When I worked for the DA's office, my salary was comfortable. Not low, actually a little bit higher than most prosecutors, but that's only because LA is such an expensive city with a high cost of living. I earned a respectable amount, a healthy income.

The truth is, Denise and I have never really found ourselves needing more money. It's always been enough. Denise is a television producer on a daytime talk show that's currently in its sixth season, so she has her own career and income. Her work schedule can be grueling just like mine, especially during tape weeks, but she earns her own comfortable and substantial weekly paycheck.

We're also fortunate because Denise's family gifted us a house when we were married, so our monthly overhead doesn't include a large rent check or mortgage payment. Now I know that sounds terribly spoiled, but it was a family property that Denise's grandparents bought in Thousand Oaks in the 1950's, back when the area was inexpensive farmland. No one had any idea that, over the decades, a well-to-do suburb would spring up around the small farm home.

I guess when I put it all together, I have to admit maybe Denise and I are a little bit better than comfortable. Not rich. No. We're definitely not rich: billionaires are rich, we're far from that. We don't have any yachts or mansions, no beach houses or jets or Picassos. Actual rich people get to stay at home all day, or travel, living a permanent vacation with lots of poolside lounging and golf. Denise and I both work for a living, often long and odd hours.

So maybe my wife and I are 'well off'. At best, we're 'moderately wealthy'.

At any rate, I wasn't expecting the profit disbursement check that I cut for myself last Monday to cause any kind of great change in my life. Don't get me wrong – I like money, and extra money is great. But it wasn't 'yachts and Picassos' money. And even if it was, I never understood Picasso and I tend to get seasick. For me, the profit disbursement was more about pride and accomplishment.

"It's an amazing feeling, isn't it?" I asked Henry, as I counted the zeroes on my check again. "Writing a check like this to yourself."

Henry and I were in our glass-encased circular conference room, the one we never use. I watched my check flutter between my fingertips under the A/C vent. It was only May, but already there was a heat wave outside and temperatures were in the nineties. Henry always insisted that we keep our offices chilled to sixty-five degrees.

"Don't sell us short, Marsh," Henry said. "We rescued an alien warrior from prison, foiled an interplanetary drug cartel, prevented war between Earth and the Slatt Planets - we're owed at least this much. This –" he gestured with his check before tossing it into his briefcase, snapping the lid shut. "- was money hard-earned."

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"What are you going to spend yours on?"

Henry smiled and pushed up the cuff of his sleeve; a diamond-studded Rolex sparkled against his wrist. "I already spent it. What do you think?"

The bracelet of the watch was freshly polished, smooth gunmetal that reflected streaks of white light from the conference room overheads. The gems on the face glinted a rainbow, the whole Rolex seemed to glow with its own energy. It was a beautiful piece, but –

"You didn't…You didn't blow your whole paycheck on a watch, did you?"

"No, Marsh," Henry said ruefully. "I invested in a timepiece. I didn't blow anything."

"Well, whatever makes you happy." I may have inadvertently rolled my eyes, and that kept Henry on the offensive.

"Do you know what a watch like this costs?" Henry pushed his wrist closer, deliberately angling the watch so sunlight blinded me when it reflected off the crusted diamonds. "Limited edition Daytona model, pave diamond face, platinum bracelet –"

"I actually do know what a watch like that costs," I said, shielding my eyes from the glare. "Because you just told me that you spent your entire check on it."

"It was actually a good deal," Henry stood in the doorway and took his car keys out of his suit pocket. It was then that I saw the whole picture: Brooks Brothers suit, cufflinks, leather briefcase, Rolex, polished shoes, Jaguar keys in hand…

Henry looked good. He looked like a successful attorney. No, he looked like a successful attorney in a movie where the hero is a successful attorney. A magazine spread in Defense Lawyer Monthly. The Rolex worked; it pulled the whole picture together.

"I'd love to stay and have a drink," Henry sighed. "But you're probably just going to be a buzzkill."

"You know it's only ten-thirty in the morning, right?"

"See? That's exactly what I mean. And I sense that you're about to lecture me on financial responsibility -"

"Probably."

"- So my Rolex and I are going to go home, to drink there."

"Sounds good."

"I think I'll open a bottle of Macallan. Have a nice, neat Scotch -"

"Have fun."

"- In my jacuzzi. With my Rolex. See you tomorrow, partner."

"Yeah. Drive safe, Henry."

Grinning and triumphant, Henry walked out. I heard the engine of his car turn over in the parking lot outside, and it made me remember that Henry's Jag had keyless entry and push-button ignition. Dangling the car keys in his hand was just part of Henry's façade, all part of his stupid courtroom-James-Bond routine, projecting wealth and success. And damn him, because it kind of worked.

I never thought of myself as a jealous person, but what other word is there? There I was, sitting alone in my overpriced office, a large check in my hand, and I was stewing over my partner's wristwatch.

Mind you, I was wearing a pinstriped Zegna suit. It was on sale at Barney's, but discount luxury is still luxury. I owned nice things. I had an expensive leather briefcase, just like Henry's - a law school graduation gift from Denise's father. My shoes were from Macy's, my haircut was a twenty-dollar-special from Rudy's Barbershop, and I drove a preowned Prius – which, while environmentally friendly, I admit lacks the pizazz of Henry's convertible.

Pizazz, that was it. Everything I owned was nice, but pedestrian. Even the expensive things that I owned were boring. I was suburban-successful, not cool-guy urban-successful. I lacked pizazz; I didn't have that flash, that sparkle of pave diamonds that catches the sunlight.

I left the office and drove straight to Rodeo Drive, with a vengeance.