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whispered.
    â€œNinety-seven percent.”
    â€œJood,” Sidney breathed. He doesn’t eat red meat. Working out six days a week, he has to watch every gram of fat he puts into his body.
    Monroe doesn’t (or, more aptly, doesn’t want to). “ Turkey sausage?”
    Mitchell rose. “You won’t know the difference.”
    â€œAnd even if he could tell the difference,” added Errol, “ain’t no way he’d watch us eat it.”
    Monroe took a plate from Errol. “You know that’s right.” Picking up the serving spoon Errol had just rinsed off and placed in the lasagna pan, he was about to dig in.
    â€œYo, man, wash your hands first!” Sidney demanded, soaping up himself.
    â€œOops.” He did so after Sidney.
    Errol cut the lasagna into eight cubed portions. He helped himself to two of them. Sidney placed one on his plate.
    â€œMan, that’s all you havin’?” Monroe asked him.
    â€œYou know I can only eat small portions,” Sidney reminded him.
    â€œLike he really cares,” remarked Errol as his food warmed up in the microwave. “That just means they’ll be more for him.”
    â€œNo question,” Monroe agreed.
    Mitchell walked toward the kitchen’s entryway. “What time are you all leaving?” They’ll be spending the night at Monroe’s.
    â€œAround seven,” answered Errol.
    â€œOkay. I’ll be in my office if y’all need me.”
    Sidney watched Monroe place four pieces of lasagna on his plate. “Ha, Roe might. He may need you to whip up another pan.”
    Monroe smiled. Mitchell and Errol chuckled.

Chapter 6
    R aheim’s gone from being a homeboy to a homebody. Chances are better than jood he can be found in one of three places on any given day, the first being a soundstage. But on average he works two days out of the week. In fact, he spends more time traveling to and from his modeling or acting jobs than he does on the set.
    The second is Crunch, the gym. That’s where he was after his lunch with Troy. He hit the treadmill, worked on his back and chest, then chilled in the sauna for almost an hour listening to the “Missing U” cassette tape Mitchell made him eight years ago when he went to L.A. for the first time. He found it this past March, tucked in the inside pocket of the old Nike duffel bag he took on that trip. The songs—especially his favorite, the first one on side A, Gladys Knight & the Pips’ “Till I See You Again”—have taken on a different meaning now.
    He pumps up three days a week, just enough to maintain his six-pack and muscular frame. But on five out of every seven, he’s maxin’ in his father’s black leather easy chair with built-in massage in front of the TV—even on a Friday night. And this Friday was no different.
    He had his usual goodies: two fruit bowls, French onion Sun Chips, microwave buttered popcorn, and his father’s famous lemonade. The thirty-six-inch flat-screen TV (a present from him to his father last Christmas) would be on mute this evening, though: instead of flipping from one sensational murder case to another on Court TV and newsmagazine shows like Dateline NBC and 48 Hours Investigates , he planned to finish the Dodging Me script and plot how he’d tackle each scene.
    He was settling into the chair, had the script open to page 99, and the credits for Wheel of Fortune ended as a promo for John Stossel’s “Give Me a Break!” segment on 20/20 was beginning when his cell rang.
    â€œHello?”
    â€œRah, whazzup?” It was Angel, his homie from way back. Before Raheim could respond, Angel answered for him. “‘Nothin’ much,’ right?”
    â€œAs it turns out, no.”
    â€œNo? What’s the dealio?”
    â€œI got offered the lead in a movie today,” he stated proudly.
    â€œYou lyin’, yo!”
    â€œNah. I’m