In Lori's House

Here's how Lori got to live in an unfinished $3 million Santa Monica house with eight bedrooms, six boarders, eight dogs - one of which was a dachshund / German shepherd mix with a daschund body, shepherd head and balls so big that they dragged along the ground like a cow's udder. The courtyard was festooned with dog poop and a three inch thick line of red army ants marched to and fro the kitchen feeding on a wide array of spoiled food.

Lori's father, who was now residing in the pokey for fraud, criminal negligence and tax evasion, once ran a chain of traveling carnivals. He raked it in until he got nailed for all of the above, but had the foresight to put the Santa Monica home and the Malibu beach house, both investment properties, in his daughter's name. Lori took in boarders to generate income. Her hold over the homes was however tenuous. The IRS was trying to repo both properties and it was just a matter of time before they would succeed.

Lori, who would've been considered almost cute if she didn't smell like a pet shop with bad air circulation, also made a little extra cash on the side dealing grass, or her special herbal remedy as she liked to call it.

Harry rented the unfinished guest house over the garage on a weekly basis. He was temporarily staying in LA in a valiant but doomed attempt to break into the television business as a sitcom writer. Gomez would later regret acting as Harry's ad hoc leasing agent when Harry fled early one morning without paying the rent.

"I didn't plan it that way," Harry tried to explain to Gomez over dinner at Koo Koo Roo's. "I panicked when I stepped on a huge and sloppy dog turd on my way up to my room. The continuous march of army ants in and out of the kitchen was bad enough, as were the unexpected visits to my room by the gay carpenter, who was allegedly finishing the guest house renovations. I just freaked out after stepping on the dog turd. Another day there and I would've lost my mind, especially considering how paranoid I became from constantly smoking from my stash of Lori's special herbal remedy. Needless to say, it wasn't what I expected or what was promised. The point is I don't feel bad about skipping on the rent."

"You should at least pay her something, talk to her," Gomez said, envisioning his imaginary relationship with Lori going up in flames.

But Harry, still reeling from the dog turd misstep, could find no room in his heart for compromise. Gomez would never understand that for Harry, this incident had become an omen of things to come.