I took an unread music magazine from my messenger bag and used its pages to line my seat. Once I was behind the wheel, I muttered, “It smells great in here.”
“I’ll fix that, too.”
Fortunately, it only took a minute to drive to our destination. When we pulled up in front, I said, “The dinosaurs are new.”
The house was sleek, massive, and mid-century modern, composed of three offset stories stacked like rectangular building blocks on a huge lot at the end of the street. Beyond it, the land dropped off into a green valley, and the house backed up to the edge of a cliff, which gave way to a panoramic view of Los Angeles. The front yard’s landscaping consisted of cacti and exotic, spiky plants, and it had once graced the cover of a design magazine. That was before Harper added a pair of full-size and disturbingly lifelike velociraptors to the formerly elegant yard.
Once we parked, I helped Kel by capturing the rust-colored chicken and the fluffy one with the pompom on her head, because he had his hands full with Atilla the Hen. Then I followed him through a side gate, which he triple-latched behind us.
While the front of the house showed a lot of restraint, despite the addition of the dinosaurs, the backyard was something else entirely. It looked like a high-end tropical resort with its huge pool, outdoor bar, palm trees, and lush landscaping, but one that had been overrun by a pack of fifth graders. The pool was filled with a giant unicorn raft and so many inflatable toys that I could barely see the water. Off to the right was a six-hole miniature golf course, complete with castle, and to the left past a lush, green lawn was a fenced-off chicken utopia. It included a huge henhouse shaped like a 1950’s-era flying saucer, with a lighted ramp that made it seem like the chickens were being beamed up as they headed into their house.
After we put the chickens in their yard and shut the gate, Kel said, “I’m going to go clean up the poop before it dries onto your car seat. I’ll see you in a few minutes.”
He took off at a jog, and I went inside to wash the chicken off my hands. After I got cleaned up, I decided to take a look at the home office, which had been my headquarters when I’d worked for Harper in the past. To get there, I had to climb over a miniature Jeep, which was jackknifed in the long hallway. Most people assumed Harper had kids when they saw all the toys strewn around his home, but no. Like the backyard, this was all him.
The office was exactly how I’d left it. In fact, I didn’t think anyone besides the housekeeper had set foot in that room for the last year. I opened the blinds to reveal the view of the pool deck, then sat down behind the dark wood desk and looked around me.
Every celebrity had a slightly different idea of what they wanted from a personal assistant, but I specialized in basically being an executive secretary. In other words, I managed my client’s schedule, kept them organized, and became a buffer between them and the rest of the world. Once an actor became famous, everyone wanted a piece of them, so my job included fielding calls, answering emails, and handling their presence on social media. I also acted as their representative with journalists, publicists, lawyers, business managers—the list went on and on. I wondered who’d been handling all of that for Harper, since he hadn’t had an assistant for the last month or two.
I turned on the computer, so I could take a look at the scheduling program I’d set up for Harper before I quit. While I was waiting for it to boot up, a tiny beige devil darted into the room, spotted me behind the desk, and started barking at me. I said, “Cool your jets, Pepe, you know who I am.”
That just made the chihuahua bark louder, and then he ran over to me and latched onto the cuff of my jeans. When he tried to shake my leg, he mostly just succeeded in flinging himself around.
I tried to sound firm as I said, “No, Pepe! Let go.” That did nothing, so I ended up scrambling onto the desktop. He hung from my pant leg for a few moments before finally dropping onto the floor, and then he went right back to barking at me.
A few moments later, a golden retriever appeared in the doorway, and I called, “Hey, Buddy. Can you help me with your little pal here?” Buddy stepped into the room, and I said, “Good boy.” Then he took the handle in his mouth and pulled the door shut behind him, probably to block out the noise. I sighed, and Pepe went right on barking.