much work done.”
“That’s my fault, sir,” I said, taking the blame. “I was having trouble finding a particular box in the truck and I made Ty help.”
“Yeah, it was in one of those really hard-to-reach places, but Brad got to it,” volunteered Ty.
I almost lost it, but kept a straight face. Ty’s father went back into the truck to start working again, and I squeezed Ty’s hand before he followed him in. I returned to my room to continue unpacking.
By the end of the day, all my family’s stuff was in the house, and it was time for Ty and his father to leave. We shook hands and said good-bye, and it wasn’t until the truck had rumbled down the road and turned the corner that I realized I had forgotten to get Ty’s number or give him my own. There was no way to get back in touch with him. I was momentarily saddened to think that this had been just a one-time affair. Then again, after the intensity of it, I didn’t know how many more meetings with Ty I could take. I just might have to wait until my family moved again to find out….
Riley the Realtor
People always say it’s impossible to find a decent apartment in New York, but no one tells you how hard it is to find one in Los Angeles. Even if you’re just looking to rent for a few years (or maybe especially if you’re just looking to rent), it can take months, even years, to find the right place.
So many of the buildings are leftover prefab 1960s monstrosities, especially in some of the more desirable parts of town like the beach cities of Santa Monica and Venice, or the trendy (and gay) neighborhoods of West Hollywood.
When I first moved to Los Angeles to work in film production (no, not dirty films, get your mind out of the gutter!), I was lucky to find a cheap sublet from a friend of mine. She was off to work on a film in New Zealand of all places, and needed someone to take over her lease while she was gone for several months.
I settled into her little studio and began my own apartment search in earnest. Six months later, I had made no real progress. Every apartment I looked at was either too small, or old, or dilapidated, and they were all astronomically priced. I was reaching my wit’s end, desperate to find a place of my own before my friend returned from her film, but still not knowing where to start.
I was griping about my real-estate woes one evening as I had drinks with a group of my friends. One of them, a lawyer named Paul whom I had met through our mutual friends, said that he had a buddy named Riley who was a real-estate agent. Riley normally just handled sales, but occasionally he would help a friend out who was just looking to rent. He was young, ambitious, successful, and very cute. Paul asked if he should call Riley for me, and I immediately said yes.
Paul called Riley right then and there, leaving him a voice mail with my number, then we went back to our drinks. I bought Paul a round to thank him.
The next day, as I was driving to the office, I got a call from a number I did not recognize. I answered the phone and was delighted to hear that it was Riley calling me back.
“I hope this is a good time,” he said.
“Definitely, thank you so much for calling me back. I need to find an apartment soon, and I was hoping you could help me,” I replied, practically begging.
“Oh, I think I might be able to find something that suits you,” he answered. I could hear a little laughter in his voice. It was completely charming, and I saw why Paul had recommended him. Apart from that, Riley’s voice was a lilting baritone, and he sounded very fun and lively.
I answered his questions about what I was looking for in an apartment—size, location, price—and we made a plan to meet that weekend and look at a few places he would find by then. I wanted to hug him through the phone.
That Friday, I got an e-mail from Riley telling me to meet him at one of the big apartment buildings on the Wilshire Corridor in Westwood the next morning, and then he’d drive us around to the various apartments from there. He ended by saying, “Really looking forward to meeting you. Paul said great things!”
I was puzzled but pleased. It sounded like Paul had been telling Riley that I was cute, too…and Paul had mentioned that Riley was single. Interesting. Taking all that into consideration, I hit the gym for a hard workout so my muscles would all be primed. I met a few friends out for a drink but went to bed early in preparation for my big day of house hunting.
I woke up early, shaved, and performed all my ablutions with care so I was looking clean and professional, dressed in a sharp shirt and slacks, and gave my hair one last little comb-through so I was looking my best, then I set out for Westwood.
I pulled up to a beautiful apartment building with a driveway right off of Wilshire. It was a great location but looked a little fancy for me. I did not have an opener for the gated parking garage, so I pulled up right in front of the lobby. There was a cute young man standing outside waiting, so I figured it was Riley. I rolled down my window and asked if I should park in the garage since there were no spaces in the driveway. The man looked a little confused but said that the door should open automatically when I pulled up, and that there were guest spaces inside.
I did as he said and parked the car in the garage, then entered the back side of the lobby to meet him. Only, he was gone. What had happened? Was it something I did? I turned to ask the lobby attendant if he had seen Riley when I felt a little tap on my shoulder.
Turning around, I felt a nervous smile creep onto my face. I was looking at a man about my age, in his early twenties, with wavy auburn hair, honey-brown eyes, a golden tan, and a crisp suit that seemed like it would never wrinkle. He was an inch or two taller than me, with broad shoulders and a narrow waste. His suit was perfectly tailored to show off his slim figure, and the pants were just tight enough to cling to his powerful thighs and show off the tight mound of his package, but not in an obscene way. His loafers, I noticed, were very expensive.
He smiled and extended his hand. “Are you Brad?”
“Yes, Riley?” I asked.
“That’s me. You ready for a big day?”
“Definitely. I haven’t had much luck since I moved here.”
“Well,” he said, still smiling with those beautiful, perfectly straight white teeth, “I have a feeling that your luck’s about to change.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said. “Listen, I really appreciate you taking the time to get all these listings and show me around. I know it’s a lot of time.”
“It’s no problem, that’s my job. Besides, Paul said you were really cute, so how could I say no?”
I tittered nervously and blushed, not saying anything else. He led me to the elevator banks to take me up to the first apartment of the day. It was your average Westwood high-rise apartment. Mostly new construction, nice kitchen and appliances, big bedroom with en suite bathroom. But it did not really have any character, the laundry room was three floors away, and the rooftop pool would be under construction for another year. I told Riley my concerns, and he listened gravely, agreed with everything I said, then took me back downstairs to his car.
When Paul had said Riley was successful, he did not indicate just how successful. Riley’s car was a gorgeous Jaguar convertible. It was a sunny L.A. day, so we put the top down and commenced our roam around the city.
Over the course of the day, Riley showed me apartments in Venice, Santa Monica, Brentwood, near the Grove, Hollywood, Los Feliz, Silverlake, and downtown. We had started early in the morning, so by the end of the day, we must have been in his car for almost ten hours, though we did stop for lunch around 2:00 P.M. at one of his favorite restaurants in West Hollywood. Without being asked, the host brought over a bottle of Veuve Clicquot champagne on ice and poured us each a glass, then left us to look over the menu.
I raised my eyebrow in question at Riley. “Is that okay?” he asked, indicating the champagne. “I always bring my clients in here, so they make sure everything is the best for me.”
“Yes,