Former NBA star Carlos Boozer once rented his Los Angeles mansion to Prince for $95,000 a month.

This sounds like an excellent financial decision, because it is difficult to imagine what could go wrong when you hand the keys to your 12-bedroom Bel Air estate to a man who changed his name to an unpronounceable symbol.

Prince was not known for quietly occupying space.

Around 2004, Boozer had recently signed with the Utah Jazz and bought a large home in Bel Air. Soon afterward, people began calling to ask whether he would rent it out.

Boozer said no.

Then someone offered him $95,000 a month for an entire year, and Boozer suddenly remembered that he had always believed deeply in the importance of sharing.

The prospective tenant’s identity was initially kept secret. The paperwork was signed, the deal was completed, and only then did Boozer learn that his mystery renter was Prince.

This was either because Prince valued privacy or because nobody wanted Boozer Googling “Prince rental-property alterations” before accepting the deposit.

For a while, everything appeared to be going smoothly. Boozer was playing in Utah, Prince was living in Los Angeles, and approximately $95,000 was arriving every month. It was the rare landlord-tenant relationship in which both parties could afford to solve minor plumbing problems by purchasing the plumbing company.

Then Boozer injured his hamstring and returned to Los Angeles for rehabilitation.

He notified Prince that he would be stopping by the house.

Prince apparently interpreted this as a design deadline.

When Boozer arrived, he initially wondered whether he had the correct address. The house looked unfamiliar. He entered the gate code, drove up the long driveway, and saw a giant purple carpet extending from the motor court to the front door.

At that point, there were several possible explanations.

One, Boozer had accidentally purchased Graceland.

Two, he had driven into a very elaborate church wedding.

Three, Prince had been Prince-ing.

Inside, Boozer discovered that Prince had removed his furniture and replaced the carpeting. The weight room had been converted into a nightclub. Guest bedrooms had become hair salons. Another room was now a massage parlor.

Most tenants hang a few pictures and buy a shower curtain.

Prince opened a luxury entertainment complex.

Imagine being a professional athlete returning home for physical therapy and discovering that the room where you once performed squats now has velvet ropes, mood lighting and a DJ named Moonbeam.

Boozer was understandably upset. He tried calling Prince, but Prince did not answer.

This may have been because Prince was touring overseas. It may also have been because Prince had looked at his phone, seen “LANDLORD” and immediately begun playing a 17-minute guitar solo.

Boozer contacted his lawyer, who explained that suing Prince was an available option.

Technically, this was true.

You can also technically wrestle a bear over a sandwich. The law permits many activities that remain strategically unwise.

As Boozer later admitted, nobody really wants to sue Prince.

First, you would need to locate him.

Then you would have to serve legal papers to a man who might arrive in court through a cloud of purple smoke, wearing a lace mask and accompanied by three doves.

Finally, there was the public-relations problem.

A newspaper headline reading “NBA PLAYER SUES PRINCE OVER PURPLE CARPET” was unlikely to make Boozer appear sympathetic. The public would have sided with Prince before reading the second paragraph.

Eventually, Prince called Boozer at around three in the morning.

Naturally.

Prince explained that he had been touring in Asia, apologized for the concern and promised that when the lease ended, the house would look exactly as it had before he moved in.

That was a remarkable promise, considering the property now apparently contained a nightclub, multiple salons and enough purple carpeting to cover a municipal airport.

To reassure Boozer, Prince reportedly wired him $500,000.

This is known in real estate as the “Please Stop Calling Your Attorney” deposit.

Most tenants ease a landlord’s mind by replacing a broken lamp or agreeing to repaint a wall.

Prince sent half a million dollars.

And according to Boozer, Prince ultimately kept his promise. When the lease ended, the house was restored.

This means that somewhere in Los Angeles, an entire crew spent weeks converting an NBA player’s mansion into Prince’s private pleasure palace and then carefully reversing the process so completely that it appeared never to have happened.

That may be Prince’s most impressive production.

The story also offers important guidance for ordinary homeowners considering renting out their properties.

Check references.

Collect a security deposit.

Clearly prohibit structural alterations.

And if the tenant asks whether he may “make a few small changes,” determine whether those changes include replacing your gym with a nightclub and opening a full-service beauty industry in the guest wing.

Still, Boozer made roughly $1.14 million in rent for the year, plus a $500,000 payment to ease his nerves.

For that kind of money, Prince could have turned the garage into a recording studio, painted the swimming pool raspberry and renamed the property “The Estate Formerly Known as Carlos Boozer’s House.”

Sometimes being a landlord means fixing leaky faucets.

Sometimes it means discovering that Prince has transformed your home into an after-hours spa and entertainment venue.