Chapter Eight Sarah felt like a used popsicle stick as stood pressed among the many passenger on the daily 23 bus heading downtown. The heat outside the cramped questers was bad enough but inside it was threatning to melt all the passengers into one collective, solid, smelly lump. The bus ground to a halt and expelled it's passengers as if giving off pugnent burp and then pulling away without apology. Sarah made this trip three times a week to use the computers at the Los Angeles Public Library. It was here among the battered books and forgotten tales she sat deligently cruising through the latest newspapers and magazines looking for articles on her love. She pushed throug the heavy glass doors and felt a rush of relief as the coolness of the buildings air conditing flowed over her. She knew from last nights entertainment program that Robert was in town at a book singing and that he would be given filming a new movie in and round Westwood right here in California. If she could just find some sort of time scheadule that would tell her the exzact locations and hours he would be around. She picked two glossy magazines with pretty celbrities smiling brightly on their covers and a heavy nononsense newspaper that stiffy presented the various trajadies and news making events of the day. She arranged herself at one of the many small round tables scattered in among the library stacks and began to sift through in the hopes of glimmering any news, even a small amount, regarding Roberts activities. For Sam the knowledge of Robert Savages activities was bringing him nothing but headaches and certainly not joy. Today he found himself sitting in a cold, damp airplane hanger, sitting on the hood of a very expensive antique muscle car, in only a faded and tight pair of jeans. A woman weatring a screaming orange blouse and day glo green tights was intermittingly combing out his hair and clucking at each strand as if correcting small children who simply did not want to listen. Another young woman came up to him offering him a soda. He grabbed the drink from her and took a sip. The soda was warm. He spat it on the ground and roughly handed the soda back to the girl. "is it too much to ask that I get a cold soda?" he roared at her. She shrank back a little. Sam could not believe such awful words had come out of his mouth. He was raised to never throw such a tantrum especially at someone who was simply trying to do you a favor. "I'm sorry," Sam said fumbling for words. "I appreciate it, really. I just...well you know..it's hot and everything." The girl smiled back meekly and spoke in a shakey quiet voice "I'm sorry Mr. Savage. I didn't realize the soda had not been refrigerated I will go and get you another one right away." Before Sam could answer she scurried away. The woman who was arranging his hair had barely taken notice of the exchange. It seemed to be routine behaivor for this over inflated star. Well it was not routine for Sam. What he couldn't understand is why so much of Robert Savage seemed to be coming out of his mouth but it was a question he intended to bring up to Al the next time his popped into Sam's life.