Waldo stood in the middle of the apartment, hands on hips, and announced, “This place is a dump. We have to move.”

Bill, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, yawned, and said, “What?”

“We’ve outgrown this place. I mean, between Eddie coming over and you and Michael bumping uglies on the couch at three in the morning while I’m trying to get some shuteye, I’m on my last nerve.” He headed into the kitchen to make coffee. “Besides, I got a raise and now that you’re working at the agency, we can afford it.”

Bill sat up, awake and excited. “Yeah, we should move! We could find a big two-bedroom.”

“Uh-huh, and a real kitchen for me to cook in.”

“You know where we should look? The Castro.”

“The place where all the other queens are moving?”

“Yeah, there are lots of beautiful old houses. I bet we could get a place cheap.”

“Well, what are we waiting for?”

“I’ll start looking today.”

“Let me do the talking,” Bill told Waldo as they turned off 18th Street to Diamond Street. They passed Blessed Savior and headed up the hill to the address Bill had written on a scrap of paper.

“Who died and made you queen?” Waldo asked, a little breathless from the walk. “Why do you have to do the talking?”

“Because when you open your mouth a purse falls out.”

Waldo stopped, breathing hard, and said, “You don’t think the landlord’s going to figure out we’re gay as soon as he opens the door and gets a gander?”

“The landlord’s a woman,” Bill corrected him. “Some of the old timers don’t like all the gays moving into the neighborhood. I don’t know if this lady is one of them so I should talk first because—”

“If you say ‘the normal one,’ I will bitch slap you so hard.”

“Come on, Waldo,” Bill pleaded. “Behave yourself.”

The woman who answered the door was small and plump and pink. Steam rose from the mug in her hand. Her silvery hair was carefully set and she wore a flowery apron over her house dress. Her face bore only a trace of rouge and lipstick. A TV played in the background, the volume turned up high, and they spoke to her over snatches of movie dialogue.

“Yes,” she said, giving them a long once over. “Can I help you boys?”

“Mrs. Donohue? I’m Bill Ryan. I called about the upstairs apartment?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Is it still available?”

“Uh-huh,” she said, dubiously.

“My friend and I are interested in renting it.”

She looked at them skeptically, as if a pair of leprechauns had rung her doorbell and asked about the rental. In the awkward silence, a woman’s voice from the TV exclaimed, “Jerry, don’t let’s ask for the moon, we have the stars!’

“Are you watching Now Voyager?” Waldo asked, eagerly.

“Yes,” Mrs. Donohue said, surprised.