Journal Of An Agent Ch 29

Feedback always welcome. This will be the last chapter for about six/seven weeks or so, while I focus on finishing up the final chapter, number 30, in this series. It's been a great ride and I promise that the final chapter will send the series out with a bang.

* * *

Standard Disclaimer:

You must be 18 to read this story, be able to read erotica in your community, not be offended by the contents of it...blah blah, you know the rest.

This story may be distributed freely, for commercial or non-commercial use, but PLEASE leave my email/name on it! That's all I ask!

This is Part 29 of an ongoing series. Yes I know the celebs don't act like this in real life, but this is a fantasy after all.

* * * * *

"Come on asshole, didn't you see me trying to get over?" I yelled at the car in front of me, banging my hand on the steering wheel in frustration. I was stuck in rush hour traffic and the car in front of me - some soccer mom who obviously didn't belong on the Los Angeles freeway - decided that it was acceptable to cut me off in order to gain a measly one car length on me. Settling back in my seat with a frustrated grunt, this was not how I wanted to start my day.

I sat idly in my car, listening to the morning DJ prattle on about God knows what. I had been stuck here for two hours now and though rush hour was nothing new to me, it was still a pain in the ass to have someone cut you off when every little inch you moved forward counted. My mind wandered as I watched the cars on the other side of the freeway zoom along, heading out of the city rather than being like us fools and going into it. I was startled back to attention by my cell phone ringing.

"Hello?" I said into it. The reception out here was horrible and I was greeted by a bunch of static. Finally though, a voice came through.

"Dean! I'm so glad I caught you! It's Cameron," the voice said. I recognized it immediately, the girlish tone of her voice unmistakable. It was Cameron Diaz and, since the clock on my car now read 9:03, that meant I was officially at work with dealing with the Hollywood talent, traffic jam be damned.

"Hi Cameron, what can I do for you?" I asked, still glaring angrily at the van in front of me.

"Well you see Dean, I've been a bad girl," Cameron said in her most innocent sounding voice. Great, she wanted to play games. Well, I didn't have much choice so I played along.

"What did you do Cameron?" I said, talking to her in the most saccharine voice I could muster, coming across sounding like I was talking to a small child.

"Last night, I got into some trouble. Namely, I ran three red straight red lights and was doing 140 in a 45 mph zone," Cameron said, her voice uneasy as she admitted her guilt. "And the thing is, I didn't have my wallet with me or anything. You see, I had just come from a club and had been drinking a little and..." she said, but I cut her off.

"Jesus! You realize you were going almost 100 miles over the speed limit?" I said, more shocked than anything. At least she was alive - better for her to be in legal trouble than laying in a morgue somewhere, that's for sure. Cameron brought in some pretty sizeable contributions to Shooting Stars, even in spite of the fact that she had yet to carry a picture by herself successfully.

"Yes Dean, the officer already explained that to me. Now, as I was saying before I was so RUDELY interrupted, I was drinking a little and the officer who pulled me over wanted my ID. After trying to sweet talk him a bit, it was no use and I dug around in my car trying to find it. The only thing was, I didn't have it with me. I must have left it at the club, I think. Last night was a bit of a blur. Any ways, when I didn't have the wallet the officer told me he had no choice but to bring me into the station, considering I had been drinking and was probably a serious threat to myself and the rest of the road. So, needless to say, I , Cameron Diaz have now spent the night in the Los Angeles Police Department station #5251 and I'm more than ready to get the fuck out of here," she said, finally pausing to take a breath.

"Ok, so then pay your bail and get out of there," I said, rubbing my eyes already at what was going to prove to be a long day, I could tell.

"I don't have my wallet! Weren't you listening to what I said? I need you to come here and prove that I'm who I say I am and get me out of here!" Cameron said impatiently. Normally she was a pretty level headed, down to earth girl but right now the star mentality had taken over and she was trying to pull her clout on me. It wasn't going to work.

"Alright Cameron, where are you at?" I asked.

I heard her muffle the phone for a second while she asked a cop directions on getting to the station. She repeated them to me and I jotted them down in my Palm Pilot.

"Christ, that's on the other side of town," I said. "I'm stuck in mid-morning traffic, you're going to have to wait for a little while Cameron,"

"But Deeeeaaaannn!!! I don't want to wait here any longer, I want to get away from this shit hole," Cameron whined, definitely one of her less endearing qualities.

"I'll be there as soon as I can," I told her. "Just sit tight and uhh...don't make eye contact with anyone,"

I hung up the phone before she could complain some more and called Damon at the office.

"Yo Dean, what's up?" he said.

"Damon, listen. I'm stuck here in traffic. I know you're jamming on that paperwork right now, but could you find a news station and tell me the best way to get out of this mess? I have to go bail Cameron Diaz out of jail," I said.

Damon laughed. "Seriously?"

"Yes, seriously. Call me back when you have a fair idea. I'm right off of the Santa Monica expressway, mile marker 173," I said. I hung up and waited, sighing to myself at the joys that lay ahead for today.

45 minutes later, Damon finally called me back.

"Sorry Dean, the morning show had a couple of guests on and I had to wait till they left for the traffic report again. Where are you at now?" he asked.

"I'm at mile marker 175, having moved 2 miles since you last talked to me," I sighed.

"Ok, good. Get in the right hand lane and about three miles up the road there is an off ramp. Get off there and turn around, take a right at exit #259 and you should be able to bypass all that," he said.

"Good man Damon, thanks," I said. I suddenly remembered Cameron. "I'll be into the office in a few hours, I need to go help Cameron out or else she will be majorly pissed."

"I know, she called here first. She sounded very upset. Gotta do some damage control on her ego I guess?" Damon asked, laughing. His joke made me feel better - damage control was a running joke between the two of us for when a star threw a hissy fit for not getting what they want.

"Yes, damage control to the max. I'll see you in a while," I said, hanging up again.

I finally arrived at the police station around 11:00AM, which thankfully was just early enough to avoid the lunch time crowd. Walking into the station, I could feel the cops giving me a leery eye. My suit looked expensive, my shoes were some of the finest leather available and the tie I was wearing probably cost a third of their weekly paycheck. And in spite of the fact that I had the utmost respect for law enforcement in this country, I still felt like I was being judged.

"Hi, I'm here to post bail for someone that you are holding?" I said to the secretarial officer at the front desk.

"Sign this," she said, handing me a form without even bothering to look up.

"Don't you need to know her name?" I asked, a little baffled by the complete lack of effort on her part.

"Honey, I took one look at you and I knew exactly who you were here for. Just sign the form, we will take care of the rest," she said. I proceeded to fill it out and then handed it to her a moment later. She took a quick glance and then rose from her chair.

"Wait right there," she said as she walked down a long linoleum hallway and disappeared out of sight.

I stood there for a moment, looking around at how my tax dollars were being spent. The squad room had three other cops in it - two of which were having a heated discussion over a cup of coffee and some donuts while the third sat at a desk, listening to the radio frequency and coordinating officers in the field. He looked bored beyond comprehension. The first officer emerged from the hallway a few minutes later, with Cameron in tow. She held Cameron by the crook of her elbow like a child, something that Cameron appeared to be none too pleased with.

It was obvious that Cameron really had been at a club the night before. The outfit she wore - a pair of bright pink of shiny pink plastic hot pants did little to cover most of lower body. Her tanned and graceful legs walked steadily down the hall, her medium sized chest held loosely by a tight white spaghetti top. Cameron's blond hair was pulled back in a pony tail behind her head and her face, even though it looked like she had been through hell the previous night, nevertheless shone brightly with a smile when she saw me.

"Hi Dean," she called as she was led to a seat near the female officer's station, forced to sit down while I spoke with the officer.

"Alright, bail comes to $500 even. Check or credit card?" the woman asked. I pulled out the company credit card and gave it to her. She took it and swiped it through her machine and a moment later a receipt was printing up next to her.

"Sign this receipt and you're all done. Luckily we decided not to press charges on Ms. Diaz, but she will be served a rather sizeable ticket within a week or so. If she fails to pay it, she'll be seeing us again, only then it won't be nearly as cordial or effortless as this time," the officer said.

"Trust me, she will pay it," I said to her, shooting Cameron a look that let her know that she couldn't use her celebrity to get out of this. I felt like a father figure, getting her out like this. Cameron didn't look at me, but was instead focused intently on the floor in front of her. I signed the paper and handed it back to the officer and Cameron walked to me, giving me a tremendous hug.

"Thanks Dean, I owe you so much. Now can we leave this hell hole?" Cameron asked, her deep blue eyes locked on my own in a pleading for relief from the nightmare she had gotten into.

"Just one more thing officer," I said to the woman at the desk as Cameron shifted her weight on her feet impatiently behind me. "Where can we pick up her car? I doubt very much that she was allowed to drive here on her own free will,"

"Here, this is the address of the towing company that we use. They impounded it last night but you'll have to settle up the fees with them when you get there," the cop said, handing me a business card for Hollywood & Vine Towing.

"Thanks," I said and Cameron and I were out the door. Climbing into my car, Cameron suddenly became very apologetic.

"I know I ruined your morning Dean and I'm sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I could have easily been killed or killed someone else last night. But I think once you see my car you might understand why I was trying to get it up as fast as it would go," she said as I headed back on the freeway. Luckily Hollywood & Vine Towing wasn't too far away from the office - maybe I could salvage this morning after all and get into the office and have a semi normal day. Then again, I had noticed that when it came to celebrities, nothing ever worked out according to plan.

Cameron and I talked a little bit and it was obvious that she was a little uncomfortable being stuck in her clubbing clothes out here in the middle of the day. She kept fidgeting with the pants especially, trying to pull them down further along her long, tanned legs, the plastic making squeaking sounds as she moved around on my leather seats. Cutting in through the city, we managed to get to the towing place in just about 45 minutes, which meant that I would only be 4 hours late getting back into work if the towing company didn't hassle us too much.

Despite the illustrious sounding name, Hollywood & Vine Towing was not what I expected it to be. A small lot, not even half the size of any of the car dealerships that you found in the more affluent part of town, the office for the place looked dingy and rundown, having seen many tenants over the years. Wrecked and shattered cars strewn the lot like beached whales, their owners having long forgotten about them. We pulled in and parked but Cameron seemed hesitant to get out.

"Dean, I can't go in there. I know that once they recognize me they will drive the towing price way up, just to get more out of us," Cameron said.

"Us? Cameron, you are paying for this yourself," I said.

"Me then. They will try to rip ME off. You know that Dean, so why don't you just go in there and handle it?" Cameron asked, correcting herself.

"Well, first of all I don't even know what kind of car it is," I said incredulously. I was tempted to just yank Cameron out of the car and make her be held accountable for what she had done, but I was paid to get stars out of jams like this so my more rational mode of thinking took over.

"It's a jet black Porsche 911. It's a 2002," Cameron said. She fished into her tight pants, looking for the keys. "Shit, I guess they took the keys when they brought me in,"

"Alright, fine. I'll go in and see what I can do," I said to her with a sigh. I stepped out of the car and walked towards the entrance, glancing back to see Cameron nervously watching me, hoping a star of her caliber wouldn't be spotted in a place like this.

Stepping inside, the office was sweltering hot and reeked of unknown car fluids. The walls were yellowish from the countless amount of cigarettes that had been smoked through the years and I felt like I needed a shower just by stepping into the office. Walking up to the fake wood counter, I glanced over it to see a young girl, probably no older than 15, listening to a CD player as she read a book. There was a bell on the counter and I rang it, as the girl had not seen me walk in.

She was startled by the loud chime of the dirty bell and looked up, sliding her headphones off.

"Help you?" she said, popping a bubble in the gum in her mouth.

"Yes, I need to get a car out that you towed here last night," I said to her. The girl rose from her chair and walked over to the wall behind her, looking in a metal filing cabinet for a folder with last night's tows.

"What model?" she asked, leafing through the folder in her hands. I could still hear the rap music playing loudly through her head phones.

"It's a uh...Porsche 911. 2002 model. Black," I said, uneasy at having to confess to having such a nice car held at this place. The girl found the form she was looking for and pulled it from the folder, the keys taped on with a fingerprint smudged piece of scotch tape.

"Oh, so YOU'RE the fast driver that got yanked by the pigs last night," she said, smiling at me. Her teeth were crooked but her smile still carried some of that innocent child like glee that only the young, untarnished by the world can exhibit. I thought for a moment about spilling my guts, saying it was Cameron's car and maybe offering an autograph for a lower rate. But then I thought about what Cameron said and thought better of it. In this town, there was a level of bourgeoisie hatred for the rich and the famous and Cameron was probably right about the billing structure.

"Yeah, that was me. I drank a little too much and got pulled over. But I'm out now and I'd like my car please," I said, my face now sweating from the staleness of the office.

"Ok, chill out dude. What, do you have some big investment meeting to go to or something?" the girl said, angry at my demands to leave.

"No young lady, as a matter of fact I'm self-employed and just need a vehicle. I've had a long week and I just want to go home," I said, apologetically. Sometimes sucking up my pride was the best way to get things done, even if it meant admitting being wrong. The girl handed me the keys and a form to pay. I pulled out my credit card and paid the towing bill - $250 - and turned to leave.

"Take a left when you walk out the door, and give Fernando your bill. He'll clear it out so that you can drive away," the girl said as I stood in the doorway, the barred glass open halfway between the fresh air outside and the un-circulated stench of the office.

"Thanks," I said.

"Hey mister, one more thing. You said you are self-employed...what do you...do exactly?" the girl asked. Her tough-with-the-customers attitude was gone now and she seemed like a kid again, just looking to find a better job than the one she had now.

"I'm an agent. I represent stars," I said, realizing as soon as the words left my mouth that she would inevitably ask more questions. I saw her eyes go wide with amazement.

"Wow, really? Anyone I would have heard of?" the girl asked, coming around the counter now to talk to me.

"Yes, I'm sure you have. But listen, I have to go. My office number is on the paperwork, call me if you need a job and maybe I can set you up with something. But bring lots of references," I said, feeling a little guilty at leading this girl, whom I really didn't have a job for, on.

"You mean it? Wow, thanks sir! I'll call next week and try to come in, if that's ok," she said.

"Great. Now I really must be going," I said, darting out of the office.

I hustled around back and gave the receipt to a Hispanic man who was working on a beat up old Ford truck as I approached.

"You Fernando?" I asked.

"Si. You need your car?" he asked, his voice heavy with a Spanish accent. I imagine that his English was very limited, knowing just enough to get by. And yet, he smiled and seemed eager to help me as I gave him the bill and he backed up a few cars so that I could drive out to the main entrance.

Pulling up next to my car, I was surprised to see the teenage girl standing next to the driver's window, talking to Cameron. As I walked around to them, I thought that Cameron would be annoyed at being hassled by the girl, but it was quite the opposite - both were joking and laughing at some joke whose punch line I had missed. The girl turned to face me.

"Wow Mr. Simonds, you weren't kidding! You're job must be soooo cool and soooo easy," she said with girlish glee. Cameron was watching our exchange with a smirk, knowing that the life of an agent was neither easy nor really that cool.

"Some days it's not as great as it sounds," I said, handing Cameron the keys to her car. "It's all yours Cameron,"

"Thanks. So Dean, are you really going to give Ashley here a job? She seems like a nice girl," Cameron said, stepping out of the car and standing next to the girl. I hated being put on the spot like that so I said that yes, we might be able to find some kind of part-time work for her.

Ashley giggled in excitement but broke away from us when the sound of a phone ringing in the office drifted out through the still open office door.

"Oops, I better get that. It was nice meeting you Ms. Diaz, and let me just say I loved The Sweetest Thing," Ashley said, bounding back to the building. "See you later!"

Cameron stood laughing a little bit but I wasn't too amused at her antics.

"Didn't want to deal with them huh?" I said to her.

"Well, she seemed nice enough. Besides, if you can't hire her I could always use someone to tidy up my house on the weekends. Good help is hard to find you know," Cameron said, walking towards her car.

"Yeah, you're right. And by the way Cameron, that is a really nice car and I think I can understand, though I still don't approve of, what you did last night," I said.

Cameron laughed. "You should see how this thing handles on a straight away road. It could take any car you have any day," she said.