“I was annoyed I couldn’t get ahold of you.”
“I saw a missed call but it was an unknown number. Sorry, I didn’t answer because…”
“You never answer unknown calls after 11pm.” Stella mimics. “What if it were a client?”
“Then they would leave a message.”
“I left you one.”
“Yeah, and I could only call Lucy, remember?” Grant tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. “Which I did. Babe, what’s wrong?”
“What do you mean besides the obvious?”
“You seem pissed at me.”
“I just wanted you around. And you were supposedly across town at Persuasion.”
“I was.” He narrows his eyes at her. “Why do you say ‘supposedly’ like I’m lying?”
“Because…”
“Are you mad I didn’t party with you?” He looks taken aback. “Seriously, Stel, I made the evening so you could have fun with your friends. Why are you mad at me?”
“You did go to the club.”
“What’re you talking about?”
“I saw you. We saw you.”
Dumbfounded, he asks, “Who?”
“Chelsey and I. You were upstairs with Aras and Lucy.
“Who?”
“The general manager.”
“Stella…” his voice trails off.
“What?”
“I didn’t go to the club, except to run inside and pay the tab on the booth. After that was squared away, I went across town to meet John Melborne.”
“Who?”
“My friend Joe’s younger bro - the one who lives in Burbank.”
Stella vaguely remembers the guy Grant’s talking about, an old colleague at his first real job out here.
“What about Lucy?”
“What about her?” Grant squeezes her arm. “I saw her vehicle parked outside. Was she supposed to be driving tonight?”
“I don’t know, she was acting weird.” Stella doesn’t want to throw her under the bus though. “She seemed fine, just moody.”
“Typical Lucy.” Grant rubs a finger over Stella’s ring. “This looks perfect on you.” He curves her hand so the facets of light from the lamp reflect off of the diamonds. “Stunning like my girl.”
“You did good.” Stella collapses against him. “And it wasn’t even an anniversary present.”
“I couldn’t wait until then.” He strokes her hair, snuggling her against him. “Thanks for being proactive and getting our cards canceled. It could’ve been a nightmare. What can I do to make up this awful night to you?”
She moves closer into the crook of his arm. “I don’t know … I’m just in a pissy mood about the whole thing.”
“As you should be.” He caresses her cheek. “You keep your life in that satchel, I’d probably find your heart and intestines in the middle pouch.”
“Exactly,” she sniffs, “all the important body parts.”
“Nah, I own your heart.” He touches her chest. “That’s all mine, babe.”
She reaches over to kiss him, and he responds, giving her his tongue as he holds her neck tightly in his grasp. Passionate, he always delivers when it comes to his feelings and how he expresses himself.
Before she knows it, her anger’s dissipated towards him, and her mood’s starting to change.
“I know what I want,” she whispers in his ear.
He gives her hair a gentle tug. “And what’s that?”
Impudent, she murmurs, “For you to put me to sleep.”
When she starts to climb on top of him, he puts his hands up, as if to shield his body from hers. Wounded, Stella sputters, “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” He untangles himself from her. “I meant like making you tea or something helpful.”
“Since when is making love useless?”
Grant sighs, “I’m not trying to hurt your feelings.”
“Well you just did.”
“I’m not in the mood right now.”
“You’re always in the mood,” Stella points out. “Plus, it was like you wanted to a few minutes ago.”
He gives her a sheepish grin. “You know how it is when I’ve been drinking. I’ve got whiskey dick and it’s useless.”
“Sure.” Stella scoots off his lap and back to her side of the bed faster than if she’d been burned.
He crawls out of bed, shutting the lamp off. “How about a consolation prize of chamomile tea? Will that do the trick?”
“I suppose so.” Stella's relieved the room is dark so she can hide her disappointment. Who turns down their wife for sex?
Men who have been out drinking, that’s who.
And ones that shower as soon as they walk in the door, hiding evidence of their earlier dalliances.
Grants leans in, giving her a forehead kiss before he leaves the room. Usually she loves when he shows her this type of affection. To her, it symbolizes a deeper, more meaningful connection, but tonight it comes off all wrong, more of a geriatric or fatherly act.
By the time he comes back with a cup of tea, Stella’s head is burrowed deep in her pillow, her body shielded by the down comforter.
If Grant can fake it, so can she.
15
Stella
When Stella wakes, she knocks on the guest room door, surprised to see it ajar. Pushing it open, she’s partly relieved and partly concerned that Lucy’s already left. Always a good houseguest, her bed’s made and the only sign she was ever in the house is the empty bottle of water on the nightstand.
Aras calls Grant later that morning, and automatically, she grabs the phone from him. Stella can tell from his flat tone that he doesn’t have good news. Aras says, “I’m sorry Mrs. McKinney, we weren’t able to locate your purse. We’ll watch for it but it’s…”
“Likely gone,” she finishes for him. “So a police report is the next step?”
“Yes, and let me give you my cell, they can contact me with any questions.”
“Okay,” she sighs, “thanks for calling.”
“...and if you need anything…”
“I’m sure we’ll be in touch.”
Hanging up, she turns to Grant, who’s lounging in his flannel pajama bottoms, reading a newspaper with a bowl of cereal seated in his lap. He looks like an overgrown frat boy, slurping the leftover milk.
“No?” He raises a brow at her.
“Nope.”
“Come here, babe.”
“I was going to make some breakfast.”
Patting the seat next to him, he murmurs, “Just for a minute.” He reaches forward to set his cereal on the coffee table. Stella clamps down on her lip, harder than she intends, to keep from nagging Grant about the bowl that will inevitably leave rings on the glass, rings she will be forced to clean up. Before she curls up next to him, she wordlessly slides a coaster underneath to prevent staining. He never thinks of things like this.
He whispers in her ear, “I know you loved that purse, but it’s not the most important thing. It’s not irreplaceable, and I’m glad it’s a handbag and not something invaluable like you.”
“I know,” she sighs into his shoulder. “I shouldn’t be so upset about it.”
“Yes you should, it’s annoying to cancel cards and worry about fraud.”
Forlorn, she breathes in his manly scent, “Plus my cell was in there.”
“I’ll go get you a new one today.” He lifts her chin. “I love you, and this isn’t anything a couple of extra hours of due diligence won’t fix.”
“What about my ID?”
He pats her leg. “You can mess with your ID tomorrow, see about a replacement one.”
She nods, wrinkling her nose. “I hope they try to make a big purchase like a television or some uber expensive electronic and get declined with a huge line behind them.”
“Ouch, babe,” he teases, “that’s heartless.” His face twists into a frown. “In all seriousness, if I ever find out what punk stole your purse, I’ll beat the shit out o
f them.”
“I know you will.” She gives him a light kiss on the lips. “I know you have my back.”
“Always.” He stands, grabbing his bowl of cereal to take to the sink. “Make sure you call and file a police report.”
“Just call the non-emergency number?” she asks, “and ask to speak to a detective?”
“Yeah, the switchboard operator will direct you to the right person.”
Stella spends her afternoon on the phone with a detective and then monitoring her accounts for any issues, making sure the bank is mailing new cards. Until then, she’ll have to use cash.
Wanting to check on Lucy, she uses Grant’s phone to ring her, since her number’s still in his recent calls from their conversation last night.
Lucy picks up immediately. Breathless, she moans, “Tell me good news, that we’re in agreement on this.”
Pausing, Stella stays hushed, unsure what Lucy’s referring to.
“Grant?”
Stella breathes into the phone, unable to speak.
“We are doing the right thing,” Lucy affirms.
16
Stella
“Lucy?” Stella asks, “Hi, it’s me, your best friend speaking.”
“Stella.” Lucy’s tone changes to one of dismay. “I’m confused … what number are you calling me from?”
“Obviously from Grant’s, since you greeted him and it’s his cell.” Stella says haughtily.
“Yes, I know this, but I’m unsure why you aren’t calling from your number?”
“Mine’s in my stolen purse, remember?”
“Ah, yes, I do.” Lucy giggles nervously. “It was clearly a rough night of boozing for me.”
“Why didn’t you say goodbye before you left this morning?”
“You guys were still in bed, and besides, I had to pick up the kids from Adam’s,” Lucy sighs. “Now that we’re divorced, everything’s so much harder. It breaks my heart.”
Stella’s tone softens. “I know it must be tough for them to go back and forth. You guys are great parents though. Don’t ever forget that.”
“Thanks.”
“Speaking of spouses,” Stella pries, “what are you and Grant in agreement on?”
“Oh, nothing, just that your party was still a smash even though it turned into a shit show. He felt bad about your purse.”
“Yeah, but he’s going to get me a new phone today,” Stella adds, “so call me later so I can save your number.”
“Mine should be memorized in that stubborn noggin of yours,” Lucy says.
“I know, I know,” Stella concedes, “it should be. I’ll try harder.”
Grant brings her home a new phone later, and grateful, she spends the rest of her evening focused on writing her proposal for the upcoming Palm Springs conference. Even though they asked her to speak, she still has to provide an outline of her speech.
The next morning, the alarm goes off at 6am, always an unpleasant surprise. She and Grant groan as Stella gropes for the snooze button in annoyance.
“I gotta get up,” Grant says sleepily. “I’m going to the gym.”
“This morning?”
“Yeah, I’m trying to go twice a day. One in the morning and once in the evening.”
Stella rolls over to face him. “That’s a big commitment. Don’t you think twice a day is a little excessive?”
“No I don’t, because I’m so out of shape.” He kisses her cheek before he rolls out of bed. “If you can manage the gym, so can I.”
“Do I have to worry about some Hollywood vixen taking you away from me?” she teases.
“Potentially.” He brushes a strand of hair off her face. “I’m going to go get dressed. I’ll just pack a bag and shower at the gym.”
“Need me to make you some coffee?”
“Thanks babe, that’d be great.”
Stella stumbles out of bed, grabbing her silk robe and sliding her feet into slippers as she walks downstairs. She loves the morning light, the way it filters through the floor-to-ceiling windows after she opens the shades. As she starts to brew a pot of coffee, she throws a protein shake and banana into a reusable tote bag for Grant.
Dressed in blue gym shorts and a hooded sweatshirt, he sniffs the air appreciatively. “Nothing beats the smell of coffee.”
“Or the sun rising on the water.”
He agrees, “Or that.” His phone beeps and he mutters a cuss word.
“What’s wrong?”
“Mind if we trade cars today?”
“No, that’s okay. Something wrong with yours?”
“It’s supposed to get serviced today. The appointment just popped up on my phone. If you can take it between eight and nine?”
“It’ll be whenever traffic allows me to get there,” Stella laughs. “I have no control over LA rush hour.”
“Fair.” He gives her a long kiss. “Thanks babe.”
“My keys are on the seat.”
“One set wasn’t in your purse?”
“No, amazingly I had left them at home since I wasn’t driving that night.”
He pulls her into a tight hug. “That’s one piece of good news.”
“Yeah, they’re expensive to replace.”
“Don’t forget to find out about your ID. They’ll give you a loaner so you can run some errands.”
“K, have a good day, love you.” Stella hands him his bag and takes his car keys.
Making herself an iced coffee, she throws on some workout clothes and heads out to the garage, where his charcoal G Wagon sits.
It’s the opposite of her sports car - his off-road vehicle, a tricked-out looking military style SUV. It’s the more practical of the two. Or is it really? It’s essentially a Jeep on steroids.
It’s also a mess.
Stella dumps out the bottle of water in his cup holder, replacing it with her coffee mug. Grant has never been good with keeping his cars tidy. He’s not a dirty person, just a messy one who will clean, but only after he can’t find what he’s looking for.
Traffic’s slow going and Stella turns on talk radio so she can assuage some of the dull pace of morning rush hour, the constant stop and go traffic that makes you want to shout and pull your hair out.
When she gets to the dealership, she parks it in the designated area. Knowing they will vacuum and wash the vehicle after the service, Stella doesn’t want to leave it as is. Grabbing the rest of the half-empty water bottles thrown in the back and some plastic cans, she pockets some of the loose change lying in the passenger seat. Grant has a pair of shoes and a couple of t-shirts in the back, so she folds them and carries them with her inside.
“Hi, service for Masen.”
A woman looks up from her computer. “First name?”
“Grant.”
“Perfect. Do you need a loaner vehicle?”
“Yes please.”
“Okay, driver’s license and proof of insurance.”
She pats her pocket, remembering she has no ID. “Um … my purse was stolen over the weekend.”
“I don’t have a copy on file for you. You are…?”
“Grant’s wife, Stella McKinney.”
“Proof of insurance in the vehicle?”
“Let me go check.”
Stella walks back to the wagon, reaching in the glove box for his insurance card. She hopes Grant has printed one out so she doesn’t have to log in to their account. She pulls out a small white piece of paper, and instead of insurance, it’s a valet ticket.
For The Shock Room, the club she was at the other night.
Her heart sinks when she notices the time stamp on the card. It’s dated for last week, a night she’s confident he was unavailable, claiming work.
Flabbergasted, Stella tries to wrack her mind for a good excuse why he would be at the club. Maybe he went there ahead of time to reserve her table, or maybe he needed to scope out the place for some reason, make sure it worked for her party.
An apprehensive feeling starts to creep
into her gut, causing her to feel nauseated.
Grant hates the club scene, and entertaining clients in spaces that lend themselves to heavy drinking and potentially inappropriate behavior have always appalled him.
So why would he spend a chunk of time in a setting he despises when he won’t even go there for his own wife?
Stella begins to wonder in horror, was Grant using her party to cover a previous lie he told her so she wouldn’t grow suspicious?
17
Stella
Stella finds the right insurance card, shoving the valet ticket in her back pocket. She wants to call Grant and go off on him, but she knows now is not the time. She has a valid reason for finding it, but what is his compelling reason for lying about his whereabouts last week?
She sheepishly heads inside to the counter, and the woman takes pity on her for not having her ID. She can tell she thinks she’s lying, but she promises to bring a copy of her driver’s license back after going to the DMV today. Stella assumes the woman doesn’t want to hear from Grant or have to bother him at work. He doesn’t like being inundated with unimportant matters, and this would definitely fall into that category. He would be livid.
Calling Lucy on her way to the DMV, she answers on the second ring.
“Look who got a new phone,” Lucy says. “What are you doing on this lovely morning?”
“Nothing, just taking Grant’s car in.”
“Oh shit, is it having problems?”
“No, he just forgot it needed to be serviced today and was busy.”
“Busy doing what?”
“Well, working.”
“So are you.”
“He wanted to go to the gym this morning so I’m playing the role of a dutiful wife.” Ruminating, Stella adds, “Lucy, am I going crazy?”
“Probably, yeah, but what do you mean?”
“Grant is acting strange.”
“How so?”
“For starters, refusing sex the other night. Panties he claims are mine in his vehicle. And now I found a valet ticket from a week ago for the man who hates the club scene with a passion.”
The Perfect Stranger Page 10