My Holiday Star

I’d found blackout drapery in a shimmery kind of beige and hung it all around the porch, with shower liners on the screen side to protect the fabric from what passed for weather. String lights fastened to the drapery rods, a big indoor-outdoor rug, and a new six-seat dining set. That was indoor-outdoor too; metal frames, with a glass top on the table. I’d dressed it up for him with a tablecloth that looked good with the chair cushions. “Still need to get those loungers out of here.” They were crammed up against the wall of the house.

“My people can be here next Saturday, get that garage cleared out for you.”

“Great. Fantastic.” I blew out a breath. This was where I might be jumping the tracks. “I had another idea, and you can say if it’s a bad one.”

“Mmm?”

“They’re not going to buy me hosting T-day with my tenant.”

“Your – oh. Ooh.” He stared at me, but not in an offended way. I’d’ve sworn he was pleased. “You need a fake boyfriend.”

The truth was, I needed a real boyfriend, and the more I thought about Gabriel the more I knew who I wanted that boyfriend to be. I wasn’t above easing into it from the side. “I’ve mentioned you before. This guy I see when I go to the office. We met up when I was walking Bette. His apartment burned down. He’s living in the studio unit. They won’t be surprised.”

He still looked kind of pleased, but he said, “Will they think I’m an opportunistic leech who only wants you for money and fame?”

I shouldn’t have laughed, but I couldn’t hold it back. “Shit, I didn’t mean to laugh, sorry. It’s a good question. Maybe, until they meet you. Then they’ll know better, especially if you let them see your space.”

Stepping into the studio earlier that week, I could hardly believe it. After all, the first night he stayed there he had literally nothing but a bike, a laptop, his phone, a file box, and the clothes he stood up in. I’d loaned him a card table and folding chair excavated from the Garage of Doom, and a blow-up mattress from the back of my closet with beach towels to throw over it. I mean, it was a step up from a homeless shelter – at least it was private, with the kitchenette and a full bath – but not a big step.

Now he had a Progressive desk like mine with an ultrawide monitor, a high-quality task chair, a daybed, and a dinette set. Couple of nice small rugs, for warm feet getting out of bed or sitting down to eat. Framed family pictures on the wall in the kitchenette. It all said this guy was stable, organized, and doing fine for money. He had one of those cube shelves, two high by four wide. It was full of books and topped with a stained-glass lamp he told me his cousin made.

There wasn’t a lot of open floor space now, but everything looked great with the vinyl flooring and the lighting I’d installed. He hadn’t bothered with covering the awning windows on the fireplace wall. They were too high up to make a person feel exposed, and the glass was tinted anyway. Gabriel told me he watched TV on the big monitor. He also said he’d been saving for good furniture whenever he finally moved out of that garage apartment, and that he had renter’s insurance. Now he said, “I’m gonna get a cushion made for that brick bench under the windows. And I was wondering about the fireplace.”

“I have no idea if it works.”

“That’s what I was wondering.”

It made me almost laugh again. “I never had a specific inspection for it. Let me get someone in to do that. Sweep the chimney, or whatever, and make sure the gas line is safe. That would be cool, right? Having a working fireplace?”

“I’d love it,” he agreed. “I could see it from bed. Probably never turn on the furnace.”

And shit, I probably shouldn’t be thinking how much I’d like to be in bed with him, looking at a fire. My libido woke way the hell up in the past week. “Then your place would really look like a prosperous tech guy’s bachelor pad.”

“The kind of place someone would live who didn’t need to leech off of you.”

“Not that I’m this super rich guy.” I don’t know why I said that. Maybe because I needed him to know we weren’t so far apart. I’d had enough money of my own to buy this little property south of the airport, and enough to live on in a modest way. The work I did was for money. Until and unless I got cast again in something major, I’d always need to be looking for a job. He probably had a higher monthly income than I did. But the truth was, I still had a lot of money, and the fact that it was mostly in a retirement account didn’t make me less rich. I looked around the porch again. “Anyway, so I did all right here.”

“You did good here. Like you’ve been decorating all your life.”

I gave him a look and he laughed. Then I suggested a cup of coffee, out here, because it was a nice day. He said something about maybe walking down to the supermarket for a pastry. I said I’d do that if he’d scramble us some eggs. It felt kind of daring, but he said he’d love to.