I had an amazing short week in LA. A significant editor gave me her card and asked to see my revised manuscript. But that was the little stuff. The funnest experience was meeting Ruth's daughter and son-in-law:
One morning while returning to the hotel, I felt an immediate impression to cross the street at a certain point. It was Olympic Blvd., an incredibly busy 4 laner that resembles more of a freeway as it passes under Century City. But there was a lull in traffic; I looked both ways several times and ran across. At the exact spot where I crossed, there was a wallet laying in the middle of the road. There is no center island, just a small in-between the passing lanes. A wallet. Yippee, a chance to return it to its owner. The contents held a driver's license, an American Express credit card, a social security card and an insurance card. Ruth, the woman whose picture I looked at was born in 1925, and I could feel her anxiety over her lost wallet. Sort of the same way I felt with the lost dog Kolo. Remember that one girls?
Her address was posted on everything but not a phone number in sight. Called Tony to search the internet for her number, enlisted the help of the concierge, searched the LA phone book. Called a phone number with the same initial. Wrong person. There was the number of the insurance agent who insured Ruth. I gave him a call, no answer, left a message. I knew everything would be ok, because I could always send Ruth her wallet, but again, I could feel her angst.
Later that day: an ecstatic phone call from Jeff, Ruth's son-in-law. They shared the same insurance agent and he had contacted Jeff. Ruth had been extremely worried about her lost identification.
Later that night, Jeff and Ruth's daughter met me in the lobby of the Century Plaza Hotel. They were so grateful. We talked for a short while. Jeff moved toward me and I thought he was going to hug me but instead he was trying to give me money. pfffff.
Silly man! I told him to put it in Ruth's wallet and surprise her.
