December Rain (35 page)

Monica exhales defeated. Her nerves calm slightly imagining if she had known. She replays the days they spent getting to know each other in her head. Every stare would’ve still made her blush, every smile would’ve pulled her closer, and every touch would’ve burned as hot.
It wouldn’t change anything.

“But it does now,” she says. “He lied.” Sadie rests her head on her knee for comfort.
Why do men lie? Is it me? Do I have a sign that says ‘lie to me, I like it’? Fuck!
She sits there, looking at the closed MacBook, regretting having snooped.

Damn overactive curiosity. Robin would also say it was really none of my business in the first place, and she’d be right. He has no obligation to tell me this. Maybe he was planning to tell me. I mean, I haven’t even moved in yet. He was probably going to tell me, but... Why the lies?

She opens up the laptop for more torture. There’s a large flux of income that’s come in over the last few months that says ‘Sales’ in the column next to it. Some sales were before they met, but most were recent. There are various galleries listed as well as client names, including Horace Grant in Hawaii.
Wow, he paid $78,000 for that painting of us? Well, he doesn’t know it’s us, but that’s kinda cool.

She lets that sink in before moving to other lines. The largest line item amount was just under $2 million in the investments section. Monica opens the account info and sees an account titled “Trust.”
He has a trust fund?

Her mind races.
Jay and Megan’s house was big. Really big. His parent’s house was really nice too, but not enough to hand off millions. Was it?

She looks further and sees a monthly income averaging $6,760 transferred from the trust each month on top of his sales income. The graphs and charts show his net worth growing steady for the last few years until September, where it suddenly drops. There are pages and pages of purchases that likely upload automatically, because she can see the $593 spent yesterday at the lingerie shop.

The total doesn’t seem as bad now. But that’s exactly why I shouldn’t know about this. It’s his. For whatever reason, this money is his and I’ve become the dent in it. I don’t want that. What if things don’t work and he looks back to see a huge dip in this bar graph that represents his time with me? That sucks.

She closes the files, all of them and puts the laptop back on the desk exactly positioned as it was. The alarm clock, still positioned on the floor next to the bed, says 2:39 p.m.

“When did he say his flight was?” The dogs just lie there ignoring her.
It’s gotta be soon.

She runs to the bathroom and starts a shower. The water stings but cleanses her sins away while her thoughts spin. She goes from being upset that he lied, to being relieved that he hasn’t put himself in immense debt, to worrying that he’ll be in debt if he keeps trying to make her dreams come true.

Should I try to act like I don’t know and see if he spills the truth soon? Or should I come clean about my snooping and see what he says. I don’t want another relationship where I can’t trust my partner. I’ve already violated his trust now. How can I trust him? That’s a huge thing to not mention when you’re divulging your life story or when you ask someone to move in or imply marriage in your future.

She dries off and realizes she has nothing clean to wear since laundry was the last thing on her mind today. She reaches for a long pink and gray floral sundress from her Hawaii pile of less dirty clothes and throws it on. The deep plunge cut usually makes her feel sexy, especially without a bra. She looks in the mirror.
Nope. Not feeling it. I feel... pissed. I’m angry. I don’t give a shit if I have a right to or not, that’s how I feel. Another fucking liar!

Her eyes fall on the opulent mask from last night still hanging from the hook on the back of the bathroom door. It rests against the collar of Quinn’s plush bathrobe. She sinks her fingers into its softness remembering how it comforted her, and how good it felt sliding from her shoulders. She touches the mask remembering how intensely she ached for him to take her last night in front of everyone at the party.
I was so proud that he was mine I would have let him do anything.

A ping from her phone signals a text. She tries to stay calm moving to pick it up.

RIANNE: I know you’re in town. We’re all having breakfast tomorrow before work. Probably good time for a new start.

Monica stares at the message reading it over again. It’s so full of unspoken tone and meaning. She jolts when it starts ringing and vibrating. A snapshot of Quinn standing on their rocky Hawaiian beach fills the screen.

“Hi,” she says with no inflection.

“I’ve got bad news,” he says.

“Me too. You first.”

“Just found out that SF has grounded all flights tonight.”

“What? Why would-” Before she finishes, she sees the world outside has been erased by a thick white quilt.

“Fog,” he says.

“Yeah. I see it. I haven’t been out.”

“I was afraid of this when I saw the forecast. It sucks. I was looking forward to staying home and wrapping around you.”

Me too until a few hours ago...

“I’ll catch the first flight out in the morning,” he says. “I think I’m too tired to make the whole drive up. There’s rain coming up there too, so the roads will be dangerous.”

“Okay.”
Gives me time to think about this more.

“Wait. What was your bad news?”

‘Oh.”
Not over the phone.
“Uh, Ri just sent me a text.”

“Is it bad?”

“No. Well... yeah, but in an I’m dreading things kinda way.” She looks at her phone again. “They’re getting together tomorrow morning for breakfast before work.”

“Okay. Isn’t that good?”

“I don’t know. Facing them all at once, on a Monday? It’s like going to court or something.”

“Well, the fact that they all agreed to put aside time, that’s what matters right?”

“I guess. I’m just dreading it.”
Amongst other discussions
.

“Well, not to change the subject, but I was thinking...” he says before a leading pause.

“You were thinking what?”

“When I get to the hotel, after a bite and I buy some toothpaste and stuff, I was thinking we could get on Skype and get to work on that rain check.”

The floor sinks beneath her. She looks down and sees her cleavage framed by the dress.
Not feeling it.

“Are you there? Are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah. Sorry. We can do that,” she says with no enthusiasm.

“I know it’s not gonna be the same, but I remember it tiding us over a couple weeks ago.”

She could hear the smile in his voice, his happiness.
Damn it!
She looks at the laptop on the desk. “Wait, your laptop is here,” she says, relieved for the first time today.

“It’s alright, I’ve got my iPad. It’s more portable anyway.” He laughs. “I can do some fancy camera work.”

She manages a small laugh. “Okay. What time do you think? I wanna go get a hot tea or something. Just get out for a little bit.”

“Okay, that’s understandable. I need to take a shower anyway. This day feels like it’s been going on forever,” he says.

Tell me about it.
“You haven’t really had a lot of sleep.” She hopes reminding him will make it easier to put off the sexy time.

“I got enough cat naps in today to prime me for some love, no worries.”

Damn.

“It’s almost four o’clock now, so... by the time I can get through this ridiculous line to get my tickets and grab a bite cause I’m starving... I doubt I’ll get settled until after seven. Is that okay?”

“Sure.”

“Okay babe, I love you.”

She lets the words settle. “I love you too.” She hits end.
What the fuck? He wants to get all sexy? Only if it’s angry sex. I want to spank him this time. Make his ass red.
The thought actually peaks her interest quite a bit.
I gotta get outta here.

She grabs her coat, scarf, and purse before realizing her feet are bare. The dogs can tell she’s leaving and beg her to take them too.
Not this time guys. I need to be alone.
She slips on the only pair of black flats she’s got and takes off.

The wet, frosty air surrounds every inch of skin with a bitterness.
Burrr... L.A. has made me such a wimp.
The sun is just setting and the thick fog shifts for a few moments into an amber lightbox.
Great, a romantic sunset.
Before long it dulls to a light gray that glows from emerging lights of the night. Monica is the only person strolling for blocks. A patch of thicker fog swallows every distant object as she passes where Coit Tower should be in view. It creeps down the hill in front of her, vanishing around every corner.
What would it be like to be fog? To embrace everything so quickly... and then disappear.

Near the bottom of the hill, the gray thins, exposing the lights of North Beach’s seedy Columbus corner. People are crawling from every direction now as strings of pizza parlors and bars start their bustling hours. Monica pushes past a group of guys just gearing up for a long night to get into Cafe Trieste. She orders a pot of Jasmine Tea and chocolate hazelnut biscotti and settles at a window table. The eager crew takes off for their pre-strip club beverages leaving her a great view of the night. The steam warms her nose and the cup her fingers.

So, he’s rich. Well, not filthy rich, but he’s certainly comfortable for the rest of his life. If his work keeps ramping momentum, he’ll be in filthy range.
Monica’s never wasted time dreaming about wealth. It’s pointless, but she has spent hours and days dreaming about a life with Quinn.

This is my wake-up call. I haven’t known him that long. How long does it take to really know a person? I only just met his parents, and there’s a shit ton of crap to dig through there. We haven’t even mentioned seeing my family. Maybe he’s had trouble with women wanting his money. Then why did he say he couldn’t provide the kind of lifestyle most women want with houses, cars, and insurance? That’s a complete lie, right to my face.

She’s back to feeling angry, but now it’s stewing deeper. She’s feeling vengeful.
I’ve been open with him in every way I could be, in ways I’ve never been with anyone else because I trusted him. He’s shown me pleasure...
The memories make her squirm on the stool.
I’ve loved every minute of how naughty and beautiful he’s made me feel. How can I feel that way with someone I don’t trust? Can I?

Monica watches people pass by, only focusing on couples and their eyes filled with desire or love. She notices there are a lot of creeps skulking around who fulfill their urge to stop and gawk at her through the window too. The discomfort isn’t eased inside her cup where she stares at her own reflection.
Am I really uncomfortable? Don’t you want them to look? Like last night? It felt good to have eyes watching me. I felt empowered. In control. Beautiful.

Monica looks up, but the last pair of eyes she felt watching are gone in the mist. Her cup and pot are empty and she’s starting to sweat in her coat, so she waves at the sweet older woman behind the counter and heads back up the hill. A hand on her shoulder startles her to jump.

“I’m so sorry dear,” Diane says.

“Are you okay?” Richard asks.

Monica’s hand presses against her chest, feeling silly for such a huge jump. She laughs. “I’m fine. I was lost in my head.”

Diane nods with a mischievous smile. “I just closed the shop and we’re heading for a drink around the corner,” she says. “Will you join us?”

Richard looks around. “Is Quinn with you?”

“No. He got stuck in L.A. because of this the fog,” Monica says.

“That’s right,” Diane says to Richard. “The poor dear had to get up with no sleep to fly out.”

“Well, then you have to join us. Come, let us keep you company,” Richard says.

Monica looks at a clock across the street. “I have some plans.”

“Oh? You can’t squeeze in just one little drink?” Richard’s demeanor as usual comes across less threatening and casual. Monica finds herself second guessing her concerns about them because he speaks so relaxed and neighborly.

Fuck it. Why not?
“Just one, then I have to go,” she says.

There’s a smile between them before Richard offers Monica his other arm.
Oh maybe this isn’t a good idea.
She goes along and compliments his amazing culinary skills and asks about his background. It turns out he owned a very successful restaurant in town for a decade before selling it to take on his
little adventure
as he calls it. And Diane doesn’t really need to work as it turns out she’s the daughter of a well-known San Francisco photographer who was a contemporary of Ansel Adams and Minor White. Suddenly the prospect of chatting with two intriguing socialites is very exciting.
They must have a million stories. I had no idea they were so interesting.

They walk past the neon signs of pedestrian strip clubs and Euro topless bars along Broadway. Many heads nod at the couple in passing as if local royalty, he having earned it with his cuisine and her with her classy store and stature. Monica gets so wrapped in their discussion, she barely notices when they turn down an alley next to a rare parking lot. A large Italian man smiles at Monica and nods as he opens an unmarked door in silence.