"Hey, has anyone ever told you that your dad looks like Edward James Olmos?" I gripped a silver framed photo, turning it around to show her. She glanced at it with a wistful smile and set it back on the mantle.

"That is actually Edward James Olmos. That was at the Latino Film Festival about ten years ago. He's active in the community- he co-owns the Latin Book and Family fair, he attends the film festival every year and he does a lot of work with literacy, especially among our older community members.  It was an honor to finally meet him."

I hadn't asked if I could come in, after our date. I'd just... assumed I could. Lena didn't argue. While she dealt with getting the dog into the condo and settled with some water and a scoop of dog food, I was curiously scanning the gathering of photos on her fireplace mantle.

I picked up a different photo, in a different frame, of her standing next to a tall, thin, balding man. He wore glasses and a white button down shirt with black slacks. "That is my daddy," she said, her face bright with pride. "Raul Sandoval. A funny thing about him- he wears this outfit every day to work. White top, black pants, bright green apron. He runs a landscaping business. Fertilizer and plants and stones to make yards pretty. My mother runs the store with him."

She picked out a different photo, this one bearing the image of her and an older woman, hand in hand alongside a parade. "Everybody knows Lupe Sandoval."

We worked our way across the mantle as she detailed the family tree. Then I got an introduction to the extended family and then friends-who-were-like-family. "You seem like a close-knit group," I said, replacing the last of the photos I'd picked up from the mantle. "It's got to be hard to be away from them. Do you miss them?"

A pallor crossed her face, drawing the ends of her mouth down. She blinked a few times, quickly, like she was trying not to cry.  "A lot, in the last few years. But home isn't that far away and I make a regular habit of driving down there to see everyone. And I see my dad every month when he brings the bags of Barksdale's food."

At the mention of him, we both spun around to look for him. He hadn't been winding between us, panting and wagging his tail, basically begging for attention.  When I saw him, I burst into laughter. 

On the loveseat a few steps away, Barksdale's long form was sprawled out, all four limbs sticking out, his head buried under a pillow. His chest rose and lowered in syncopation with the deep breaths that rolled from him.

"We knocked him out. That big ass dog... and we knocked him out cold." Lena and I exchanged a giddy high five.

"I'm going to grab a drink. Do you want a beer or something? Some water?"

I patted my belly with a grimace. "Some water would be good. I feel like I've been drinking all day and I'm really getting too old for that."

Lena busied herself in the kitchen. I dropped onto the other couch to wait, scoping out her condo. I hadn't really taken it all in when I'd picked them up earlier. It was a cute place; perfect for one, a little small for one plus a large dog, but she was making it work.  Barksdale's living quarters- an oversized plush pillow and a set of stainless steel food and water bowls- were set up where a dining room table would normally sit. Instead of a table, several high bar chairs lined up along the kitchen pennisula.

Her couches were leather, black and grey. The throw pillows and the rug matched, as did the drapes. An enormous TV on a stand was front and center, flanked by two tall speakers and floor to ceiling bookcases. Full bookcases- books, photos, knick knacks filled every space.  

I was studying what appeared to be a pencil drawing, beautifully shaded, framed and hung above the television when Lena sat down beside me on the couch. She'd removed her shoes, changed out of her skirt into leggings and the Dodgers shirt I'd bought her. She looked comfortable.  

"Checking out my objet d'art?" She handed me a glass of ice water and set out a coaster on the glass coffee table in front of us.

"Yeah. What uh... what is that?"

"Just something I was messing around with."

"You drew that?"

She nodded, giving me a quick, humble grin. "But like I said, I was just messing around. It turned out nice, so I framed it. I have a couple more in the hallway and some in my uhm... bedroom." She gulped down a few swallows of water, then reached for one of the remotes lined up on the coffee table. Instead of turning on the TV, the funky, dulcet sounds of Prince's Prince album floated from the speakers.

"It's kind of cliché," she said, bobbing her head to the beat of I Wanna Be Your Lover. "But this is probably my favorite album of his."

"Oh yeah? You like the early stuff?"

"I do. I like the hunger, the passion, the wide-eyed ‘gimme all you've got' of the first album. You know? I mean... you must know."

"It's why I do what I do. I like that discovery period. When an artist only has an inkling of what they're capable of. And they're not jaded and bitter from trying to deal with the business side of show business."

"Yeah. Before things get all stupid and I actually do know more than the client. Before they experience a year's worth of action in three months' time and they're tired and cranky and start acting out."

"Is that what happened? With Rex?" Her eyes popped open wide at the mention of him, the warm brown irises etching themselves in my mind. "Sorry, I..."

"You know about Rex?"

"Uhm... yeah. It's no secret that he was your client, early in his career. And..."

"And?" I caught the piston action in her throat- swallowing over and over like she was trying not to throw up. I wished I could back up the conversation, rewind to before I asked about Rex, and then shut the fuck up and never mention it.

But I hadn't. It was out there now. I'd brought up what was possibly the most embarrassing moment of her life and I couldn't take it back.

"And?" She repeated, despite the fact that I didn't think she particularly wanted to hear the answer.

"And... I've seen the video," I admitted. "And I know that Rex was dropped at the agency you worked for."

She scoffed, setting her glass onto a coaster and pushing herself up from the couch. A new song started, but neither of us were really listening. I watched her pace, feeling more like a shithead every second.

"They didn't drop Rex as a client. They would have done anything to keep him actually, including firing me. He said I'd been trying to sabotage his career. That I only took him on and got close to him to sleep with him, to date a celebrity. He wasn't even that well-known when we started dating. He was a kid from Connecticut who had better than average talent and was full of himself. I took him from nobody to somebody.

"They tried to move him to a new publicist. Patch things up."    She paused, turning to glare at me with red-hot eyes. "Rex had a multi-million dollar contract. Never mind that I had other clients with just as much notoriety and power as he had. Never mind that I did a great job for Rex. All they cared about was the fact that I had lost their cash cow. The relationship couldn't be repaired and I was useless to them. They put me on leave. Told me to wait it out, it'll blow over.  Then fired me over the phone."

"Lena... I'm so sorry. It didn't mean to-"

"I went on the war path, of course. It wasn't fair that I should be fired because the client is a drunken asshole. Rex's people pretty much waged war against me. Anyone I thought was my friend?" She shook her head, a bitter grimace on her lips. "I got dragged, as the kids say. Rex spread all kinds of lies, called me all kinds of names. I couldn't get a job. I had to leave LA. My family helped me hire an attorney to deal with Rex's attorney. And then to scrub every website, message board, blog post that spread rumors about me. Thank God Twitter was a baby back then."

I sat, incredulous, listening to her story. "I... had no idea. None of that is online anywhere. It's like you never existed before you signed on at Sexy Hair."

"Good. That's what I paid for. How did you know about that video?" She asked suddenly, a hand on her hip. "I was told it would never be posted again, so if it is, I need to get my lawyer involved-"

"It's not online. A guy I know...uhm..." I stood, slowly ambling across the small room toward her. "I paid a guy I know to check you out."

Lena slapped a hand over her mouth, but not before a panicked squeak escaped her lips.

"I know it sounds really creepy and... celebrity-like. I just needed to make sure-"

"You checked me out?"

"Like you didn't check me out? How'd you get my number?"

"We have files. Information supplied by managers and contacts. They wanted to use you for a Sexy Hair campaign, or they never would have even known that I knew you. But you..." She blew out a breath, a deep, hard breath that she was having trouble sucking back in. "You hired a person to paw through my past. To dig up shit on me."

"It looks and sounds really bad, I know. From my end, though, I have to know, before I'm gonna go out with somebody that-"

"So you hire like... " She shifted her weight from one foot to another and back again. She swallowed hard, then finished her sentence. "You hired a private investigator?"

"Well... no." I lifted my shoulder in a shrug.  "He's... just a guy."

"Just a guy." She turned away, chuckling, but not actually very amused. "Just a guy. To hack the internet and dig up stuff on women you don't know."

"I needed to know that you were safe-"

"Safe?"

"Yeah, safe. Had you ever been arrested? Convicted of stalking? Did a stint in rehab?"

"Fucked a celebrity?"

I could have said a lot of things to that. Instead, I did what I should have done all night. I shut my fucking mouth.

"Well, so... what else did your amateur sleuth find? Embarrassing pictures of me? My DMV license photo? Did you dig into my love life?  Do you know who I lost my virginity to? Did your little report tell you about Mateo? About how we were engaged, about how he died six weeks before-"

She hiccupped, which was probably the only reason she stopped talking. That and the tears that spilled from her eyes and streaked her cheeks.  If it was possible to feel worse than shit.... I felt it.

"Lena, please, just..." I stepped in close to her, laid a hand against her cheek, cupping her chin. I stopped a tear with my thumb and wiped it away, and every tear after that.  My other arm slid around her waist. I expected her to resist, to pull back, but she didn't. She let me hold her... and in that moment I felt like there was a glimmer of hope.

"There was no report, okay? I didn't dig that deep. And I'm sorry I dug at all. It's an invasion of your privacy and I understand why you're upset. But I needed to know if it was going to be okay that I really liked you."

She sniffled, slowly raising her head so I could look her in the eye.  

"See, I met this woman at this very purple affair. She rescued me from a certain kind of death and she was funny. Clever funny, not silly funny. And beautiful. And the shirt she was wearing, with no bra... it's gonna stay in my mind forever. But she was taken from me, way too soon, by a guy who really needs to evolve his own personal style. I didn't have any way to reach her, but I really wanted to know her."

"So you called some guy..."

"A guy I trust, who is discreet. Who gets me information I need. I promise you, he didn't dig that deep.  Just when I was thinking that I might try to get in touch with you..."

She sniffled again and swiped at an errant tear. Then I saw a hint of a smile. "My dog ran you over."

I chuckled, looking over still snoring lump on the couch. "He's kind of a matchmaker, wouldn't you say?"

She took a few steps backward, rubbing the palms of her hands down her cheeks. "I'll be right back, okay?"

She gestured toward the hallway, then headed in that direction. I heaved a huge sigh of relief that I'd made it through that conversation without getting myself kicked out of her place.