Now it was time for bed. I powered down my computer and headed down the hallway. My head hurt and I felt defeated. I didn’t bother brushing my teeth and I let my clothes fall to the floor as I peeled them off. Sinking into bed, I pulled the duvet up close to my neck. I dreamed of kiddie porn and me running down Sunset Boulevard in a wedding dress.

The show was crazy the next week; we had to replace an actress who had broken her leg. Auditions were going on just down the hall from my office to recast the role of “Bridgett.” For days I had leggy blonds hanging outside my office waiting to get called into a session with the casting director. I was so busy, and the leggy blonds sent me into such a tailspin, that on Wednesday night I fell into a wine-induced coma on my green marshmallow couch while watching an episode of American Justice on A&E. The ringing phone woke me up.

“This is Dani.” I was so exhausted I used the greeting I employed at work instead of just plain “hello.”

“Uh, hi, Dani, it’s Grant.”

Holy shit. I had totally blocked out our plans.

“Hmm, hey.”

“I was at Musso’s waiting for you. I mean, if you couldn’t make it you just had to call me—it would have been cool. But just to not show. . . .” He trailed off.

“Oh, God, I’m so sorry . . . I . . . well . . . I just forgot. I’ve been really swamped at the office and when I got home I just passed out.”

“You’re asleep?” he asked tightly.

“Yeah.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, and I had the just-woken-up-by-the-phone voice. “I’m sorry . . . maybe we could do it another time?” I ventured. “I’ll call you next week.”

“Sure. Call me next week when things calm down.”

“Okay, Grant . . . good night.”

“Good night.”

We both knew there wouldn’t be a next week. I wouldn’t call him and he wouldn’t call me because I was the one that stood him up.

Grant Katz was history. He had been so cute and funny. Too bad he was such a perv.

So now that I didn’t have any guilt left from the violation of breaking into Grant’s e-mail, I started checking it every couple of days, just to check in and see how he was doing. Even though he was a “Chester the Molester” as my mom would have said, I was still interested in monitoring his life and times.

I read about his new show getting picked up by the network. I learned about his golfing vacation plans with his buddies, and other dates he had. I never came across any more nudie pictures of underage girls. But maybe he was just being careful; maybe he had his own private stash of photos at home.