Koby lived in the hills of Silver Lake, his street on an incline of around thirty degrees. The address corresponded with a tiny, square stucco box that peeked out from the boughs of eucalyptus gone wild. I parked in the driveway behind a ten-year-old Toyota compact, making sure the emergency brake was on. I made the climb up to the front door and knocked, noticing the large ceramic mezuzah attached to the door frame. I’m not sure what I expected when I came in, but I didn’t expect what I saw.

There was pride inside—a mélange of Art Deco and African decor. Highly polished, rich rosewood tables were mixed with a zebra-print plush sofa and leopard-print club chair, both pieces embellished with primary-colored throw pillows. Multicolored textiles with geometric shapes and primitive designs hung on the walls; a bright, bold carpet covered the hardwood floor. Actually, there were several carpets, because as I looked more carefully, I noticed that they were overlapping. The room was teeny—I could almost span the walls with outstretched arms—so it was amazing how much stuff he had crammed in there. More amazing was how well it was put together.

“Wow!” I told him.

He was all smiles. “You like it?”

“Yeah … yeah, I do.”

“Had to think about it?”

“Not at all. It was just …” I shook my head. “Most single guys don’t bother.”

“I like color.”

“I’ll say. But it works. Do you rent?”

He pointed to his chest. “All mine. I have the mortgage to prove it.”

“I’m impressed!” I really was. Home ownership was out of my reach. Despite my supposed austerity, I just couldn’t seem to save very much. That’s what happens when one has parents as backups.

“It didn’t look like this when I bought it,” he explained. “But the price reflected the condition.”

“You fixed it up yourself?”

“Of course. After the purchase, I was completely broke. I had no choice.”

“You did a wonderful job.”

“As long as you don’t look under all the covering. Why do you think I hang so much cloth all over?” He checked his watch. “Shabbat is in an hour. We should go, no?”

“Yeah, we’ve got a ways to travel.”

He picked up a bouquet of flowers and a bottle of wine. “These are for your stepmother.” He gave me a paper bag. “This is for you for extended … extending the invitation.”

It was a hand-painted doll from the Ethiopian gift shop. I smiled and thanked him. He told me I looked nice and I returned the compliment. He was dressed conservatively—dark green suit, white shirt, red-and-green paisley tie—but his yarmulke was more like a rimless cap that burst with colors.

The first half of the ride was taken up by my success story with Sarah. The next topic was the baby and how well she was doing. After we had exhausted work, things got real quiet. I turned on the radio to provide audio filler.

Koby got the ball rolling. “Did your father ask about me?”