Page 12 of Fake it For Good
“Yes. In a nutshell, that’s the gist of it.”
“That’s so dumb,” I muttered.
“How many times a week do you get asked if you’re seeing anyone?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t really pay attention.”
“I do, and it’s a lot,” he said. “I think people would feel less pity for you and more joy. ‘Tis the season to be joyous. Make people feel good for you. We’ll schedule some events with you and Mrs. Claus in attendance. Trust me, it will be a good thing to shed the sad panda image.”
“Quit calling me a sad fucking panda,” I growled. “I don’t even know what that is.”
He grinned, clearly enjoying fucking with me. “My poor sad panda.”
“Last time I checked, the Claus and other Christmas folk we’ve used weren’t available to rent to play my girlfriend. Are you suggesting we hire an actress?”
“Actually, I stumbled across another service that might prove to be a better option,” he said.
“One eight-hundred rent-a-date?” I joked.
“Actually…”
I raised an eyebrow. “Do I even want to know?”
“It’s cool,” he said. “Hear me out. Don’t shut me down before you hear all of it.”
That was never a good sign. “What did you do?”
“I haven’t done anything yet,” he said. “But there is this agency. You can hire a woman to be your date, girlfriend, or whatever. We can hire a woman to pretend to be the woman you’re seeing. You’ll take her out and get seen a couple of times. She does a couple of events with you as Mrs. Claus. Not dressed as Mrs. Claus until the big event. People are going to be curious. It will change the conversation. No more sad panda Cane. It will be all about cheering you on and encouraging you to find happiness again.”
“No.”
“You’re supposed to be hearing me out,” he said.
“I did. No. Fuck that. I’m not hiring someone to pretend to be my girlfriend. You make it sound like I’m desperate.”
“Not desperate, but you’re not exactly dating,” he said. “I worry about you. It isn’t natural. You’re a man in the prime of his life. You should be enjoying it more.”
“I don’t want to date,” I pouted. “I certainly don’t want to pay a hooker to be my date.”
“They aren’t hookers,” he insisted. “It’s a very legitimate business. You’re not paying for sex. You’re paying for their company.”
“An escort is a hooker is a prostitute and so on,” I said with a shake of my head. “You think I’m a sad panda now? Just wait until the public hears I’m paying escorts. I’ve done very well at avoiding scandal. I don’t plan on fucking things up now.”
“No one would know,” he replied. “It’s all very professional. There is a veil of secrecy that protects both of you.”
“Both of who?”
“You and the woman we pick to be your girlfriend,” he said like it was so normal. “From what I read, the women are required to sign NDAs. The reviews I saw were all very positive. No one is saying shit because she doesn’t want to be known as an escort and the clients don’t want anyone to know they paid a woman. It’s apparently very popular in our social circle. Remember that party we were at a couple of months back? Old Man Joe had that beautiful blonde on his arm. I bet you she was paid to be there.”
“If it’s popular, what’s to say the date I hire doesn’t know half the people at one of the parties I’m at?” I questioned. “Everyone will know. I’ll be laughed out of the room. Everyone is going to think I’m desperate. I’m not desperate. I choose to be single and celibate.”
He shuddered and acted like I just vomited all over the table. “Don’t use that word. It’s vile.”
“Celibate?”
“Stop,” he groaned. “No one your age should be bandying that word about. It just isn’t natural.”
“I’m not twenty,” I said. “I’m being mature.”
