I lost myself on the dance floor for I-don’t-know-how-long before I realized that I needed to notify Diane of what had happened before word of my near-murder had time enough to spread across the club—no doubt distorted to the point of unrecognizability thanks to the game of Loud Sex Club Telephone—and catch her by surprise.
As I approached our table she rose and rushed to me and wrapped her arms around me, then held me at arm’s length. “Where have you been? We looked everywhere for you! Why did you redeem him, Drea? Why spare a killer his just deserts?”
((Apparently you got the extra paper hot off the press. Shit.)) “(Umm, so… It didn’t… It was…) wasn’t as bad as what you may have heard through the grapevine,” I explained—with just a (tiny bit) of hoarseness. (I considered, for just an instant, how the touch of smokiness in my voice made it a little bit… sexier.)
“Andre came to me directly and related the events surrounding your cardiac arrest. I trust his narration to be accurate and impartial; I expect yours to be equally so.”
“He probably exaggerated! We weren’t up to anything too crazy or unsafe.” My words, and certainly my slightly straining voice, did not convince her that the attempted murder was either safe or sane.
“‘Not too unsafe’? Your heart stopped, for Goodness’ sake!”
“I’m breathing and my heart is beating, you don’t need to fret.”
“Don’t tell me not to fret!” she snapped. “You could have died. Erotic asphyxiation is not to be attempted except by one whom you’ve built a deep trust. It can lead to brain damage or death.”
I figured I’d mix in a bit of ‘honesty’—an ever-so-slightly slurred attempt to reassure her what had gone down had been kosher, everything was copacetic, and that there was no reason to worry. “It was someone that I know.”
“Thomas Forrester.”
“Yes.”
“How do you know him?”
“We worked neighboring beats before I was let go.”
“Were you close enough to build a deep and durable connection before engaging in risky activities?”
“(Umm…)”
“‘Um’? I’ll let you have a moment longer to compose an honest answer to that question. Tell me this man’s patrol route—and do not so much as think about the concept of dishonesty in composing your reply.”
((Okay, well, I’m not sure that I’m even capable of lying right now without getting into even deeper trouble.)) “He’s a Parking Enforcement Sergeant. For most of the time I’ve known him, he’s been assigned to Balboa Hills.”
“Were the two of you fuckbuddies or lovers?”
“We used to—he used to—appeal to me. I… had feelings for him. And we’ve grown even closer, very close, very quickly.”
“How long have you been ‘very close’?”
“We’ve been… orbiting each other for the better part of a decade, and now, as of tonight, we’re finally, officially a couple. Tommy and I love each other. Deeply.”
“I am sure you do. When I asked whether your bond with this Thomas chap was deep, it seemed you had at first considered bending or breaking the truth. However… you have clarified for me your feelings for him, so you will be spared your punishment.”
((You’re being very serious, which means my punishment would not have been the fun kind.)) “Thank you for your mercy, Mistress.”
She lifted up my chin to examine my bruises, which I figured had turned deep red by now. “He was very rough with you. This wasn’t safe or sane. Shall I presume it was at least consensual?”
((I’d rather not attempt a lie—you might allow me to compose a whole ass novel before telling me you don’t think a word of it is true, and I have no idea whether my punishment is based on narrative complexity or word count.)) “I provoked him.”
Her eyes overflowed with tears of wrath that left her shivering. “You say you love him and yet he attempted to kill you! I don’t care if you provoked it, this man tried to kill the woman I l—care deeply for! I cannot abide such twisted evil, Andrea. I forbid you to love him.”
“He isn’t ‘evil’! He felt bad for doing it and he loves me and he loves his spouse and he’s respectful towards sex…” ((Why should you give a damn about how he treats sex workers? You’re Vice. Real persuasive argument, Detective B.)) “(…workers…)”
She stared at me, her rage restrained by her concern. “Andrea… You should not be loving or compassionate towards killers, no matter how kind they are to marginalized folks.”
((What… the fuck? ‘Marginalized folks’? What kind of cop uses that terminology? Never mind that, whether you’re willing to use a ‘politically correct’ term simply for the sake of arguing with me, you’re still wrong.)) “Tom hurt me, but by tomorrow I’ll forget about it. If he had drawn blood, though, the way Alex Brookvale’s kidnappers hurt him, I would’ve—”
Her eyes bugged open and she exclaimed frantically, “Xander? Kidnapped? Hurt?”
((Ah, crap. I didn’t want you knowing I was on the case.)) “I—actually—don’t know, I just… assumed it was a kidnapping—cuz—cuz of how long he’s been gone.”
She cupped my face between her hands and shakily informed me, “You are pathologically incapable of lying to me, Andrea. If you do not tell me what you know about his disappearance right now, our relationship is finished.”
I was now facing a dilemma that I had up to this point blocked from all my thoughts, which I could no longer ignore. ((You might be an accessory to this kidnapping, you might even be the one who orchestrated it, so telling you the status of my case might leave it open to your interference—or that of the brass.))
((Then again, once I’ve reported my investigation, the department’s leadership is going to be scrutinizing it—Detective Sergeant Daniel Matthews will be scribbling on it with a red ink pen, Lieutenant Derek Hall will have to sign off on it, Captain Nichols has to read it and decide whether it meets the rigorous requirements set by the DA. Every link within the chain will be an opportunity to decide whether Alex deserves rescue. Even if it receives a unanimous thumbs-up from my superiors, there’s a possibility you or someone else will change a word here or there to cover your asses.))
((The only difference in outcome between clamming up or fessing up is whether you might interfere now, before my case has had a chance to get up off the ground—or later, after I’ve invested so much time and effort into it.))
Somehow in an even harsher tone than before, she warned, “Andrea Bachman, I mean it.” Harsher—but in her heart was a growing personal anxiety.
((If I don’t tell you what you want to know, you’ll end my case before I’ve filed the charges, by disposing of your disobedient Eupraxia.))
“Andrea Bachman, you have till the count of five to provide clarification.”
((I suppose it’s clear…)) “One.” ((…that telling you now…)) “Two.” ((…is the least risky…)) “Three.” ((…course of action…)) “Four.” ((…for this case.)) “Fi—”
The answer burst from my mouth. “Alex was abducted. And I have proof.”
She did her best to maintain her composure—but anxiety still cracked her voice, and she looked to be on the verge of fainting. “Who…?”
“I don’t know who did it, yet.”
“(Shit, shit, shit…)” Her breathing became fitful and her voice, so fearful, trembled as she asked, “Have you at least narrowed it down?”
((What’s up with you? God, I feel awful for upsetting you, but why would a pig be so worried about an antifascist?)) “Not even enough to start guessing.”
She buried her face in her hands. “When was he kidnapped, where?”
((Christ Almighty, what the fuck is going on? Is today Opposite Day? Are you fucking with me? Your attitude feels so authentic. Are you just a really good actress?)) “Between 09:10 and 09:51 on Wednesday the 10th. I used the records from his secret GPS tracker to pinpoint his last known location to Adams, interviewed the people on the street, followed a hunch and found a bloodstain and his clothes inside the Torrey Pines Hotel… (within the only room whose… key… was absent… from… from the front… desk…)”
Up to this point I’d felt my own displeasure grow alongside her distress, but as soon as I had said ‘Torrey Pines’, her woe became so existential that I could not help but feel I was a horrible girl—awful, cruel—for hurting her, the worst, most treasonous pet to have been owned by another—though I could not comprehend just how I had effected a betrayal so malicious that, as she raised her face to stare into the distance, her eyes reflected a surprise foray into hell.
My devotion kicked in as soon as I saw she was drowning in her misery and self-hatred, compelling me to rescue her. I took her hands in mine. “What’s wrong, my Mistress?” Faintly she shook her head and said nothing. “Diane, please tell me what’s going on.”
“It happened on my turf, on my watch.” Her voice had the chilling timbre of finality that people adopt in the moment they’ve accepted as their last. If her display of emotion wasn’t real, she was a damn good actress. That, or I was easily fooled.
((There’s something downright bizarre going on with you, Mistress.)) “I don’t know what you mean by ‘my turf’.”
“Somebody used my stupid raid as cover for kidnapping Alex.” She sniffed wetly, further reinforcing the authenticity of her emotional display.
I handed her a tissue and told her, “It’s possible whoever did this waited until the hotel was evacuated to drag him in there, although…”
“Whoever grabbed him knew that he was forcing me to betray them.”
((‘Betray them’? What the fuck?)) “Betray who, how?”
“He used me to clear their hotel.”
“Which ‘he’?”
“Kind. The mayor.”
“Why would Mayor Kind give a damn about the hotel?”
“Campaign donations. Which is to say, bribes.”
My drug-addled brain crunched the numbers and ground its gears until I exclaimed, “Gunther and Sampson wanted the guild evicted so the workers couldn’t occupy the hotel to get in the way of the demolition—and they asked Kind to make it so.”
“The chief told me they had plans to ‘modernize’ the place, but demolition was what they had planned all along.”
“But you didn’t want to do it…”
“I tried appealing to their love of money… which was ineffective. I did not fight back with sufficient tenacity.”
((The fuck is going on? The Vice Captain regrets the raid, and furthermore she fought it tooth and nail!)) “How did you try to persuade them?”
“I informed them that if they shut down the hotel and all the workers left the street for other jobs, the department would lose millions in federal and state subsidies. I failed to warn them, however, about the human cost, the harm we would be doing to the hard-working people who keep that street alive. Though I am certain it would not have swayed them… I should nonetheless have brought the sex workers’ welfare to their attention. I fought back, but I did not fight hard enough.”
“I… see.” I processed for a moment the fact that she cared as much for sex workers as I did, couldn’t make sense of it, then continued, “I don’t think appealing to their consciences would have accomplished anything. It sounds like you exhausted all your options that had any chance of working.”
She shook her head. “I am complicit in the loss of a resource vital to the safety, operations, solidarity, and organization of all our city’s sex workers, and in addition have the kidnapping of the man most important to the local activism scene now weighing on my conscience, because I followed orders like a good pig and made this disaster possible.”
Her voice continued sizing itself up for swinging from the gallows. Tears rolled down her cheeks, her puffed-up face was scrunched in agony. ((She’s wrecked. She actually, sincerely cares for Alex and the sex workers. I’m afraid to ask about the thoughts she’s having now.))
“Andrea… how much do you care for Xander?”
I gave her the truth. “Well… I became a CAP detective for the sole purpose of investigating—um—I mean to say—my primary reason for becoming a detective was investigating his kidnapping—because the police weren’t doing anything to find him and I don’t trust the detectives on the force.”
A bitter half-smile barely smoothed over the distress wrinkling her face. She wrapped her arms around me and kissed my forehead. “Bless you, Drea. You took me up on my offer to ensure someone who cares for Xander would be handling his case.”
“That’s true.”
“That was selfless.”
“Well… not… entirely. I told you when we first met that I’ve wanted, ever since I was a girl, to be a homicide detective. Being owned by you has been a worthwhile perk.”
“I hoped that the submission has been worthwhile, it was our arrangement’s raison d’être; I am reassured to hear you have enjoyed it, and am overjoyed to bring your dream to life; if only it did not mean you must become a pig, then what a noble dream it would be. That said, I cannot possess a woman with a good heart. You shall have your freedom while retaining your employment and my help.”
I sternly informed her, “Diane… I want you to own me.”
A hint of apprehension tinted her voice as she asked, “You… do?”
“I like being your property. It’s comforting, it’s degrading, it’s exciting. It’s rewarding. I do love my girlfriend and boyfriends, and they do things for me that you don’t, while you do things for me that they don’t. With them, I have the best of three worlds, and with you, I have the best of a fourth. My love life is perfect with all of you. Without your ownership, though… something is missing.”
“Oh… (oh…)” She squeezed me tight and perched her chin upon my head. “Oh, my dear Drea… You are such a sweet and beautiful creature—and I am but a wretch. My craven compliance enabled Xander’s abduction, and I yielded to the mayor’s demands far too easily. I was unwilling to sacrifice my power and my privilege. I am an accessory to kidnapping, Andrea. You should not desire my ownership.”
“I have a hunch you’re underplaying just how hard you fought the brass to safeguard the Torrey Pines.”
“The chief gave me an ultimatum. My job, or the sex workers’ hotel. I chose to retain my employment—despite being well enough off without the fortune it has enabled me to amass.” She gradually released me; I could see the self-hatred burning in her doomed eyes. “I am selfish. I have no backbone. I have no principles.” At last she let go, closed her eyes, and hung her head in shame. “Good women like you have no business being with such selfish scum as myself.”
“You aren’t selfish, though!”
“Oh, I am without a doubt a pig, down to my core.” She sniffed. “I thought I could be an exception to ACAB… but I became a prime example.” ((This is so confusing.)) “Drea, dear, I am a traitor, even less trustworthy than the average cop patrolling Adams, those collecting bribes and coercing sex workers into giving them sex. At least those pigs spare you the pretension of being on your side.”
“You care about sex workers, though.”
“Not enough, it turns out. I considered putting down my foot and telling my chain outright that I thought what they had planned was cruel and inhumane and violated the sex workers’ rights as human beings—but I chickened out, because I figured that appealing to their shriveled sense of justice would accomplish nothing beyond revealing to them my true colors, which would no doubt end in being ostracized and reassigned to Parking at best, stripped of my Vice powers. On the other end of the spectrum of possibilities, they would find a way to put me in a cell to retaliate for refusing to play along. I put my own hide first, before the guild.”
((I’m still trying to figure out why the hell someone sympathetic towards sex workers would choose to be a Vice Captain, of all the jobs you could pursue.))
“You must be wondering why I give a damn about sex workers.”
“Ahh… yeah. I’m pretty confused.”
“The whole aim of my career was to climb the ladder to the roof and then knock that ladder away from the ledge and watch all of the boys in blue clinging to it tumble to the ground and crack their heads on the hard cement below so they would leave sex workers alone.”
“So… You infiltrated the PD to sabotage their operations targeting sex workers. Just how long have you been undercover?”
“Two decades ago I told my contact inside the guild, with whom I was for 28 years very close friends, about my plan to infiltrate and hinder this foul system from within; despite her doubts, she trusted me to remain loyal to my peers. And now we both know I was lying the whole time. To myself… and to her. I only hope she feels no shame for making the mistake of trusting me throughout the entire one-fifth of a century I was a cop instead of trusting in the acronym that every sex worker knows by heart. As cops we are all bastards, Drea, because no matter how hard we try to be good, the blue shield gives us power and impunity and thus the freedom to indulge in our darkest desires, inevitably transforming us into filthy, selfish pigs.”
I gave her a few seconds’ pensive silence to reassure her I was listening, though I sensed that she was only interested in self-destruction. If her emotional shape was as mangled as I thought it was—a shape that Shosh had struggled countless times to straighten out in me—my chance of getting through to her was slim. But for her sake, I had to try my best. “Diane, if you’d’ve fought them till they rid themselves of you, the best outcome for the sex workers would have been you being replaced with a cop who doesn’t give a single shit about sex workers; the more likely outcome, though, would have been the brass appointing someone who actively hates us all. By keeping your position, you’ll continue minimizing harm. So even if you feel you protected your job for the wrong reasons, having power to help them survive the fallout after losing the hotel could make a critical difference in their efforts to rebuild. No matter how disgusted you may be with your own motives leading to you making what you perceive as the ‘unethical’ decision, you should find some comfort knowing that you managed nonetheless to make the most pragmatic decision. For that I admire you.”
She straightened out her neck and opened up her eyes and let them wander over my face and cheeks before they settled on my emerald greens, her self-hatred rapidly draining from her coffee browns. “You may be right. Protecting the sex workers and their assets was my first objective, but failing that, damage control was the second. Perhaps I did not completely fuck this up.”
“Maybe you didn’t! Are you still able to do all the things you’ve done for them in the past?”
“Yes, none of that has changed, I have continued helping them to the best of my abilities, and have doubled down on finding more ways to help.”
“What do you do for them?”
“Just little things.” I handed her a tissue and she blew her nose. “I target pimps to cull them from our ecosystem; I schedule raids outside peak business hours; I promote the most incompetent officers to detective; I teach them how to articulate suspicion in ways that invalidate arrests and stops, and I teach them to write blatant lies in their warrant affidavits so they are rejected or so their searches are ruled unconstitutional; I have implied that reading people their rights is an optional formality; I delete small but key details and evidence from the more damning investigation reports so the DA turns away cases they perceive as weak; I coach the uniforms to collect less in bribes, and bench or relocate the ones who get too greedy; I fire anyone who my contact reports has assaulted workers; I over-classify intel beyond the access of detectives… Any measure within the capacity of Vice Captain to make the jobs of all my employees and the DA more difficult and the lives of our sex workers less so.”
((That’s cool, but how in the hell did you climb the ladder all the way to captain when you’ve been intentionally worse than me at playing cop?)) (The answer to that question would not make itself apparent for some time.) “Those little measures sound like they would add up to a big difference.”
She hesitated before nodding faintly. “On the Saturday before I betrayed them—perhaps I can say ‘was forced to betray them’—my insider reported that the workers’ quality of life was at its highest, and that if only my infiltration needed not be kept a secret she would have passed around a ‘thank you’ card for them to sign. But… late Wednesday morning, not long after the raid, she blocked me on SecreText—as I ought to have predicted. On Saturday evening I came to pick her up to have our weekly meeting and to pay my dues—and she flipped me off while you were looking my way.” ((Wait, you pay dues? Never mind that— Your friend was there on Saturday, right beside me! Could your inside contact be…)) “That was enough to tell me she no longer wishes to associate with me.”
“Yesenia is your contact?”
“Was.”
“Wow. I think she trusts me enough that she’d let me explain to her the rock and the hard place you were forced between.”
“She trusts you? I am… surprised that she would risk trusting yet another cop after my grand fuckup.” She seemed to wonder at this news for several seconds. “Wow. Of course. By all your means, explain my actions to her. I would very much appreciate you advocating for me, as long as you feel confident that in doing so you will not compromise her trust in you.”
“Of course, Mistress.”
“My Drea… You have no more need to call me ‘Mistress’. I no longer own you,” she reminded me with somber eyes and a joyless smile.
((No. No, no, no. I will not let you break up with me.)) “If you agree you aren’t as wretched as you thought you were, you shouldn’t have a problem owning me.”
She struggled through some mental debate before saying, “I suppose I just might call you ‘mine’ in one capacity or another. But do not talk to Yesenia out of obedience. Do not talk to her on behalf of your mistress. Talk to her on behalf of your dear friend and would-be ally in rescuing our precious Xander.”
I stroked her cheek. “Alright. I’ll do as you request… friend.”
She gazed upon my face and more tears gathered around her eyes. She wrapped her arms around me again. “You have saved me, Drea Bachman. You are such an awesome pet, an even better lover, and an absolutely wonderful best friend.” ((Best friend! Can you be serious?)) “Thank you for hearing my cries of distress and plucking me from Despair’s iron grip.” She kissed me passionately then rested her forehead on mine.
“I sold my body to you,” I reminded her as we stood face-to-face by our table, “and I thought I gave my soul to my first mate, but… I guess the two of you share ownership of that.”
The last of all her misery evaporated with a sincere laugh. “Like the prize trophy that the two winners who tied for first are passing back and forth.” She stroked my back. “I hate to cut our fun short, but this atmosphere is not conducive towards processing emotions more complex than lust. If you do not mind, I would like to return home.”
“You’re asking— You are asking me?”
“Yes. While at your insistence I will continue to ‘own’ you—in a way, inside this moment… you… own… me.”
My heart skipped a few beats… though this was not entirely the romantic gesture she intended it to be; I did my best to hide from her my disappointment. “If—you say—so. I… own you. And that means I’m responsible… for your well-being.” So I took her hand and sought some small comfort in our fingers intertwining. I tried to mentally rationalize my ownership of her as an obligation to do everything I could to comfort her, to own her through subservience to her. It sort-of worked, but I still felt a few too many shades of freedom. “Let’s find Georgina and go home. Don’t worry about driving, I can—”
“I smell the booze on your breath,” she said. “And that, as well as tonight’s strangulation episode…” The edge of discipline within her voice raised my hopes for just a moment… “…worry me that you may not have the self-control to safely enjoy Asmodeus.” …but her change in direction alarmed me.
((Punish me for being a bad girl, but please don’t steal me away from Paradise.)) “I’m fine,” I lied to both of us.
“You struggle with alcohol. I brought you to a venue that provides it in abundance, that has an environment that disinhibits its inhabitants and culture that encourages their irresponsible behavior… and you fucked up, and I fear that, given another chance, you would repeat your careless mistakes. I must cease bringing you to Asmod—”
“Diane.” Frustrated that she had reversed our roles as owner and pet, guilty from her excoriation, and dreading the horrible sentence she was set to finish, I cut her words short. “I took some Molly, it impaired my judgment. I will never again abuse drugs, from now until forever. It won’t happen again.” ((I know how to persuade. I am high-functioning while drunk. Or, rather, drunk and functioning while high.))
“I have a strong suspicion that your abstinence will fail someday, and a twin suspicion that said failure will occur within the nearest of futures.”
“I managed to stay sober for a year and four days straight, tonight was just a glitch. Don’t worry, it won’t happen again.”
She shook her head and began to open her mouth—
“In the event it happens again, you can keep me on my leash around illicit drugs or alcohol. Would an arrangement like that work for you?”
“Maintaining your sobriety is entirely your responsibility. I am not your mother.”
“But wouldn’t it be fun to train me and discipline me until I learn to control myself?”
She sighed. “If you would enter into such an arrangement willingly… I suppose it could be entertaining. If you ever relapse again, you are on the leash until you provide a doctor’s note guaranteeing that you are able to maintain control of yourself around psychoactive substances. Do you accept these terms?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
“I have little tolerance for disappointment, so it would be wise to take this agreement seriously. Do you promise to make every effort to adhere to your goal of total abstinence from mind-altering substances?”
“Except for prescriptions, weed, and caffeine… with all my heart, Mistress.”
“Good. Now, let us find Georgina.” This was not the most becoming of arrangements in the history of substance use disorders, and yet I was desperate to maintain our status quo—and if that necessitated her being condescending towards me, then so be it. Hell, I was already thriving under her condescension, and it was my idea, besides; indeed, her gentle threat to leash me eased my anxieties that our relationship had lost its spice, and was perfectly in line with the spirit of my proposal. Being ‘ordered’ to find Georgina also calmed me somewhat, even though her tone and words were more befitting a request than a command.
We found her in a pet bed with a Dober-Man and a She-Tzu. Diane ordered, “Georgina, you must wrap up your current activity—we are leaving posthaste.”
With the She-Tzu’s gloved cock poised to pierce her entrance and the Dober-Man’s dildo sticking from her ass, Georgina grabbed somebody’s phone and woke it up. “It’s only nine, Diane!”
“Do not be a brat, Asta. We are leaving. Put your dress back on.” To hear Diane sling orders at the other woman kindled envy within my loins.
“But why?”
“Pets do not ask why, they do as told with a respectful ‘yes, my Mistress’.”
Georgina pouted even as the fleshy phallus slowly thrust in and out of her and the plastic one tickled her insides; Diane opened her mouth to scold with words I feared might be oh-so deliciously authoritative that to hear any of them would break my jealous heart—and so I stole from her responsibility for explaining the situation. “Georgina—Asta, I relapsed tonight, and now our mistress is displeased with me and concerned for my safety. She’ll be taking me back home to sober up. While we were searching for you, she expressed regret that she has to cut your fun time short, but I need to be safe at home more than you need fun. I’m sorry I spoiled your night.”
Georgina rolled her eyes, informed her partners that she had to leave, and left the sex pile. While dressing she remarked, “You offered her alcohol and Molly, Mistress, and let her off of her leash to roam, unsupervised, around a club that provided her with every kind of liquor she could possibly crave. What were you expecting to happen?”
Mistress, her razor-sharp tongue dripping fluoric acid, inquired, “Are you blaming me for Prax’s mistake, pet?”
“Oh, no, certainly not, I’m not blaming you for Little Lady Lush’s lapse in judgment. I’m just sayin’ you put her in a situation where her fragile sobriety would be stressed beyond its breaking point.”
“Your insolence does you no favors, Asta.”
“I’m not trying to do myself any favors. I’m trying to do her one, by reminding you that you’re responsible for the well-being of your pets while we’re under your control. You told us, and I quote, ‘Run wild and misbehave,’ and that’s exactly what she did, because she is dangerously obedient to you, and you are aware of that. She followed your command. She made poor decisions because you told her to.”
Mistress stammered, “She—You—”
“You fucked up, she paid the price, and you’re getting on my case for pointing out that you’re responsible for the harm that befell her. Did I miss anything?”
Our owner stared in livid fury at Georgina…
…and Georgina stared back defiantly as she asked, “Am I wrong, Mistress?”
“I shall take the two of you home now,” said Diane with zero patience, “and I do not want to hear another word from either of you.”
We did so as we returned to her Mercedes and left for Georgina’s apartment.