The Astral by V. J. Banis Page A

determinedly. “I’m not going there. If he has issues with drugs, that’s his concern now. When I get settled, we’ll divide things up, and after that, he can do whatever he likes with his life. Or his money—for which he works hard, I have to give him that.”
    Of their own accord, however, her thoughts circled back to that little hidey-hole in Walter’s office. She pushed those thoughts determinedly aside.
    Mind your own business , she told herself....

CHAPTER EIGHT
    By Tuesday she had found an apartment, in what she would have regarded as the least likely of all places.
    It started when Bill, her young assistant, paused in her doorway to say, “I understand you’re looking for a place to live?”
    â€œWord gets around quickly, doesn’t it?” She looked up from the mountain of work covering her desk.
    â€œOh—I wasn’t gossiping, if that’s what you mean, I just....” He fumbled for words.
    She took pity on his embarrassment. “It’s all right, it’s one of those things where you sort of hope word does get around, isn’t it? Someone may know of a place, I mean.” She raised an eyebrow.
    â€œExactly,” he said, relieved. “Which is what I stopped to tell you. There’s this apartment in my building. I took the liberty of checking it out. I wouldn’t have wanted to recommend some dump to you.”
    â€œAnd?”
    He grinned. “It’s really cute, actually. I’d snatch it up myself, except it’s out of my range.” His grin faded a little. “Of course, you can’t always tell what someone else will like. It may not suit you at all. But, if you want, I’ll call Jan, that’s my landlord. He’s pretty particular about who he takes in, so he hasn’t actually advertised the place yet. He prefers word of mouth.”
    Catherine cast a dubious eye at the pile of galleys scattered across her desk. On the other hand, she did need to find an apartment, and the sooner the better. And Bill’s remark had been rather in the nature of a compliment, hadn’t it?
    â€œDo, please,” she said. “This afternoon if it’s convenient.”
    * * * *
    She had not thought to ask, until after Bill had made the appointment with his landlord, just where this little gem was. And should have asked, she thought when she looked at the address he had written down for her. Smack dab in the middle of West Hollywood.
    West Hollywood was best known as L.A.’s gay neighborhood. She was reminded of that as she parked her car a bit later and watched a mating dance going on between two attractive young men eyeing one another from opposite corners. Not just in West Hollywood, either, this apartment, but right on Santa Monica Boulevard, the main thoroughfare, the Champs Élysées, the Fifth Avenue of what the locals called “Boys’ Town.”
    She might have known, she reminded herself. Aside from the obvious, that he was black and quite handsome, almost the only personal thing she did know about Bill was that he was gay, and that only because he had never made any secret of the fact.
    It wasn’t a neighborhood she would even have considered, and she would have skipped it altogether and gone her way without bothering to check out the apartment, were it not for embarrassing a truly capable assistant whose private life she had always considered none of her business. She sighed and got out of her car, locking it and giving one of the mating dance participants a sideways glance. He noticed her not at all. It was a neighborhood that could be hell on a woman’s ego, she thought grimly.
    She almost changed her mind and got back into the car, but, she reminded herself, Bill had taken the trouble to make an appointment with his apparently quite particular landlord.
    Who turned out to be a tall, spare man of fifty something, wearing a billowing silver caftan and one dangly brass earring.