Even though Chris' business was going great guns, he was still on the prowl for new assignments or contracts. Going out to hot clubs in LA was one method he used. I hated it, believe it or not. I was never a club maven so doing a nightly crawl of some hot spot was never my idea of fun. They were always too loud, too crowded, and loaded with drunks who always spilled their drinks on me. It was never girls who did this, only guys. But Chris was my friend and without him I'd still be back east playing the "what if" game. For Chris, these adventures were more than just business. As I found out later, they worked as a great tax deduction for him. And if there was anything I knew about him, it was that he always had an angle he could work to make himself come out the winner. And those who came along for the ride (i.e. me) were guaranteed a good time, either financially or romantically. This went back to our days in high school when he figured out a way to put a spy cam in the opposing cheerleaders' locker room. And sell the photos he took. He made a nice profit on that, even split the cash with me. Although the football team and the school administration put a price on the head of whoever set this up. That's a secret we left town with.
This time, it was a new club called the Red Light District. Chris knew the owner of the place, and naturally our names on the guest list were a guarantee. I had driven by the club a few times at night and it looked like the kind of place I dreaded. Strobe lights seemed to be on all the time, until I found out it was really flashbulbs. From photographers clamoring for a shot of whatever celeb visited.
"Oh come on pal!" Chris said "you've hardly ever gone out anywhere with me since you first arrived. This is a direct order from a superior officer! You WILL go with me to the Red Light District tonight!"
"Who are you trying to be now? Captain Kirk?" I replied
"No, just a friend," He said "As well as your employer."
I hesitated, but I knew he had a point. Usually my nights were spent with ESPN and "Seinfeld" reruns. The night with Paris was a different story.
"Come on, 2 drinks, a little star gazing, and you'll have fulfilled your requirements with me. And you can always deduct it on your taxes."
He was persuasive, as always.
"OK, deal." I agreed.
The club was everything I'd expected, and dreaded. When we went in, there was a gaggle of photogs snapping at random. Chris spotted the owner, Derek Adams. And he immediately started chatting up the guy. I could barely hear a thing they said between the thumping music (I think there was a Rhianna song in there somewhere) and the crowd in the bar cheering on a Lakers game. As if that wasn't enough, suddenly the strobe lights went into overdrive and there was a massive amount of yelling. Derek took off for the door.
"What's going on?" I asked Chris
"I'm not sure, but it must be somebody big if he's taking care of it." Chris replied.
Derek returned, straightened his Armani jacket, and resumed his conversation with Chris.
"What happened?" I asked Derek.
"Oh, Lindsay and Samantha just came in. They got into a tussle with the guys outside. And I think they're fighting with each other again. It always happens." He casually replied.
"Lindsay?" I asked.
"Uh, Lohan." Derek looked at me as if I'd just arrived from Mars.
"Get with it, man!" an annoyed Chris said, elbowing me in the arm.
"Oh, right, yeah I know!" I said.
"I've got them up in the V.I.P. room, maybe they'll cool off there." Derek said.
