“Hold on.” Lo Chu moved toward some metal
shelves, removed two boxes, and brought them to the counter. Lo Chu opened the first box, which exposed several photos. He thumbed through them as the owner’s face filled with amazement at what he saw.
“Those are photos of ex-wives of our celebrity
clients. What are you doing with them?”
“Memoirs. Already have a working title, “No MSG.”
Lo Chu continued thumbing through files until he came to a file card labeled “DONALD MOREHEAD,” followed by photos of the actor’s six ex-wives. He thumbed through the wives, listed in the order of their marriage to the actor, and stopped at the fourth photo.
“It’s his fourth wife.”
“Well, it’s not the woman he’s brought in here.
Don’t you remember her, over six feet tall, probably six and a half feet?”
“That’s right.” He turned Marla’s photo over for
her personal information, which drew his boss's attention. “You’re right, and it wasn’t this one. She’s only five feet ten. Could Morehead have had two number fours?”
“No, because the second number four would have
thought she was number one, so maybe he had two number ones, one at a time.” Lo Chu listened to his boss issue the statement, and now Lo Chu’s face filled with amazement.
“What’s wrong? Why the look?”
“You‘ve been working in Chinese restaurants too
long, boss. You’re talking in terms of number ones, number fours ... you sound like a walking menu.” He wanted to divert attention from his idiosyncrasies and began to thumb through the waiter’s collection of Hollywood memorabilia.
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