. Then her face lighted up with a thought. “Because you’re an original thinker like Howard Roark in “The Fountain Head” and you look pretty established like “Hank Rearden” in Atlas Shrugged—I’m going to call you Hank Roark. Do you love it, Roarky?”

            “Yes I do. I’ve always wanted to be an objectivist super hero. But seriously my name is Howard—so let’s stick with that, Breezey.”

            Leaning forward she kissed me on the cheek. “I knew you were a Howard.” She leaned back and crossed her arms across her firm, high with youth chest. “Where are you from Howard? It seems like you’ve traveled the world. You’re so worldly postured. And posture never lies.”

            “I was born in East LA. Went to UCLA. Moved to Downtown LA. And once saw a cock fight and bull fight in the same day—in Tijuana, T.J.”

            She leaned forward. “I knew there was something worldly about you. Continue reading BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE PART TWO →

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Foreword by Stan Lerner: the following novella “Breakfast At Bottega Louie” is a work of fiction meant to give the blog reader, YOU, a unique literary experience. True, I introduced the serialized semi fictional blog “Downtown Oliver Brown” for much the same reason, but Downtown Oliver Brown is satirical, so by definition the writing is what I would call, “literary light,” and because it is a serial, much like a soap opera, it has no end. “Breakfast at Bottega Louie” is a love story that examines the intersection and repair of two broken lives. I am writing it daily and will post it as such—and I promise there will be an ending, although I have not yet punctuated it in my own mind. If you care to comment as to where you would like the story to go—please do so!

 BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE

 I did not move to Downtown Los Angeles in order to seek adventure nor to help the less privileged, but rather as a small, insignificant dinghy adrift in the sea of life. It’s true that like all writers, although I was a businessman all those years ago, I have had my moments of self-aggrandizement in which I have felt as if I had some special calling in life. I might have even caused a few dozen or so to share in this indulgent maybe even delusional belief. Yet, the reality is fairly simple: I came to live where I have now lived for the last fourteen years because it was inexpensive. Not that it looks inexpensive, rather the converse is in fact the case—I live in the lap of luxury. Indeed it was a once in a lifetime event that imbued such a fortunate circumstance on to me. A golden cage of my own in a thriving part of the city that has on some blocks even surpassed the quality of life that can be found on Ninth Street between Flower and Hope, for this is where I dwell.

One such block to rise in status midst our prosperous neighborhood would be 7^th Street. It had some grand old days in the grand old days but had spent forty of the last forty years as a shadow of its former greatness. My own mother, may she rest in piece, reminisced about the trolley cars that had transported her and Aunt Louise to shopping excursions at the stores that once towered above the streets. The original Robinson’s headquarters I’m sure was a favorite stop. And just across the street was Brooks Brothers where my dad had bought suits. I know this latter statement to be absolutely true as I wore a hand-me-down from this very store in my senior picture. I didn’t mind at the time, but now wish I had been wearing a fine suit of my own on this occasion.

With this location, formerly Brooks Brothers, I am inimitably well versed. Because in the days that I sought to build a clothing empire of my own rooted in the value proposition and a familiar sounding name, I toured the premise with the serious intent of turning it into a larger and improved version of my store a block to the north. Why this did not transpire I can no longer recall, but this is easy to forgive as my empire building days left carnage on the streets that would have wowed the Cesar’s—even Caligula, and after praying for much forgiveness some things a man should be allowed to forget.

For three years the site that was once almost part of my rein of business terror seemed to be under perpetual on and off construction. The floors above were with equal sluggishness being transformed into lofts—part of an adaptive reuse boom that was both revitalizing the city and adding substantially to my net worth, which ironically had been increasing daily for years as I benefited from no merit of my own other than the weakness to live the life of what I think of as the faux rich. Interesting that a phantom economy turned my faux rich life into a life of semi substance. No doubt in the future I shall lay claim to visionary status when I inevitably decide that humility no longer suits me. Continue reading BREAKFAST AT BOTTEGA LOUIE →

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