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I march out of the kitchen and back upstairs to the guest room. I grab my phone intending to call her, and then I realize that I don’t have her cell phone number. Which is just as well, I realize. The piece of mind I intend to give to her is better off given in person.
I’ll drive to her place of work and confront her there. Where does she work? a voice in my head says.
Fuck, fuck, and fuck. I pace the room and try to remember. I know that she’s a wedding planner, but I draw a blank after that. I can’t believe that I never bothered to ask her where she worked. But then again, I never expected to wake up to an empty house.
I sit down on the bed and weigh my options. I could just forget how angry I am and call an Uber to take me home to Santa Monica. It’s only a thirty-minute drive from LA. But the thought of letting Marian get away with such behavior makes everything in me a rebel.
I contemplate searching her house. I’m sure I’m bound to find a clue somewhere, but that seems such an invasion of privacy. No, I’ll have to think of another way to find her.
Ace. He must know where she works, and if he doesn’t, he’ll know where to get that information. I hate this.
Ace is the only person in my contacts who is on speed dial. The phone goes unanswered, to my mounting panic. What if Ace doesn’t pick up his phone?
To my relief, he answers on the fourth ring, just when I’m about to give up.
“I’m surprised to hear from you so early,” Ace says. “I’d think that for a man on his honeymoon, you’d be unavailable for a week at least.”
I don’t have time for bullshit. “Do you know where Marian’s offices are?”
“What?” Ace says.
“You heard me,” I shoot back.
“You’re asking me if I know where your wife works? Am I correct?”
I sigh deeply and decide to let Ace have his fun. “Yes,” I say through gritted teeth.
“Where are you?” Ace says.
“Her house in Pine Place,” I say tersely.
Ace chuckles. “She left you alone in her house?”
My patience runs out. “Look, I called for help, and if you won’t give it to me, just say so.”
“I’ll do one better; I’ll come and pick you up. Ping me the location,” he says and disconnects the call.
I do as he says and estimate it’ll take him fifteen minutes to get me. Might as well take a shower. The water is refreshing, and I feel marginally better when I’m done. I dress, take my suitcase, and leave the house to wait for Ace outside.
My timing is perfect. His truck comes cruising down the street soon after. He brings it to a stop, and I throw my small suitcase in the back and then hop in.
Ace bursts into laughter when he sees me. “I guess you know what women feel when they call it the walk of shame, huh?”
I glare at him.
“So, what’s the plan?” Ace says.
“Take me to her office. Marian has to know that you can’t treat people like this.”
Ace turns to me. “I’ve filled all the gaps, except one. What’s in it for her? Why is she going ahead with this charade?”
I don’t respond.
“Ah, another fifth amendment answer,” Ace says. He looks out the window and then back at me again. “Do you want some advice?”
I’m swimming in foreign waters here and fumbling about. I need all the help I can get. “Go on.”
“Let her stew,” Ace says.
I frown. “Meaning?”
“You and Marian are in the early stages of a relationship. This stage can make or break you. Feelings get wounded more easily. You might go to her office and say something in anger that you’ll regret. Don’t show her how angry you are.”
“But I am angry,” I say. This is why I don’t do relationships. I hate the cat and mouse games involved.
“But she doesn’t need to know. You’re doing exactly what she’s expecting you to do. I bet right now she’s glancing at the door every few minutes expecting you to burst in.”
His words slowly sink in. What will I accomplish by going to unleash my anger on her? “What do you suggest I do?”
“Nothing. Let her look for you. Go to Santa Monica, take the certificate to the attorneys. Go to work. In other words, get on with your life.”
A grin pulls at my lips. I like Ace’s plan. I clap him on the shoulders. “How did you become so wise in the ways of women?”
He chuckles. “You’re welcome. I’ll drive you to Santa Monica; maybe I’ll even drop in at Park and Rachael’s office,” Ace says.
The marriage certificate is safely in my suitcase. I’d always had it as Marian had been too drunk to keep it on the night we got married. I should be pleased that now I can go to the family attorneys, and within days, I should have access to my money.
