The Chronicles of Stella Rice: March

by Adrienne Kama

  THE CHRONICLES OF STELLA RICE:

  MARCH

  By

  Adrienne Kama

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, places, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  THE CHRONICLES OF STELLA RICE: MARCH

  Copyright (c) 2005 by Adrienne Kama

  ISBN: 1-59836-038-8

  Cover art and design (c) 2005 by Marianne LaCroix

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any form without permission, except as provided by the U.S. Copyright Law.

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  www.VenusPress.com

  Printed and bound in the United States of America.

  You wanna put it where?

  Chapter One

  3/4/05 7:31 a.m.

  So I’m dating two men. Big deal. I’m sure I’m not the first, and I won’t be the last. Hey, men do this kind of thing all the time—dating two women at the same time. Sure, usually one woman doesn’t know about the other, but that’s beside the point. It’s 2005 for crying out loud! There’s nothing wrong with what I’m doing. Jake and Dev are great, fantastic, and so friggin’ sexy that just looking at them brings tears to my eyes. Tears of joy.

  I must be doing something right if I’ve managed to attract not one, but two gorgeous men. Right now I’m feeling pretty damn good about myself and I’m determined to enjoy it. Who knows how long this’ll last.

  I am woman, hear me roar!

  Oh crap, the phone.

  Dear God, I hope it’s not my mother. Haven’t told her about the new turn my life has taken…and I don’t plan on it. I’m not telling her or any of my sisters. They’d kill me.

  Argh! There it is again.

  Maybe it’s one of the girls.

  Let’s hope.

  ~*~

  8:23 a.m.

  Argh! Why did I pick it up! It was her, my mother. Shit! And I know she knows something’s up. She was asking all these leading questions. How’s my personal life? Do I have plans for the weekend? Stuff like that. I’m convinced my mother wasted the best years of her life working at the phone company. She knows good and well she could have had a lucrative career at the CIA. Nobody can scope out information better than my mother…well maybe Oprah Winfrey.

  I dodged as best as I could but I think she’s on to me. I cannot let her find out I’m dating two men. That would be a disaster.

  Gotta go for now. The shower and coffee are calling.

  ~*~

  3/5/05 7:41 p.m.

  “Okay, so who is your favorite Brad?” Meagan stepped back and gave me a once over. “Still think the dress is too long, Stella. You should put something else on.”

  Katarina, busy choosing shades of lipstick from my vanity, was making a lot of noise throwing aside colors she thought were dated. “Definitely the Legends of the Fall, Brad. He was hot in that one.”

  Meagan gripped the seam of my dress and hiked it up until I felt warm air on my backside. “I’d have to go with Interview with the Vampire, Brad,” she said as she surveyed the results. “Brad looks good with long hair, doesn’t he?”

  “No, Meagan.” I stared in horror at my bared thighs then stepped away from her. At its normal length, my dress fell just to below my thighs. It was sleeveless and backless. With its sheer black material and swooping neckline, it was one of the sexiest things I owned. No way was it too long. If I wore the dress the way Meagan wanted and bent over sometime tonight, I was likely to give everyone around me a peep show.

  Completely uninterested in the proceedings, Ann stretched, laid her head against the collection of pillows and stuffed animals on my bed, then yawned. “You’re both wrong,” she announced. “The hottest Brad was definitely Fight Club, Brad.”

  “Come sit, Stella. I found one.” Katarina motioned me to the vanity and pointed at the chair. She was careful to make sure I sat facing away from the mirror. No doubt so I couldn’t see what she was doing to me. “Where do you keep your mascara? It wasn’t with the rest of your make-up.”

  When I told her, “I don’t wear mascara,” I thought she’d keel over and die of shock.

  “Don’t wear mascara! Why not?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know. It’s too much trouble.”

  “Brad looked a little too rough in that movie for me,” Meagan said, completely ignoring Katarina and me.

  Ann nodded. “Yeah, but his chest never looked better. The things I could do to that man.”

  “If I could get one hour alone with him, thirty minutes even…” Meagan sighed and dropped onto the edge of the bed facing me. “He’d be in heaven and I’d be right there with him.”

  Katarina stalked to the bed, where she’d left her purse. When she returned and crouched in front of me, she was holding a bottle of mascara. “It’s not black, it’s brown, but it’s better than nothing. Open your eyes wide.”

  As in Star Trek, resistance was futile. Arguing would net me nothing. In the end, I’d be settled before Katarina and submitting to whatever make-up scheme she envisioned for me. It wasn’t all bad though. Katarina was much better with make-up than I was on my best day. She knew how to work colors, how to blend them and bring out my eyes. This was my first real date with Jake and Dev, so I was pretty much willing to undergo any discomfort to ensure I’d look good for them.

  “How about,” Meagan began, “Thelma and Louise, Brad?”

  “Oh shit!” Ann sat up and began to fan herself. “You’re right.”

  “Was he fine or was he fine?”

  “He was damn fine! Oh! And Troy, Brad.”

  Hovering in front of me, Katarina added, “Then there’s Meet Joe Black, Brad and Ocean’s Eleven, Brad. Smile big, Stella.”

  When Ann turned to face me, I knew it was my turn to add my Brad Pitt flick pick.

  “I know you’re dating two of the sexiest men in Baltimore,” she began, “but you have to have a favorite.”

  Lipstick on, I stared up at the ceiling so Katarina could apply eyeliner, something she refused to let me do myself because—according to her—I always made myself look like an ancient Egyptian with a half-inch of kohl under my eyes.

  “I don’t though,” I said of Brad. “They go overboard making him look appealing to women in his movies. Take Troy for instance. What ancient warrior looked like Brad Pitt did in that movie?”

  Ann waved this off. “We don’t want a history lesson, Stella, just your favorite Brad. I know you have one. Everyone has one.”

  “Any woman with a pulse has one,” Meagan corrected.

  Katarina sat back and examined her handy work. “Okay, all I have to do is blend your eye shadow then line your upper lids with liner, then you’re done.”

  As I closed my eyes and felt Katarina’s fingers begin to gently rub my lids, Ann went on. “Come on, Stella. Choose a Brad.”

  Okay, so what if I did have a favorite Brad. Just because I had one didn’t mean I had to share.

  But as Ann and Meagan took turns battering me, they eventually wore me down.

  As Katarina was sitting back on her heels and pronouncing me, done, I got to my feet and blew a gasket. “All right, already. I do have a favorite Brad.”

/>   “I knew it,” Ann announced. “Give it up. Which one is it?”

  Throwing caution and common sense to the wind, I announced, “Kalifornia, Brad.”

  Immediately, the room went silent. The girls glanced at each other, each looking as though they’d just eaten a very sour lemon. Katarina’s lip curled as her eyes went from Ann, back to me. “Kalifornia, Brad?” she asked. “You’re joking, right?”

  “No, I’m not joking,” I said, defensive. “What the hell is wrong with Kalifornia, Brad?”

  Meagan, who seemed to be coming down from the shock of what I’d said, answered before anyone else could. “He was demented in that movie.”

  “And he wore dirty clothes and had greasy hair,” Katarina added. “And a thick, disgusting beard.”

  “So what,” I said. “Dirty clothes or not, it was still Brad Pitt under there. He was just acting. He wasn’t really the character Early.”

  “That’s so disgusting, Stella,” Katarina informed me.

  “Early was just a role,” I insisted, wishing I’d kept my mouth shut. “It was still Brad Pitt.”

  Ann merely shook her head.

  I opened my mouth to defend myself further, but was stalled when my doorbell chimed. All thoughts of Brad Pitt, Early, and Kalifornia disappeared.

  Jake and Dev were at my door.

  ~*~

  8:32 p.m.

  Jake showed up wearing a crisp, double-breasted, black suit. The purple, button-up shirt would have made any other man look like a pansy, but Jake had the kind of awe-inspiring body I was willing to wager could pull off a tutu. He’d gone with a formal tie and had pulled his mass of raven hair back. It was held in place by a plain, suede band.

  Running counterpoint to Jake’s respectable suit and tie, Dev had appeared on my doorstep in leather pants, a wooly forest-green sweater, and ass-kicker boots. In truth, it was difficult to imagine Dev in anything other than leather; the man seemed to live in it. Though I figured if I looked half as good in leather as Dev, I wouldn’t wear anything else either. Most shocking of all, was his hair. Dev’s shoulder length tresses weren’t chocolate brown anymore but a shade of light brown, nearly blonde. Though he wore it loose and wild, the change was unnerving.

  “Dev,” I said the moment I saw him. “Your hair. When did you dye it?”

  “I make a fantastic blonde, don’t I? You seemed so enamored of that…what was his name, Jake?”

  Wiping nonexistent particles of dirt from his suit jacket, Jake answered, “Chester.”

  “That’s it. You seemed so enamored of Chester I thought I’d give blonde a go.”

  I continued to stare. “It looks great. Hope your Maverick fans will like it.”

  He pulled my front door shut behind me and placed a gentle hand on my lower back to guide me to the elevators. “I’m on vacation. Maverick isn’t getting together again for a few weeks. Who knows, maybe I’ll dye it back by our next rehearsal.”

  I couldn’t keep my eyes off him as we drove to the restaurant or as we waited for a table. As a blonde, Dev was gorgeous.

  We arrived at the restaurant at eight forty-five. Germano's Trattoria was a stylish Italian bistro in Little Italy. The dining room wasn’t very large, but it had a cozy atmosphere. The muted colors and fine crystal gave the restaurant a welcoming ambiance that warmed me as soon as I entered.

  We’d ordered a bottle of merlot once we were settled. Dev and I were seated side by side, at Jake’s request, while Jake had situated himself across the table so he could stare intermittently at us, though I have to admit that his attention was focused more on Dev than on me. This was a little annoying since I was accustomed to having the interest of both men firmly placed in my direction.

  But I noticed shortly after we were seated that Dev didn’t seem himself tonight. The longer dinner progressed the more distant he became. The more distant Dev became, the more concerned Jake was.

  “Stop frowning, Dev,” Jake said at last. “You’ll make Stella feel as though you don’t want to be here.”

  Dev sighed, dragged a hand through his wavy locks, then turned to me and attempted to smile. “I’m sorry, kitten. I have a lot on my mind tonight.”

  In retrospect, I know how stupid and selfish my initial response was to this statement, but I couldn’t help it. My first thought was to wonder how on earth he could have anything other than me on his mind tonight of all nights. This was our first date after all.

  Then I saw him; really saw him for the first time since he and Jake had come to pick me up. His eyes were slightly puffy, his pupils rimmed in red as though he’d been crying the better part of the day. I noticed that he’d brushed his hair so it hung over his face, as though he was trying to hide as much of it from sight as he could. A closer examination proved his skin was paler than usual, and blotchy.

  How could I have missed this? Had I been so self-obsessed that I couldn’t tell Dev was miserable?

  Feeling like something someone scrapes off the bottom of her shoe, I reached for him. I gave his thigh a companionable squeeze and tried to meet his eyes.

  He looked away, but put a hand over mine and squeezed back.

  I edged closer to him. “What’s wrong?”

  Dev’s throat worked as he swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing up and down with his struggles.

  Jake stood, leaned over the table, and clasped the bottle of wine the waitress had brought a few minutes earlier. Wine sloshed into Dev’s empty glass. Jake practically upended the bottle as he poured. He set the flute before Dev, then demanded, “Drink.”

  Dev complied. The entire contents were gone in about five seconds.

  Breathing deeply, he returned the empty wineglass to the table then sat back. “Thanks. I needed that.”

  Okay, now I was worried. What the hell was wrong? What had happened to him? “What’s wrong?”

  Dev waved the question off. “Oh, it’s nothing. Really, I don’t know why I’m so shocked. It’s nothing new.”

  The idea of someone doing something horrible enough to Dev to make him feel so miserable got my back up. Dev was a good person. Though I hadn’t known him very long, I knew him enough to know he wouldn’t hurt a fly…outside the bedroom. “What?” I demanded, and then shifted in my seat until I was face to face with him. “Who hurt you?”

  Dev studied me for a moment. A slow smile spread on his lips. “Want to put him in his place, do you? No worries, kitten, I can handle him.”

  “Him?” All kinds of horrible scenarios flashed in my mind’s eye in a matter of seconds. The preeminent one featured Dev in a back alley being beaten to a bloody pulp by a band of homophobic bastards. Only problem with this was Dev had said, him, singular; not them, plural. Another problem with was the fact that, other than his bloodshot eyes and pallor, Dev looked as he usually did. No bruised eyes or split lips. Also, I kind of figured Jake would annihilate any person stupid enough to lay hands on Dev. So if this wasn’t a case of a homophobe attack, what was it? “Who?”

  Dev didn’t reply at first. He took a sip from his third glass of wine, exchanged a look with Jake, then sighed again.

  “You might as well tell her, Dev.”

  Dev gave my hand another squeeze. “It’s not that I’m trying to keep anything from you, kitten. I was hoping to have a nice dinner. I don’t want to ruin our night with this.”

  Jake, looking his most grim, refilled his own wine glass. “Well, I think it’s too late for that. Just spit it out so we can get on with things.”

  Again, I felt duty bound to rush to Dev’s defense. “That’s a little harsh, don’t you think.”

  Jake met my glare. “As a matter of fact, I don’t. The son of a bitch doesn’t deserve Dev, and he knows it. The bastard certainly doesn’t merit having the attention of this entire meal pointed at him.” Jake leaned over the table and hissed, “Fuck him, Dev.”

  Even if I couldn’t see the angry flash in Jake’s emerald eyes, I would have known by his inflection that he wasn’t talking about sex.
r />   “Come on, Jake,” Dev said. “That’s not fair.”

  “Fuck him,” Jake said again, then sat erect. “Who gives a shit what he thinks.”

  “He’s my father. I care.”

  “You’re almost thirty, Dev. Grow up.”

  Dev fell silent. He stared at Jake, wide-eyed, as though Jake had struck him.

  Before Dev could respond, Jake began again. “I’m sorry. It’s just…you know that man drives me crazy. Why do you let him do this to you?”

  Sighing, Dev shrugged and said simply, “He’s my father, Jake.”

  I figured it was time for me to speak up. Jake loved Dev, I knew that, but he was about as maternal as a wild boar. Dev was in pain. He didn’t need to have reality shoved in his face right now; that could come later. What Dev needed was to be comforted. On some level he probably wanted to talk about this, get it off his chest.

  Unclasping our fingers, I set my hand on Dev’s nape and began massaging the soft skin at the back of his head, trying to soothe the tension from him as best I could. “What did your father do?”

  “Shit Stella,” Jake said, obviously irritated with my question. “Let it go.”

  I glared at Jake. “He’s upset. He needs to talk.”

  Jake rolled his eyes. “No. What he needs is to write that man off.”

  Dev stared at Jake. I wondered if he was debating whether or not to continue the conversation or let it go, as Jake wished. “My sister’s getting married in July,” he began. “I got the invitation in the mail today.” Dev paused, cleared his throat, and then continued. “I have three sisters, Stella. No brothers. I’m the only boy…the only son. The one meant to carry on the family name. When my father found out about me…long story short, he disowned me. I’ve been excommunicated from the family. I haven’t been home in eleven years. My mom and my sisters come to see me here in Baltimore, but the last time I saw my father he told me he never wanted to see my face again.”

  Jake shoved Dev’s wine at him. “Drink. It’ll make this easier.”

  Dev nodded, and emptied the wine from his glass. “Anyway,” he began again. “You can imagine what I was thinking when I got the invitation. Will I be welcomed if I go or will my presence turn her wedding into a catastrophe? So I called my sister—her name’s Robin—to see if anything had changed.”