Audé cruised the side streets of the Media Center looking for someplace to dump the car. He hated driving his mother's old white beater -- especially to Burbank where he was always running into someone he knew, somebody in the business. But he had no choice since his Bel Air was up on blocks and he didn't have the cash to fix it, certainly not on the $6.50 an hour he was making as a glorified towel boy at the World Gym. If he had to drive his mother's car, at least he'd find some place secluded to park the damned thing where there were no streetlights. Someplace where there was no danger of bumping into a producer, a casting director or a pretty young actress.
By the time he pulled his bag out of the backseat and started up the hill to the gym, Audé had already made up his mind. He was going to take the job that guy had offered him.
Though he didn't know much about him, the guy who called himself Rai seemed decent enough, Audé thought. At least Audé's boss at the gym said the guy seemed legit. Rai had connections in the auto business and he had helped Audé's boss find a good, late model, low-mileage BMW. In Hollywood that practically made them related. It certainly seemed like proof that Rai was reliable. It didn't bother Audé or his boss that the guy paid cash for everything, including his $800 membership at the gym. They never even thought to check out whether Rai was even his real name. It wasn't.
All that mattered at the time was that Rai seemed confident and successful, and in L.A., that's almost as good as being successful. Besides, it wasn't a full time job that Rai was offering. Audé would still have plenty of time for auditions now that his agent was finally sending him out regularly. And he'd get to travel. Rai had laid it all out for him a few nights earlier, while Audé spotted him on the universal.
"I'll make all the arrangements," Rai told him in that funny Armenian accent of his. "All you have to do is fly where I tell you, Canada, to Sweden, to Turkey, and bring back the leather."
Simple. A few skirts. A few vests. Maybe a jacket or two. Audé could spend a few days wandering around exotic places, meeting interesting people, tasting unusual dishes. If anybody asked, he could say he was overseas doing an acting job. Okay, so it was a little white lie. An "Audé-ism." That's what his new pal Jeremy Fowler liked to call his little embellishments.
The only hitch was going to be customs. Rai wanted to avoid having to pay that annoying duty the U.S. Government insisted on collecting on imports for sale. "If they catch you, they'll take the leather and I'll probably have to pay a fine. But then I won't be able to pay you."
And if he didn't get caught? Well, Rai would pay him $800 a trip. That would certainly get the Bel Air off the blocks, he thought.
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