Since Fran didn’t come home in time for me to use her car, I had a cab take me back to Paul’s apartment since I was determined (and obsessed) to discover Paul’s secret.

The older black dyed, greasy-haired taxi driver gave me his own pager number so I when I was ready to go, I could walk down to the 7-11 and call him.

It was difficult to decide whether I should hide completely in the bushes or just sit out on the curb and hope that when Paul arrived, he wouldn’t notice me. I wasn’t a Peeping Tom but I sure wasn’t prepared for Paul to see me as some pathetic stalker I knew I wasn’t. I brought with me a thermos of Starbucks so I could stay long into the night. It was ten by the time I was settled, sipping coffee, and waiting for my future (at least what I hoped was my future).

I sat on the curb and would peer around the corner whenever I heard a car. If he came from the other direction, I could see the lights easily and jump behind one of the Jasmine bushes-- whose odor hung still and persistent in the dry, warm night air.

A young woman jogged towards me down the road with a white Lab panting by her side. I pitied the tired dog that clearly wanted to be at home and wondered if the woman jogger, who now saw me, knew that her dog was clearly exhausted? As she passed by me she called the dog’s name, “Ginger” as if telling her pet to hurry up (I also wondered if the dog was named after a Spice Girl). I waved hello to the woman and in return received a quarter smile. Quickly, they were gone around another bend and I was left in the dark, thinking of their bond. Dogs know no boundaries of admiration to their masters. Was Paul my new master?

I awoke to the sound of a deep drunken voice, bellowing from the direction of Paul’s apartment house. I glanced from behind the tree at the corner, seeing Paul closing the passenger door quietly while the handsome yet overweight driver laughed with no consideration of sleeping neighbors whatsoever.

I quickly glanced at my watch and saw it was 1:30am. I looked back at Paul, trying my hardest not to miss a move. The fat man was mumbling something about not seeing his mother in fifteen years but that it didn’t bother him. Paul’s back was towards me so I couldn’t see his reaction to this cold and blatant statement of pain, but knowing how much Paul’s family meant to him, I’m sure it couldn’t have been good.

After they went inside, I quietly crossed the street and like the night before, found myself peering into the paned and sheered window.

I watched as Paul unfolded his wooden massage table, thinking to myself that perhaps he gave massages for extra money? Then I saw something I wished I had never seen: the fat man matter-of-factly dropped his pants and took a towel, as if he’d done this numerous times. Suddenly, I couldn’t control myself and without thinking, I rang the doorbell.

I saw Paul lift the fat man’s pants and point him towards another room that I presumed to be the bedroom.

Even as Paul opened the door, I didn’t know what I was going to say. He looked at me, surprised and a tad embarrassed. “Hey…uh Greg, this isn’t a good time.”

“Doesn’t look that way,” I said in a sardonic manner. “I’m just going to ask you straight out Paul, you screwing men for money?”

“That is none of your business,” he replied, trying to sound like a cold businessman but I could see the shame he was desperately trying to hide. He couldn’t look in my eyes.

I left without further confrontation. I thought for a moment about asking him how much he charged, but I knew quickly that I wouldn’t be able to afford it.