“I’m telling you, there’s nothing I can do about them.”

“What do you mean, you can’t do anything about them. You’re one of the most important businessmen in Beverly Hills. I’ve been your best customer for 40 years. Isn’t there something you can do about that damn family next door?”

“But America loves the Osbournes. It’s a hit.”

“They’re low-life scum, if you ask me. Always hollering and swearing. Whose idea was it to let musicians live in Beverly Hills, anyway?”

“A lot of stars live around here. People like Neil Diamond and Cher have been here for years. In fact, hardly a day goes by when someone with a hit record and a big tour doesn’t come around looking for a new home. In the past few days I’ve met Shakira and Widespread Panic.”

“That’s all we need in Beverly Hills. More musicians.”

“It’s not that bad.”

“Not that bad? Last night he threw a party for all those bands that were in Ozzfist last summer.”

“That’s Ozzfest.”

“Whatever. Seether and Hatebreed made so much noise that my mother-in-law couldn’t get to sleep, and now she’s the crankiest old lady this side of the Mississippi. And believe me, you don’t want to be around her when she’s cranky.”

“I know.”

“And this morning, my daughter couldn’t find her canary. She says that Ozzy borrowed it for the party last night, but he says he can’t remember. At least, that’s what I think he said. You can’t understand a word he’s saying. He’s always mumbling and shuffling around. There ought to be a law!”

“Calm down.”

“But this is Beverly Hills! We’re supposed to be sophisticated! This isn’t the place for rock stars behaving badly. Beverly Hills is for people who enjoy culture and the fine arts. People of wealth and taste, not those so-called artists with their hit records and their entourages. First it’s the Osbournes, next it will be Moby and John Mayer. Just you watch.”

“I can’t help it if music stars like Sheryl Crow or Yanni decide to move to Beverly Hills. After all, it’s a free country.”

“They’re the reason this country’s going to the dogs, if you ask me. Isn’t there anything you can do? Or do I have to start taking my business elsewhere?”

“No, please, don’t do that. Tell you what. I’ll call over there today and talk to Sharon. Maybe she can get him to tone it down a bit.”

“And have them cut out the cussing. Heck, my nephew has started to pick it up, and you know how imitative he can be.”

“I know.”

“Well, alright. I just can’t understand how any self-respecting Beverly Hills real estate agent could have ever sold them that house to begin with. They belong in a trailer, not a mansion. They’re worse than a bunch of hillbillies.”

“I’ll call Sharon today. I’m sure she’ll be sympathetic.”


“Promise. After all, I’ve been your banker for 40 years. Have I ever let you down?”

“No, I guess not.”

“Then leave it to me.”

“Well… Okay. Thank you, Mr. Drysdale.”

“Anytime, Mr. Clampett. Anytime.”