by Lisa Ferrari
Denise smiles. “That’s better.”
“I can’t believe I just said that.”
“It’s okay. You had to get a little riled up so you could get out of your head. You’ve been thinking too much instead of just going with your gut. What does your gut tell you?”
I don’t immediately reply. I’m thinking.
Denise throws another pillow at my face.
“Claire Valentine! Stop thinking and answer the question. What does your gut tell you? Right now. What does it say? You know what it says. Just say it. What’s it telling you to do?”
“To spend the rest of my life with him. If he’ll have me.”
“Of course he’ll have you. He’d be lucky to have you. You’re the best person I know, Claire. Most people are…I dunno…kinda assholes. I certainly am. But you’re not like that. You’re sweet and considerate and you’re always nice to everybody. When we go out to dinner, you say hi to the poor, tired Mexican dude mopping the floor. Who does that?”
“He’s a person. He’s doing an important job keeping the floor clean. He’s busting his ass doing a job no one else wants to do. And it’s nice to feel appreciated.”
“See? You are just too sweet. Kellan doesn’t deserve you, sweetie.”
“So what do I do? He’s not going to swoon with me sitting here on your sofa sending out positive vibes.”
“You gave him one of the best orgasms of his life, right? He’s not going to be able to forget about that. You just need to ask for a second chance. You got your panties in a bunch and you made a mistake. Big deal. Happens to the best of us.”
“Yeah, but band-aids don’t fix bullet holes.”
“This isn’t a bullet hole. If he found you with some other dude’s dick down your throat, that would be a bullet hole. This is just a flesh wound.”
“You really think he’ll give me another chance?”
“Absolutely. He’ll be out driving that silly blue car and he’ll start thinking about you and how you guys went a zillion miles an hour in a 40 mile-per-hour zone and almost got arrested and how you jerked him off while you were Skyping with me, and his boner will get the best of him and he’ll call you.”
“You think so?”
“I’m positive.”
I truly hope she’s right.
I take another bite of cookie dough.
“It’s not really a silly car, you know. It’s a 700-horsepower V-12. It’ll go zero to 60 in under three seconds. And it’s gorgeous. God I loved riding in it with him. It has those cool doors. You should’ve seen the people looking at us down in L.A. There are a lot of nice cars down there, believe me, but not like that one. Everywhere we went, it was like we were celebrities or something. And check this out.”
I grab my phone and show Denise the pics from the Chateau Marmont of me and the movie stars.
Denise craps herself.
“And I didn’t even tell you about our movie audition,” I add.
“What movie audition?”
“Some big sci-fi action movie. They want Kellan to play the lead. They had me read for the female role.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“Nope.”
“Did you guys go to, like, a production meeting in an office someplace?”
“Sort of. It was a meeting in a private room at the Crow Bar on Sunset after the guest posing at the show.”
“The meeting was at night?”
“Yeah, we drove down Sunset Boulevard in the Aventador. It was crazy. Cars and people everywhere. Nice cars, too. Ferraris and Porsches and Mercedes. And the club was insane. They had a pool and a volleyball pit. It was like the scene from Top Gun. Guys with the most beautiful bodies you have ever seen playing volleyball at midnight in the middle of West Hollywood. Crazy.”
“How did you get in? Was there a long line?”
“Yeah but Kellan and I just walked in. Kellan shook hands with the big bouncer guy and he said hi to me and we just walked in while everyone else stood there looking at us. We drove up and got out of a Lamborghini, so I’m sure that helped.”
“So what was the audition like?”
“They filmed it and they gave us each a script with some lines and we stood on a table and pretended we were out of breath from being chased by these alien predator things on this distant planet where people are shipwrecked and eaten alive. And we were about to jump off a cliff together.” Recounting the story is so depressing. “God I miss him so much. I want to move into his house and watch movies with him and have his babies and suck his huge cock every day.”
“Man, Claire, you do have it bad. You really want to have his babies?”
“A million of them.”
“A million?”
“Sure. If we have a million kids, it’s only because he made love to me a million times to get pregnant with them.”
“Let me see your phone.”
“Why? What are you going to do?”
“Just give it to me.”
I most certainly do not give it to her. What if she sends Kellan a selfie of her boobs or her perfectly-bleached anus?
“Claire bear…do you want Kellan back so you can suck his beautiful and glorious He-Man wondercock 24/7 or not?”
“Yes.”
“Then stop being such a pansy and give me your phone.”
I hand it over.
Denise looks at it like I just handed her a dead rat. “Ew. Is this jizz?”
“Sort of. Jalapeno poppers.”
Denise gives me a disapproving look that is very mom-like. She taps and swipes and finds Kellan’s number, and then proceeds to call him on her own phone. I hear a phone ringing on speakerphone.
Kellan answers. “This is Kellan.”
Oh sweet Mary mother of God. This cannot end well.
“Hi, Kellan, this is Denise.”
“What can I do for you, Denise?”
From the way he emphasizes her name, it’s clear he doesn’t want to talk to her.
“No no no, my friend, it’s what I can do for you. Claire and I are just over here hanging out at my place and she was telling me about your trip to L.A. and buying the Aventador and your movie audition and bumping into your glamorous showbiz friends at the Chateau Marmont and it all sounds like such a gas.”
“Uh-huh.”
“Claire also told me that she really wants to see you. You should come over.”
“For a champagne threesome?”
“No, silly. So you and Claire can work things out. Apparently she’s desperately, madly, and completely head over heels in love with you.”
Oh fuck me. She did not just say that. I feel my face go crimson. I grab the afghan and pull it over my head. But it’s an afghan, a stupid blanket with holes in it. Big holes. And I can still see Denise sitting there grinning at me, holding my grimy phone.
Kellan asks, “Is she really there or is this some weird way of you getting me to come over?”
“No, she’s really here. She’s sitting across from me. Hiding under a blanket.”
Holy sweet baby Jesus, now I’m truly mortified.
Kellan is laughing. “Put her on.”
“One second.”
Denise puts the phone in front of my face. “Say hello, Clarice.”
“Hello, Clarice,” I squeak. I think I might pass out. Or barf.
“Claire?” Kellan asks.
“Yes?”
“Why is Denise calling me?”
“Because you didn’t answer when I called.”
“What do you want?”
“I want to talk to you. I want to see you. I miss you.”
“I miss you, too.”
“You do? Really?”
A ray of hope is born within me.
“Of course. But it doesn’t mean I can just forget about all that stuff you said to me. What did I do to deserve any of that? You completely unloaded on me.”
Denise says, “Okay, this conversation is going to hell in a handbasket. Come over, Kellan. This is not the
kind of conversation to have over the phone. Come over. I’ll scramble some egg whites and steam some broccoli and you can shoot up your steroids and we’ll have a grand ol’ time.”
Kellan mutters a muddled expletive. The call ends.
“He hung up,” says Denise. “Man, he has, like, zero sense of humor.”
I start to freak out. She’s making it worse.
“Relax,” she says, “I’ll call him back.” She redials.
“This is Kellan.”
“That was a joke,” says Denise. “Lighten up.”
“I don’t take steroids and I never have. Did you cheat on the Bar or merely suck somebody’s dick to get your partnership in your firm?”
“Yes, I let the partners gangbang me on the conference room table every day at lunch for ten years.”
“Really?” Kellan asks.
“Really?” I ask.
This piques Denise’s ire. “Fuck no, I busted my ass.”
“Okay then,” Kellan scolds her.
Denise sighs. “Sorry. It was a bad joke. Are you on your way over?”
“No.”
BING-BONG!
Through the gaping chasms in the afghan, I ask, “What’s that?”
“The doorbell. Did I order pizza and forget again? Kellan, get your ass over here! My best friend is in love with you and even though she messed up and said some things which maybe weren’t so nice, she didn’t mean it. So will you just forget about it so you guys can get back to drinking protein shakes and buying ridiculous cars and making little muscle babies?”
All the while, I’m following Denise to the front door. She opens it. Kellan is standing there. He’s wearing jeans that hug his long, muscular legs, shiny black shoes that look expensive, and a snug grey tee shirt with RAW printed on it in big black letters.
Denise hangs up. “Well, hello, Killer. You’re looking amazing. As always.”
Kellan slips his phone into his pocket. “And you’re full of shit. As always.”
Denise grins. “Indeed I am. Come in.”
Kellan enters and Denise closes the door. She then grabs each of us by the wrist and drags us into the living room.
Once we’re standing there, face to face, I lose it. Completely. I abandon every ounce of self-respect to which I was so tentatively clinging and I launch myself at Kellan. I hurl myself into his arms with such force that even at his size I nearly knock him down.
All at once the days of agony and regret and misery are unleashed in a torrent. I’m sobbing. My tears darken Kellan’s grey tee shirt. Through my tears I ask, “Can we go to your place to talk?”
Kellan wipes my tears from my cheeks, smiles down at me, and nods.
Chapter 18
KELLAN DOESN’T HAVE the Aventador here, but he has the Stingray. He opens the door for me and I get in.
We drive in relative silence. The radio is on softly, “I Melt with You” by Modern English. Perhaps it bodes well.
But mostly we sit quietly, listening to the purr of the motor and the deep rumble of the exhaust.
Kellan doesn’t hold my hand. His left hand is on the wheel. His right hand is on his thigh.
I want to reach out and touch him. But I’m too afraid.
When we reach Los Gatos, the guard waves. He sees me in the car and smiles. I smile in return.
Once inside, Kellan and I sit on the sofa and I spill my guts. I pour my heart out. I do my best not to cry, but it’s no use. The tears come. I feel so stupid and so guilty for what I did.
Kellan points out all the hurtful stuff I said.
I confess that I didn’t mean any of it. It was all my confusion and anguish coming out and scapegoating him. I assure him that I would never say any of those things under normal circumstances and the fact that I did say them speaks to the amount of pressure I was under and the stress and frustration I was feeling.
As we sit and talk, Kellan’s phone keeps pinging. Each time it does, he tells me who it is. And every time, it’s Stacy. She’s asking a million questions about business. Kellan reads her texts out loud. Stacy asks several times if they can get together to go over things and maybe have food and a little fun after if they’re UP for it.
“Obviously a boner reference,” says Kellan.
“Obviously,” I agree.
Kellan ultimately puts his phone in airplane mode.
We stare at each other in silence.
I don’t know what else to say.
I’ve never been in this situation.
Finally I have an idea. “Can we just get in the Mister Beaumont and drive? Maybe get out of town? Leave? Go somewhere?”
“Where?”
That he didn’t say ‘no’ gives me hope.
“Anywhere. For a few days. Just the two of us. No distractions, no business, no texts, no Skype, no Instagram, no TMZ, no mom or Beth or Denise or Stacy.”
“I have appointments. But if you’re serious, I’ll reschedule. But what about your catering schedule?”
“I’ll call in sick.” I’m surprised to hear the words come out of my mouth. I’ve never blown off work before. Certainly not for some guy.
But Kellan is not merely some guy. Not at all.
I know that now.
“All I care about is you,” I continue. “About us. I don’t care if that’s wrong or stupid or unhealthy or dysfunctional. And if anyone has a problem with it, I don’t care. Because I love…I love being with you.”
Kellan smiles. Knowingly, I suspect. “I love…being with you, too.”
TWENTY MINUTES LATER, we are in the Aventador, driving out of town. We threw some toiletries in a bag, grabbed some clothes, and left.
I dare to hope we won’t need clothes at all.
Kellan gets on Interstate 80 going west.
I want to hold his hand.
But I don’t.
I wait for him to take mine.
For the time being, he doesn’t.
WE DRIVE ACROSS the Bay Bridge. San Francisco is beautiful.
When we stop for gas to fill up the Mister Beaumont and get some coffees and water and sugar-free Rock Stars, Kellan does a brilliant job of fielding questions about the car and allowing everyone to take pics and video of it. He takes a bunch of selfies with people, too.
He seems a bit reserved, though. Not quite his usual, jovial self.
When we say goodbye and get back into the car (everyone watches the cool doors swing down), Kellan does a bit of searching on his phone and then makes a call. I listen, raptly, while he books a room for us, but I don’t know where and he doesn’t say. He books it for three nights.
Oh wow.
Three nights.
Alone.
With Kellan.
And it’s not as if either of us has fuzzy pajamas.
Oh wow.
WE RESUME DRIVING.
I text Nancy, telling her I won’t be in for the next few days due to a personal emergency. I’ve been contemplating my reason since we left, debating between illness and a personal emergency.
I decide to cite a personal emergency.
‘Emergency’ is perhaps a bit of a stretch, but I justify it by telling myself that if Kellan and I don’t make up and get back together, I will most definitely descend into a depression that will require actual medical intervention. It will almost certainly necessitate me taking time off work. Perhaps a lot of time. I’ll be like Christopher Reeve at the end of Somewhere in Time; I’ll sit catatonic, half-dead, no longer wanting to live. There isn’t a prescription drug available anywhere on the planet that will be able to rescue me.
Nancy texts back. She tells me to be well and to keep her posted. Nancy has her moments but she’s always been understanding. Hopefully my good work ethic and solid track record will keep me in good stead with her.
And even if it doesn’t, at this point I kinda pretty much totally don’t care. I want to be with Kellan a heck of a lot more than I want to carry trays through the country club ballroom.
ABOUT AN HOUR later
, Kellan and I are driving along the ocean.
He guides the Mister Beaumont into a seaside beach resort right on the water. The sign says Monterey Bay Resort & Spa. It’s stunning. There are flowers everywhere. And tall palm trees.
The valet just about craps when he sees us pull in. He opens my door for me. It takes him a moment to find the handle and figure out how to open the door, but he eventually gets it. He’s all smiles.
Kellan hands him the key and $100.
The valet’s eyebrows go halfway up his forehead and he thanks Kellan and promises to put it in a safe place.
The lobby is all black marble. Everyone is dressed in a suit. I feel so underdressed. Kellan looks amazing, even in his simple tee shirt. But his shiny black shoes suggest affluence. Something about Kellan screams “class”. He fits right in. He takes my hand as we approach the front desk. It makes me feel as though I fit in, too.
The fact that we’re holding hands is a very good sign.
OUR SUITE IS bigger than my apartment.
There’s a huge bed, a kitchen, a dining area, and a humongous bathroom. It’s all so gorgeous that it makes me want to live here.
Except that I actually want to live at Kellan’s.
I eye the huge bed. I contemplate grabbing Kellan and pushing him down onto it.
Kellan catches me eyeing the bed. He makes a show of pulling out a chair at the dining table and sitting there.
It would’ve been premature anyway.
I feel weird. I’m uncomfortable. I don’t know what Kellan expects of me. He did agree to come over to Denise’s house and he did let me bawl my eyes out and get tears and snot on his tee shirt.
And he did agree to go away with me for a few days.
And he held my hand downstairs in the lobby.
But how do we – how do I – bridge the gap between where we used to be and where we are now?
Or between where we are now and where I want us to be, which is where we were?
We need to reconnect.
We need to bond.
I could bond my mouth to his penis.
That’s probably what Denise would recommend.
But I suspect Kellan wouldn’t respond to that; he’s not ready.
I resign myself to the fact that it’s simply going to take time. It may not even happen while we’re here. Kellan may not kiss me or even touch me for the next three days.
