Art Van and the Bishop cont... 3-14-11

Now you have a history about my infrequent, middle-of-the-night leg cramps (see last post.) What do these have to do with Art Van? In my novel Grosse Pointe Pimp, I wrote about being employed by Art as his trainer/driver/bodyguard/yacht Captain. As far as I am aware, I was the only person ever employed by him who was never required to take a drug test as a condition of his employment. It was a safe bet on his part, as I don't drink, have never even tried pot, and never take anything stronger than an Advil. My .45 Beretta hung in the shoulder holster under my jacket. Whenever he rode in the back seat of his Rolls or Mercedes, he was in safe hands. Back then, however, I used to curl very heavy weights for many repetitions. As a result, I would suffer from occasional cramping in my fore arms afterward...especially if my arms remained in a fixed position for a prolonged period of time afterword. A long drive in an automobile (with both hands on the wheel) was often the perfect position to bring on such a cramp. It was after such a workout on a Wednesday that Art and I picked up the Bishop (I would rather not post his name) late that afternoon. The three of us cut through heavy traffic and made it to a charity dinner at an exclusive country club with minutes to spare. I stayed in the car, but as soon as I was sure Art and his Emminence were seated, I went out for a little snack...okay, you called me on it...it was a BIG snack. Afterward, I drove back to the country club's circular driveway to await the return of my charges. My cell phone rang, and it was Art's Mistress, wondering about his current mood. She launched into one of her protracted diatribes about their future together. I held my overworked, overheating cell phone to my ear for the better part of an hour.  To be cont....