When Ed told a few of his closest co-workers of his dreams of making a fortune in real estate after attending a few seminars and listening to self help tapes, they listened politely. But behind his back, they were scornful.
Mitch never imagined that he would find the key to wealth while working as a lowly shipping clerk at the Granny Goose potato chip factory in Los Angeles, California.
Like any child of white middle class America, Mitch Egan had youthful dreams of wealth. His mother had always told him, "Someday you'll be rich and famous." As he grew to manhood, he dreamt the dreams less fervently. By the age of 40 he came to realize that the dreams would probably never be anything but dreams. He never imagined that he would find the key to wealth while working as a lowly shipping clerk at the Granny Goose potato chip factory in Los Angeles, California.
Mitch Egan's golden opportunity came to him not by dint of hard work or scheming or planning or shrewdly investing his meager savings. Mitch came into his chance at a fortune solely because he was such a nice guy who knew how to be a friend. One of his friends, a co-worker, discovered a way to become fabulously wealthy and then decided to let Mitch in on his secret.
His name was Ned B. Raska, but everyone called him Ed. Ed was not his nickname; people just didn't hear the "N" when Ned introduced himself: "Hi, I'm Ned." He was such an accommodating guy he didn't bother to correct people. "Ed" was close enough.
Ed was a hero to Mitch Egan and his co-workers at the potato chip factory because he'd made a fortune in real estate and shown up all the doubters who thought he was a crackpot to spend his evenings and weekends at real estate seminars where people were told it was easy to get rich in a week or two. A testimonial tv ad for one of the seminars showed a prosperous looking guy standing in front of a shiny Rolls Royce saying,
"Would you believe that just fortyeleven days ago I was sleeping under the freeway overpass? No job, no money, and no hope. My wife and kids called the cops on me if I came around the neighborhood. My idea of a good time was a bottle of Red Rocket, a cigar butt, and a Hostess Ding Dong. Even then, I always thought I'd be rich and famous. Heck, why else would I come to California? And now here I am rich and starring in a tv commercial thanks to the Cash Gusher Seminar...."
When Ed told a few of his closest co-workers of his dreams of making a fortune in real estate after attending a few seminars and listening to self help tapes, they listened politely. But behind his back, they were scornful. "A seat at one a them seminars is about the most expensive piece of real estate he'll ever own, ha ha."
They had second thoughts when Ed showed up at work one day driving a new Porsche. The Porsche was outfitted with state-of-the art electronics allowing Ed to spend his lunch hours keeping tabs on his burgeoning real estate empire. His co-workers became envious. "If he's doin' so good, what's he need this job for?"
Ed gets rich quick with the Cash Gusher Seminar...
...and stages a grand exit from the potato chip factory.
Eventually Ed did quit his job and went on to accumulate apartments and single family homes all over Southern California, all in his spare time, with no money down, following a few easy principles he'd learned with the Cash Gusher home study course.
Ed staged a grand exit from the potato chip factory. He showed up one morning on foot, touching off a wave of rumors that he'd lost the Porsche. At morning break, he attended the regular meeting of the "curb club," as they called themselves, pals from the shipping department who gathered on the sidewalk outside the factory to banter and watch the girls go by. A limousine rounded the corner.
"Well guys, there's my limo," he said, and stepped to the curb. His co-workers laughed, thinking Ed was just being his usual humorous self. But then the limo eased toward the curb like a boat pulling up to a dock.
A gorgeous female chauffeur emerged and held the door for Ed. As his stunned pals watched him climb into the back of the limo, Ed said "Tell 'em to mail me my check, will ya? Not that I'll be needing it. It's been nice knowin' ya. I'll be in touch." And he was gone.
It was a great triumph for Ed to have so resoundingly surpassed the people at work who assumed they were superior to a lowly shipping clerk. He vowed to never allow himself to become smug about his success. As his work buddies waved from their sidewalk hangout, Ned thought of all the pleasant hours he'd spent there engaging in quality male bonding. He savored the moment. The potato chip factory receded in the distance as the limo propelled him toward a new life.
Ned's friends at the potato chip factory thought that would be the last they would ever see of him. But Ned didn't forget his roots. When he moved into his Malibu mansion, he threw a lavish housewarming party, to which he invited all his friends, business contacts, and scores of tenants who occupied his rental units from Lompoc to Rancho Cucamonga.
Ned invited the gang from the shipping department and several of the company's female office workers who had foolishly assumed he would never amount to anything because he was just a jerk in the shipping department. The two friends to whom Ned most looked forward to seeing were Mitch Egan and Wes Konsan. He had worked side by side with Mitch and Wes all those years loading the Granny Goose trucks.
Wes and Mitch decided to come to the party without dates because Ed had told them the party would be crawling with available women. Actually, Wes and Mitch didn't have much choice because they were both lonely bachelors who had a hard time scraping up dates. Mitch's last date had told him that a hairy chest was one of her primary requirements in a man and that she didn't think she could date him anymore because his chest wasn't hairy enough.
"But you haven't seen my chest," he protested.
"I know, but you just don't seem like the hairy chested type. Sorry."
Wes thought he had surely gotten lucky on his last date when the woman invited him to spend the night at her apartment. Then she proceeded to make up a bed for him on a love seat three sizes too small for his six foot frame. "I'll let you sleep here. I'd let you sleep on the sofa," she explained, "but it's new and I don't want the cushions to get mussed up." He politely made an excuse and went home to his dreary bachelor's digs.
Ned sent a limo to fetch Wes and Mitch. In the limo were two dazzling young women who helped themselves to a magnum of champagne that nestled amid chipped ice in a silver bucket. Mitch judged the women to be barely of drinking age. They introduced themselves as Carol and Ina.
"We live in one of Ed's apartments," Carol said. "He's a great landlord," she said, rolling her eyes and looking meaningfully at Ina. "Are you guys friends of Ed's?"
"We go back a long way," Mitch answered in an offhand manner. Although Mitch normally felt uneasy in the presence of beautiful women, it was different this time because Carol and Ina seemed to think Wes and Mitch were bigshot friends of Ed's. Why not play along?
As the limo streaked up Pacific Coast Highway, the champagne flowed and Mitch began to feel like a different person. Carol and Ina treated his every remark as though it might turn up in a history book someday. Mitch liked to try to impress women with tales of his adventures in Operation Desert Storm, worldwide travels, narrow escapes from death when he was a diamond smuggler, experiments with mind expanding drugs, and his work with handicapped children. It had been a long time since he'd found a woman whose eyes didn't glaze over when he launched into a war story. Mitch couldn't muster a good rap about life in the consumer culture, which seemed to be all that interested the women he met.
Then there was the problem of his occupation. Mentioning his job title had an all to predictable effect. As soon as he said he was a shipping clerk a woman would announce that she had urgent business elsewhere and walk away. He began calling himself a "transportation specialist" instead of a shipping clerk just so he'd have a chance to tell a war story now and then.
But Mitch was too honest and well meaning to pretend he was he was something he was not. He liked to think of himself as man of substance temporarily down on his luck (for most of his life). It was comforting to be around two impressionable young women who readily assumed that Wes and Mitch were legitimate hotshots and didn't ask touchy questions about what they did to pay the bills.
Ed throws the greatest party ever
Mitch and Wes see a side to Ed they didn't know before
A uniformed policeman stood at the entrance to Ed's driveway, which was more like a short road. The limo slowed for inspection. The cop nodded to the chauffeur and waved him on. The driveway traversed a sloping pasture and led into a stand of stately oaks.
Broad lawns surrounded the mansion. Although the lawns covered what seemed like acres, they were packed with people. A horse show was being presented. Mitch could see a show ring where horses took their jumps. Jugglers and acrobats performed before small groups. Just ahead, another limo paused at the mansion's main entrance to deposit its cargo of glamor. There were women in party dresses and men in smoking jackets, women in smoking dresses in men in party jackets, as well as women in smoking jackets and men in party dresses. Mitch was thankful he'd worn his flashiest outfit that made him look like a hero from Miami Vice. He'd splashed on plenty of vile smelling aftershave hoping to create an aura of overpowering masculine domination.
Debouching from the limo, Carol and Ina were immediately whisked into a group of revelers. They were embraced as if long lost and given up for dead. Mitch wondered if they were show biz people. The men were effeminate and gave the women florid compliments. "Love your dress, sugar." "Oh, your hair just sends me." Several people stood where the guests climbed out of the limos and examined each new arrival. When Mitch got out of the limo, he noticed a man turn to his companion while eyeing Mitch and say something behind his hand. Then the two chuckled. He felt certain they had made some sort of snide comment about him. Mitch wasn't about to be intimidated by a couple of prissy clowns who wore pastel yellow sweaters draped over their shoulders, with the sleeves tied at their throats, puffing on silly looking pipes, prancing around in sailing shoes with no socks, with Vuarnet sunglasses perched on top of their heads.
Mitch turned from the two jackanapes and saw Ed making his way up the lawn from the show jumping ring, circulating through the crowd like a presidential candidate, pausing to shake hands and greet people along the way. He was relieved to see Ed in a pair of bluejeans, cowboy shirt, and jogging shoes. His hair looked better than Mitch remembered, owing to $100 haircuts, and he had a great tan. But he was still the same old Ed. Except now he was accompanied by two lovely young women who seemed to think Ed was somewhere between God and Tom Cruise.
"Nice to see you," Ed said to a couple. Turning to another group, he said, "Nice to see you. Glad you could come." Then another, "How are you? So glad you made it." And so on.
Then he saw Wes and Mitch.
"Wes! Mitch! My best buddies! God, its been ages. How are you?" Mitch thought Ed was overdoing the cordiality but decided to excuse him after lapsing into a brief reverie about what it must be like to have a mansion and scores, possibly hundreds, of guests roaming about. Ed introduced his two young friends, Mary Land and Ora Gone, and then ushered them all toward the mansion.
"Wait'll you see the place. Have you eaten yet? Let's go to the kitchen and have some of my new ham."
"New ham," said Wes. "Sure."
On the way, Ed stopped to greet more knots of people. They responded warmly to Ed's enthusiastic welcome, then returned to the inane chatter that had engrossed them before Ed came along. 
On the mansion's vast verandah, a jazz combo lashed out some tasteful licks on alto, piano, bass, and drums. They went through the front door and threaded their way through the huge rooms populated by myriad pleasure seekers. A Gypsy fortune teller held forth in a parlor. A standup comic drew giggles in one of the bathrooms. A contortionist twisted her body in the gym. A magician made merry in the screening room.
Finally they came to the kitchen where a group huddled near the sink sipping drinks and engaging in deep conversation. Even in a mansion with plenty of room to hang out somewhere else, people will still gather in the kitchen.
Ed had a big double doored restaurant fridge. He reached in and hefted out a platter of ham. Success hadn't spoiled Ed. He still liked to putter in the kitchen with small appliances and slicer dicer gadgets. Mitch watched Ed sharpen a carving knife on a steel sharpening shaft, appreciating his expert handling of the tools. Then Ed sliced off a couple of nice hunks of ham.
Boy," said Wes, "can Eddie cut that ham."
A dishevelled young man in a t shirt strode into the kitchen and demanded a helping of Ed's ham. Ed introduced him as Matthew, Ed's advisor on vintage cars. Matthew nodded to Wes and Mitch, muttered a greeting, and belched. Ed forked him a slice of ham and Matthew pounced on it eagerly, smacking his lips.
"What about the catered food, Matt?" Ed asked.
"I couldn't get into that patty whatchacallit the duck liver dip. Couldn't get behind the fish eggs either. This stuff sure is good," he said, slurping another bite. "Catch you later."
When Matt had gone, Wes said, "Matthew chews Ed's ham rather noisily, doesn't he?" sounding a bit like Stan Laurel.
Ed put his special ham away when a fresh wave of guests stampeded into the kitchen. It was Carol and Ina, accompanied by a guy named Norris. They bounded into the kitchen searching for liquor.
"Hell, I've got three bars going," said Ed.
"That you do, Ed old boy," said Carol, "but they don't have any Ouzo!"
"Ouzo!" Cheered Carol and Ina, already wobbly from booze.
"Maybe you girls should slow down a bit."
"Don't lecture me, Mr. High and Mighty," snarled Carol. "I'm having a good time. Ina and I are gonna get good and drunk and we don't care how long it takes us."
"You're in luck," said Ed. "I happen to keep a supply of Ouzo around for just such an occasion. Go find Ernest or Julio the caterers and tell him I said to give you our best bottle of Ouzo."
"Ouzo!" Norris, Carol and Ina bellowed.
"Beware the Ouzo hangover," Ed warned. "There'll be misery in the morning."
"But we'll have Ouzo, funky music, and dancing boys tonight!" Said Ina as they tottered from the kitchen to track down Ernest and Julio.
Ed explained that Carol and Ina were celebrating a big land deal they had pulled off after attending a no money down seminar. They looked forward to getting new cars with sophisticated electronics and quitting their dumb jobs in a few months.
"Now boys," said Ed, "if you'll excuse me awhile, I must see to my guests. Make yourself at home. Browse around. I'll look you up later. There's something I'd like to talk over with you."
An attendant from the catering company came into the kitchen lugging a case of soft drinks.
"Do we have many sodas?" Ed asked.
"About fortyeleven cans, as near as I can tell."
"Good," said Ed, following the attendant.
Mitch and Wes find out they'll be rich in no time
Ed reveals a dark secret
Wes and Mitch wandered out one of the back doors to the back "yard," another expanse of acreage where a carnival, complete with thrill rides, was installed. The pulsing beat of a rock band could be heard above the shouts of the midway barkers. They made their way along the midway and watched the jugglers, fireaters, swordswallowers, magicians, and flimflam artist work the crowd. Male and female belly dancers displayed their talents, crowing like roosters.
Not far from the belly dancers, a group of men gathered around a stunning young woman who wore a scanty Brazilian bikini. Her name was Carla Forney but everyone called her Kate. She rolled her tummy like a belly dancer, to the delight of the onlookers.
She had exquisite skin, owing to countless hours at the spa and gym. Her swimsuit was made of a flimsy material that hid nothing and actually made what it might have concealed even more tantalizing. Wes and Mitch joined the group admiring Kate. Among the onlookers was a mysterious stranger in a houndstooth jacket. His name was Tana.
The rock band started to play their version of "Hotel California" and Kate grabbed Tana by the boutoniere and said "C'mon, Tana. Let's dance." Tana was an accomplished dancer and he and Kate got down and dirty, thrusting their hips together and gyrating provocatively. Tana began to peel off items of clothing and several women gathered to observe.
Mitch felt a tap on his shoulder. It was Gil, a co-worker from the potato chip factory.
"Anybody got any pot?"
"Fresh out."
"Okay, I'll ask a dumb question, at time does the fun begin around here?"
"Don't be a spoilsport."
"What's a spoilsport?"
"Someone who spoils a sport, dummy."
"What sort of sport? Hockey?"
"Hockey's not a sport."
"Tennis?"
"Eeee!"
The cry had come from Virginia, who had volunteered to be the subject of the carnival's hypnotist, Del Aware. He had told her a mouse was crawling over her body, accounting for the piercing shriek.
Now the girl giggled uncontrollably because Aware had told her she was watching the funniest Three Stooges adventure ever.
"Now you're a bird," he told her. "A homing pigeon. Flap your wings."
"Why homing?" Asked Virginia, flapping.
"Because they have that kind out west, Virginia."
Gil, grinning idiotically, leaned over as if to whisper something to Mitch. "I've got something to tell you."
"I don't want to hear it."
Curious about what he wanted to tell them, Wes and Mitch decided to split up and search for Ed.
Mitch wandered into the kitchen. People still huddled near the sink. Mitch didn't know if it was the same group or a new one. He recognized the two hotshots who had glanced at him when he stepped from the limo. Two women were standing apart from the group having coffee. They discussed household topics such as sewing, cooking, cleaning, diapering, the merits of various nationally advertised brands, and the problems of having domestic help.
Mitch decided to eavesdrop on the bunch by the sink, but before a single word could drop from the eaves, one of the women broke off her discussion of laundry techniques and asked him, "Do you know anything about cars?"
He sensed that they wanted to recruit him for some chore. "You mean, like repairs?"
"Yeah, my car is making funny noises."
"When my car does that, I buy a new one. Doesn't everyone?"
"Oh," the woman said, and turned to her companion. They started talking about the cute things babies say and Mitch tuned them out so he could hear what the guy in the pastel yellow cashmere sweater draped over his shoulders and the sleeves tied at his throat was telling the group by the sink.
"Can you believe it?" He said, puffing his pipe. "I wrecked the Alpha. I drove it up on one of those islands in the middle of the road. Didn't even see the bloody thing. Why don't they light those better?"
"Why didn't you have your lights on?"
"Let's not get technical."
Mitch quit the kitchen and found Ed and Wes at the bar in the drawing room. Ed led his two friends out of the manse, down a brick road to the garage, which was actually a large old barn. Ed unlocked the door and, once inside, they were suddenly away from the party noise.
Mitch liked the old barn, with its hayloft, the clutter of tools and equipment. It was dark, but shafts of daylight leaked in and cut through the shadows. Several cars, covered with cloth hoods, were parked neatly in a wide area in the middle of the barn. As they strolled about the barn, Ed spoke.
"You think I bought this place for the mansion? Not on your life. I fell in love with this old barn. I don't know how it survived. The people I bought the place from called it Grandpa's barn. I guess it had sentimental value for them. I know it does for me.
"I'm glad we've got a chance to be alone," said Ed. "There's something I've been meaning to tell you guys." He walked over to one of the cars and yanked off the cloth cover. It was a beautifully restored antique automobile.
"Not bad, eh? Let me know anytime you want to drive it. Seriously. It's great to drive one of these babies down Sunset Boulevard and watch the heads turn. The cars kind of tie in with what I want to talk to you about. There aren't many people I would trust to drive my cars or to be in my house alone. I've got seven off duty cops patrolling this party to make sure everything stays put. Having money makes you get popular in a hurry. And since I didn't have any of these friends before I had money, it makes me wonder who I can trust. I don't have to wonder about you guys.
"What I'm trying to say is, why not come in with me? Help me look after my real estate empire. I'll teach you everything I know. You can start buying properties on your own in your spare time with no money down using a few simple principles which I'll teach you. What do you say, guys? I can't manage it all by myself. I need people I can trust. I need you guys."
Mitch looked for a place to sit. He wanted to lean against one of the cars, but how would that look after Ed had just said how much he trusted him? You don't lean on a museum piece. 
"Let's sit inside the Caddy and talk it over," said Ed. What insight Ed had. The three of them piled into the front seat, with Ed behind the wheel. The seat of the Great Gatsby Cadillac felt like the most luxurious easychair Mitch had ever sat in. Suddenly he realized that in a single moment his life had changed. He always told himself he needed to get out of the potato chip factory and find a respectable way to make a living.
As he spoke, Ed gripped the wheel as if steering. He outlined a proposition that would cut Mitch and Wes in for a share of the profit on top of a fat salary that was more than double what Granny Goose paid them. They were speechless.
"Is that a 'yes' guys?"
"Hell yes," said Mitch
"Sounds like a winner," said Wes. There were handshakes and high fives all around.
"Glad to have you aboard, men. From now on, the sky's the limit. But wait; there's something else. Something I should have told you guys a long time ago."
Here it comes, thought Mitch. The catch. Welcome to L.A.
"I just want to clear up a small misunderstanding."
Ed's new fishing gear is something to behold.
"I hope it's nothing kinky, Ed," said Mitch, his mind skimming over the possibilities. Perhaps Ed was a pervert, a Moonie, an environmentalist,
a UFOlogist, a vegetarian, a transsexual, or some equally revolting aberration.
"Don't worry. I just want to clear up a small misunderstanding."
"What misunderstanding?"
"My name. It's not really Ed. It's Ned. With an N."
"Ned? It isn't."
"It is."
"How come you never told us?"
"I don't know...just never got around to it I guess. Ed's not such a bad name."
"I'm sure glad you cleared that up, " said Mitch. "Any more skeletons we should know about?"
"No, that oughta cover it. I just wanted to get everything out in the open so we wouldn't start off on the wrong foot."
"Thanks for being so honest, Ed I mean Ned."
"Hey let's take a look at my new fishing gear."
Mitch finishes the night on a high note
It's peaches and cream from now on
With his new partners following him, Ned climbed the narrow wooden ladder to the hayloft. Mitch felt a boyish excitement about climbing up into the hayloft. The smell of the old barn touched off a deep nameless yearning in him. Had he played in such a barn when he was a boy? He had a vague sense that some important part of his boyhood was associated with a big old shadowy barn like Ned's.
Ned led them to a room with a dusty window. On a table lay an array of new fishing gear. Rods and reels, hooks and lines, lures, flies, sinkers, and a creel.
"This is my rod," said Ned, picking up a shiny pole. "Like it?"
"A beauty," said Wes. He took it from Ned and whipped it around in the air like a swordsman testing a foil. The rod made a sharp swishing sound.
"I've been thinking of naming it."
"What?"
"Naming my rod. It's supposed to bring you luck. Lots of fishermen name their rods."
Naming fishing poles. This was another side to Ned they didn't know about.
"What would you call a rod?"
"Oh, I don't know. Name it after a girl, I guess."
"Long Tall Sally?"
"I don't know, Ed," said Mitch. "I mean Ned. I seem to be fresh out of clever ideas for names of fishing poles. Unless it's something like Marlin Perkins or Catfish Hunter."
"Yooohoo! Ed!" It was Ora Gone, calling from the barn door. "What are you boys up to?"
"We're up here, sweetness."
"You haven't told her? About your name?"
"Hey, we're just dating."
After the news that his life would be peaches and cream from now on, Mitch celebrated. He did the boogaloo with Carla Forney. He had his fortune told by Madame Roux. She told him all his dreams would soon be fulfilled. He ran into Carol, the girl in the limo who was nice enough to listen to his war story. They took a ride on the Ferris Wheel and drank a few boilermakers, depth charges, zombies, and sputniks. It felt incredibly good to be with this eager, sincere young woman. He noticed that the adversarial tone of most of his encounters with women was pleasantly absent with Carol. He felt supremely comfortable with her.
Mitch didn't want the party to end. He was energized like never before. Every other minute it dawned on him: he'd be rich soon. Anything he wanted. He could do as he damn well pleased. Free at last. He might even make a play for Carol.
After that, the drinks caught up with Mitch and the next thing he knew he was in bed in the dark. He was mildly alarmed, then remembered he must be somewhere in Ed or Ned's mansion. Satin sheets. They felt teriffic. A woman's bed? Had he gotten lucky? For a split second he wondered if enjoying the feel of satin sheets was a manly thing to do.
He didn't care. Now that he was soon to be rich he could do as he damn well pleased. He buried his head in a silky pillow and moved his legs back and forth under the sheets. Too bad he didn't have a woman to share this with. What had become of his lovely Carol?
Just before he passed out, Mitch noticed that his hair was damp. Had he worked up a sweat dancing?
So what's the point?
None, really, except that...
...The names of several U.S. states are embedded in the narrative and the names of characters. Mitch Egan = Michigan, for example. See how many states you can find.
OK, So There's No "Cash Gusher Seminar"
So this won't be a total waste, here's an ad for Tony Robbins. Don't be like Mitch, get your act together! Click the picture or link for details.
Tony's the real deal. His program might not make you rich quite as fast the the Cash Gusher seminar, but it's bound to be better since it actually exits!
Feel free to leave a word or two of encouragement...
...or even biting sarcasm. We can take it.
Did you enjoy my little alertness test? Let me know if you were one of the few who caught on to the hidden state names.
No comments:
Post a Comment