My son, Mikey, met me at the airport.
He is quite famous now and I guess that’s why he wears nondescript clothes, black shorts and trainers and a black baseball cap pulled low over his eyes.
He has got me an apartment on Crescent Drive in Beverly Hills. It’s not what I would have chosen but it comes free in return for a favour. Tonight he is hosting the Hero Dog Awards at the Beverly Hilton.
“I’m saving you $5000, Dad,” he says, ever practical.
It has a big, soft, grey sofa and dark wood furniture and ornate table lamps and a credenza for the TV.
Little reminders: a shower that really pummels your back, a bed that’s an inch or two higher than beds in Europe, the rasping laugh of the American crow which always seems to come from right outside your window.
There’s a Wholefoods opposite. I buy some things there. I am not hungry but I know I will wake up very, very early the next morning and want to get a coffee or a green tea.
I am going for dinner with him tomorrow. That is when I will meet his new partner. That will be strange.
It’s odd to see your own son appearing on gossip web sites like omg! or TMZ.com or PerezHilton.com.
That’s where I learned about Jared — another Jared. There’s a picture of Mikey holding hands with a tall man with a shock of black hair and dark designer stubble under the headline: “Michael Jonson-Smith shows off his new boyfriend.”
I read through the comments about them: “Do something about the Fraggle hair sweetie” — “Just a fame whore” — “He’s a hottie” — “Cute couple.”
They don’t seem to like Jared.
I also learn here that Mikey and Jared are experimenting with the Paleo diet.