The Perfect Stranger

by Marin Montgomery

  Stella settles down into the sand, wrapping her sweater tight around her. She makes an imprint with her body. Staring into the midnight darkness, she thinks back to that night.

  The phone rings, Stella answers, impatient when she sees it’s Lucy and not him.

  “We still going out tonight?” Lucy asks.

  “Uh, I guess, sure.”

  “You don't sound enthused.”

  “I am. I just totally forgot.”

  “You’ve been so MIA lately, is everything okay?”

  “Yeah, I’ve just been struggling to come up with a new color palette that works on all skin tones.”

  “Stop trying to make it one size fits all. Lipstick isn’t like that. You know that as a blonde woman, you can’t wear the same as say, an African-American woman or someone with my naturally dark Middle Eastern complexion. You’re too fair-skinned for a lot of the darker colors and vice versa.”

  Stella knows Lucy’s right. Personally, she’s a fan of some of the beautiful plum colors she tried on her models, but the colors washed out her Scandinavian complexion.

  Lucy continues, “Makeup users realize this. Just work on shades that complement all women and skin tones. You’ll have a winner, but don’t try to make one work for all.”

  “Fair point,” Stella agrees.

  “So yes to going out?” Lucy asks. “Not to be a dramatic, needy bitch, but is it me or is something wrong with our friendship?”

  “What do you mean?” Stella asks, knowing full well what she’s alluding to. Stella’s been off her rocker lately, swept into an affair that she no longer has the time or patience for her friendships. Plus, she’d have to admit to living a double life.

  “I feel you distancing yourself. I can barely get a call back from you, let alone make plans. We’ve had lunch only a couple times in the last few months.”

  Stella starts to respond but sees an incoming call from him. She wants to answer, has to physically pinch her arm not to.

  “I, uh, nothing’s wrong. I do owe us a night out.”

  “Ok, so I’ll see you later.”

  “Yep.”

  Lucy changes the subject to her children, telling Stella a story about how her three-year old, Luna, dragged her child-size toilet outdoors so going potty wouldn’t interfere with playtime. Lucy always saves the funny parts of parenting for Stella, and usually she’d get a kick out of this, but her mind’s spiraling to thoughts of him. The scent of him, when they can see each other again, when his tongue will be done her throat again.

  “Can you believe it?” Lucy giggles, “I swear, she gets her laid-back demeanor from her daddy.” Stella hears noise in the background, either cartoons or the sound of a man's voice.

  “Is Adam home?” Stella asks. “Did he laugh as hard as I did?”

  “He took Adrian to the doctor.” Adrian’s their five-year-old. “I think he has an ear infection.”

  “Again?”

  “Yeah, he’ll probably need tubes put in his ears.” Lucy starts to talk about pros and cons of this as Stella settles into an armchair, half listening, half daydreaming.

  Stella makes sure to respond at all the right times, giggle when she’s supposed to, and sigh when there’s frustration in Lucy’s tone.

  “Should I pick you up at seven?” Lucy asks.

  “Sure thing. See you later, Lucy.”

  That night, a knock on the door startles both Stella and Grant.

  “Who’s that?” Grant asks, peering from behind the couch, a beer in hand.

  “I don’t know.” She’s nervous all of a sudden, wringing her hands as she stands in the kitchen. He wouldn’t dare come to the house, would he? They had agreed to meet out and about.

  Grant strides to the door while Stella stands frozen in place. “I thought you were meeting Nichole out?”

  “I am.”

  When she opens it, her mouth drops open.

  It’s Lucy.

  Shit, they had plans tonight. Gripping the door frame, she pastes on a big smile. She totally forgot. Playing it cool, she swings open the door, waving Lucy in.

  “Come to mama, Lucy,” she says, wiggling her fingers out at her as she embraces her in a hug. “My long-lost girl.”

  Lucy sniffs her hair and kisses her on the cheek. '“You smell so good.”

  “Thanks love.”

  “Hi Grant.” She hollers in the direction of the couch.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “What’re you up to tonight?”

  Grant raises himself from the couch, reaching his arms up in the air for a big stretch. “I’m getting myself in trouble by drinking beer, eating chicken wings, and watching hockey.”

  “Fair enough. I wish Adam was a fan. You guys could sit and holler at the television together.”

  “He’s more into figure skating, huh?” Grant jokes, coming over to join them.

  “I wish.” She shrugs.

  “Nichole right behind you?” Grant asks.

  Lucy’s eyes widen as she turns to Stella, “No, is she coming out, too?”

  Stella takes a seat at a barstool in the kitchen. “No, she had a change of plans.”

  “Damn, I miss that girl,” Lucy pouts, “I never see you anymore, I never see her.”

  Grant reaches in the fridge for another cold one as the color drains from Stella’s face. She never should have agreed to let Lucy pick her up.

  Surprised, he raises a brow at Lucy. “You never see my wife? Come on, dramatic, you always see my wife. More than I do.”

  “It’s been months...” Lucy’s voice trails off as Stella interjects.

  Grant stands up straight, turning to look at Stella, who’s sure she will disappear right into the floorboards if they both don't stop talking.

  Curious, he eyes Lucy first before considering his wife. “You saw Stella two nights ago.”

  Stella tries to busy herself with a glass in the sink, rinsing it out and slowly placing it in the dishwasher. Lucy stays silent, forcing Stella to speak. “We did see each other. We went to a movie at the Cineplex.”

  Both sets of eyes drill into her, and Stella waits a moment before she gazes at Lucy. “You thought it was that bad of a movie?”

  Lucy’s biting her lower lip, and there’s a long pause that feels like several minutes but is only a few seconds as Stella waits for her to either give her away or cover her ass.

  “No, because we didn’t see that movie,” Lucy admonishes. “And you should be ashamed of yourself for lying.”

  Stella exhales, staring at Grant’s set jaw and puzzled expression.

  Lucy adds, “I can’t believe you would even admit to seeing that movie, Stel. It was entirely forgettable, and I want those two and a half hours back.”

  Grant’s face relaxes and he comes up behind Stella, giving her neck a squeeze. “I always say that for as brilliant as she is, she cannot pick good movies.”

  “Your idea of a solid movie is based on a comic book character.” Stella chortles. “Hardly original.”

  “It was when Stan Lee thought of it,” he shoots back.

  Stella sticks her tongue out at him as he tries to playfully grab it. Giving her a deep kiss, he pats her cheek lovingly.

  Lucy snorts, “Okay, enough of this shit talking. Let’s go, Stel.”

  Still recovering, Stella chimes, “Okay, but let me grab a sweater.” Aware she just dodged a massive bullet, she now has to subtly cancel on her date. Her phone’s in her back pocket and she doesn’t want to be obvious, so she heads to the coat closet to grab a jacket. Nervous to leave the two of them alone and fearful the lies would unravel, she shoots off a quick text to him.

  Can’t make it. Friend showed up

  I figured

  Why?

  You’re late. You’re never late

  I miss you

  Miss you more

  Never

  I’ll see you soon. Promise (Kissy face emoji)

  Shrugging into her jacket, Stella grabs her clutch off the counter and watches a
s Grant and Lucy finish their conversation on the worst movies of the year. Sometimes she’s jealous of their playful banter that comes so naturally to them. Trying to join in and keep the mood light, her mouth keeps twitching in nervous anticipation.

  Stella gives Grant a kiss goodbye, following Lucy out to her waiting SUV. She hasn't even strapped her seatbelt on before Lucy gives her the first degree.

  “What was that?” she jeers.

  “What?”

  “Don’t you dare play dumb with me, Stella McKinney.”

  “I don’t know...”

  “You do know.” Lucy slams the car into reverse. “Why in the hell would you lie to your husband about spending time with me?”

  Stella peers into her side mirror. “Can you please watch behind us?”

  “I’m watching the rearview cam ... and don’t you dare question my driving right now,” Lucy spits out. “Why would you lie to him?”

  “Because he wouldn’t understand.”

  “Wouldn’t understand what?”

  “That I’m having a midlife crisis.”

  Stella thumps the wheel in protest. “You’re only thirty-two. That’s not even close.”

  “True.”

  “Seriously, you can’t put me in that position.”

  Stella nods, knowing she’s right. “I should’ve warned you.”

  “No, what you should’ve done is told me what I’m covering you from.”

  “Then you become a liability.”

  “How so?”

  Stella pats Lucy’s arm. “Because I’m putting you in a terrible position.”

  “Are you having an affair?” Lucy asks point-blank, her eyes drifting from the road for a split second. “You know that’s not fair, especially after my situation with Adam and his own indiscretions”

  “I thought this was recent?”

  “It started two years ago.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes.” Lucy rolls her eyes. “Tabitha was her name. Some ditzy redhead he met at a coffee shop in downtown LA.”

  “This is why I didn't want to tell you,” Stella sighs. “I didn’t want to tell you because I know you’re sensitive about the situation.”

  “And you should be too,” Lucy shrieks. “Dammit, Stella, you’re married. If you want to run around and sleep with half of the surfers in Malibu, then get divorced. Stop running around with a scarlet ‘S’ on your chest.”

  “I thought mine was hidden, kind of like Superman’s emblem.” Her attempt at a joke falls flat and she exhales. “I’m sorry Lucy, this is why I haven’t said anything.”

  “But you used me as a cover. Why didn’t you use Nichole?” Lucy drums her fingers on the steering wheel. “Oh wait, Nichole wasn’t really supposed to come tonight, was she?”

  “Yes, she was. She had plans.”

  “Who is he, this mystery man that could uproot you from the stability of Grant, who loves you always?”

  “I met him at a conference.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “He’s in the beauty industry?”

  “Yes, he doesn’t live close.”

  Stella feels the need to lie, the need to protect herself in case Grant pumps Lucy for information someday. She wants to keep this private, or as secret as she possibly can. That was their agreement. He has his own life.

  “So what’s next?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “When will you see him again?”

  “I don’t know.” Lucy shoots her a dirty look so she adds, “probably next week.”

  “Please tell me he’s not married, that he’s some young twenty-something stud bartending and you’re not breaking up a family.”

  “Sure,” Stella says. “Close enough.”

  With that, they ride in silence until they arrive at the restaurant, where they try and avoid any talk of her sordid affair. It’s not easy for either of them, since Stella’s story starts to have gaps and blank spaces where she can’t discuss her life without including him.

  They try, but it’s clear that for a while, it’ll take a toll on their friendship.

  And indeed it does, and it did.

  As fast and passionate as the affair began, it shuddered to a screeching halt. Stella closes her eyes, unable to go back to that day. She clenches a handful of sand, the damp pebbles sliding in her palm and underneath her fingernails.

  Looking out over the lethargic waves, her body starts to shake. She wants to blame the balmy weather, the slight breeze that comes in from the ocean, but she can’t. It’s internal.

  The way it ended, she never saw coming.

  Struggling to breathe, she heaves, bile rising up as she leans on her side, little in the way of liquid coming up. She coughs, sputtering as she struggles to stand.

  Heading back to the house, she thinks about the finality in life, that people become such a significant part of your world and then they disappear, and the memories you have go up in flames, just a dot on the horizon.

  25

  Stella

  Stella’s lying in bed, listless, when she hears the garage door shudder to a halt. Glimpsing four-fifteen on the clock, it’s an unusual hour for Grant to be home.

  Way too early.

  Maybe he came to surprise her.

  She perks up, gathering the silk material of her robe around her, taming her flyaways down with her hands and smoothing the creases on her cheek from the pillow. Rubbing a finger under her eyes to wipe away any traces she’d been crying, she blows her nose and settles back against the barrage of down pillows behind her.

  Grant strides into the room, his stature shrinking in size as he continues to lose weight. She hardly recognizes this man anymore, his body shape has changed, even his demeanor. He has an air of superiority around him now, and she’s not sure she likes this upgraded but brash man.

  Her face falls when she watches him enter and exit the closet, this time with his Tumi carry-on.

  “What’s going on?” she asks.

  “I’ve got to go on a business trip to Manhattan.”

  “Whoa, how come?” She clasps her hands in front of her. “I didn't see it on the calendar.”

  “It’s not, it’s very last minute. I’m catching a red-eye.”

  Stella tries to focus on the painting behind him, the fluid colors of blue and orange, the way the paintbrush blurs it all, the way her tears obscure her eyes.

  “I thought you came home to surprise me.”

  Grant ignores this statement. “Charlie thinks we might need to make some management changes at the branch there.”

  “I thought there wasn’t much business conducted in that office, just that it was good to have a presence in the city?”

  “True, but we’re having some issues with the workload and those in charge. Pissed-off clients. I can’t rely on George to handle it anymore.” He enters and exits the closet, neatly folding his dry-cleaned shirts and pants in the luggage. Remembering a pair of sneakers and some workout clothes, he rolls them up in a tight ball. Stella used to pack for him on the rare occasion he had a business trip. It was a hobby she enjoyed, folding his clothes, making sure everything was pressed and wrinkle-free. She used to write love letters and spritz her perfume on the handwritten page. A lump forms in her throat as she thinks about the last whiff of perfume she smelled on him.

  He shoves his toiletry case in and zips the lid closed. Turning to her, he puts his hands on his hips. Stella can tell by the way he shifts from one foot to the other that he doesn’t want to tell her what he has to say next. Spit it out, she silently commands.

  “In fact, I spoke to Maggie about representing her from there - she’s planning a move. The West Coast has too many bad memories for her. She’s going to come in and meet with both Charlie and I.”

  “So it wasn’t a permanent split between the two of you?”

  Nonplussed, Grant shakes his head. “I’ve worked hard to convince her to give me another chance.”

  “I’m sure you have,” Stella mutters, winci
ng. She pictures the sexy lingerie still wrapped in tissue paper, shoved in the back of her walk-in closet. It’ll probably never see the light of day, she thinks miserably. This is the longest they’ve gone without having sex. She’s tried a few times and Grant has made excuses or pushed her away. She realizes why men confess to giving up when their wives unleash a torrent of reasons why they can't be intimate. Her ego has taken a hit, not to mention her self-confidence.

  Stella doesn’t want to fight, or bring out the claws, and she misses the stable years they were on solid ground. She pities herself for once thinking she had a boring marriage, that it needed spicing up. Now it feels like heartburn every day.

  Her thoughts turn to Maggie. If he is sleeping with her, at least he told Stella she was going to be there. Might as well wave it in front of her like a bullfighter.

  “We’re not taking the same flight,” he says tightly, rolling his Tumi carry-on to the door of the bedroom.

  “Okay.” Stella picks at the duvet cover, kneading it through her fingers.

  “Now what’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” She grimaces, his tone condescending. “I’m just sick of fighting and the tension.”

  “I know.” He sits down on the bed but there’s a huge gap between them, one that’s never been there before. Closing the distance with his hand, he grips her fingers tentatively, as if they are a snake bite waiting to happen.

  “I called your doctor and asked him to see you.”

  Suddenly uneasy with his touch, she pulls her hand away, putting it underneath the covers. “Why would you do that for?”

  “Because I’m worried about us, but mainly about you. You’re losing touch with reality, Stella.” He lowers his voice. “I just want you better.”

  “Or what?” she sputters, “you’ll divorce me?”

  He shakes his head in annoyance. “Always so negative.”

  “What should I be saying right now, Grant? How lucky I am to have a husband that wants nothing more than to have me committed?”

  “That’s bullshit and you know it. I don’t want you in the hospital, I want my wife back.”

  “Your wife is sitting right beside you and you don’t even see her.”