When we got to Sunset Boulevard and my pulse had slowed, I turned to Harry and started talking. When I told him that Don had been upstairs with a woman, he nodded as if he’d expected no less. “Why don’t you seem surprised?” I asked as we sped through the intersection of Doheny and Sunset, the very spot where the beauty of Beverly Hills started to show. The streets widened and became lined with trees, and the lawns were immaculately manicured, the sidewalks clean. “Don has always had a penchant for women he’s just met,” Harry says. “I wasn’t sure if you knew. Or if you cared.” “T didn’t know. And I do care.” “Well, then, I’m sorry,” he said, looking at me briefly before putting his eyes back on the road. “In that case, I should have told you.” “I suppose there are lots of things we don’t tell each other,” I said, looking out the window. There was a man walking his dog down the street. I needed someone. Right then, I needed a friend. Someone to tell my truths to, someone to accept me, someone to say that I was going to be OK. “What if we really did it?” I said. “Told each other the truth?” “Told each other everything.” Harry looked at me. “I'd say that’s a burden I don’t want to put on you.” “It might be a burden for you, too,” I said. “I have skeletons.” “You’re Cuban, and you’re a power-hungry, calculating bitch,” Harry said, smiling at me. “Those secrets aren’t so bad.” I threw my head back and laughed. “And you know what I am,” he said. “I do.” “But right now, you have plausible deniability. You don’t have to hear about it or see it.”