"You Can't Stay a Saint in This City"

Mike’s plane left this afternoon for Germany, I was beside myself with excitement. I loved going seeing the interiors of people’s houses. That’s why I’m an interior designer, duh. In my earlier days Greg and I would drive around Beverly Hills looking for open houses we could intrude in on. There’s so much you can tell by a person from what their house looked like. I would know.

I took the mail out of the box and I unlock the door preparing for my own self-guided tour of his home. Apparently my house sitting duties were going to be applicable every time the Kings were on the road so Mike got me a key. As soon as I walk in through the doors I slip into interior designer mode.

Wow.

Mike’s house is a lot more rustic than mine, there’s lots of exposed brick and open concept. It’s also a little bit smaller than mine. The décor is different from when I delivered his cake I wonder when he found the time to change it. There are little feminine touches around the house like the giant crystal chandelier hanging over the foyer. I wonder if his girlfriend helped. Does he even have a girlfriend? If he does I haven’t seen her around, maybe she’s back home.

If he does and she did I should hire her, she did a really great job.

The kitchen is beautiful, I think as I nearly slip on the polished concrete floors. The last time I was in here I didn’t get to inspect the sleek wood cabinetry and stainless steel appliances. I look out the large French doors: I can see the lush green yard and the pool which is an artificial mouthwash blue. I can also see my house with the large fig tree in the yard. I love that tree, it provided me shade and enough figs for my entire office.

I walk into what I assume to be Mike’s room, there’s a lot of gray it’s very chic but also very industrial. I notice the series of photo frames on the fireplace mantel and I am immediately drawn to it. I scan the photos for a girl, a pretty girl but the pictures are mostly of him, his family, and friends. There are pictures of him from when he was little, he was such a cute kid; there were pictures of him fishing on a lake of some sorts; there are pictures of him at costume parties. Looks like we both like to dress up.

There are girls in the pictures, pretty girls but he doesn’t seem particularly close with any of them. I guess I have the answer to my question. There is no leading lady in his life. Honestly if he redecorated this house all by himself I think we might be soul mates.

His bed is unmade and looks really comfy. I discover just how comfy it is when I take a seat, I lay my head in my arms and stare at the ceiling. The bed smells really strongly but not too strongly of cologne, I can smell it just from lying on his bed. It doesn’t smell that bad, really warm and woodsy. Like a wood fire inside a cabin on a snowy day. And kind of like sex.

I get up to leave but before I do I check the bathroom. There are double sinks but only one of them looks like it’s in use. Definitely single. I drop his mail off on the hall table as I leave.
______

I have a basket full of figs courtesy of my tree in the backyard. I had spent yesterday at the a day at the LA County Fair devouring deep fried goodies with Dolce and Coco. I was kind of glad the county fair was over. I don’t think I could handle anymore deep fried Oreos. In order to reverse the damage I decided to eat figs for dinner. As I walk around to the front door I see a delivery man at Mike’s door.

“Hi,” I say when I catch the man’s attention “Can I help you?”

“I’ve been waiting here for the last twenty minutes. Does Mike Richards live here?”

Unfortunately “Yeah but he’s in Germany, right now.”

“Could I leave his delivery with you?” He asks handing me a clipboard.

“Of course,” I reply scribbling my name on the dotted line.

“Great,” He says running back into the truck. He comes back with a giant kennel like the kind that they put wild animals in. This doesn’t look good.

“Here” he says placing the kennel at my feet. “Have a nice day Amber Li”

“Thank you,” I call to his back but I’m not really sure I mean it. When I look into the kennel I except to see a vicious face looking back at me like Cujo from the book of the same name but the face I see is too sweet to ignore. I unlock the cage in a heartbeat.

“Hi there buddy what is your name?” I coo at the black lab with the bottomless brown eyes.

“Arnold?” I ask reading the bone shaped tag on his collar Arnold responds accordingly with a bark. What kind of name for a dog was Arnold? That was a people name not a dog name.

“Well I guess you’re going to be staying with me today Arnold.” I wince as I say the name but if he was my dog I probably would’ve named him Dior or Zachary Posen.

“I bet you’re hungry.” I say to Arnold as Dolce and Coco curiously sniff him. I’m not sure what to feed Arnold. I don’t exactly have manufactured dog food in my house especially not after all those recalls they had. Instead I just feel Dolce and Coco small medallions of pork tenderloin and barley.

“You can have some chicken,” I tell Arnold as I remove a chicken breast from the package. I figure that Arnold is pretty close to human sized so I portion him out an Amber sized amount and fist full of spinach. I cook it in a pan before placing it in one of my monogrammed bowls.

“Arnold and Amber.” I say aloud with a giggle. We sound like a sitcom couple.