Fake It 'til You Make It, page 10
‘Sorry, I’ll go get some clothes.’ I look her up and down. Her short shorts, her string vest and… ‘Rubber gloves?’
She holds up her yellow-covered hands. ‘We might not be in a pandemic anymore but I don’t need to fondle the beer bottles of your Friday-night crew.’
‘You don’t have a spare pair of those, do you? If my brother sent them round, those guys could be carrying all sorts of infestations.’
She puffs out a short laugh. Then her eyes very fleetingly run the length of my body.
‘Did you just check me out?’ I ask, channeling my brother, except he’d turn it into some sort of cheesy pick-up line and I just don’t have enough pizazz for that.
She quickly drags her eyes back to mine, and her cheeks pinken. ‘Only to note that you’re in my way. Can we get on with this, please? I have places to go, people to see and all that.’
I step aside and let her in, now realizing just how much of a mess the apartment looks. Whilst Abbey and I were being anti-social last night, only engaging in the virtual world, beer bottles and pizza boxes were being scattered around almost every surface. It’s a shame the cleaners don’t come on Saturdays.
‘I’ll go grab a top,’ I say.
‘Erm, yes, please. We don’t need any distractions. We’ve got our work cut out for us here.’
I’m walking away when her words land. ‘Are you calling me a distraction?’
Mike would be proud. If this wasn’t Abbey from 7B, annoying and kind of angry, I’d sound like I’m flirting. Something Mike and Roman have confirmed I am appalling at.
She rolls her eyes and shoos me with a wave of her fingers, making me chuckle. I head upstairs for a shirt.
‘I’m sad to see you didn’t turn up in your big panties and fluffy boots, 7B,’ I shout down from the mezzanine level.
‘They’re for one week of every month, joker.’
I chortle all the way to my temporary wardrobe.
When I come back into the lounge, Abbey has made two coffees and is scrolling through her phone. Her hair is contained in a disorderly yet pretty bundle at the nape of her neck, exposing pale, flawless skin all the way down to beneath her shoulders.
Fleur was always tanned, be it from the sun or from a bottle. Her skin was punctuated with defined bones. Chiseled, she called herself. I guess that got her a lot of work as a model. She’s beautiful. Photographed, she is truly a work of art. Unreal. Untouchable.
She proverbially knocked me off my feet the first time she showed an interest in me at Mike’s celebrity birthday bash in San Francisco. It was star-studded and showy, the kind of thing I really dislike. I would have much preferred taking my brother for a celebratory beer. Fleur loosely knew a woman Mike is friends with and the two of them came along. Her friend got flirty with Mike. Roman found someone he knew to talk to. Then Fleur and I were kissing.
In the lounge, ‘Fireflies’ by Owl City is playing through Abbey’s phone. I like this song. And I also like how Abbey’s hips are wiggling and her shoulders are bopping to the beat. She’s happy and somehow, that rubs off on me, too. I feel light-hearted as I head over to the coffee and the woman pulling back on her yellow gloves.
‘You can play music through the apartment’s surround,’ I tell her, making her jump, as if she forgot I was in the building.
‘Finally, you’re decent,’ she says, gesturing to my shorts and T-shirt. ‘It’s loud enough through my phone. As you’re well aware, I don’t like loud noises disturbing the peace.’
I roll my eyes. I may have ultimately won the game-off last night, impressing even myself with my virtual bouldering, but I have taken on board her complaints and will try to stop the absentminded banging of Mike’s baseballs on the walls.
‘Is one of those for me?’ I ask, nodding in the direction of the two steaming cups of coffee.
‘Yep. I wasn’t sure how you like it, so you’ll have to take it as it comes.’
‘Which is?’
She shakes a black trash bag, opening it out, followed by three more. ‘Something akin to a white americano. Unless you have an allergy or intolerance?’
There’s panic in her voice, like she’s terrified of having done something wrong.
I pick up the cup and take a gulp. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’
‘Phew. I don’t have an EpiPen and I definitely don’t want to wind up cleaning alone.’
‘My anaphylaxis is your secondary concern, then.’
‘Anaphylactic shock probably would have stopped your ignorant banging sooner than me being forced to clean up your stinking apartment from your dirty friends.’ Ah, she’s back, the crabby as hell, stuck-up Abbey. She crouches down to pick up three of the trash bags, holding out two for me to take. ‘Two each. Keep the recycling separate. We can save the planet one glass bottle at a time.’
‘If we were being very eco-friendly, there’d have been a beer keg and reusable cups.’
She shrugs. ‘I didn’t throw the party, I just got sucked into it.’
As soon as I relieve her of two bags, she starts picking up mess from the kitchen floor. ‘Your guests were animals.’
I had better start helping because she’s right, it’s as if my brother rounded up the filthiest of his New York friends and sent them here last night. I can also sense the genuine anger in her voice – she’s clearly here to stay true to her word and nothing more.
I have all good intentions but… my phone starts to ring.
‘Yo yo, little bro. How was the party?’ My phone has defaulted to the surround speakers in the apartment. I make to switch the sound to come through the phone but not before Mike continues. ‘A nice distraction? I hear I have a new neighbor and given who told me and the tone of her telling, I’m assuming she’s a looker—’
‘Shit.’ I thumb the screen of my phone, switching my brother to my ear. ‘Sorry, I’ll be back in a minute,’ I tell Abbey. If looks could kill, I’d be a very, very dead man right now.
‘Whoa, not alone. Yes, little bro! I like your style,’ Mike says into my ear.
Glancing back, horrified and trying to determine how much of that Abbey heard, I move into the downstairs bathroom, where I find a half drank glass of wine – at least I hope it’s wine – and, more disturbingly, a pair of boxer briefs that aren’t mine hanging on the toilet-roll holder.
‘Jesus. You should know your friends are disgusting. Like, really grim, dude.’
‘They can be,’ he says, without a care in his voice. ‘I hope the one you still have in my apartment this morning wasn’t one of the really dirty ones.’
‘God, Mike, come on. I literally broke up with Fleur just over a week ago.’
‘Good riddance.’
‘She wasn’t just some girl, Mike; she was the woman I was going to marry.’
‘A narrow escape, if you ask me.’
His tone is so astonishingly flippant, I’ve half a mind to hang up. Catching sight of myself in the over-sink mirror, I see my irritation. I also see how exhausted I look. Understandable really. And how utterly shambolic my bed-hair looks. Less acceptable.
‘So, who is she?’
‘Who’s who?’ I ask, dampening my hands and trying to dampen the cowlick that’s worse than even Alfalfa’s from The Little Rascals.
‘Duh, the woman in my apartment?’ Mike says, with mock-stupidity that suits him for real.
‘That’s just Abbey from downstairs. She’s helping me clean up.’
‘She wants a piece of you.’
‘What?’
‘Who in their right mind helps a guy clean up after a party?’
‘Abbey. She lost a bet. And believe me, if she wants a piece of me, it’s my head. She wants to murder me this morning. Most times, come to think of it.’
‘Hold up. Do I know an Abbey from downstairs? Holy crap, is it the new hot neighbor?’
‘She’s not… Well, she is attractive actually… but not like the girls you know. More stuck up and uppity.’ Big panties, fluffy boots and the fact she’s cleaning the apartment aside.
‘Ah-ha. Well, I’m looking at her Tinder profile right now and I’d say she’s tickling my taste buds.’
‘Mike, that’s invasive, man, come on. Don’t—’ My phone gives me a notification.
‘I’ve sent you a screenshot. She’s an actress; of course she’s good looking.’
An actress? She doesn’t seem gregarious, like other actors I’ve come across – admittedly few of them and always loosely known by my brother or Fleur – but she is into designer labels and fake lashes.
She must be good, too. That I can surmise from her being able to afford to live in this apartment block. I wonder what else she makes up. Probably the parts of her I do like – the version of her who felt a bit nerdy last night. The part who doesn’t seem interested in a big party and working a room. Then again, why would anyone want to appear nerdy and introvert? Maybe someone who didn’t feel herself being at a party in her slippers. Someone who had charged upstairs to confront me without giving thought to what might be going on in my apartment.
People who aren’t truthful are pretty much top of my list of dislikes.
The irony is, I’m playing a part with her, too. This confident guy, a Mike type, a Roman type. It’s not me at all.
So maybe she does play a role and maybe I’ll keep playing mine. After all, don’t a pro ball player and an actress make a good match? Better than a computer coder.
In any event, she’s helping to clean up the mess this morning and, when she’s not being headstrong, she’s a distraction I could do with whilst I’m here in New York. Bickering with her takes my mind off real life. And she’s completely safe female company because she is so far beyond what would be good for me right now.
At some point, I have to make a decision on my next move and get out of my brother’s apartment anyway. Out of Abbey’s apartment block. Away from New York.
15
ABBEY
Is this man for real?
Most people would have reneged on last night’s bet. He narrowly beat me at bouldering and frankly, I kicked his butt when it came to snowboarding.
But I let a competitive streak I didn’t know I have until last night get the better of me.
New Abbey is a menace! I went all or nothing on one final game and Mike won.
Now, he’s in the loo on the phone to his brother, and I am solo cleaning the apartment.
Moving over to the large dining table, a focal point in the open space, with the cityscape the focal point of would-be diners, I get increasingly slammy with the pizza crusts, pizza boxes, Coca-Cola cans and beer bottles as I thrust them into my trash bag.
Jarring amongst the chaos, neatly positioned at one head of the table, is a closed Mac and, on top of it, a bundle of papers.
I’m not looking per se, I just can’t help noticing that the top document is a printed email thread.
Ted,
Thanks for your time on the phone earlier.
I have been through the partnership documents for Vanguard RED Technologies and I have broken down in the attached document the ways in which either you or Roman could instigate an exit from the business.
I’m genuinely sorry to hear things have gone sour. Hopefully I can help make this next step a seamless transition for you.
Let me know when would be a good time to discuss.
Hugh
Hugh Atkins
Head of Corporate Law
Atkins, Turner and Heath
Hearing the bathroom door open startles me and I jump, knocking a used plate from the table, wincing when it breaks into two pieces.
‘Gosh, sorry, it slipped,’ I tell Mike, fumbling to pick up the pieces from the floor, hoping he didn’t catch me reading personal documents.
Although, clearly not personal to him, personal to Ted. Who is Ted and why was Mike looking at his documents?
Never mind, really none of my business. Plus, sports guys must make investments, right? Then, who knows what a pro baseball player gets paid. I could probably retire on as much money.
‘Don’t worry, I can afford a replacement.’ The way he says it is so arrogant, it plays right into the thoughts I was just having – rich and carefree. ‘That was my brother on the phone,’ he says, as if it wasn’t obvious. An apology for leaving me to clean up his mess would have been a better use of words.
Exasperated, I end up slapping my hands to my hips and snapping. ‘Can we just get on with this? A bet is a bet but I have things to do today.’
He rolls his eyes as he turns his back on me to start picking up trash, but I catch it and there’s no mistaking his sarcasm as he asks, ‘Like shopping and doing your hair?’
I really want to take the half-eaten slice of pizza I pick up next and wipe the passata all over his smug face. ‘Yes, actually. I have a date.’ So screw you. I’m desirable and I can be funny and, oh crap, why am I going on a date? I have no idea what dating etiquette is in 2024. In fact, I don’t have any idea what the dating etiquette is in any year and I’m absolutely nervous as hell.
‘You have a day date?’ he asks, turning to face me and dropping a beer bottle into his recycling bag.
‘No,’ I say, wounded because I know he’s thinking a day date is a safe, probably not interested kind of date. ‘It’s an evening date but I— I’ve never actually been on a date and I want to be prepared.’
‘What, ever?’ He’s mocking me.
‘Is that so shocking?’
‘I just— How is that possible?’
‘Are you joking right now? I’m here to help you. You don’t even know me and you’re practically calling me undatable?’
‘No, that’s not what I—’
‘Just because I’m not some kind of man whore.’
‘Man whore? Me?’
‘Gargh, can we just get this over and done with so we can go our separate ways and I don’t have to see you anymore?’
‘Abbey, look—’
‘Ever. Period. Stop. Talking.’
16
ABBEY
I’m almost dressed for my first ever date tonight. I’m meeting the guy, Adam, in a small cocktail hang out in Williamsburg. Apparently it serves great cocktails but not in a pretentious way and it’s perfect for a first or early date.
I literally googled the best spots in Brooklyn for a first date. I don’t want to be too far from home in case the evening is an absolute car crash.
I have no idea what to expect. For all I know, my date could be fake as heck. A catfish. An axe murderer. I wouldn’t have a clue.
Though I do recognize the irony here; I am being fake. He thinks I’m an actress. The last time I acted in anything, I was playing the role of a star in a school nativity play. A star. I didn’t even have a line; I just had to hold out my arms and twinkle my fingers above a stable.
And I’m a truly awful liar.
Oh God, this is going to be horrendous.
Grabbing my phone from my bedside table, I call Dee.
‘Hey, it’s me again,’ I say, bending to buckle the strap of my stiletto shoe. ‘Two things: first, are you sure about this outfit? I feel like Lily Collins could probably pull off a miniskirt and T-shirt but I look kind of mismatched, like dressy on the bottom and going to a gym class on the top.’
‘It’s called trendy, Abbey. The bottom half says date and the top half says you’re playing it cool. The perfect match.’
Shoes strapped, I stand and look into my mirrored wardrobes, checking the time on my watch as I do. I’ve got to go! I consider the outfit again and it doesn’t really matter what I think of it now because I’m out of time.
Grabbing my keys and throwing them into my purse, I leave the apartment, Dee still on the phone between my ear and shoulder.
‘You didn’t tell me how your clean-up went with 8B this morning,’ she says.
‘Awful. Worse than awful. The place was a state. His friends are gross. And he spent most of his time on the phone to his brother and drinking coffee.’
‘Awful? You hang out one-on-one with the hottest guy you’ve ever lived beneath and it was awful?’
That’s hardly a ringing endorsement since I’ve only lived beneath an old man with too many cats and before that, tequila-obsessed students.
‘It’s such a shame that his personality doesn’t match his face in that case.’
I’ve made my way down to the foyer and I wiggle my fingers in greeting at the concierge as I leave the building.
‘Never mind that. The second and most important reason I called is to make a bit of a strange request. Are there any jobs going on the set of your new series?’
‘Do you want to start acting now?’ The shock in Dee’s voice feels far from a vote of confidence.
‘Not exactly.’ I hail a cab and watch it swerve to the sidewalk to collect me. I do normally call an Uber but this is a short distance and I only need a cab because these new shoes are so awfully excruciating that just the thought of walking even two kilometers is painful.
‘You know how bad of a liar I am, and if I’m going to be going on Tinder dates and having to make out like I’m an actress – thanks to you and Shernette for that, by the way – I just think I need to have at least a clue about what happens on the set of a production. Then I won’t be lying, technically.’
I pause our conversation to tell the driver where I’m headed.
‘We always need extras,’ Dee says. ‘Or there’s a chance we’ll need an extra runner, especially if you’re willing to be cheap.’
‘Less of the cheap, I’m already wearing a belt in place of a miniskirt.’
‘I’m sure I can get you something. Leave it with me.’
Shortly after we end the call, I step out of the cab at the cocktail bar and see a guy who I think is Adam sitting at a table for two, outside on the sidewalk. He most certainly is not the six feet and four inches tall that he felt the need to share on his profile. Which makes me question whether he really does speak five languages, is an art professor, a self-confessed coffee snob, and a gym bunny.
Of course, I am an actress if you believe Tinder, so Adam could in fact be anyone.
She holds up her yellow-covered hands. ‘We might not be in a pandemic anymore but I don’t need to fondle the beer bottles of your Friday-night crew.’
‘You don’t have a spare pair of those, do you? If my brother sent them round, those guys could be carrying all sorts of infestations.’
She puffs out a short laugh. Then her eyes very fleetingly run the length of my body.
‘Did you just check me out?’ I ask, channeling my brother, except he’d turn it into some sort of cheesy pick-up line and I just don’t have enough pizazz for that.
She quickly drags her eyes back to mine, and her cheeks pinken. ‘Only to note that you’re in my way. Can we get on with this, please? I have places to go, people to see and all that.’
I step aside and let her in, now realizing just how much of a mess the apartment looks. Whilst Abbey and I were being anti-social last night, only engaging in the virtual world, beer bottles and pizza boxes were being scattered around almost every surface. It’s a shame the cleaners don’t come on Saturdays.
‘I’ll go grab a top,’ I say.
‘Erm, yes, please. We don’t need any distractions. We’ve got our work cut out for us here.’
I’m walking away when her words land. ‘Are you calling me a distraction?’
Mike would be proud. If this wasn’t Abbey from 7B, annoying and kind of angry, I’d sound like I’m flirting. Something Mike and Roman have confirmed I am appalling at.
She rolls her eyes and shoos me with a wave of her fingers, making me chuckle. I head upstairs for a shirt.
‘I’m sad to see you didn’t turn up in your big panties and fluffy boots, 7B,’ I shout down from the mezzanine level.
‘They’re for one week of every month, joker.’
I chortle all the way to my temporary wardrobe.
When I come back into the lounge, Abbey has made two coffees and is scrolling through her phone. Her hair is contained in a disorderly yet pretty bundle at the nape of her neck, exposing pale, flawless skin all the way down to beneath her shoulders.
Fleur was always tanned, be it from the sun or from a bottle. Her skin was punctuated with defined bones. Chiseled, she called herself. I guess that got her a lot of work as a model. She’s beautiful. Photographed, she is truly a work of art. Unreal. Untouchable.
She proverbially knocked me off my feet the first time she showed an interest in me at Mike’s celebrity birthday bash in San Francisco. It was star-studded and showy, the kind of thing I really dislike. I would have much preferred taking my brother for a celebratory beer. Fleur loosely knew a woman Mike is friends with and the two of them came along. Her friend got flirty with Mike. Roman found someone he knew to talk to. Then Fleur and I were kissing.
In the lounge, ‘Fireflies’ by Owl City is playing through Abbey’s phone. I like this song. And I also like how Abbey’s hips are wiggling and her shoulders are bopping to the beat. She’s happy and somehow, that rubs off on me, too. I feel light-hearted as I head over to the coffee and the woman pulling back on her yellow gloves.
‘You can play music through the apartment’s surround,’ I tell her, making her jump, as if she forgot I was in the building.
‘Finally, you’re decent,’ she says, gesturing to my shorts and T-shirt. ‘It’s loud enough through my phone. As you’re well aware, I don’t like loud noises disturbing the peace.’
I roll my eyes. I may have ultimately won the game-off last night, impressing even myself with my virtual bouldering, but I have taken on board her complaints and will try to stop the absentminded banging of Mike’s baseballs on the walls.
‘Is one of those for me?’ I ask, nodding in the direction of the two steaming cups of coffee.
‘Yep. I wasn’t sure how you like it, so you’ll have to take it as it comes.’
‘Which is?’
She shakes a black trash bag, opening it out, followed by three more. ‘Something akin to a white americano. Unless you have an allergy or intolerance?’
There’s panic in her voice, like she’s terrified of having done something wrong.
I pick up the cup and take a gulp. ‘It’s perfect. Thank you.’
‘Phew. I don’t have an EpiPen and I definitely don’t want to wind up cleaning alone.’
‘My anaphylaxis is your secondary concern, then.’
‘Anaphylactic shock probably would have stopped your ignorant banging sooner than me being forced to clean up your stinking apartment from your dirty friends.’ Ah, she’s back, the crabby as hell, stuck-up Abbey. She crouches down to pick up three of the trash bags, holding out two for me to take. ‘Two each. Keep the recycling separate. We can save the planet one glass bottle at a time.’
‘If we were being very eco-friendly, there’d have been a beer keg and reusable cups.’
She shrugs. ‘I didn’t throw the party, I just got sucked into it.’
As soon as I relieve her of two bags, she starts picking up mess from the kitchen floor. ‘Your guests were animals.’
I had better start helping because she’s right, it’s as if my brother rounded up the filthiest of his New York friends and sent them here last night. I can also sense the genuine anger in her voice – she’s clearly here to stay true to her word and nothing more.
I have all good intentions but… my phone starts to ring.
‘Yo yo, little bro. How was the party?’ My phone has defaulted to the surround speakers in the apartment. I make to switch the sound to come through the phone but not before Mike continues. ‘A nice distraction? I hear I have a new neighbor and given who told me and the tone of her telling, I’m assuming she’s a looker—’
‘Shit.’ I thumb the screen of my phone, switching my brother to my ear. ‘Sorry, I’ll be back in a minute,’ I tell Abbey. If looks could kill, I’d be a very, very dead man right now.
‘Whoa, not alone. Yes, little bro! I like your style,’ Mike says into my ear.
Glancing back, horrified and trying to determine how much of that Abbey heard, I move into the downstairs bathroom, where I find a half drank glass of wine – at least I hope it’s wine – and, more disturbingly, a pair of boxer briefs that aren’t mine hanging on the toilet-roll holder.
‘Jesus. You should know your friends are disgusting. Like, really grim, dude.’
‘They can be,’ he says, without a care in his voice. ‘I hope the one you still have in my apartment this morning wasn’t one of the really dirty ones.’
‘God, Mike, come on. I literally broke up with Fleur just over a week ago.’
‘Good riddance.’
‘She wasn’t just some girl, Mike; she was the woman I was going to marry.’
‘A narrow escape, if you ask me.’
His tone is so astonishingly flippant, I’ve half a mind to hang up. Catching sight of myself in the over-sink mirror, I see my irritation. I also see how exhausted I look. Understandable really. And how utterly shambolic my bed-hair looks. Less acceptable.
‘So, who is she?’
‘Who’s who?’ I ask, dampening my hands and trying to dampen the cowlick that’s worse than even Alfalfa’s from The Little Rascals.
‘Duh, the woman in my apartment?’ Mike says, with mock-stupidity that suits him for real.
‘That’s just Abbey from downstairs. She’s helping me clean up.’
‘She wants a piece of you.’
‘What?’
‘Who in their right mind helps a guy clean up after a party?’
‘Abbey. She lost a bet. And believe me, if she wants a piece of me, it’s my head. She wants to murder me this morning. Most times, come to think of it.’
‘Hold up. Do I know an Abbey from downstairs? Holy crap, is it the new hot neighbor?’
‘She’s not… Well, she is attractive actually… but not like the girls you know. More stuck up and uppity.’ Big panties, fluffy boots and the fact she’s cleaning the apartment aside.
‘Ah-ha. Well, I’m looking at her Tinder profile right now and I’d say she’s tickling my taste buds.’
‘Mike, that’s invasive, man, come on. Don’t—’ My phone gives me a notification.
‘I’ve sent you a screenshot. She’s an actress; of course she’s good looking.’
An actress? She doesn’t seem gregarious, like other actors I’ve come across – admittedly few of them and always loosely known by my brother or Fleur – but she is into designer labels and fake lashes.
She must be good, too. That I can surmise from her being able to afford to live in this apartment block. I wonder what else she makes up. Probably the parts of her I do like – the version of her who felt a bit nerdy last night. The part who doesn’t seem interested in a big party and working a room. Then again, why would anyone want to appear nerdy and introvert? Maybe someone who didn’t feel herself being at a party in her slippers. Someone who had charged upstairs to confront me without giving thought to what might be going on in my apartment.
People who aren’t truthful are pretty much top of my list of dislikes.
The irony is, I’m playing a part with her, too. This confident guy, a Mike type, a Roman type. It’s not me at all.
So maybe she does play a role and maybe I’ll keep playing mine. After all, don’t a pro ball player and an actress make a good match? Better than a computer coder.
In any event, she’s helping to clean up the mess this morning and, when she’s not being headstrong, she’s a distraction I could do with whilst I’m here in New York. Bickering with her takes my mind off real life. And she’s completely safe female company because she is so far beyond what would be good for me right now.
At some point, I have to make a decision on my next move and get out of my brother’s apartment anyway. Out of Abbey’s apartment block. Away from New York.
15
ABBEY
Is this man for real?
Most people would have reneged on last night’s bet. He narrowly beat me at bouldering and frankly, I kicked his butt when it came to snowboarding.
But I let a competitive streak I didn’t know I have until last night get the better of me.
New Abbey is a menace! I went all or nothing on one final game and Mike won.
Now, he’s in the loo on the phone to his brother, and I am solo cleaning the apartment.
Moving over to the large dining table, a focal point in the open space, with the cityscape the focal point of would-be diners, I get increasingly slammy with the pizza crusts, pizza boxes, Coca-Cola cans and beer bottles as I thrust them into my trash bag.
Jarring amongst the chaos, neatly positioned at one head of the table, is a closed Mac and, on top of it, a bundle of papers.
I’m not looking per se, I just can’t help noticing that the top document is a printed email thread.
Ted,
Thanks for your time on the phone earlier.
I have been through the partnership documents for Vanguard RED Technologies and I have broken down in the attached document the ways in which either you or Roman could instigate an exit from the business.
I’m genuinely sorry to hear things have gone sour. Hopefully I can help make this next step a seamless transition for you.
Let me know when would be a good time to discuss.
Hugh
Hugh Atkins
Head of Corporate Law
Atkins, Turner and Heath
Hearing the bathroom door open startles me and I jump, knocking a used plate from the table, wincing when it breaks into two pieces.
‘Gosh, sorry, it slipped,’ I tell Mike, fumbling to pick up the pieces from the floor, hoping he didn’t catch me reading personal documents.
Although, clearly not personal to him, personal to Ted. Who is Ted and why was Mike looking at his documents?
Never mind, really none of my business. Plus, sports guys must make investments, right? Then, who knows what a pro baseball player gets paid. I could probably retire on as much money.
‘Don’t worry, I can afford a replacement.’ The way he says it is so arrogant, it plays right into the thoughts I was just having – rich and carefree. ‘That was my brother on the phone,’ he says, as if it wasn’t obvious. An apology for leaving me to clean up his mess would have been a better use of words.
Exasperated, I end up slapping my hands to my hips and snapping. ‘Can we just get on with this? A bet is a bet but I have things to do today.’
He rolls his eyes as he turns his back on me to start picking up trash, but I catch it and there’s no mistaking his sarcasm as he asks, ‘Like shopping and doing your hair?’
I really want to take the half-eaten slice of pizza I pick up next and wipe the passata all over his smug face. ‘Yes, actually. I have a date.’ So screw you. I’m desirable and I can be funny and, oh crap, why am I going on a date? I have no idea what dating etiquette is in 2024. In fact, I don’t have any idea what the dating etiquette is in any year and I’m absolutely nervous as hell.
‘You have a day date?’ he asks, turning to face me and dropping a beer bottle into his recycling bag.
‘No,’ I say, wounded because I know he’s thinking a day date is a safe, probably not interested kind of date. ‘It’s an evening date but I— I’ve never actually been on a date and I want to be prepared.’
‘What, ever?’ He’s mocking me.
‘Is that so shocking?’
‘I just— How is that possible?’
‘Are you joking right now? I’m here to help you. You don’t even know me and you’re practically calling me undatable?’
‘No, that’s not what I—’
‘Just because I’m not some kind of man whore.’
‘Man whore? Me?’
‘Gargh, can we just get this over and done with so we can go our separate ways and I don’t have to see you anymore?’
‘Abbey, look—’
‘Ever. Period. Stop. Talking.’
16
ABBEY
I’m almost dressed for my first ever date tonight. I’m meeting the guy, Adam, in a small cocktail hang out in Williamsburg. Apparently it serves great cocktails but not in a pretentious way and it’s perfect for a first or early date.
I literally googled the best spots in Brooklyn for a first date. I don’t want to be too far from home in case the evening is an absolute car crash.
I have no idea what to expect. For all I know, my date could be fake as heck. A catfish. An axe murderer. I wouldn’t have a clue.
Though I do recognize the irony here; I am being fake. He thinks I’m an actress. The last time I acted in anything, I was playing the role of a star in a school nativity play. A star. I didn’t even have a line; I just had to hold out my arms and twinkle my fingers above a stable.
And I’m a truly awful liar.
Oh God, this is going to be horrendous.
Grabbing my phone from my bedside table, I call Dee.
‘Hey, it’s me again,’ I say, bending to buckle the strap of my stiletto shoe. ‘Two things: first, are you sure about this outfit? I feel like Lily Collins could probably pull off a miniskirt and T-shirt but I look kind of mismatched, like dressy on the bottom and going to a gym class on the top.’
‘It’s called trendy, Abbey. The bottom half says date and the top half says you’re playing it cool. The perfect match.’
Shoes strapped, I stand and look into my mirrored wardrobes, checking the time on my watch as I do. I’ve got to go! I consider the outfit again and it doesn’t really matter what I think of it now because I’m out of time.
Grabbing my keys and throwing them into my purse, I leave the apartment, Dee still on the phone between my ear and shoulder.
‘You didn’t tell me how your clean-up went with 8B this morning,’ she says.
‘Awful. Worse than awful. The place was a state. His friends are gross. And he spent most of his time on the phone to his brother and drinking coffee.’
‘Awful? You hang out one-on-one with the hottest guy you’ve ever lived beneath and it was awful?’
That’s hardly a ringing endorsement since I’ve only lived beneath an old man with too many cats and before that, tequila-obsessed students.
‘It’s such a shame that his personality doesn’t match his face in that case.’
I’ve made my way down to the foyer and I wiggle my fingers in greeting at the concierge as I leave the building.
‘Never mind that. The second and most important reason I called is to make a bit of a strange request. Are there any jobs going on the set of your new series?’
‘Do you want to start acting now?’ The shock in Dee’s voice feels far from a vote of confidence.
‘Not exactly.’ I hail a cab and watch it swerve to the sidewalk to collect me. I do normally call an Uber but this is a short distance and I only need a cab because these new shoes are so awfully excruciating that just the thought of walking even two kilometers is painful.
‘You know how bad of a liar I am, and if I’m going to be going on Tinder dates and having to make out like I’m an actress – thanks to you and Shernette for that, by the way – I just think I need to have at least a clue about what happens on the set of a production. Then I won’t be lying, technically.’
I pause our conversation to tell the driver where I’m headed.
‘We always need extras,’ Dee says. ‘Or there’s a chance we’ll need an extra runner, especially if you’re willing to be cheap.’
‘Less of the cheap, I’m already wearing a belt in place of a miniskirt.’
‘I’m sure I can get you something. Leave it with me.’
Shortly after we end the call, I step out of the cab at the cocktail bar and see a guy who I think is Adam sitting at a table for two, outside on the sidewalk. He most certainly is not the six feet and four inches tall that he felt the need to share on his profile. Which makes me question whether he really does speak five languages, is an art professor, a self-confessed coffee snob, and a gym bunny.
Of course, I am an actress if you believe Tinder, so Adam could in fact be anyone.
