Page 7 of The Mayor and the Mystery Man

I kicked up my heels on the ottoman, loving the sound of that. “I’m the underdog.”

“The Leo McCaslin I know doesn’t throw in the towel.” Dusty yawned through the phone.

“First yawn. You know the rules.”

“Whoever yawns first…” He yawned again. “Get some damn sleep, Leo. You sound exhausted.”

“I will,” I lied. My whole body smiled like I knew a call with Dusty would do. “Good night, buddy. Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

We clicked off, and the house felt empty all over again.

“This will all blow over,” I said aloud.

Too bad I was very, very wrong.

3

DUSTY

Every morning, I woke up to the same sounds: explosions and gunshots at full volume from the TV, my roommates shouting insults at each other as they played, and my third roommate jerking off in the bedroom next to mine. And every morning, I told myself I needed a new fucking place to live.

My clock read a few minutes before eight.

I stood up, yanked open the curtain of my small window, and gazed at the Pacific Ocean. The view was the sole benefit of this shitastic living situation.

Morning. See you soon :)I texted Audrey, then scrolled through her IMDB profile. She had creamy skin and wild red hair that flowed like wildfire. Five months of dating, I was as much a goner as the first time I saw her walk onto set.

I watched my phone for a response, but none came. She probably had an early call time.

I thumbed down to my text conversation with Leo, which brought a smile to my face as it always did. It was like an epic poem at this point, going back years and years, a catalog of inside jokes and daily highlights and lowlights. A part of me was tempted to look at those Milkman pictures that were leaked out of sheer curiosity to see if Leo still kept it tight, but I held back out of respect.

The shouting of roommates one and two snapped me back to my present. I blinked away from the clear blue ocean to my tiny bedroom. The closet was stuffed tight with clothes. My bed and dresser left only a sliver of walking space across the raggedy carpet.

On the other side of my wall, roommate number three let out a high-pitched moan, and his bed stopped squeaking.

I had to get the hell out of here.

* * *

After showeringin our one bathroom that had an assortment of their trimmed pubic hair bunched at the drain, despite my roommates promising to clean, I got dressed and poured myself a bowl of Cheerios in an attempt to be heart-healthy now that I was in my early forties. These little golden circles drenched in milk were the only things keeping my heart rate down while gazing upon the shitshow of this apartment—junk everywhere, couches covered in burns and stains that my roommates proudly ignored.

Leo believed I lived in a swank apartment on the beach, a lie I had kept up through selective photos I’d shared in texts. I didn’t want him to know the truth.

“Dude, you almost made it to the next level.”

“I would have if you didn’t cockblock me.”

“Fuck off. No way you were going to make it to that level. You didn’t pick up those machine guns.”

“I would have, assbox.”

“Fuck off, dickblanket.”

And on and on it went as they discussedRoman’s Choice, their current video game obsession. Their insults usually consisted of the words ass or dick combined with a random object. Seeing as I roomed with struggling actors and writers, they were generally in the apartment at all hours. The TV never turned off.

“Hey guys,” I called from the kitchen. They paused the game and looked my way, their heads slowly turning like the girl fromThe Exorcist. “Can you try and clean up sometime today? The place is getting pretty messy, and I cleaned last week. Even though it wasn’t my turn.”

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