nd tryers, out of all those, they’d both chosen yours truly, Rick Goldstein to Dick for them.
I’m not saying that’s what I based my opinion of them on, but it certainly put me in a good frame of mind.
RICK (to PETERSON) A drink?
RICK (V/O) Goddamn, I’d even offered Peterson some of my eleven year old scotch when he came to my office that Thursday afternoon.
MR PETERSON No, thanks.
RICK (V/O) See, another good point, not drinking my whiskey.
And he looked rich, a smart city suit, sharp hair cut, sat when he was told to, and didn’t smile.
I hate that.
No sense being cheerful in my line of work.
RICK (to PETERSON) So what can I do for you, Mr Peterson?
RICK (V/O) A long time ago I dipped into How to Win Friends and Influence People, think I was looking for a girlfriend at the time.
It was full of crap like asking how the kids were, which never got me anywhere with those teenage broads, and the gimmick of always calling someone you meet by their name so that you remember it later. That worked on one girl, …(pause) She was cute anyway.
Peterson was in his mid-thirties, pale faced for California, clean shaven, fine features, hell, I bet he’d never had to read a How-Tobook.
He looked about the office - I decided his face wasn’t that perfect after all; his nose was definitely turning up at the end.
RICK (to PETERSON) The cleaner’s sick.
RICK (V/O) Sick of me.
MR PETERSON I think my wife is having an affair. I want you to follow her and find out.
RICK (V/O) He was so matter-of-fact about it that I wondered if he was a journalist on some sort of miss-guided exposé, or maybe a rival checking up on my prices.
I went cold. IRS. He could be IRS. But that must have come from somewhere deep in my subconscious, I’d have no tax problems; Mack, my accountant, he was so hot he could mull wine with his dick. Peterson was obviously just a serious, business minded person, and he was talking about serious business.
RICK (to PETERSON) Well you’ve come to the right place, Mr Peterson.
