Fake It 'til You Make It, page 7
The thought of the sleeping space brings the relentless banging every night to the forefront of my mind and I feel the skin of my neck heat, then I sense Mike close to me, right before I feel his arm reach around me from behind.
He grabs the pizza box from my hands and takes it to the kitchen.
‘Hey!’
He opens the box on the kitchen island and takes two plates down from a rack shelf. He cuts the pizza in what would have been the original middle, before he started eating it downstairs, then places the unscathed half on one plate and hands it to me, taking the other piece for himself.
‘Drink?’ he asks, already opening the double-door refrigerator to reveal more bottles of beer than a bar might stock.
After the night I’ve had…
‘Sure, thanks.’ I give in and take a seat on a stool.
‘Beer or beer?’
I shrug. ‘Beer?’
‘Right answer.’
Whilst he searches through drawers, eventually coming up with a bottle opener, I consider the space. A very definite sports fanatic pad. Signed baseballs decorate an area of the white walls. Signed jerseys are hanging in frames.
There are massive prints of baseball players in black and white, five in total. All signed. I’ve no idea who they are, though I’m kind of thinking one is Babe Ruth – based on my reluctant participation in a recent pub quiz.
And one is…
‘Tell me you don’t have a life-size print of yourself on display in your home.’ I flick off the heels that have been crippling my toes and hop down from the stool, moving in for a closer inspection. ‘And that you’ve signed it!’
In the picture, he’s wearing a baseball cap that partially shades his face, but it’s Mike alright.
If it wasn’t for the snigger that comes along with it, I could forget myself for a second and think that slight quirk of his lips, an almost smile, is kind of… sexy?
My capsule wardrobe is going to my head.
‘Greatness should be celebrated, babe.’
Oh my God, this guy is such a jerk. Then again, I’ve demonstrated of late that I’m not as good a judge of character as I thought I was. But I am close to certain that he’s a jerk.
I’d physically and metaphorically run for the hills if it wasn’t for: one, I haven’t finished my calzone, and two, the thought of putting my feet in those shoes again is more terrifying than being called babe.
I remove the first blockade with an elephant-sized bite of pizza and decide that the elephant feet probably won’t fit back into the slinky shoes tonight in any event, so I’ll carry them instead. The perk of being rescued by an ape in shining armor who lives in the same building as you.
‘On that note…’ I wash down my food with a mouthful of beer. ‘This babe is heading to bed.’
‘There’s a bed upstairs,’ Mike says. I could swear he covers a wince with his beer bottle, as if the words left his mouth before his brain clicked into gear. Quelle surprise. A typical sports type.
‘Just to clarify, was that a genuine pick-up line or a joke? Because FYI, no way, no how, not ever.’ I slip down from the stool, pick up my shoes and rise to standing. ‘If it wasn’t for the fact I need to find a date to my parents’ vow renewal in three weeks’ time, I’d be sworn off men entirely, forever, irrevocably.’
Why did I even offer that insight? This isn’t a girls’ sleepover and that’s hardly in keeping with the new me, who intends to fill that mental checklist, at least within the next three years. I start walking to the door.
‘Sorry, I meant to just think that last part but at least you have some context. I’ll see myself out.’
His brow is furrowed, his lips are drawn into a smirk. He’s mocking me. He raises his now empty beer bottle from where he’s still standing by the kitchen island.
‘You got it, babe. And let me know if you need that date to be super fly and hot as hell. I could bump you up my waiting list.’
Urgh. I’m standing by the open door, holding it with one hand, my fancy purse and murderous shoes in the other.
‘If you’re such a misogynistic beast, why did you help me out earlier? I know it wasn’t just for hazelnut chocolate spread.’
He creaks his neck, leaning his head to one side, then the other. ‘If you must know, I can’t stand cheats. It’s cowardly. It’s demeaning. It’s disrespectful.’
‘What do you know – we have something in common.’
I’m smiling, because finally I recognize this guy for who he is: the alpha male with mommy and daddy issues.
I’ve got your number, 8B.
10
TED
‘Sweet dreams, babe,’ I call as Abbey closes the door behind her.
‘Goodnight, my knight in chauvinist armor,’ she calls back.
Then the door is closed and laughter escapes me. Believe it or not, I’m laughing, again. So, I’ll admit, behaving like this self-assured Michael Thomas character makes the real me cringe at times. There’s a bed upstairs. Super fly. I’ll bump you up my waiting list – what was I thinking? That didn’t sound like a slick alpha male but a horny creep, the worst combination.
But I don’t think the real me would have shown up for a woman the way I did tonight. Maybe that’s the point. Guys like my brother and Rome can be arrogant but they always get the girl. They keep the girl. Guys like the old me don’t get a look in.
Tonight is case in point. I was horrible in places, yet Abbey stuck around.
Honestly, I can’t figure that woman out. Sometimes I look at her, remembering those ginormous panties, and I think she looks like a really hot girl next door. Other times, I look at her and I see exactly the kind of woman I’m not going to get mixed up with again. Like Fleur. Fancy clothes and salon-styled hair. And then she has this kind of sassy sensibility about her, which doesn’t fit with her ex having pulled the wool over her eyes.
I sit on the sofa and stare at the selection of baseballs on the wall. You don’t have to be stupid to get the wool pulled over your eyes; I’m stereotyping and it’s not right. I’m a smart guy – I have pieces of paper and a bank balance that say so – yet my fiancée still managed to do the dirty on me.
Therein lies the reason I helped out Abbey tonight. Her ex seemed like a complete idiot, and right now, whilst I’m avoiding both Fleur and Roman, I can’t imagine what it must have felt like for Abbey being forced to come face-to-face with her ex. For all intents and purposes, they’re living in the same apartment block. I genuinely hope for her sake that his relationship with a new woman is fleeting.
Here’s something, though, as I stare at the baseballs on the wall, I realize: this is the first night since I arrived in New York, almost a week ago, that I haven’t wanted to pick up one of those balls and bang it off the wall, over and over until monotony replaces anger and eventually has me ready to drop off to sleep.
The very last thing I need in my life right now is another designer-wearing woman, but Abbey was company tonight, however briefly. Whilst I was talking with her, I wasn’t mourning a life I had just a week ago, or at least a life I thought I had.
The fact is, store assistants aside, Abbey is the only person I know in New York. I’m going to need someone to talk to, someone in whom I have zero interest romantically and whom I can tolerate to be with for some sanity-preserving conversation.
So, I guess Abbey is staying.
Abbey and her sore feet.
I do my ablutions and head to bed, knowing that tonight, I’m finally going to be able to sleep – because my constant rage of the last days isn’t present.
As I lie back on the bed, blackout blinds drawn for the morning’s early sunrise, the final thought that enters my head is that Fleur would have never gone barefoot in public, no matter how badly her impractical shoes were rubbing her feet.
It’s Friday and the great thing about Fridays is that my assistant blocks out my calendar so that I can have a full day of R&D. I’m working on a new A.I. project, which I think has the potential to be the biggest product Vanguard has offered to date. Let’s face it, the hottest thing in the world right now is artificial intelligence.
In a random twist, I woke up with a modicum of energy, so at 5.30 a.m. I went into my brother’s small home gym. I used his rowing machine, his treadmill, and his free weights, and have miraculously been left with even more energy. I’m now sitting at my new home office desk with a breakfast bundle from the local bakery Four, which has become my go-to place when I’m not using Uber Eats.
I’ve been sketching pages of an app by hand, in such a way that the pages map out a storyboard. This is why I love Fridays. I can get lost in a project and forget the noise of the business world, and more importantly today, real life.
As she does every Friday morning at nine-thirty, Mel video calls me and I answer with, ‘Hey, Mel.’ Her face has appeared on my large computer screen.
I hear it in her voice, the moment she says, ‘Hi Ted.’ I’ve known her long enough to pick up on the subtle undertone.
She has my full attention. ‘What’s up?’
Her smile isn’t as bright as usual. It’s forced. ‘Just the usual check in to see if there’s anything specific you want me to action today or if I should just plod on doing my thing.’ There’s always a hint of feisty, kind of quirky city gal about Mel. Not today.
I interlock my fingers and bring my elbows to the desk, resting my chin on my hands.
‘There are a few things but first, what’s wrong?’ I’m near certain I know what this is about. Still, I ask, ‘Are you okay?’
‘Me?’ She shakes her head, as if exasperated. ‘Christ, Ted. I’m fine.’
It suddenly strikes me that she’s sitting in my desk chair, in my office. She wants privacy. And the way she says I’m is the final convincing I need. ‘Level with me.’
‘People are talking in the office. Playing guessing games as to why you’ve done a runner.’
I sit back in my chair, putting some distance between us, uncomfortable. ‘What’s the best guess?’
‘That Fleur has been fu— having an affair with Roman.’
She’s right. And as far as I’m aware, I was the first person to know as much. Yet Mel’s words are like someone unplugged the power supply to my system. As if my body shut down and can no longer perform basic functions, like breathing. Like my heart beating.
‘It’s true, isn’t it? I can tell from your silence. I can see it on your face. That’s why you’re in New York.’ She whispers the location, leaning in to her screen, even though I know she’ll be alone in my office. I trust her unreservedly – though my judgment in that department is clearly way off the mark.
‘How many tongues are wagging? Give it to me in numbers.’
‘Word is spreading fast. Pain and scandal make for the best gossip, Ted. It’s not intended to be cruel; it’s mindless.’
‘Are we in single figures or double?’ I don’t know why I’m so fixated on a number. Numbers are logical, I suppose. They help make sense of things that can otherwise seem out of control. For instance, all of our 176 employees knowing would seem impossible to contain. But 10 or even 20 percent I could live with.
‘I don’t think you want me to sugar coat it, so I’ll say the 50 percent who don’t bury their heads in code and analytics all day long.’
I slump back against my seat. ‘Where did it come from?’
‘Best guess? Kimberley.’
Roman’s assistant. No doubt out of jealousy. She’s a fairly forgetful assistant, yet Roman keeps her around, mostly for an ego boost. The flirting is mutually enjoyed, I’ve always thought. So long as it doesn’t interfere with business, I don’t need to step in.
I mentally chastise myself. How have I trusted Roman with any woman for so long?
I guess I didn’t. I trusted him to be a good friend. I trusted him with me.
‘What’s Roman saying about it?’
Mel sighs. ‘Ted, I— Does it matter? What about you? I only care what you’ve got to say about it.’
‘Is he saying anything?’
She looks at me through her camera like I’m a vulnerable, naïve boy to be pitied. I’ve seen the look before. Whenever I was compared to my brother and found lacking as a kid. Except with hindsight, I know now that I just wasn’t the star player in team sports; I hadn’t found my thing then. When I found my perfect match in tech, I showed all those people who pitied me. Look at the business I’ve built.
But I didn’t build it alone. Tech may have been my perfect match but my choices in close relationships have been demonstrably appalling.
‘I— He doesn’t seem to be denying it or trying to stop the chatter,’ Mel says.
I knew that would be the case. I wouldn’t be surprised if he told Kimberley the truth, knowing he would set a domino train in motion.
He wants out, to cash in. He’s trying to force my hand. I shouldn’t, I know, she doesn’t deserve it, but I feel protective of Fleur. Roman has used her to get to me. He’s not behaving like a friend who fucked up; he’s behaving like the Green Goblin to my Spiderman.
Closing my eyes, I rub my temples. ‘Mel, there is something specific I’d like you to do. Please have Hugh Atkins call me today.’
‘Your personal lawyer?’
‘Yes. Please.’
Mel types a note on her laptop. ‘Will do. Anything else?’
Not that my mind can process. ‘Not at the moment, thanks.’
‘Okay, boss.’
We each stare into our screens. I’d like to see her. Who knows if I really can trust anyone anymore but if I can, Mel has to be one of the goods ones. I can’t face going back there. Not right now. I don’t know when. Half the office is talking about me. Soon the whole office will be talking about me. And eventually, the rumor mill will hit Fleur’s social media profiles and the wider business world.
‘Ted,’ she says eventually. ‘I’m just… sorry. So sorry. I don’t even know what to say. I can’t believe they’ve done—’
I force my lips up. ‘Hey, there are plenty more fish in the sea, right?’
I don’t believe that. Of course I don’t believe that. But it’s time to save face, to retain a modicum of integrity. And that’s the kind of thing my big brother would say.
It’s not like I was going to marry Fleur and vow to spend the rest of my life with her. It’s not like Fleur is a model and influencer and has hundreds of thousands of followers on Instagram alone.
Oh, wait…
‘Yeah, right. If you need anything…’
I nod, give a swift thanks and end the call. Now I’m going to spend today considering my options with my lawyer, so Fleur and Roman can add to the list of shitty things they’ve done: ruining Coding Fridays.
11
ABBEY
‘The dating cavalry has arrived!’ Dee announces when I open my apartment door.
Shernette holds up a large brown paper bag. ‘And we come bearing both alcoholic and non-alcoholic prosecco and chips.’
‘A fine pairing,’ I say, laughing as the girls step inside.
Tonight, we are enjoying this apartment and simultaneously commencing Operation: Find Abbey a Date for the Vow Renewal.
We head into the kitchen, where Dee does a stellar job of locating glass flutes in the first cupboard she tries. I put this down less to her knowing her way around a food preparation area and more to her familiarity with a girls’ night in.
Whilst Dee pours drinks, Shernette empties two large packets of chips into bowls and for balance, I take a crudité platter and dips (peanut satay included) that I prepared earlier from the refrigerator.
‘You can nudge the coffee table in my direction,’ Dee says as we bring the food and drinks to sit in my lounge area, which the owners furnished with a U-shaped leather sofa, meaning no matter where you sit, you can enjoy the view.
Having lived in New York since I was in post-grad college, I’ve seen the skyline more times than I can count, but there’s something special about seeing it from the comfort of my own front lounge. 120 Wall Street. 40 Wall Street. One World Trade Center. The Woolworth Building.
‘Despite yet another failed day of job hunting today, I have faith that I’ll find something to pay my rent here before my six months is up. Because as long as I’m in New York, I don’t want to give up this view,’ I tell the girls, before dunking a carrot into hummus and sitting back onto the sofa.
‘See, I knew you would eventually come round. This is going to be a great exercise for you,’ Dee says, pulling the coffee table closer to her side of the U and taking a huge handful of chips from the bowl nearest to her. ‘No judgment, please, this is the first hour I’ve not felt like I’m going to hurl my guts up all day.’
‘The nausea isn’t letting up, huh?’ I ask.
‘Apparently most women improve after the first trimester. But I googled this condition called hyperemesis gravidarum and I’m sure I have it. I feel so ill and tired, like, all the time. And that condition might last for the entire pregnancy.’
Shernette and I exchange a quizzical look.
Dee points at me with one hand as she shoves more chips in her mouth with the other. After a round of crunching, she tells me, ‘You don’t know how awful this is, okay? I’m certain I’ve got it.’ Shernette rolls her eyes and Dee adds, in her direction, ‘You too, girlfriend.’
Once her laughter has subsided, Shernette turns to me. ‘So no luck with the job hunting?’
I shake my head. ‘There’s nothing obvious out there. But I’ve polished my resume, which is equivalent to polishing a turd when you’ve quit because you screwed up so badly you were about to be fired.’
‘But you weren’t fired,’ Shernette says. ‘In fact, I wouldn’t have been so certain that it wasn’t Greg who messed up those figures. It wouldn’t have been the first time. I speak from experience.’
‘Honestly, sis, if I quit a job every time I screwed up, I’d have never filmed an episode of anything.’
