After rehearsal, I make a stop on the way home. Then I collect my prize from the trunk of my car and head around the house toward the patio. I rest my package against the siding before knocking on the door of the pool house.

Timothy answers, deliciously disheveled. He looks as if he started changing but forgot, clad in faded jeans with his dress shirt half unbuttoned.

"What's up?"

"What's up?" I laugh. "You show up at rehearsal and go all Rodgers and Hammerstein, and you're asking me what's up?"

He pulls back the door, and I glance past him at the three guys in the main living area...