1100 Wilshire had been an office building with no tenants before the most recent housing boom came along and made it a place that people who enjoy a sky-pool call home. Frankly, the pool at the Skyline, where I am currently borrowing a rich friend’s place, is probably the nicest in Downtown—I’ve used it once. Anyway, it was David Kean’s fortieth birthday so there I was.
“Happy birthday, old boy,” I said handing David a bottle of wine that I had just picked up from Mike Berger at Ralph’s.
About a year ago I signed a copy of my last book for a very nice woman who approached me at the Water Grill while I was having dinner. It turned out that her husband is the CEO of Kroger and much like Starbucks I got one of those plastic cards in the mail—I haven’t had a grocery bill in a year.
“Forty, welcome to my world,” I said to Dave.
“I know. I woke up feeling older,” David mourned.
“Not to worry old boy, it only gets worse.” I laughed. “Is that an olive spread?” I asked gesturing toward the red, lacquer, Chinioserie tea table.
“It is, help yourself,” said David, happy to not have to listen to anymore of my getting old jokes.
I plopped down on the modern, tan, mohair sofa next to Eric Everhard the porn star. I don’t think Everhard is his real last name, but if it is, I hear that it suits him.
I reached for a cracker and some olive spread. “So what’s up…I mean working hard…I mean how’s life treating you?”
Eric smiled; he’s a very cool guy. “Oliver I’m a porn star, how bad can life be? Other than my back is just killing me—job hazard.”
I had never thought of the strain that his particular line of work puts on the back and hips, but suddenly it made sense. Continue reading DOWNTOWN OLIVER BROWN AN INTERSECTION OF LOCALS