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Charlize Theron officially moved into Gary's apartment building.
She shared a three-bedroom unit with two other girls—perfectly normal in a big American city.
Each tenant had her own private room.
The living room, kitchen, and bathroom were shared.
As long as everyone respected each other's space, living with strangers wasn't a big deal.
Her two new roommates were quite friendly.
One dreamed of opening her own bakery;
The other worked as an office clerk at a trading company.
Since Gary handled the subletting, the rent didn't increase just because a room was empty—but utilities were split evenly.
Having three tenants instead of two made a noticeable difference for young people just starting out.
So when Charlize rented the vacant room, they naturally welcomed her with open arms.
Henry played chauffeur once again, driving his Cadillac to the motel where Charlize had been staying and helping her bring over her belongings.
She didn't have much—some clothes, toiletries—one suitcase and a few plastic bags. No need for movers or a truck.
During the car ride, the girl talked about all the places she'd moved through in life:
From South Africa to Italy.
From Italy to the United States.
From the East Coast to the West.
Every move felt like a brand-new beginning—filled with hope for the future.
Henry quietly listened.
Her experience was different from his days traveling with Audrey Hepburn.
His trips always had an end date.
He knew he was a temporary guest everywhere he went.
But Charlize always arrived in a new place believing she might settle there—start a new life—start fresh.
It was admirable, but also made it clear she was fighting hard to leave her past behind.
Since it was already late, Henry used the excuses of being hungry and celebrating her house-warming to treat the girl to dinner.
After eating, the two returned to the apartment building.
Henry carried her suitcase up to the fourth floor—where her new room was—and dropped it at the door.
Her two roommates were sitting in the living room after work.
Seeing Henry behind Charlize, they immediately asked, "Charlize, is he your boyfriend?"
The thin-skinned girl panicked.
"No, no! Just… a good friend."
One of the roommates, though, seemed to recognize him.
"Oh! Aren't you the guy from the third floor?"
Henry smiled.
"Yes, that's me. Henry Brown. Good evening, ladies—pleasure to meet you."
Once he helped carry the luggage inside, Henry stepped back out and said,
"If you need anything else, call me—or drop by the third floor. I'll head back for now."
"Okay. Goodnight."
"Goodnight."
Henry shut the door, yawned hard, and walked back downstairs.
No wonder this girl succeeded.
Her conversations tonight were like a caffeine overdose—pure positivity, motivational speech after motivational speech.
Someone with that drive ought to rise to the top.
If a useless guy like him overshadowed someone like her, the universe would be broken.
Knowing how bright her future would be, Henry felt like a vampire staring straight at the sun—so bright it hurt.
Not to mention those consecutive emotional crits that made him want to say:
"As a certified loser, I sincerely apologize."
Better get some sleep.
Meanwhile, inside the apartment…
The two roommates had already circled Charlize like interrogators.
"So… how do you know him?"
"Henry is famous in this building?" Charlize asked—voice steady, but her heart pinched a little.
The two roommates exchanged a knowing look.
"His kind of 'famous' isn't what you're imagining," one said.
"You haven't been inside his apartment, have you?"
Charlize shook her head.
"That explains it.
Once you go inside, you'll know exactly why he's famous."
"What do you mean?"
Charlize blinked.
"You know he has a pet, right?"
"Yes. Gary said he has a tabby cat."
Was that… wrong?
The two roommates snorted.
"A 'tabby cat.' Sure."
"You'll see. Just… don't get scared."
"What, is Henry's pet awful?
Don't tell me it's actually some little girl, and he calls her 'tabby cat'."
Charlize asked, suddenly alarmed.
"Oh wow—you really are perfect for Hollywood."
"That imagination!"
"But no—nothing like that," the clerk said. "No little girl. He lives alone."
"Ugh, what is wrong with you two?"
Charlize groaned. "Why act mysterious and not explain anything?"
The older roommate—the aspiring baker—sighed dramatically.
"It's not that we won't tell you.
It's that you wouldn't believe us even if we did.
You have to see it yourself."
The office girl added, "If you're not worried it'll look like you're throwing yourself at him, you could bring a few beers tonight and go thank him for the ride.
Then you'll see.
Don't worry—I seriously doubt you'd end up staying the night.
Beer's in the fridge—take my share."
Charlize did feel itchy with curiosity.
But she forced herself not to go knocking at Henry's door at night.
First—showing up late just to look at his pet?
That sounded like a flimsy excuse for something else…
That was basically "free delivery service"—and she was not mentally prepared to go that far.
Second—she needed time to think.
These past two days had been overwhelming.
She needed clarity—so she wouldn't miss red flags because of a few good things happening.
So after joking with her roommates a bit, she carried her things to her room and began unpacking.
Gary's place had one blessing:
The basic furniture was included.
So the room already had a bed, a desk, a wardrobe.
The bedding wasn't new, but Gary had insisted everything had been washed and was clean.
With her tight finances, she couldn't go buy new linens anyway.
Luckily the bedding didn't smell weird—just faintly like laundry detergent.
So he hadn't lied.
She hung her small collection of clothes, tucked her undergarments into drawers.
At the bottom of her suitcase was a small framed photo—her and her mother on the farm back in South Africa.
One of the few pictures where they were smiling.
And for the first time, the surreal blur of these past days… felt real again.
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