Teaming With the Shrew
Copyright© 2025 by Argon
Chapter 11: New Digs
We skipped Cherry’s next evening’s performance in favor of having an evening by ourselves. As soon as Cherry left for the club, we fired up our big screen computer and looked at condos in Glendale. Jenn admitted to having about 120 grand socked away, and I already had a nibble on my current digs in Canoga Park. It’s close to Van Nuys, where a number of adult entertainment studios are situated, and Floyd had asked around, finding a female performer who had just landed a lucrative, two-year studio contract. I had not worked with her, simply because she had found a niche in the female domination field — not my cup of tea at all, but obviously paying quite well. She also had a well-designed website to cater to her admirers, and Floyd assured me that she would likely pay in full with a certified check. She still had to see the place, and there would be some haggling, but she had not run for Panorama City screaming when she heard of my price — $440,000 — which I thought was fair for a 2-bedroom place without pool.
Therefore, a bit of condo scouting seemed in order for us, and we checked several real estate sites, ending up with seven places that fit our tastes and our bank balances. We sent emails expressing our interest to the respective realtors and then quickly went to our bedroom to play house for the rest of the evening. We fell asleep before Cherry came home.
In the next morning at breakfast, Cherry could report a similarly well-received gig and an offer by the club owner to appear in his headliner evenings, where only three established acts would have 40-minute gigs for twice the pay. Cherry would have to re-arrange her planned performances, but being a headliner in the televised-on-cable show would give her valuable exposure.
A 40-minute act would severely stretch her available material though, and we promised to encourage our writing staff to moonlight a few mornings with Cherry, to expand her material. There were still three weeks for that, and Cherry was optimistic. Therefore, Cherry joined us on our commute to Burbank. Once there, I headed for my office while Jenn gave our friend a tour of the place and then handed her off to Brenda.
I had barely planted my behind in my desk chair, when my phone chimed. Looking, I saw that Chris DiBiasi had sent me the requested information. I quickly filled out the travel costs request form, had Sharon countersign it, and passed it together with Chris’s address and email to Travel. They promised to get the young woman to Burbank ASAP and to CC me in the email exchanges.
That done, I started to field the numerous emails from agents offering their clients as guest stars. This year, there were some serious names in the pile. We could indeed afford to be picky. Of course, NBS central casting had also sent me a list of studio contract hopefuls and established performers whom we were encouraged to cast. There were even two who were advertised as warranting regular or recurring status.
The latter, I examined first, looking at their credentials, their pay grade, and their comedic chops. When lunch time came along, I was about 30% done with the pile and in serious need of some food and company. I called Brenda about joining me for lunch, and she promised to be in the cafeteria within fifteen minutes. I perused another candidate’s portfolio before closing my office and heading for the chow line.
I could see Cherry towering over the food line from the doorway, and Brenda was with her, George Milton, our senior writer, too. I waved and then stood in line like everybody else. Gingham had made it clear to Sharon and me that we were not to cut into the lines, and I had no problems with that. Most producers preferred the executive dining room, but I wanted to eat with my buddies and not with self-appointed alpha males and females. In fact, I liked standing in line. The way people talked to each other while standing in line was a good indicator for the general mood of the rank and file, and I was happy to sense an aura of content in the people standing in front and behind me, quite a stark contrast to the situation 17 months ago when I had my first lunch there.
I had a small steak, a baked potato and a salad side when I came to the head of the queue and, after paying with my NBS food service card, I found our brain trust at their usual table, plus Cherry, of course. Talk at our table focussed mostly on Cherry’s blossoming stardom. I could tell that Brenda had roped George in and I let them know that while I would not expect overtime from them in the next week, NBS was owed eight hours a day working on UI.
I made certain to put in the same amount of work over the afternoon, but I was interrupted twice by two realtors calling about the condos they were marketing. I was able to secure viewings for three condos for Saturday afternoon.
When I came home with Cherry, Jenn already had a light dinner prepared, a delightful chicken wok, accompanied by Mexican beer for us and a ginger ale for Cherry, who had to work that night. Come 7 pm, she wished us a nice evening and rang Mister Fredericksen’s bell for the drive to the Palladium club.
Jenn had received two realtors’ calls as well, but she had opted for Sunday afternoon viewings, giving us chances to see five properties that weekend. We scanned the sites again, but found nothing new. She had also answered a call on the landline phone. That one can come from Lady Tamara, or rather, Ms. Samantha Farnley, who wanted to have a look at our place. She was scheduled for Sunday morning, 10 am. It looked like we had our weekend accounted for.
We spent some time going over the appointments and listed our questions and concerns. We also decided on a tactic for handling the Farnley woman. I was pretty certain that she would try to fluster me with her dominatrix act, and Jenn agreed to handle the negotiations with her. Let her try to dominate Jenn! Time flew buy over our discussions, and we were still awake and talking when Cherry returned, still amped up from her gig, and we sat with her for another half hour until she came down from her adrenaline high.
Both Jenn and Cherry stayed in the next morning, Friday, and I drove to work alone. I managed to go over all the accumulated portfolios and even got some background information of the most obvious candidates from NBS central casting. I also got confirmation that Chris DiBiasi would arrive on Sunday afternoon, but it was easy to talk Brenda into picking her up at Burbank. She also offered to put her up for the week in her guest room. I had Travel cancel the hotel reservation and give Brenda a $500 compensation for hosting our guest. A hotel, even a two-star, would have cost far more if you added cab fares to the studio and back.
It had been a productive day when I called it quits at 4 pm, and on the way back home, I stopped at two car dealerships to look at their used car lots. Okay, they are now called pre-owned which ticks me off, because calling some smarmy snake oil salesman a pre-owned car dealer doesn’t have the same ring to it.
Arriving in a sixty year-old clunker, I could browse the cars without a salesperson sticking to me like stink to a fart, and I used my phone camera to snap pictures of cars and their stickers. Keeping Jenn’s reservations about SUVs in mind, I focused on sedans and small station wagons, five years-old max, and with reasonable fuel consumption. With the reputation of VW and Audi currently in the shitter, I discovered a few potential steals from those brands, all with the diesel engines that had the EPA up in arms.
At the second dealership, a pre-owned car dealer showed at my side as I was about to leave.
“Have you picked something from our premium selection of pre-owned vehicles?”
“The white Audi Touring over there, is there room for price negotiations? There’s no mention of a call-back retrofit being performed on it.”
“Well, that is not necessary, as you know.”
“I do know it’s necessary if I want to drive it to work here in LA.”
“Perhaps we can shave a little bit off the price. We can also offer free disposal for your old car.”
“Throw in sixty grand, and we can talk. That car’s a collectible. I would like to speak with somebody else, somebody knowledgeable about cars, if possible.”
“You are talking to one, Sir.”
“Really? Then you must be trying to cheat me. First, you lied to me about the need for an aftermarket retrofit. Then, you tried to talk me out of a collectible. Which is it? Are you dumb or a cheat?”
“I believe you had better leave our premises, Sir!”
“With pleasure, Mister ... Willis, isn’t it? I’m afraid my review on Shout will not be positive.”
The twit was standing there trying to come up with a response, but I just turned and left. I didn’t have all day. I had seen enough anyway. Maybe we’d find something on Craigslist.
Back at the apartment, I had a shower and dressed nicely, for Jenn and I were driving up the coast for a dinner at a place near Point Dume Westward Beach. As always when it was just the two of us, and we wanted to go in style, we took the ancient Cabriolet. The staff there knows us well, and we were given a lovely table with a view over the beach. It was past 10 when we returned to our place, and we had a nightcap while we waited for Cherry to return. However, at 11, she sent Jenn a text, telling her that she had hooked up with a fellow comedian and would not return before Saturday noonish. We shrugged it off, hoping that she would have a good night.
We spent Saturday morning shopping for groceries and cleaning the place in anticipation of the Sunday morning viewing, and after a light lunch of bruschetta, we drove to the first place we would see. The realtor was not the guy with whom I had spoken on the phone, but an early forties woman, dressed and made up immaculately.
She was also vibrating with excitement, and she admitted to having bribed her colleague to get assigned to us and our viewing wishes. She proclaimed to be a huge fan of Jenn, but the way she looked at me, I thought that she might be a little disingenuous.
Anyway, the apartment she showed to was in excellent condition, with a sensible floor plan and on the top floor, offering a beautiful view of the mountains to the North, and a well maintained inner courtyard with pool. The asking price, $642,000, was reasonable and even negotiable, as our star-struck Ms. Collingwood assured us. There was a 24/7 concierge service in the lobby, and the owner’s association was managed by a friendly, elderly couple, with whom we could speak briefly. In short, it looked good.
We then followed Ms. Collingwood to the other apartment she wanted to show us. This place did not appeal to us, with two puny bedrooms, a balcony facing a busy thoroughfare and worn-out kitchen appliances. We quickly decided it was not for us, even though the price reflected the condition at $445,000. Still, my current apartment was in a far better shape and neighborhood, and I was asking even less for it. We said our good-byes to Ms. Collingwood, promising her that we would contact her about the first place we’d seen.
An hour later, we met a Mister Cordeiro for our third viewing. The place was not new, that was evident from the start, but it was rather roomy, with a tiny third bedroom and a spacious kitchen. The balcony had not been used in years, to guess from the accumulated dirt and bird droppings, and the bathroom was moldy in the corners, with a few tiles cracked. It looked like a fixer. Mister Cordeiro admitted to it, explaining that it was repossessed when the previous owner was arrested for drug trafficking. Thank you, but, no, thanks!
“Let’s hope tomorrow will go better,” Jenn sighed as we were driving home. “What pics did they use for the ads? I mean, that bathroom is a case for the CDC.”
“Probably pics still on file from when they last sold it to the drug pusher. You wouldn’t have to twist my arm much to make me go for the first place we saw.”
“Yes, you’re right. I liked the view of the mountains, and everything seemed fairly new or well maintained.”
“Yes, let’s keep that place in mind. If we can shave twenty grand off the asking price, it would be a very good deal.”
“It’s also the farthest from Ventura Freeway of all the places we picked, and it’s on a side street with a 25 mph speed limit. We could probably sleep with an open window.”
Jenn does not like AC as I knew, but in LA, you simply cannot sleep without it most of the year.
“I liked the way the pool is set,” she continued.
“Let’s look at the places tomorrow, and if nothing is better, we could just start haggling.”
“Won’t you have to sell your ... our place first?”
“Would be easier, but it’s not necessary. We would have to wait for the deed search to be complete anyway, and then I’d like to send in some maintenance people first, to check all the appliances, the wiring, the AC and the heating. Maybe give the hardwood floor a fresh varnish. I’ll ask Floyd. He has a guy who’ll do it well.”
“We need to have a talk about finances, Rick. I won’t be your kept woman.”
“If it’s important for you, we can calculate the full costs of the move, and you can make monthly payments to me to cover your half. I mean, you pay $1,860 a month for your place which you see once a week. That’s over twenty grand per year; ten years, 200 grand. That, plus your nest egg, will cover it, unless we’ll be married by then and you’ll own half my shit anyway.”
“And you’ll own half my shit,” Jenn corrected. “Each of us will own half our shit; how about that?”
“Sounds good. So no prenup?”
“If you want...”
“No. Right now I have more reserves, but you’re the serious actress. Ten years down the road, you’ll have to pay me maintenance if we split up.”
“Then you’ll be my kept man, and Ricky?”
“Yes, Love?”
“I’ll keep you!”
Samantha Farnwell had indeed a ... commanding presence, if you will. Tall, erect and with her hair in a tight bun, she stood at our door the next morning, fifteen minutes early, likely to catch me still in my jammies and fluster me. She succeeded in the first, but not the second. I’d shown far more to women I didn’t know in my former career.
“You’re a bit early, but do come in and make yourself comfortable while I’ll throw something on,” I told her easily. “Jenn, Love, Ms. Farnwell is here. Can you keep her company, please?”
“Certainly, Darling,” Jenn called from the bedroom and emerged in her Pris hairdo and pant suit, smiling sweetly at our guest. “Hi, Ms. Farnwell. How nice of you to be on time! Can I offer you a tea whilst we’re waiting for Rick to make himself decent?”
I saw the woman swallowing and suppressed a grin. Floyd probably had not let her in on my relationship situation. I made myself scarce then. I had already showered, after a lengthy love session with my sweetie, and the bedroom still smelled like it. Straightening the crumpled sheets, I sprayed the room with an overdose of air freshener and disposed a rubber and its wrapper. Looking over the room, I nodded with satisfaction and dressed casually. Leaving the bedroom, I knocked on Cherry’s door.
“Are you awake? We have Ms. Farnwell here. She’ll want to see your room, too.”
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