Free The Stork Club by Iris Rainer Dart Page A

voice pick up the phone and say hello. Oh, God, she woke them. The voice didn't sound like Shelly.
    "Shel?"
    "Yeah."
    "Shelly, it's Ruthie."
    "Hi, Ru," he said. And then he said, "Oh, my God." And it sounded like he started to cry.
    "What's wrong?"
    "Nothing."
    "You okay?"
    "I'm okay."
    "Then why do you sound so—"
    "I can't talk," he said. "I can't. I can't talk to anybody anymore." And he hung up.
    Something was very wrong with Shelly. If Davis was at home, Shelly wouldn't be able to talk, so there was no point in calling him back and trying to get him to tell her what the problem was. Maybe she should go over there. It wasn't very far. A light rain was falling. She could see it on the tiny terrace outside the sliding doors of her living room. She'd be crazy to put her shoes and her raincoat on and start looking for her glasses and her keys and schlep over there to Shelly's, just to find out that he and Davis had had some lovers' quarrel.
    No. She'd sit down now, make a few last-minute notes on the pilot script. Then she'd take a nice long bath and try not to think about Shelly and his dramatic voice on the phone. The tub was already full when she changed her mind. Somewhere in her stomach where she always knew the right thing to do, she was sure she had to at least drive by that house and check on Shelly. She threw her raincoat over her sweatpants and UCLA sweatshirt, found her old Nike Waffle Trainers under her bed, located her car keys on the kitchen counter, and made her way down to the cold quiet garage in her building.
    "Why am I doing this?" she wondered out loud as she was unlocking her car in the cold garage. And again as she drove through the rain-slicked streets. "Why am I doing this?"
    Davis's car wasn't outside the house. Shelly's was. Ruthie pulled her car into the carport, turning her lights off, and when she'd turned the engine off she sat shakingher head at what a dumb jerk she was to come running over here. The rain had stopped, and everything was so quiet; maybe she could just look in a window and see if everything was all right.
    She stepped slowly out of the car, and carefully closed her car door to try to make the least amount of noise. The freshly wet grass sent up a sweet smell and the moon cast a white glow on the house as Ruthie walked from window to window, looking into each one, first at the pretty country French living room, then the dining room, and now the yellow-and-blue French kitchen, all dimly lit, and all orderly. Davis was away, and Shelly was asleep, and tomorrow he would call her and tell her why he'd sounded so weird on the phone. So why couldn't she stop herself from turning the knob on the kitchen door, which was unlocked, my God, it was unlocked, and pushing it open?
    Her Nikes squeaked on the tile kitchen floor, and she was so afraid she could feel the waves of panic coursing through her, but she couldn't turn around. She moved to the staircase, and quickly up the steps, passing the two extra bedrooms, toward the new master suite, the door of which was wide open. No one was inside. Oh, God. Davis and Shelly had gone out somewhere in Davis's car. Maybe they
did
have a fight, and they'd gone out to have a drink and sit and talk it over. Probably they took Davis's car and would be home any minute and find her there. Wouldn't she be mortified? She had to get out of there.
    Suddenly she had to pee. So badly that she knew she'd never make it to her car, start it, and then get to a gas station. Never. She'd have to go into Shelly and Davis's bathroom and pee fast then run to her car and get the hell out of there before they got home. She hadn't even seen the master bathroom since it was remodeled. She'd seen the plans a few times, knew how they wantedit to look. This was her chance to see it, she thought, and laughed a little giggle at how ridiculous this story would be to Shelly if the two of them ever sat down alone again to talk. The phantom who peed and stole away into the