Greg was still asleep on the bean bag when I got up in the morning. I thought about kicking him hard for screwing around on his job, but I couldn’t help but think it was funny so instead I made some coffee and waited for him in the kitchen to smell the Sumatra and face the music.

“No money for rent?”

He opened the fridge and checked the viability of the milk with a sniff. “Nope.”

“So who’s this guy?”

“It was Paul.”

“Well, I hope it’s love.”

He smiled, sipped his coffee and said, “It’s on my part. I’m not so sure about him. So you kicking me out?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Cause I got you a job.”

“I can’t do that PA shit, Fran. I don’t take it seriously enough and I don’t want to get you into trouble.”

“I know, that’s not what I am talking about. Hillary’s going in for surgery. She needs someone to run Mocha Daze and you’re just the boy to do it.”

Greg drank his coffee. He knew he could not say no.

In the shower I thought of Shirley, life, time, and what was important to me. I knew however that Betsy was NOT. And I thought about my mother and wondered if I was like her--- disloyal. I was, but I also knew I didn’t have to be. As a grown up I had the power to control the kind of person I wanted to be. I wanted to be a happy person and Betsy was not in that picture, but I also knew I had to come clean to Shirley.

Hillary was waiting for us behind the cash register looking nervous, but excited. By now she was a woman to me-- feminine, pretty, and delicate. “How you feeling?” I asked.

“Major hormone swings. They dose you up big time just before the show.”

“The show?” Greg asked.

“The operation,” Hillary whispered as though if she said it too loudly it would bring bad luck.

Greg added, “Oh, I thought you meant some big drag show.”

We laughed, eluding the tension, when I saw Mike sitting alone with coffee and a LA Weekly on the other side of the café. I dismissed myself while Hillary and Greg spoke of details, noticing Mike looked unusually happy.

“What’s up with YOU? You’re beaming.”

“I think I’m in love.”

“Yeah?”

“She’s the cutest thing you could ever imagine. On our first date I took her to Pinks for hot dogs and she was as happy as an IHOP smiley face pancake.”

“That happy, huh?” I said, making fun, sounding a tad bitter.

“Yeah, yeah, I know, but Fran, I can’t take being miserable all the time and being with people that bring me down. It lifts my heart just being around her. I’m embarrassed to say this, but after just three dates, I want to marry her.”

I told Mike I knew how he felt, mentioning Shirley. “Maybe we can have a double ceremony: me, Shirley, you and what is her name?”

“Betsy,” he said. For a moment I thought of my Betsy, Shirley’s Betsy, but then I realized the odds of that would be astronomical.