In America, everyone inevitably deals with two professions: a private lawyer and a private doctor.
Without the former, you’d find America to be an extremely harsh country when it comes to laws.
For example, in California, where Ernst Garfield is currently, it’s considered solicitation even if you just pull out your car keys before going inside, let alone being caught in the act.
But with a lawyer, it’s different; even if you’re caught in the act, at most it’s just a spiritual exchange between a man and a woman.
And a private doctor is even more important—so important that it determines whether a hospital will admit you immediately when you’re sick, even if it’s just a fever or a cold.
Doesn’t that sound ridiculous?
Almost every family in America has a family doctor, but don’t even think about a family doctor coming to your home for an examination.
If he makes an appointment with you today, you’d be lucky if he could see you tomorrow.
The key is that after various examinations, for a minor illness, he’ll prescribe some medicine, and you’ll still need to make an appointment elsewhere to buy it.
If it’s a major illness, the waiting time for treatment appointments could extend past your death, and your appointment time still wouldn’t have arrived.
This is a family doctor, not a private doctor; this is where the importance of spending more money becomes apparent.
By spending more, you can get an appointment at a large hospital, and by spending more, you can receive immediate treatment.
“Wenger, how are things?” As soon as he returned home, Ernst received a call from Wenger.
Wenger was the old Garrins’s private lawyer, and after Ernst started making money, his cheap old man recommended Wenger to him.
“The matter is settled; the other party has no evidence to prove that your relationship was forced.
And I presented intimate footage of you two shopping together, so we have the upper hand.” “Phew,” Ernst let out a long breath, adjusted to a comfortable sitting position, his tone much more relaxed.
“Well done, I’ll transfer your fee to you very soon.” Private lawyers aren’t on an annual retainer; each service requires an additional fee.
“Ernst, I think you should rein it in a bit; you’re not a child anymore.
I believe Garrins, in heaven, wouldn’t want to see you like this.” Garrins was Ernst’s cheap old man, and he and Wenger were not only employer and employee but also very good friends since university.
So Wenger could lecture Ernst; he was like Ernst’s godfather, and he had that right.
“Got it.” He replied simply, then hung up after telling Wenger to clean up the aftermath.
Back in his study, sitting in front of the computer, Ernst recalled scenes from The Hunger Games movie he had watched.
It must be said, his predecessor had a real talent for writing.
The movie in his memory was only a super outline; the novel needed to be filled with much more content, and Ernst tried to describe each scene in the movie with the most fitting words.
Comparatively, character descriptions and dialogue were much simpler.
Time flowed like a small stream, passing quickly like a white steed, inadvertently gone forever, silently slipping away.
The next time he saw Craig, the first thing he said broke Ernst.
“Want me to call your private doctor?
You’re clearly overindulging.” Ernst rolled his eyes.
“You’re overindulging, your whole family is overindulging.” However, his current appearance was indeed not great: scruffy beard, clear dark circles under his eyes.
Sleeping only four or five hours for four consecutive days, even a 24-year-old body couldn’t handle it.
It wasn’t that he didn’t care for his body, but that his creative spring was gushing forth.
Ernst finally understood why so many authors died suddenly; when inspiration struck, he truly couldn’t sleep, his body was excited and he just wanted to write.
But it wasn’t bad; at least the first part was finished, which gave him a great sense of accomplishment.
“Here.” “What?” Craig took the printed manuscript of The Hunger Games, puzzled.
“The novel, go publish it and finish your task.” Craig’s expression was a bit grim.
“Ernst, while I really want you to get back into writing quickly, this isn’t a perfunctory effort.
You know, the income from a bestseller and a regular work is vastly different.
These affect not only you but also my income; I haven’t seen Maria in a long time.” Maria was Craig’s mistress; with a gift, anyone could get into her bed.
“I think your big-assed secretary with the tongue piercing is more suitable for you; at least she doesn’t cost extra.” “Oh, no.
Her tongue piercing makes me want to ejaculate every time, which makes me feel very unmanly.” Ernst shivered with disgust, a vivid image instantly forming in his mind.
Craig sat in his boss’s chair, with his 200-plus-pound Black female secretary kneeling in front of him.
He shook his head and turned to walk towards the bathroom.
“You’d better read it first before you say anything.” After a comfortable hot shower and a shave, his image instantly reverted to a fresh young man.
When he returned to the living room, he was met with Craig’s hearty laughter.
“Baby, I love you, come into my arms and let me adore you properly.” Craig’s expression was extremely lewd, and he even kissed the printed manuscript twice.
“You love dollars, you love Maria who anyone can get into bed with, you love that bitch on Connie Avenue with the butterfly tattoo down below.” “It’s all the same, you’re all the same.
I guarantee, this book, The Hunger Games, will make your name, Ernst Garfield, famous throughout North America again; you are a genius, a born literary master.” Ernst didn’t want to be a literary master; he earned money but had no time to spend it.
“Wait, how do you know that bitch on Connie Avenue has a butterfly tattoo?
She said I was her only lover.” Craig reacted, “Fuck, that little bitch lied to me.” Ernst wasn’t interested in his mistress; he didn’t know if she lied to Craig, but for a person who didn’t wear underwear and often wore short skirts with her legs wide open, it was hard not to know.
“Stop talking nonsense with me, did you find the nanny I asked you to find?” “A nanny?
That’s not easy to find.
Not many people can cook that kind of food, even fewer are young, and to find someone young who can also satisfy your palate, I doubt you’d find anyone in all of America.” “Wait,” Ernst raised a hand to interrupt him.
“I asked you to find someone who can cook, who told you they had to be young?” Ernst really didn’t want to find someone young; how many years could a young person have been cooking?
Experience was the issue.
But Craig’s next words made the water Ernst had just taken a sip of spray out.
“Older?
Ernst, when did you change your taste?
Interested in older women?
Didn’t you say they were too loose…” “Cough, cough,” choking on the water, he coughed twice, then Ernst burst out, “Are you an idiot?
I need a nanny, not a slut!” “But didn’t you used to say that when they wore a maid outfit, cooking in the kitchen, and you were behind her…” “Get lost!” Ernst kicked out, but Craig agilely dodged it.
Holding the manuscript, Craig ran to the door, promising repeatedly as he left that he absolutely wouldn’t make a mistake this time.
“Actually, a woman with a certain charm isn’t bad either; Maria gave me a very good sensory experience.” Craig wanted to say more, but his response was a flying pillow and water bottle.