I’m also feeling very sexy here, like I should’ve brought something satin or lacy to sleep in, but of course I didn’t. What would be the point? As I kick off these slingbacks, I look around and realize I probably need to buy two more suitcases.

I got something for everybody. Mama’s hat came from Harrods and she’s going to love that green bag! I got Daddy some hand-rolled cigars from Covent Garden. Shanice: an outfit from some teenybopper boutique. Right this minute, I can’t remember exactly what I bought Charlotte, Lewis, and Janelle. Dingus gets underwear from Marks & Spencer, and a weird pair of jeans. I wonder what he’s doing? Probably with Jason.

I pick up the phone and call home to see if I have any personal messages, since I haven’t checked in four whole days. I’m not even going to bother calling my business line, because I don’t want to know. Only three messages! At first I feel relieved, and then, immediately, unpopular. Where are my stupid pills? I drag the phone over to the table next to the sofa, open the drawer, move the Bible, and push my hand back until I feel the bottle. The name on the prescription is Dingus’s. Right before I was leaving to come here, I had exhausted all my “sources” for refills, but I remembered that during spring training Dingus had torn a ligament in his Achilles tendon and then, two weeks later, strained his hip flexor, so his doctor wrote two different prescriptions: an anti-inflammatory for swelling and Vicodin for pain. I took the Vicodin, because Dingus said he didn’t like the way it made him feel. I wish I had that problem. There was one refill on it, and after that I called the doctor and told him that Dingus had had a little setback, that he’d been taking the one medication called Vicodin, and since it seemed to be alleviating his pain, would he mind giving him another refill. And here they are. I take one. I’m afraid if I take two I’ll run out while I’m here and then I’ll be up shit’s creek.

The first message is a hang-up. And then I hear the sexy voice of the infamous landscaper who disappeared off the face of the earth. This better be good. “Hello, Paris. This is Randall Jamison calling. I know you’re probably angry as I don’t know what at me and you have every right to be. But, please, hear me out. First, I want to apologize and let you know that this is not how I normally do business. I mean, because you entrusted me with such a large project, I think I owe it to you to be honest and just tell you what’s been going on in my life. I’ve been going through a nasty divorce and custody battle with my wife, who happens to have a huge substance-abuse problem. And to top it off, I just found out that she’s been robbing the business blind behind my back. I’ve been so stressed out that it’s taken all my time and energy to get everything straightened out and under control again.”