It was midday, so there wasn’t a lot of traffic on the freeway. Exiting Gower, I made the first left and then a quick right. The Scientology Center whizzed by. I knew Bonnie Hill was off Bronson, which meant the house probably had a killer view. Shit. I could feel my stomach turning acidic with the remnants of my late morning latte.

I almost missed the turn; the street sign was partially hidden by some overgrown foliage. Taking the turn, my car had to shift into a lower gear to accommodate the steep street. The painted curb numbers guided me higher, with some of the turns so sharp that I thought that this wasn’t a street you’d want to navigate after having a couple of glasses of wine.

I felt I had almost reached the Hollywood sign when I finally spotted the address. I stopped the car and rolled down my window to get a look.

It was so much worse than I’d imagined.

A Sotheby’s Realty SOLD sign was mounted to the front wooden door. The property wasn’t gated, thank God, but a cream stucco wall ran the length of the property, shielding the home from view. The heavy Moorish door let me know this was a Spanish house, and my guesstimate on the dimensions of the property let me know the house was big, four bedrooms at least, and that, yes, they had a killer view.

Motherfucker.

This was my dream house.

It had been my dream home before they had found this place and bought it. I had talked constantly about this kind of house to Dave. He would never have thought to buy a place like this. Staring at the potted flowers on the walkway, I imagined the conversation the two of them would have had about buying a house, how they’d agreed on it, hired a Realtor, toured homes. Knowing as I did Dave’s thirst for always scoring “a deal,” they wouldn’t have simply put an offer on the first home they saw. No, this took time. I went through the calendar in my head and marveled at how quickly this relationship had developed. They’d gone from first date to escrow in five months. I couldn’t fucking believe this!

My knuckles were white as they gripped the wheel. I jerked the car around, banged a big green garbage can, and headed down the hill. Furious, I wondered how this was possible. I’d never seen this property listed in the normal Sunday open house guide.

I decided to skip the freeway and take Cahuenga back over the hill to the office. Taking the potholes hard somehow felt good as I seethed.