“Oh, it’s really no problem at all,” he said with no offense taken. “Actually, I like having a bitch in the house. Especially one that has been trained to obey.”

My jaw dropped through the floor. Did he just say bitch? I know he didn’t just say bitch. No, this educated, well-read, well-traveled man did not just stoop to the lowest levels of street gutter slang. This articulate, expressive, personification of oratorical genius must have somehow tangled his thoughts, twisted his words, and once asked, surely will offer a fitting retraction.

I used all of my might to restrain myself from slapping the grease that had dripped down onto his forehead. I cleared my throat and asked, “Uh, Langston…did you just say ‘A bitch in the house that has been trained to obey’?”

“Yes.” He looked pointed, unaffected, and unapologetic. “Webster defines bitch as being a female dog. Look it up. The fact that some less articulate and uneducated men have chosen to use the word dichotomously and interchangeably both to endear and to degrade is of no consequence to me. Now, we have exactly thirty-one minutes before we’re late. And I’m never late. Towels are in the master bathroom. You can shower first because I wouldn’t want us to get, how can I say this, distracted.” He winked, looking pompous and full of himself.

I wanted to wrap my overstuffed bag around his neck, but not wanting it soiled with gobs of petroleum goop from his hair, I decided to chill. The evening was still young, and I didn’t want to make any rash decisions. Maybe he would redeem himself. I didn’t see how, but stranger things could happen.

“By the way, I called my assistant from the plane and had her pick you up a dress for tonight. It’s hanging up in the bathroom. Shoes, accessories, and stockings.”

“You had your assistant pick up an outfit?”

“Yes. Montana, tonight is very important. Certain colors have certain connotations. Red means power. Blue means stately. Green means festive. I want everything to be just right.”

“Langston, how do you know that what I already have isn’t just right?”

“I don’t know and since I’ve supplied your outfit, I don’t need to.”

“But Langston—”

“Grrrrrrrr!”

“Juicy, stop. Quiet, Juicy. Come, Juicy. It’s time to go pee. Pee, Juicy.” This was obviously going to be a very very long night.

The walls in his living room were lined with framed articles of himself, plaques honoring himself, head shots with politicians and himself, and an oversized portrait of…you guessed it, himself. Down the hallways were more framed articles, through the bedroom and into the bathroom, more pictures, plaques, and articles all highlighting his hero, his idol, his self.