My apartment on Green Street wasn’t anything remotely like her Beverly Hills bungalow when she stayed in California. Nor was it like the many extravagant suites she had stayed in throughout the world, or the Trump Tower, which she also enjoyed. Instead, my place reeked of second-hand furniture, a row of well-read paperbacks with zombie themes, a Wii, cracked mirror, and a miniature stove. Nothing matched in the place, but I kept it clean. I felt proud to call it home.
Melinda stood frozen near the apartment’s front door, shivering and taking the place in. She definitely thought my pad a dump, but what did she expect for a piano man? I wasn’t a Hollywood actor or director who had drinks with famous stars. I didn’t rub elbows with the elite and absurdly wealthy.
“You can come in. I don’t h
