I ended up not going to Barry’s Boot Camp that Saturday. The prospect of Rich coming over made my stomach jump. I wasn’t sure if it was excitement or if it was nerves about his mention of the crew list. In the bathroom, I checked my teeth for the third time and put on another coat of lipgloss. I heard the bell. I wasn’t exactly skipping, but I definitely had a quick shuffle in my step as I hurried to the door. The front door was open and the security gate was locked, as always. The fresh air blowing through the living room was great.

I could see Rich waiting just outside my door. I was used to seeing him standing in my doorway at the office; seeing him here at home was an anomaly. He was wearing a charcoal sweater with a few dark hairs visibly poking through the slight V-neck of the collar. I’d never seen him out of a suit jacket.

“Hey,” I said a little too brightly.

“Hey,” he answered through the metal screen door.

I let him in. I noticed his clean scent and hint of cologne as he moved closely by me to enter the living room. He took in my whole place at one glance. “You were right—this place is great. You lock that security door all the time?”

“Yes, this is LA. It’s not like I’m going to leave my doors unlocked.”

Lucy bounded in from the bedroom and ran right up to bump up against Rich’s leg. She was such a little whore. He reached down and scratched her under the neck. She closed her eyes and started to drool. I was sure Rich had that effect on everyone.

“So you’ve been happy here?” he asked, breaking their moment.

“My landlord, who lives in the other half, is never there. He’s gay and his partner helped him remodel before I moved in. They did a beautiful job. You know how good the gays are at making things pretty.”

Rich took this in. “Have you been here long?”

I nodded. “A few years. It was a stretch at first. It was a big step up from my last place.” I moved to the window and pointed to the house one down from mine. “I was a little nervous because there were six Middle Eastern guys living right next door. They would sit outside at night and grill meat for dinner and chain-smoke. I was convinced they were some sort of hijack squad in training. And then one day, they all left. For weeks after they disappeared, I’d rush to turn on Good Morning America when I woke up, expecting to hear that they’d blown up LAX or the White House. Fortunately there was nothing. The only sign they were there is the four-foot-tall black panther lawn ornament they left behind.”