“I don’t know, Mia. I’ll go to this opening with you and then I need to get out of here for a few days. I’m going to Switzerland. To clear my head.”
At that, I step out of the car and slam the passenger door shut. JP rolls down the window and tells me to calm down and that he’ll still drive me, but I’m already pulling Uber up on my phone. My destination: the Long Beach Museum of Art.
I snap back to reality.
“It’s good to be home,” JP says, completely calm. We’re in exactly the same position in the car as when we argued. He seems fine now, like he forgave me for whatever horrible, messed-up thing I did, but I study him carefully. If we just had a huge fight less than a week ago, and if he called me a head case, why is he potentially proposing to me? Something isn’t right here—and his calm demeanor is throwing me off. Is JP the kind of guy who can go from 0 to 100 and back again? I still don’t want to believe that he attacked me, but I can’t take him off the board yet.
“I hope you don’t mind that I’ve been staying here. My place is being repainted,” I lie again. I don’t know why I didn’t think of that before. It completely explains almost everything.
“Sure, it’s no problem. I know you’ve been renovating your house for quite some time. I assume that’s why I haven’t been invited over until now,” he teases.
Ah. Apparently I’ve gone to this well a few times.
As we get out of the car, my sense of dread increases. I don’t want to hang out with JP and Max together. When my phone rings, I don’t even mind that it’s the cops. Officer Denise is preferable.
“Meet me at the bank,” she says. “I got a warrant to look at your bank statements.”
“Right now? I’m kind of busy.”
“Right now.” Officer Denise is taking this assault and robbery very seriously. I’m not so sure I want to find out anything else, though. My haters gonna hate mantra is starting to feel a little thin.
“JP, I’m so sorry but I have to run. I’m having a money problem—major fraud on my account—and the bank is calling me in to answer some questions for their investigation.”
“Okay, I’ll settle in and see you in a few.” He looks disappointed but I bet he’s dying for a shower and a nap.
“And then don’t forget I have that GoldRush thing, so I’ll just be stopping by for a moment to get ready. You won’t even see me—I’ll be in and out like that.” I snap my fingers.
He nods. “Handle your business and I’ll see you tonight.” He kisses me on both cheeks, European style, and I step back into the Ferrari. JP doesn’t even blink; he must be used to me borrowing his car. I wave as I pull out of the garage. I look totally carefree but my heart is racing.
* * *
At the bank, Kumar is waiting for me. “Good morning. Would you like some coffee?” he asks.
Coffee? It’s almost like I’m here for fun. “Yes, thank you,” I say.
“Would your fiancé like one as well? I assume he’s coming, too?”
I give him a funny look before I realize he’s talking about Max. “No, he won’t be coming.” I assume he’s having an awkward moment with JP and brooding about the kiss. In that way, this little visit to the bank is a blessing—if you count one disaster as a good distraction from another disaster.
Kumar smiles sadly and says, “That might be good,” which I take to mean that my financial statements aren’t going to make me look like a desirable marriage prospect.
Kumar leads me to a desk where Denise is waiting for me, and he prints out my statements like it’s 2006 or something. He hands the pages to Denise first and she frowns hard.
“What is it?” I ask. I take a sip of my coffee. It doesn’t make me feel any better.
Denise breaks out a pair of reading glasses. “I want to make sure I’m seeing this right.” With a glance over the top of her cheaters, she says, “Mia, do you have any idea what kind of cash flow you normally deal with?”
“No. All I know are the prices listed on my website. They’re high.” Understatement of the year.
“It looks like you gave away all of your money two weeks ago. Combined with the assault…” She looks up at me. “I don’t want to jump to conclusions, but…” From the look on her face, I can tell she already has.
She probably thinks Jules stole all my money and tried to kill me. “It wasn’t Jules. I paid him a hundred grand for two Instagram posts. I have the documentation to prove it.”
That information doesn’t seem to compute for her. After the longest time she just says, “Okay. How about these other charges?”
She points to a $5,000 charge to High Flying and another $2,000 to Prada.46 “Those are business investments,” I say lightly.
By now, Denise probably thinks I hit myself in the head.
“Denise…” I say.
“Yes?”
“When you fingerprinted me yesterday, did you find out anything about me? My address, for instance?”
“You still don’t know where you live?”
I shake my head. “I’m staying at my boyfriend’s house.”
She raises her eyebrows. “So you trust him?”
“He might be the more trustworthy one between the two of us.”
This almost gets a laugh out of Denise.
“I would like to know where I live, though.” So far I’ve only seen myself in relation to JP, Max, and now Jules the underwear model. At this point am I really figuring out who I am, or am I just figuring out what kind of girlfriend I am—who JP and Max think I am? Should I even care? Who the hell are they, even? I’m so fucking confused.
“Come with me to the station,” she says. “I pulled your record yesterday.”
“Are we done here?” I ask in surprise.
“I’ve seen all I need to see,” she says with another arched eyebrow.
Denise doesn’t drive a real cop car, which is a slight disappointment. No lights on top or cage in the back. It’s not even an unmarked Dodge Charger or anything sexy. It’s tan and nondescript. If it were a guy, he’d be named Mike Nelson and I would be surprised to remember I went to school with him every time I scanned the yearbook. This is the car equivalent of oh yeah, that guy. Then again, I wouldn’t have remembered my own name if Siri hadn’t told me, so nothing against Mike.
At any rate, it’s a lame car and I bet Denise wishes she’d been something cooler than a cop. Look at me. I have no money or memories prior to the last few days, but at least I’m driving a Ferrari.