I got to Jen and Lee’s place a few minutes before eight, but at first I was convinced I had the address wrong. Sure, it was Pasadena, sure, it was a Craftsman-style house, and yes, it definitely looked a hundred years old, but it gave off the ‘owned by granola-eating hippies’ vibe, which I had a hard time squaring with either Lee or Jen.
The lot was large, at least twice the size of most older neighborhood parcels, and had such a profusion of mature landscaping plants, including one huge tree in the front yard, that the house itself was barely visible from the street.
An old, cracked concrete driveway led past the left side of the house, presumably to a garage back there somewhere, but I just parked out in front. I had no worries for my car- the neighborhood looked as if no crime had ever happened there in the history of ever.
Walking up to the covered porch, I could hear the sound of a piano playing, which assured me that yes, it probably was Lee’s house.
I had to knock loudly a second time for the pianist to stop, and moments later Lee opened the door for me to come in.
“In here!” Emmy called out, so I followed the sound of her voice to the parlor.
The inside completely belied the impression I’d gotten from the front. It was all classic American, with glossy white-painted trim and pale khaki-colored walls. The furniture was nice, high-end but not flashy.
The parlor was dominated by a full-size electronic keyboard and bench, with a laptop station next to it, facing into the middle of the room. Along the opposite side of the room was a long, low couch and coffee table, but the middle of the room was empty. Well, except for the microphone stand, that is.
Emmy had a headphone set resting on her shoulders, which she removed and hung on the mic stand to come over and give me a kiss.
“We were just working on a song,” she explained, as if I couldn’t have guessed.
“How did things go today?” I asked.
“It was a mixed bag,” Emmy said. “We found the recording studio we will use to record our next album, but we have not found the right rehearsal space.”
“That place in Silver Lake was O.K.,” Lee said from his place on the couch.
“It will do for now,” Emmy agreed. “But I cannot think of it as a second home, the way our space in Palo Alto seemed to me.”
“No, you’re right, but at least it’ll do for now while we keep searching.”
Changing the subject, Emmy said, “Leah, we ordered food to be delivered. Lee said it is the best Korean/Italian fusion restaurant in the Valley.”
“No, seriously, it’s a real thing,” Lee said, seeing the look of disbelief on my face. “I mean, dude, it started a while back, and soon a handful of fusion places popped up in K-Town. Here in the Valley we’ve only got three that do it, but the one we’re getting dinner from is the best of the three, and maybe almost as good as Cafe Dukbokki in K-Town.”
“I am having a hard time wrapping my brain around the idea,” I admitted.
Shrugging, Lee simply said, “Los Angeles, my dude. Welcome to Los Angeles.”
Jen had just walked in the back door when the delivery guy knocked on the front door.
“What’re we having?” Jen asked, dropping onto the couch.
“Apparently Korean/Italian fusion,” I replied.
Jen’s face lit up. “The place in El Monte? I love that shit!”
Dinner was better than I could possibly have imagined, but I did stay away from the kimchi calamari carbonara, sticking to ingredients that didn’t come from the depths of the sea.
The others seemed to enjoy those little fermented bits of things better left in the ocean, though. I will say, I wasn’t going to kiss Emmy until she’d had a chance to brush her teeth, that’s for sure.
Conversation was easy and dinner was pleasant, but soon enough Emmy and I were on the road heading back to our new home.
“I did not like the rehearsal studio we found,” Emmy complained, looking out the window.
“So why are you guys going with it, then?”
“I liked the other places much less,” Emmy admitted. “I already miss our space in Palo Alto.”
“Would you like me to find a light industrial space like that again?” I asked. “I can have the scouts on the lookout.”
“No, I do not think that would make sense,” Emmy grumbled. “If we find a house that has good studio space, we will not need a separate rehearsal studio and building one out for what may only be a few months would be too much effort for too little utility.”
“Yeah, I guess that makes sense. So what’s so bad about the place that Lee likes?”
"It is small, has no windows, and only one door. It is basically a rental unit in one of those personal storage places that they have soundproofed and marketed to musicians.”
“Like a ‘U Store It’ place?” I asked, astonished.
“That is exactly what it is, but with soundproofing and electrical outlets for our gear. It is nothing more than an ugly empty box.”
“You’re making it sound real appealing,” I said with a chuckle. “So what’s good about it? Why does Lee like it?”
“It has a month to month rental plan, so we are not committed to a long-term contract. That way, when we do find the right house, we can move out quickly.”
“I can see the value in that,” I agreed. “What else?”
“It is very secure. We can leave our gear there and not worry about theft or damage, and it is accessible at any hour, day or night.”
“O.K., I can see the value in both of those things, too. So it sounds like something you’ll just have to put up with for the short term, and look at it like a stop-gap solution.”
“That is it,” agreed Emmy.
“So tell me about the recording studio,” I prompted.
“It is amazing,” Emmy gushed, her irritation at the rehearsal space forgotten. “It is very old-school. They have been recording music there since forever, and artists from The Doors to Lady Gaga have recorded there!”
“So you like it? It’s nice?” I asked, enjoying her enthusiasm.
“No, it is not nice at all- it is a dump. But it is a dump with great acoustics, and so much musical history you can feel it.”
That made me laugh, so Emmy added, “No, it is true. It looks like nothing from the front, the paint inside is old and it smells of tobacco smoke and sweat and alcohol, the carpet in the front is stained… it really is a dump. But none of that matters, since it is all the signs of musical history that has been made there.”
“So, if we buy a place and build out a really nice, high-end studio, would you still use that place?” I asked, curious.
“That is a good question,” said Emmy, pondering. “I think it would depend on how the sound in our home studio turns out.”
“Well, let’s make sure we get just the right place, then.”
If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.
After my workout the next morning, I woke Emmy up with a cup of coffee and a fresh pastry.
“We really need to do some grocery shopping,” I said.
“We do,” agreed Emmy, still half asleep.
“When I get home from work today we should make up a list and go do a big shopping trip. We need pretty much everything,” I said.
“What time do you think you will be home?” Emmy asked. “Should I not go work with Lee today?”
“No, go ahead and go over to his place, just try to be home by, mmm… maybe four or five?” I said. “We can grab an early dinner, do our shopping, and be back home with time to relax.”
“Do you have any ideas on how to relax?” Emmy asked, her interest piqued.
“The building’s pool looked nice, and it has a big jacuzzi, too,” I replied. “We could try those out.” Sure, I’d gotten the idea that Emmy had been hinting about sex, and that sounded good, but some swimming would be a nice way to unwind beforehand.
“I like that idea,” Emmy said. “I do so love to see you in a bikini.”
“Likewise, baby. Likewise.”
Loading a few things to take to the office into the Aston, I spotted the big shopping bag and realized I’d forgotten all about Emmy’s present. ‘I’ll give them to her this evening,’ I thought and moved the bag aside to fit the stuff I was taking in to personalize my work space. There really isn’t much room in that car under any circumstances, and the big bag with the two giant shoe boxes took up about half the trunk space. I had to do some creative arranging to fit everything inside, but eventually I managed it.
I walked in right at nine, pretty much the moment Marisa unlocked the front door of the suite.
“I’m going to need a key card for the office, I guess,” I said to Marisa as she jumped up to help me carry my stuff in.
I handed her the framed poster of Emmy’s famous Rolling Stone cover, the super close-up of her face. It was by far the largest and most cumbersome item I had with me. It wasn’t heavy, just awkward to carry under one arm while I tried to carry three other things with my other hand.
Marisa looked at the poster, a puzzled look on her face. “That’s, um, that rock star, um, Emmy, right?” she asked.
“Yeah. Emmy De Lascaux,” I said, finding a little bit of humor in the situation.
“Why do you have a poster of her?” Marisa asked.
“I just like it, that’s all,” I said with a shrug. I knew that within minutes somebody would tell her, but I was having my fun at her mild expense anyhow.
I set the framed poster against the wall facing my desk, the potted plant on the small side table near the French doors, the wedding photo on my desk, and framed photo of me holding the NCAA championship trophy I hung on a picture hook sort of behind and to the right of my desk. It was the only picture hook in the room, oddly enough.
“Marisa, who do I talk to about getting that hung up?” I asked, pointing at the poster.
“Usually one of the guys does it. I don’t know where the hammer and things are- I’ll ask.”
“No, don’t worry,” I said. “I’ll talk to Jake about it.”
Once I had my things squared away, I wandered over to Jake’s office. “Hey, Jake- could you do me a favor?” I asked. “I have a picture I’d like to hang on my wall.”
I knew he was too old-fashioned to ever tell me he couldn’t do it, so he got up and I followed him to the break room and saw where the very basic assortment of tools and such were kept. Thankfully, there were picture hooks in various sizes.
“It’s pretty big,” I said. “We should probably use the big hook.”
I could almost hear his eyes roll, but he grabbed a couple of the biggest hooks from the container and followed me back to my office.
“Where do you want it?” he asked, after looking at the poster for a surprisingly long while.
“Directly opposite the center of the desk,” I said, pointing. “About that high.”
He looked at the amount of slack on the cable on the back of the frame, pulled it taut to estimate how much drop it would have, then tapped the nail holding the picture hook in with care.
Everything aside, he actually did a really nice job of it, making sure the poster hung level and true.
“She’s my granddaughter’s favorite,” Jake said when he’d stepped back to check his work. “I guess yours, too?”
“She’d better be my favorite musician,” I said, surprised he didn’t know. “Since, you know, I married her and all.”
The look of surprise on his face was genuine, convincing me that he really hadn’t known I was married to a celebrity.
“Are you kidding?” he asked.
“I thought everybody knew,” I said, handing him the small framed wedding picture off my desk.
“Well, I’ll be damned,” he said, looking at the photo of Emmy and me smiling with cake smeared on our faces.
“Leah,” he said, “Can I ask you a big personal favor?”
“You want your granddaughter to meet Emmy?” I guessed.
“That would be great, but that wasn’t what I was going to ask,” Jake said, handing me the wedding picture. “I’d like to bring Makayla in to work, to meet you.”
“Why me?”
“She’s having a really hard time in middle school, and my daughter thinks it’s because she’s being bullied about her sexual orientation,” Jake explained.
“Makayla’s gay?”
“Well, she hasn’t actually come out, you know? But everybody in the family is pretty convinced she is.”
“And you’re all O.K. with that?” I asked, surprised that this gruff middle-aged man would be open to having a gay family member.
“Sure,” he said with a shrug. “We all want her to be happy, that’s all.”
“And you think that her talking to me would somehow help?” I asked.
“Leah, I may have come across yesterday as sort of a resentful jerk, but the truth I can’t deny is that you’re phenomenally successful in a traditionally male field, and you don’t try to hide your orientation. In fact, by putting this picture up right here in your office, you make it clear you don’t give a fu- a damn whether anybody else cares or not,” Jake said.
“No, it’s true. I gave up caring what anybody else had to say back in high school,” I agreed.
“So, yeah, being able to talk to somebody that’s at your level, but still young enough to relate to, might help Makayla see that it’s O.K. to be whatever she is,” Jake said.
“Sure. I’d be happy to talk to her,” I said. “Do you know what she has in mind as far as careers go? What are her hobbies? Anything like that I can use to break the ice?”
“Like I said, she likes music, and she has a poster of the Downfall in her room. Other than that, I guess she’s just a typical thirteen-year-old. She likes hanging out with her friends, posting on social media, that kind of stuff.”
“You know, it doesn’t have to be at work,” I said. “You could bring Makayla by to our place to meet Emmy, too, if you’d like.”
“That wouldn’t be too much of an imposition?”
“Are you kidding? Emmy would love that. I mean, seriously love to meet a young fan. Maybe Makayla could post some pics of her hanging out with Emmy on Instagram, or Vine, or whatever it is that she uses.”
“I’ll bring it up with my daughter,” Jake said. “See if she’s O.K. with it.”
“Seriously, Emmy would love it,” I said.
“Thanks, Leah. I really mean it. Even if this doesn’t work out, I appreciate that you’re willing to help.”
“Of course,” I said. “Of course.”
After Jake left, I sat at my desk and enjoyed the view of the poster for a moment or two, before remembering what else I had to do first thing.
“Hey,” I said, entering Brenda’s office area. “Did you ever get any reply on the building?”
“Still nothing from the owners about possibly selling,” Brenda answered, checking her email. “And this one from the building’s manager says that the only available spaces for the next six months are a small corner unit on the second floor, and one of the retail spaces on the ground floor.”
“O.K., so my next question to you, is what part of town do you live in?” I asked.
“Me? What part of town do I live in?” Brenda repeated, surprised by the question.
“Yeah. If we have to move the office, I’d like to make it easier for as many of us as possible. Shorten the commute for as many of us as we can arrange.”
“Oh- well, I live in Fullerton, so my commute is usually forty-five minutes or so, but sometimes it takes over an hour.”
“Each way?” I asked.
“It’s usually better in the mornings, worse in the afternoons.”
“Ugh,” I said. “I’ll tell you what, why don’t you schedule an all-staff meeting sometime this week? We can order lunch in, and we can all discuss what part of town would make life easiest for the most of us possible.”
“But all our properties are here on the west side,” Brenda objected. “We can’t just up and move to Orange County.”
“No, we can’t, but maybe Long Beach works better? Inglewood? I don’t really know the city very well, and have no idea what the traffic patterns look like, and maybe it’ll turn out that Santa Monica is the best place for the majority, anyway. But if we can’t expand here, we are going to have to move the office somewhere.”
“All right. I’ll look at the schedule and find a time everybody is in the office,” Brenda said.
"Cool,” I said. “Now, my next order of business, who mainly deals with the various contractors?”
“The tradesmen? Each property manager individually deals with them as needed for their properties. Why?”
“Does everybody use the same subs?”
“We have a list of approved vendors, sure, but it seems like the various managers each have their own favorites,” Brenda explained.
“So, there might be, say, five carpet guys on the list, and Jake might prefer ABC Carpets, but Dylan might typically call in XYZ Carpets?” I asked, making sure I understood.
“Yes, that’s right,” agreed Brenda.
“Do some of them charge more than others?”
“Yes, but some are higher-end than others. We use the better ones in the nicer properties. Why do you ask?” Brenda inquired.
“Just trying to understand the way this office is run compared to the San Jose office,” I said. It wasn’t a lie, but it sure wasn’t the entire truth, either. It sure looked like an opportunity for some skimming, and I was going to have to dig deeply but carefully to see if my fears might be true.
After leaving Brenda, I went back to Jake’s office.
“Hey,” I said when he looked from his computer.
“What can I do for you?” Jake asked.
“I’ve looked at the overall numbers, of course, and the office here is doing well, but I have no real feel for what it is this office actually manages. I mean, sure, it’s a mix of single-family and apartment complexes of various sizes, but I don’t have a good visual grasp of the local market.”
“So what is it you’re asking?”
“I want you to give me a tour,” I said. “I want to see our entire portfolio for myself, even if it just means looking at the properties from the sidewalk. I want you to show me around all the properties you manage, then I’ll get Dylan to do the same, and so on.”
“You’re kidding,” Jake said. “That’ll take weeks.”
“I have time,” I said.
“I can’t just drop what I’m doing and drive you around,” he objected.
“Yes, you can,” I replied, my tone making it clear that yes, he certainly could.
Sighing, Jake admitted defeat. “It’ll set me back.”
“I’ll make it up to you.”
“When do you want to start? And which properties do you want to see?” he asked.
“Let’s look at places that have vacancies first. And there’s no time like the present.”
“Can you give me half an hour to get this,” he said, pointing at his computer, as if I was supposed to know what it was he was working on, “wrapped up?”
“Sure,” I agreed. “Come get me when you’re ready.”