Since our house was empty, I went over to Jenna and Andy’s place for our traditional Wednesday dinner. Andy had bought a new barbecue smoker and did up some brisket and sausages, which turned out surprisingly good for a first-time effort.

“Maybe if the football thing doesn’t work out you can get a job at our barbecue place in Austin,” I said.

“You have a barbecue restaurant? In Texas?” Andy asked.

“We have a lot of restaurants, all across the Western US and Canada,” I said.

“I thought you did real estate?” Jenna asked, pouring some more wine.

“I have my fingers in a lot of pies,” I said. “But yeah, our hospitality division isn’t all that profitable compared to the real estate division, but it was never intended to be.”

“If it isn’t profitable, why be involved?” Jenna asked, curious.

“I didn’t say it wasn’t profitable, just not as profitable,” I corrected. “Most of our restaurants and nightclubs put up good margins, but real estate is going crazy these days.”

“Angela mentioned a bar you own up in San Jose,” Jenna said. “She said she loves the place.”

“Yeah, she does,” I agreed. “All the regulars seem to love, her, too. She’s become an important part of the scene.”

After a non-stop day of meetings in the San Jose office on Friday, I found myself thinking about Angela as I got dressed to head to the club. Of course, that framed photo on the wall helped spur my thoughts in her direction.

She and Emmy had been sending me updates and pictures all week long so I knew that everybody was having a great time there in New York and that made me happy for them, but it almost felt wrong to go to the club solo. Angela had become such a part of the place for me that going without her just felt… off. In fact, the valet at the front went to open the passenger door out of habit when I pulled up, and was surprised to see nobody in that side of the car.

Several people asked about her as I made my traditional circuit of the room, and all I could say was that she was in New York visiting with her family. It was true, yet vague at the same time. It did the job of answering the question and implying that she’d be back soon, which seemed to satisfy everyone.

Settling into my corner booth, I signaled for Theo to bring me my usual. When he set my old fashioned down, he asked about Angela, too.

“Visiting with family in New York,” I said with a shrug. “I’m a bachelor this weekend.”

“You get along with the in-laws?” he asked.

“They love me,” I said, and I’m pretty sure it was true. “But I couldn’t get away from work.”

“Ah, the filthy lucre,” he lamented. “Such a cruel taskmaster.”

I’d just finished my dinner when I slipped my hand in my jacket pocket for my phone and felt a piece of paper. Curious, I pulled it out and found Ashley’s phone number. I stared at it for a while, wondering why I even still had it, remembering that comical scene at the Thai restaurant where she handed it to me and I tucked it away.

I briefly considered shooting her a text and inviting her to the club, but then thought that maybe that was a path fraught with peril of the most perilous kind, and I’d wind up needing to be rescued by a bunch of silly English kniggetts.

Chuckling to myself, I tucked the slip of paper back in my pocket and returned to my regularly scheduled programming there at the club.

When I got home on Sunday morning all I wanted to do was be lazy and snuggle with my two beautiful wives, but that just wasn’t in the cards. I’d no sooner stepped out of the elevator and walked into the living room when Angela looked up from her computer on the kitchen counter.

“Baby! You’re home!” she said, jumping up and dragging me to the couch. She sat me down, then pushed me over so I was lying on my back. She climbed on top of me and started showering me with kisses, making little contented noises.

I wrapped may arms around her and asked, “Happy to see me?” when she finally paused to take a breath.

“You have no idea!” she said, sitting upright, straddling my lap, cowgirl style. “Promise me you won’t ever leave me alone with my family again!”

“I didn’t!” I protested. “You had Emmy.”

“She took their side!” Angela said indignantly, but I could tell she wasn’t really angry.

“I missed you two, babe,” I said, my hands on her hips. “This house feels really empty without you two.”

“I felt really guilty about leaving you here all alone,” Angela said, playing with the buttons of my shirt. “I wanted you there in New York.”

“Other than missing me, how was it?”

“It was freezing! I’ve never been so cold in my life!” Angela said, shuddering just thinking about it.

“My little tropical bunny,” I laughed.

“We all of us had to buy warm clothes! And heavy coats, and scarves, and those beanie hats!” Angela exclaimed.

“Did you get any roasted chestnuts? Or go ice skating?” I asked.

“Chestnuts, yes, skating, no. Nobody in my family has ever even seen ice before, so how would we know how to skate on it?” Angela said, probably only exaggerating a little bit.

“I think my sister has a crush on you,” Angela said after a moment. “She talks a lot about you.”

“That could be,” I said, thoughtfully. “I mean, I talk a lot about you, and I definitely have a crush on you, so…”

Angela smiled at that, and leaned down to kiss me. “Are you hungry? I am. Let’s go wake Emmy up and go out for lunch,” she said. “I want… I want a hamburger. Let’s go to the place by the Walk Of Fame!”

“You know what’ll happen when all those tourists see Emmy,” I cautioned.

“Oh, yeah,” Angela said, her smile disappearing. “You know, it wasn’t bad in New York,” Angela said. “People didn’t make much of a deal of it.”

“The locals here don’t, either,” I replied. “It’s mostly the tourists.”

“That’s true,” Angela admitted.

“Hey, Stephanie told me about this place over in Silver Lake, near her new house. She said they have amazing burgers, but you have to text the guy and ask if he has burgers for you. Kinda like a reservation,” I said.

“Are you kidding? You have to, um, know somebody to get these burgers?” Angela asked, amazed.

“Yeah, that’s what she said. Let me text her,” I said, and reached my hand under Angela’s crotch and made like I was searching for my phone while I really just used the opportunity to rub my knuckles against her lady parts in her leggings.

“I know for a fact you keep your phone in your back pocket,” Angela said, as she wiggled a little bit to get my hand in the right spot.

“Busted,” I laughed, and reached into my back pocket with my other hand.

It turned out the burger place was actually the guy’s back yard. He had a big outdoor grill setup on one side and he and his two helpers cranked out burgers, fries, and nothing else as fast as they could. Most orders were to go, but Stephanie and the three of us took one of the plastic patio tables and ate our lunch there.

“This is just what I wanted,” Angela said as she devoured her double-double.

“Sometimes a good hamburger really hits the spot,” Stephanie agreed, sipping her Mexican Fanta.

“How did you find this place?” Emmy asked.

“Somebody told me, just like I told Leah,” Stephanie said. “And, seriously, don’t just go sharing it on social media or anything,” Stephanie said to Angela, who was probably going to do that exact thing. “John has more business than he can handle now. I wouldn’t want to swamp him, and then never be able to get in because it’s so crowded.”

“Leah, you have that look in your eyes,” Emmy said with a laugh.

“What can I say ?” I asked with a shrug. “It’s worked before.”

“What has?” Angela asked.

“This is almost exactly like how our barbecue restaurant in Texas got started,” Emmy said. “We went to a backyard barbecue, and next thing you know, we opened a restaurant with the man who cooked lunch.”

“At least let me give this guy a card and let him know I develop restaurants,” I said. “If he’s interested, great. If not, that’s O.K., too.”

“When you say you develop restaurants, what exactly do you mean?” Stephanie asked, interested.

“It’s pretty simple. We go to a guy like this who has an idea, or maybe even an existing restaurant that has potential but can’t realize it, and bring in capital, and food service experts to manage the business aspect. A lot of times a guy like this can cook, and has a compelling story or idea, but has no clue on how to run a profitable restaurant or night club. So we handle that aspect, and let him, or her, do what they do best. It’s ostensibly their restaurant- we’re just silent partners. We take the stress of the commercial aspect away so they can let their creativity shine.”

“This is exactly what I do with my bands,” Stephanie said. “I take care of all the grown-up stuff that they have no clue about.”

“So you understand, then,” I said. “So, like, I might talk to this guy today and get him thinking. He might call me tomorrow, or maybe next week, or next month. We’ll talk about it and maybe work out a deal, or maybe we won’t and he’ll try to make a go of it the old-fashioned way. If he does that, odds are stacked against him. If we do make a deal, he’ll have his restaurant. It may still fail, but not because of inexpert business understanding.”

“Interesting,” Stephanie said. “Well, if you do open a restaurant with John here, make sure I get free lunches for my finder’s fee.”

The next few weeks were uneventful as we all settled back into our routines. I worked out, went to the office or to class in the evening, depending on the day. Emmy worked on her music and some promotional photo shoots, and Angela worked out and did her social media stuff along with the increasingly frequent modeling gigs. Like I said, nice and familiar.

Angela and I got to the usual meeting spot a bit early one Saturday morning. The only person already there was Geoff, standing by his 911.

“You know,” he said when we got out of the Spyder, “The LA Porsche club is having their monthly breakfast meeting just up the road a bit in half an hour. Like, literally, the next block down on the other side of PCH. It might be worthwhile to skip the driving this morning if you’re considering joining.”

“Not to be dismissive, but is there any real point to joining? I mean, what are the benefits?” I asked, genuinely curious.

“There are some tangibles, like discounts on service at area dealers, occasional group buys, club track days, stuff like that, but for me, the biggest is the knowledge base. If you have a question about your car, or another Porsche, or the marque in general, you can post it to the club board and it’s guaranteed somebody will have an answer for you. Plus, of course, it’s fun to go to the meet ups and see the classics, the rarities, the restomods… Just sort of camaraderie, you know?” he said, shrugging.

“If I go to the breakfast, will you go?” I asked.

Geoff laughed, sharp and quick, almost a sort of bark. “I’d never figured you to be shy like that,” he said.

“Hey, nobody likes going to a party where you don’t know anyone, alright?” I said with a shrug. “I figure you can point me at the right people to talk to.”

“Sure, why not? I can do that,” he said.

We waited until the others started trickling in and told them what we were going to do.

“Good luck,” Stein said. “The McLaren club is a complete joke. Maybe the Porsche club will be different.”

I followed Geoff’s Carrera into the parking lot of the restaurant, and sure enough, the place was absolutely littered with Porsches. Pulling into an empty parking place next to a familiar Targa, I looked over at Angela.

“Not only do I have the hottest car here, it looks as if I’ve got the hottest wife, too,” I said with a smile.

She smiled back, then leaned over and gave me a kiss. “It’s only fair,” she said. “Not only do you have the most badass car here, but you’re definitely the most badass person here, too.”

By the time we climbed out of the low-slung supercar a small crowd had gathered, including the guy I’d talked to on my way back from Tucson.

“I’m glad you decided to check the club out,” he said, holding his hand out for a shake.

“You can thank my friend Geoff for that,” I said, indicating the 911. Geoff was stopped in the aisle, leaning out his driver’s side window to talk to a couple of guys. “Hey,” I said. “I never caught your name there by the roach coach. My name’s Leah, and this is my wife Angela,” I said. It struck me that I couldn’t remember just outright introducing Angela to strangers as my wife before, but I liked how it felt to say it.

“Leah, good to meet you properly. I’m Mike.” Turning to Angela, he said, “Nice to meet you, too.”

She shook his offered hand and gave him that winning smile of hers, the one that melted my heart a little bit every time I saw it. “It’s nice to meet you, Mike,” she said. “So you and Leah have met before?”

While he explained how we’d talked at the tiny little nothing of a town in Arizona, I introduced myself to the other guys standing around, and yes, they were all guys. I found it amusing how their eyes kept flitting back and forth. They couldn’t figure out which to ogle- the supercar or the super hot babe, and they definitely couldn’t figure out where I fit into the equation.

Angela had on a long-sleeved knit minidress in a shade that somehow managed to be reminiscent of the sapphire color of the Spyder, but at the same time made her blue eyes look that much more vivid. She was super hot by anyone’s definition and she knew it, and yet managed to avoid giving off any overly egotistic vibes- a rare trick for a really beautiful person.

“When did you get that 918?” asked one of the guys, a middle-aged man with salt and pepper hair.

“A couple of weeks ago,” I said, offhandedly.

“A couple of weeks ago? I thought they were all spoken for?” he said.

“I bought it second-hand,” I said with a shrug. “I liked the way it looked.”

“Second-hand?” one of the other guys asked, probably more surprised by my language than the fact that I wasn’t the first owner.

“Yeah,” I confirmed. “The guy wanted two million, but I talked him down to one point seven. It seems like a lot to spend on a car, but hey- my wife likes it, so I guess it’s O.K.,” I said, indicating Angela, who was still talking to Mike.

“Your wife,” the second guy said, deadpan. He was looking me up and down, trying to figure me out, probably wondering if this was some sort of hidden camera prank or something.

“She likes the color,” I said, as we both looked at Angela in that form-fitting little blue dress. My eyes lingered on her muscular legs, her calves defined by the high heels.

“And what my baby wants, I get for her.”

By this point the three guys I was talking to were convinced I was yanking their chains, which, of course, I was.

“No, seriously, a friend asked if I wanted to buy the car off him, and my wife said I should get it, so I did,” I explained.

Angela joined us at that point, so I wrapped my arm around her waist.

“I promised Mike you’d give him a ride,” she said. “Is that O.K.?”

“Sure, why not?” I said.

“So, are you gonna join the club?” Angela asked.

“Not sure yet,” I replied. Turning to the three guys, I said, “Not to be, um, weird about it, but sell me on joining. Why should I become a member?”

They went through the things that Geoff had mentioned, and I was on the verge of committing when another 918 rolled into the lot. This driver, unlike me, kept it in gas-only mode so even at parking lot speeds everyone could hear it.

“I’m pretty sure there are more Spyders in Los Angeles than any other city on Earth,” one of the guys said as the Liquid Metal Silver 918’s engine shut off and we could all talk again. “I think we have four or five in the club.”

I was already predisposed to dislike the guy because of his obnoxious grandstanding, but when he climbed out of the low-slung car I could tell he was a world-class asshole. He had the look of somebody who expected to be recognized immediately and fawned over. He glanced around the parking lot as if we should all rejoice at his arrival and he was going to be magnanimous enough to tell us all there was no need for applause.

Mike said, “Well, you’re definitely not gonna want to join now.”

“Why is that?” Angela asked, in her disarmingly innocent way.

“Dude’s a complete douche, and makes every conversation and meeting he attends all about him,” Mike answered.

“He’s not wrong,” one of the three guys said. “Total douche.”

It was about then that the douchebag arrived at where we were standing there in the parking lot.

“Hey, good people,” he said, all smiles. “And smoking hot babe,” he added, looking Angela up and down. “Let’s get ourselves some breakfast!”

“You go on in,” one of the three guys said. “We’ll be in in a minute.”

“I’ll save you a seat,” douchebag said to Angela, waggling his eyebrows.

After he’d disappeared into the restaurant, I asked the crowd in general, “Is it O.K. that I want to just punch that guy’s face in?”

“Don’t punch his face in!” Angela said, taking my hand. “You would probably kill him, and we don’t need that.”

“I think the club would probably start a GoFundMe for your legal expenses,” Mike said.

I laughed, and said, “Random douchebags aside, you recommended I join. If there are more like you and less like him, I think I might. But I have to warn you, I have mixed allegiances.”

“What do you mean?” asked one of the guys.

“I own a couple of BMW dealerships,” I admitted.

“Traitor!” exclaimed Mike, in mock horror. “And here I thought we were friends!”

“Hey, we’re still friends,” I said with a smile. “In fact, if you come into either of my dealerships I’ll make sure you’re set up with a deep discount on any new or used BMW.”

“As much as it pains me to say it,” the lead guy of the three said with a sigh, “Ownership of a BMW dealership does not disqualify you for Porsche club membership. As long as you actually own or appreciate the finest automobile marque in the world, Stuttgart’s finest.”

Laughing, I said, “Can we call that a maybe? I do own a very expensive Porsche, but a whole garage of BMWs, too.”

The three guys gave each other serious looks, then begrudgingly nodded. Of course it was all in fun, and I appreciated that they had a sense of humor about the whole thing.

“I guess that would be acceptable,” said guy one. “Just- well, don’t drive any of the BMWs to club meetings, O.K.?”

“I think I can accept your conditions,” I said.

Sure enough, during breakfast douchebag did turn the conversation to himself every chance he got. He bragged about his car, his lifestyle, all the chicks he’d banged… it went on and on. I just did my best to tune him out, like most of the others there that morning. Of course, it didn’t help that he was loud, so even though he was at a different table everybody in the room could hear him talk.

Mike was interested in the story of how I’d acquired the Spyder, and Angela was only too happy to tell the story of the parking lot incident once again. This time, she gave me a cheesy Arnold Schwarzenegger accent when she related the ‘fuck off’ part, though, which made me smile.

“Is it true?” Geoff asked, leaning over the table. “Did you actually beat up three armed men?”

“She only beat up two of them,” Angela corrected before I had the chance to say anything. “The third guy just took off running.”

“Huh,” Geoff said, leaning back in his seat. “Stephen has been saying that you’re, um…”

“A killer?” I asked. “I mean, Jimmy does call me Lizzie Borden, right?”

“Well, I was going to say, you’re seriously not one to mess with,” Geoff said. “Stephen and Stein have both said that you are an absolute monster on the track.”

“Track?” asked Rick, who I’d come to learn was the club’s event coordinator. “You drive on the track with your 918?”

“I’ve only done a few laps in the Porsche,” I confessed. “Mostly I drive my GT3 car.”

The guy thought about it for a moment, then asked, “It’s not a Porsche, though, is it?”

“Nope. M6,” I replied.

Shaking his head, he said, “Some peoples’ children.”

After breakfast a few of us found ourselves out in the parking lot again, talking about cars (to nobody’s surprise) when douchebag joined us.

“Whose 918?” he asked, since we were standing right next to my car.

“Mine,” I said.

“Does your husband know you’re driving his car?”

I took a calming breath and said, “I didn’t know I had a husband.”

“Hey, just kidding,” the idiot said, raising his hands in a ‘don’t take offense’ gesture.

“So, like, you two a thing?” he asked, pointing at Angela and me. It was an easy assumption to make, since we had our arms around each other’s waists, so I’m not really going to give the guy much credit.

“We’re married,” Angela replied, giving me a squeeze of affection.

“To, like, each other?”

“Yes, we’re married to each other,” I replied, thinking about that GoFundMe.

“That’s cool,” he said, nodding. Then, to ruin any tiny shred of affection I might have had for the guy, he asked, “You guys ever think about, you know, like, threesomes?”

I gave him a hard stare, which he could meet only briefly.

“Yeah, I’m gonna take that as a no,” he said, looking away, then finding some other group of club guys to pester.

“Leah, for a moment there I thought we were going to have one less club member,” Geoff said.

“If looks could kill…” Rick said, shaking his head.

“I’m glad you didn’t kill him, Leah,” Angela said in her most innocent voice, her eyes wide and guileless. “There are too many witnesses here, and it would be a real mess.”

The way Angela had played that so well had me and the group of guys in stitches, completely turning the mood around.

“Yeah, I really do think the club needs you guys,” Rick said. “Just remember that thing about not driving a BMW to any club meetings, alright?”

“Can I bring my M6 GT3 to club track days?”

“Ummm… I’m gonna have to say no to that one, too,” he said with a laugh.