Page 18 of Fake it For Good
“But you’re not going to play the part?” she clarified.
“No. It’s just a thing I’ve done in the past. It had good feedback. We’re hoping to drum up that same kind of positive feedback again.”
“Someone else played Mrs. Claus?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“You don’t want to tell me?” she asked.
I saw it in her eyes. She knew. She just wanted me to say it. There was nothing to hide. All she had to do was Google me and she’d see the whole ugly divorce that played out on Page Six.
“I was married,” I said. “My ex-wife played the part. I’m not asking you to be her. We just think our customers might like some of that old Christmas spirit.”
“Okay,” she said.
“Okay?”
“As long as I’m not wearing a tiny skirt and thigh-highs, I’m cool with playing the role,” she said. “I kind of do that already in my work.”
“You play Mrs. Claus?” I asked with some skepticism. Maybe she was an internet worker. The kind that did the webcam in the bedroom.
“Not the actual Claus, but the whole giving away toys thing,” she explained. “How many times?”
“Excuse me?”
“How many times are we supposed to be seen together?” she asked.
“I’m not sure, two maybe three times,” I answered. “I’m going to be honest, this was not my idea. My friend and right-hand at the company came up with this little scheme. Since my divorce, I haven’t really been very social. He thinks it will help inspire people to buy my toys if I look like I’m happy and involved.”
“I would be playing your girlfriend,” she said.
I wasn’t sure how to answer that. “I suppose in a way, yes.”
“Then I would think we need to get to know each other before we try and pull off this charade,” she said. “We’re strangers and I think anyone with two eyes would be able to see that. No one is going to believe we’re a couple or even dating. Right?”
“What are you suggesting?”
“I’m suggesting we need to build a relationship if you expect anyone to believe I’m your Mrs. Claus,” she said.
I wasn’t born yesterday. I had been hit on and approached by more women than I could count. They saw a man with money that was approaching the mid-life crisis stage. They saw me as a sugar daddy. They’d fuck me, marry me, and then enjoy the perks of my hard work.
“I’m not interested in a relationship,” I said. “I just want to get through the next few weeks. That’s it.”
She smirked. “I’m not looking to snare you,” she said. “I have no illusions I’m Julia Roberts and you’re Richard Gere. I was only making a suggestion to make this easier for both of us. I’m not a good liar. I’m not an actress. Right now, I’m uncomfortable. I feel awkward. Judging by the look on your face, you’re feeling the same way. I think if we could at least learn a little more about each other, this would be more believable.”
She wasn’t wrong. My palms were sweating, and I felt very uncomfortable. “You make a good point.”
“I can be your date or girlfriend, whatever,” she said. “Assuming I fit what it is you’re looking for.”
“You do,” I quickly answered. “But you’ve given me something to think about.”
“Which would be?”
“The girlfriend thing works, but I think taking it up a notch would be even better,” I said. I couldn’t believe I was hearing myself say it.
“I’m not sure what that means,” she said.
“I think my clients would love to hear I’m engaged and happy,” I said.
