The Fake Heartbreak (Searching for Love Book 3) Page 7

  My friends thinking that Leo might want to see me again in any capacity is just them having too much faith in me. Yes, I know I’m attractive and personable, but that’s not nearly enough to impress Leo. I’m not being insecure, it’s just how he is.

  My friends kept insisting that I couldn’t run away from this. They all said that somehow this was going to come back to haunt me, if only in the tension created by Leo still coming into Lucy’s for his coffee. I can’t deny that they had a point. Seeing him was not fun. But it also wasn’t that awful.

  I keep my head down and focus on making drinks for the rest of the shift. Then, as the morning peak dies down, I volunteer to go to the back and do dishes. Anything to keep my hands busy.

  My shift ends at noon, and I walk home, my feet aching, and my body wilting under the midday sun.

  My friends are concerned about how I hooked up with Leo, but I’m more concerned about how I keep thinking back to the night in general. I was good at being a fake girlfriend. I was good at supporting Leo and charming his friends.

  Maybe, I could land more gigs like this.

  Where does one even advertise her services as a fake date? Craigslist?

  The thought that keeps nagging me in the back of my head though is that it wasn’t me. The night wasn’t a success just because I’m a great performer. It was me and Leo. We worked well together. We balanced each other out. We had the chemistry.

  I arrive at my apartment and dig around in my tote bag for my keys. I remind myself that of course we had chemistry. That’s how we ended up in bed together. But that’s all it was. Physical chemistry. Nothing more.

  I throw my tote bag on my bed and sink down at my desk. I yank my songwriting notebook out of my drawer and flip through the pages.

  I did end up having a productive day of lyric-writing on Saturday. I wrote several verses of a new song that I’m really liking.

  Most of my songs are love songs. I’ve fallen in love more times than I can count. I fall fast and hard, but it never lasts. Quick in, quick out, as Bea likes to say. I always say that I’ve fallen in love, but it’s never been true love. So, I can write songs about love at first sight, and love for one night, and all those feelings associated with a huge crush. But, I can’t write about true love, not yet anyway.

  The song I wrote on Saturday is about waiting for love. Only it’s not sad. It’s hopeful. I like it.

  I want to be a professional singer, and I would love to go on tour or make an album, but mostly I just want to write my songs. Singers, more often than not, have short careers. You’ve got to burn fast and bright before you get too old. But songwriters and lyricists – they get to work forever. If I could only write songs good enough that they get purchased, I could get more freelance work. Then I could get signed with a songwriting agency. If I could do that for the rest of my life, I would be so happy.

  I sigh and make a few edits to the lyrics. Then I pick up my guitar and try out a few chords to match the verses.

  I’m distracted by the buzzing of my phone. I grab it and freeze when I see the screen.

  It’s an email from Leo.

  My first instinct is to toss the phone onto my bed and turn away. Why is he emailing me? He has my phone number now, we exchanged it to plan pick-up details for Friday, he could just text. Why can’t he be a normal person and just text like everyone else in our generation?

  What does he even want? There’s nothing else to say. I did my job. He paid me. We had some fun afterwards. That’s it. If he feels weird about this morning at Lucy’s, then he should just do what I do. Pretend it didn’t happen and keep moving forward.

  I try to do some more work on the lyrics, but I can feel the phone behind me. I need to read that email. I don’t want to, but I won’t get anything else done unless I take a look.

  I grit my teeth and grab the phone. I click on the notification, and the email opens.

  He’s responded to his initial email about the plan for the bridal shower:

  Hello Marianne,

  Hope you’re doing well. Jacob’s wedding is in about three weeks, and I’ve been ruminating over the last few days. I was wondering if you would be interested in attending the wedding with me since the shower was such a success?

  Please let me know.

  Regards,

  LW

  I stare at the email for several seconds. Then I look out my window, in a daze.

  My first thought is why Leo insists on writing emails like he’s communicating with a colleague. All the proper language and grammar, and even signing with his initial – it makes me want to walk into his office, wherever it is, and slap him across the face for being so pretentious. Sure, maybe we’re little more than strangers, but we did share an intimate moment. I can’t stand people who put on airs. Everything Leo does just gets under my skin, even though by now I should know what to expect from him.

  My second thought is utter confusion. Never in a million years did I think he would want to repeat the performance. I thought the bridal shower was a one-time thing.

  Of course, it makes sense. Everyone who met me the other night is going to pepper Leo with questions if he goes solo to the wedding in August. But he should have thought of that. I figured he would have a plan in place.

  Not even Leo thought his bridal shower scheme would work as well as it did.

  It’s a compliment really. He wants to rehire me.

  And yet, my stomach heaves with nerves at the thought. Especially since his email is strangely ambiguous. He doesn’t say anything about payment or being a fake date. He just asks me to attend the wedding with him.

  But he can’t mean for real. There’s no way. Not even Leo would ask me out like this via email. And, if he were asking me out, I would definitely say no.

  My fingers hover over my phone screen, but I have no idea how to respond.

  So I throw my phone back on my ed and turn away. I’ll respond later. Or maybe I won’t.

  One thing is for sure: this one-off misadventure just got a lot more complicated.

  11

  By Friday, I still haven’t responded to Leo’s email. I know I should. It’s rude to ignore it, and he knows I’ve seen it by now. But then again, I’m a busy woman, and I’m an artist. Maybe, he’ll assume I’m just irresponsible and rude about responding. In fact, knowing Leo, that’s definitely what he’s assumed. Just silly wannabe performer Marianne, losing her phone and not answering emails.

  I just really don’t know what to say. I know I should say no. It’s too risky. A few hours of pretending to be someone else is one thing, but a whole weekend? It would be almost impossible.

  However, there’s a part of me that wants to say yes. I’m scared because I don’t know why I want to accept. Is it because I like the challenge? Or is it because I want to spend time with Leo again?

  As I delay responding to the email, I’ve mastered the art of avoiding Leo at Lucy’s. On Tuesday, I switched my shifts with another barista so I could work later in the day. Then on Wednesday, I kept one eye on the street so I saw him approaching and ducked into the back to grab more espresso beans at the pivotal moment. Thursday was my day off, and this morning I conveniently spilled milk in the back, right when Leo was due to show up, so of course I had to mop that up.

  I can’t continue this way though. My boss is going to think I’m regressing as a barista if I keep spilling stuff or running to the back for invalid reasons each morning at 8:15. The money Leo paid me last week won’t get me very far if I get fired from Lucy’s.

  After I finish my morning shift, I decide I need help. I can’t make this decision on my own. I know that Elena has to chaperone a school dance this evening, and Zoe is travelling for work, so that leaves Beatrice. She’s a good choice, I decide. Bea is less judgmental and has a sense of humor, but I still trust her to give good advice.

  I text her, and we agree to meet for dinner at a sushi place in Wicker Park as soon as Bea gets off work.

  For once, I’m actually e
arly. Bea raises her brows when she sees me already seated when she walks in, and I can tell she’s thinking things must be dire indeed.

  “Well.” Bea gives me a cool look as soon as she’s seated. “What’s this big emergency?”

  “Did I use the word emergency?”

  “You texted me it was a ‘bit of a crisis,’” Bea says.

  “Ok, that might have been an over-exaggeration, but I definitely need your input.” I fold my hands atop the table and meet Bea’s steady gaze. “Leo wants me to go to the actual wedding next month.”

  Bea’s jaw drops, and she’s the one who doesn’t get shocked easily. She recovers quickly and tilts her head. Her eyes dance with questions. “As his fake girlfriend or an actual date?”

  “Fake girlfriend,” I say. “I’m pretty sure.”

  “You’re pretty sure?” Bea asks.

  “80%, yes,” I say.

  Bea rolls her eyes. “Ok, you need to give me a word-for-word account of what he actually said.”

  “Easy.” I whip out my phone and open the email.

  “He signs his emails with ‘regards’ and his initials?” Bea scrunches her nose. “How old is this guy again?”

  “I know! He’s 30!” I shake my head. “Although I may need to sneak a peek at his driver’s license just to be sure.”

  “So you’re gonna do it?”

  “I haven’t responded.” I sigh and fiddle with the napkin. “I mean, a whole weekend would be intense, but the shower went off alright.”

  “But you slept with him,” Bea says. “I’m not judging or anything, but don’t you think that makes everything a little more complicated?”

  “Yeah.” I slouch back in my chair. “But does it have to? Isn’t it possible to just kinda forget about the sex and just focus on the weekend performance?”

  “Sex tends to stick in the memory.” Bea’s lips twitch into a lopsided smile. “Was it truly bland enough to forget.”

  I stare down at the menu even though I already know I’m just going to order a spicy tuna roll and edamame. I haven’t gone into details about the nature of the sex yet with my friends, but since Bea is asking, I can’t avoid it.

  “No,” I murmur. “It was actually really good.”

  Bea leans forward. “How good?”

  “Really good, ok?” I toss my hair over my shoulder and sigh. “But it was just a hook-up. It’s not ideal but people work with past lovers all the time. Famous actors and actresses do it, I can do it.”

  Bea looks like she’s about to say something, but the waitress comes just then and takes our orders. Once we’ve ordered, Bea seems to be ruminating on something else. She chews her lips, and her shrewd eyes meet mine.

  “What?” I ask.

  “You could probably charge a lot for an entire wedding weekend,” Bea says. “This guy clearly has money, this could be a huge cash influx for you.”

  That’s what I love about Bea. Even when she thinks something is a bad idea, she is still able to see all sides of a situation.

  But to be honest, I have been avoiding thinking about the cash. I squirm with discomfort, and Bea takes note.

  “What? You feel weird about negotiating now?” she asks.

  “No, not negotiating,” I say. “But, I do feel weird about accepting money after we’ve had sex. It makes it feel...dirty I guess.”

  Bea widens her eyes. She reaches out and grabs my hand, her face serious. “Marianne, you’re not a prostitute if that’s what you’re thinking. Trust me, you know I grew up in a tough neighborhood, and I can tell when something is fishy or on the wrong side of a moral code, and this isn’t it.”

  “You’re sure?” I still can’t shake the feeling I got when I opened that envelope of cash after leaving Leo’s apartment.

  “I’m positive.” Bea nods her head to emphasize her point. “The fake girlfriend is whacky and just a little insensitive when it comes to Leo’s friends, but it’s not wrong, and you’re not an escort or anything like that.”

  “Ok.” I nod. “I believe you.”

  “So.” Bea crosses her arms. “It seems like you’re gonna do it.”

  “I don’t know, it was fun pretending the first time,” I say. “And you just said it’s a good chance to make some quick money.”

  Our food arrives, and we dig in. Beatrice chews on a roll and cocks her head.

  “What if you run into these guests later though?” Bea asks. “Chicago is a big city, but it’s not that big. You could run into the bride at a bar or the groom at Trader Joe’s.”

  I cringe at the very thought of running into Melanie in my real life. I don’t know if I could keep up any sort of act, especially if it happens a few weeks after the wedding. Leo seems to have a pretty vague plan when it comes to telling his friends about our future and inevitable break-up.

  “I mean, that would be a nightmare, but they’re not my friends,” I say. “Leo would be on the hook for that, not me.”

  Beatrice makes a face, but she doesn’t push on this hypothetical. If Zoe and Elena were here, I would know exactly what they think of this situation (and they would think I should say no for sure), but Bea is hard to read sometimes. She seems to be mulling the whole thing over.

  “Ok, here’s a question,” Bea says. “Do you want to do this wedding because it’s another crazy adventure or because you want to spend time with Leo.”

  “The adventure,” I say. “Obviously.”

  I shove a piece of sushi in my mouth and chew it with vigor. Bea knows me. She should know that I would never actually want to be with someone like Leo.

  “Bea, he’s good in bed, but he’s definitely not a serious contender for my heart,” I say. “And trust me, he’s not interested in anything serious with me either.”

  “But didn’t you say you weren’t sure if he was asking you to the wedding for real?” she asks.

  “The email is worded in an ambiguous way, that’s all,” I say. “But he for sure doesn’t want me to be his real girlfriend. Trust me, Leo wants to date the Perfect Corporate Girlfriend.”

  I gesture at my crop top and floral split skirt paired with my sandals. “That’s not me.”

  “Sometimes people don’t know what they want.” Bea waves her chopsticks in the air. “Sometimes people act with their emotions, not their brains.”

  “Ok, thank you, salesgirl of the year,” I say.

  Bea doesn’t love her sales job, but her skill is undeniable. She can make people feel and want things against their will. She can make people buy things they know they don’t need.

  “Well, if you want my official advice, I say don’t do it,” Bea says. “It sounds like a big mess waiting to happen.”

  I can tell she wants to say more, so I keep my mouth closed and wait.

  “If you want my advice as a spectator with maybe a twisted sense of humor,” Bea says. “I say go for it, just so I can see how this turns out.”

  I chuckle, and Bea joins in.

  “I do love an audience,” I say.

  “I know,” Bea says. “But audiences can’t always love you back.”

  “Alright, that’s enough philosophizing.”

  Bea cracks a grin. “I really feel like I’m on a roll with the one-line pieces of wisdom.”

  “You tell yourself that,” I quip.

  We finish our meals and pay. When we emerge onto the street, the evening is warm with just a light breeze stirring the green leaves of the trees above us.

  I walk Bea towards the train station.

  “I just can’t make up my mind,” I say.

  Bea nods and gives me a sympathetic face.

  “I probably should say no.” I wrist my hands together and nod. It’s the right call. “I’ll just ignore his email.”

  “That’s not really the same as saying no,” Bea points out.

  “Same result.”

  We stop outside the station.

  “Keep me posted,” Bea says. “And good luck.”

  “Thanks for the advice,” I
say.

  We hug, and then Bea dashes away.

  As soon as she’s disappeared up the steps to the platform, I feel desperately alone. It’s not just Bea or my friends or even this situation with Leo.

  It’s everything. For months now, I’ve been feeling like everyone is moving so fast, and I’m just standing still, all by myself.

  12

  After dinner with Beatrice, I try to prep for an audition. It’s the next afternoon, and I really want this job. There’s a festival in Lincoln Park in September, and the audition is to be in the main line-up of singers.

  I practice my set of three songs, but my mind keeps drifting. Towards Bea and then towards Leo and that email, and then to my job at Lucy’s and then back to Leo, and then to all sorts of other things.

  Finally, I decide I’m not getting much practice in, so I might as well get a good night’s sleep.

  I go to bed early, but I wake up feeling grumpy and tired.

  I try to keep my mind on the audition as I get dressed and gather my things, but I keep thinking about that unanswered email from my inbox. It’s like a weight, hanging on my shoulders.

  The audition is at a theater in Boystown, and when I arrive, I am shown to some chairs where I can sit and wait my turn.

  I have a strategy for auditions. You need a strategy to survive. It’s not easy to try and prove yourself in such a brief high-pressure situation. It’s so unbalanced. Whoever you’re performing for has all the power, and you have none. Lots of performers give up. They get burned out from all the rejection.

  I like to think I have thick skin. I understand that rejection is inevitable, so I tell myself it’s a numbers game. The more auditions you go to, the more chance you have of booking actual jobs. Sure, that means you have to deal with even more rejection, but that’s part of the business.

  The key is to adopt the right mentality. You can’t give up on an audition just because it’s a long shot. You have to go in with swagger. You have to act like you have it in the bag. Without being arrogant of course. It’s a fine line, but I like to think I can walk it.