Page 19 of Followed By the CEO

I slide two hundred-dollar bills across the counter and get my checkbook ready.

“That’s for you. How much is my adoption fee?”

He changes his tune right away. “For Shelby? No fee. But we are about to be evicted from this building because the owner wants to sell it,” the clerk says.

“Oh look at that,” I say, scribbling out my check. “Does that cover it?”

“Fuck, that’ll buy us the building,” he says. “Thank you!”

Money doesn’t solve everything but it sure does help people change their attitude.

The clerk makes a quick exit from behind the counter and opens up a crate containing the saddest pair of eyes I’ve ever seen.

“I’ll get Shelby ready for you right away, Mr. McAllister.”

My new best friend Shelby is a 14-year-old three-legged border collie with a condition that requires her to receive an injection once a day. The clerk, Wes, walks me through the entire process, loads me up with medication, and advises me on a dozen other things.

In the end, Shelby and I walk out of the shelter and head straight to the pet supply store, where I stock up on food, treats, a bed, and more toys than what would be reasonable for a senior dog.

On the way to the dog park, I passed a lurid green, ramshackle comedy club. On the side of the building is a poster announcing the lineup tonight, with Mills’s headshot.

One million thoughts swirl through my head. I looked down at Shelby and say, “You know what I’m thinking about doing, don’t you?”

Shelby looks at me and whines.

I nod in complete agreement. “You’re right, Shelby, but I’m doing it anyway.”

I approach the box office.

“How many tickets are left for Mills Mosley’s show tonight?”

A woman in her 60s with a name tag that says Pamela gives me a baleful look. “A hundred.”

That’s weird. “How many seats are in this place?”

“A hundred.”

“Ironically, you seem to lack humor about that,” I say.

Pamela blinks at me. “Do you want a ticket or not?”

I think for a moment, then say, “I’d like to buy out the house.”

“For one person?”

“No, people will be there.”

“Do you even know a hundred people?”

“That’s for you to find out, Pamela.”

I plonk down my Amex black card, and while Pamela runs it, I grab my phone and call my cousin.

“Hey Grizz, I need you to send out a memo that there are a hundred tickets to the Laugh Lodge tonight, free of charge. I want to see everyone at corporate there. Plus ones included. First come first serve. The two-drink minimum is on me.”

“Will do, cousin.”

Grizz and I have one of those no-questions-asked relationships that I appreciate.

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