They’d worked together for close to a month. Felix was an L.A. native helping a high school buddy get the white tablecloth restaurant of his dreams up and running; Shep was fresh off the boat. Well, fresh off a Southwest Airlines 737, anyway. He hadn’t come to Hollywood in pursuit of any particular agenda, other than To Get the Hell out Of New Orleans. If a joint in the French Quarter had a rainbow flag in its window, fluttering over its patio, or hanging above the jukebox, Shep had tended its bar, with his T-shirt hanging out of his back pocket, for at least a couple months. The boys in New Orleans were often charming, handsome, and loads of fun, but they were also crazy, and it got to the point where he couldn’t even go to the grocery store without danger of tripping over a romantic enta
