Fake It Till You Make It

by M. Ullrich

  She cleaned her apartment thoroughly, working long into the night. She stripped her bedding, did several loads of laundry, vacuumed, and dusted every surface she could reach. The next day was much of the same, except she dug a little deeper. She boxed up her issues of Out Shore for storage and swept every file on her computer devoted to her old job into one folder hidden within another folder on her desktop. Genevieve was serious about success this time, and she wanted little to no distractions.

  Once her life and apartment were spotless, Genevieve took a seat in front of her computer, beer in hand, and started the next great job hunt. She read each listing very carefully and even logged onto each publication’s website. This time around, Genevieve would research before applying. Before the night was over, she had sent out applications and resumes to several promising publications. She’d be happy with any job that would pay her bills at this point, but she hoped for one that would bring the sense of fulfillment she had only tasted while at Out Shore. She fell asleep missing Harper, much like she had each night before, but now she had a sense of optimism.

  Three busy weeks passed. Genevieve had gone from one interview to the next, giving the same speech over and over, essentially selling herself as an experienced writer with a thirst for new experiences, but this tactic didn’t seem to satisfy any of her potential employers. One older man told her that the stars in her “pretty blue eyes” told him she wouldn’t make it in the obituaries business, while the woman who ran a small weekly nightlife magazine told Genevieve her style was too traditional and too personal, whatever that meant.

  Good news didn’t arrive until the end of February. An unknown number flashed on her phone screen.

  “Hi, is this Genevieve Applegate?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Joe Reynolds with The Press. We met earlier this week.” Genevieve contained her giddy excitement. She remembered the caller and the interview quite well. He was kind, she had nailed every question with a perfect answer, and the job sounded like something out of a dream. “Regarding the job for our travel and leisure section?” His tone conveyed worry, and Genevieve realized she hadn’t said a word.

  “Yes, Mr. Reynolds.” Genevieve was unsure what else to say. It’s nice to hear from you? Please hire me, I’m desperate? I remember the interview well because I almost threw up from nerves? She opted for a general pleasantry. “How are you?”

  “I’m doing very well, and I think you will be, too, in a moment.” Genevieve could hear the smile in his voice, and her heart beat faster with excitement. “Genevieve, I’m calling to let you know we’ve narrowed down our search to you and one other applicant, but I’m feeling pretty positive you’ll be our newest staff member.”

  As much as she wanted to bask in the happiness of the moment, Genevieve hesitated. “If you don’t mind me asking, Mr. Reynolds, why are you calling me before your final decision?”

  He laughed heartily. “That’s a fair question. I normally wouldn’t, but like I said, I feel pretty confident that you’re our choice. We just have to follow up on references, and we’ll call you back in for a final interview. The reason I’m calling you now is because once you’re hired, you’ll be sent to Montreal, Canada, on your first assignment almost immediately. Do you have a passport, Genevieve?”

  Her head started spinning. “No…”

  “If you start the process now, you should get it just in time. I’ll be in touch soon.”

  “Thank you.” No sooner were the words out of her mouth than the call was ended.

  Genevieve finally started to believe her success had less to do with Harper or her former job and more with her talent as a writer. She was on the brink of landing a job most journalists would be willing to lie or kill for. The Press had been wanting to revamp their paper, which included not only more columns, but a real travel and leisure section, complete with journalists actually traveling and enjoying the leisure, mostly on the company’s dime.

  What did all of this mean to Genevieve? Her home life would be based in New Jersey, but she’d be flying around the world, away from the shambles of her personal life, and getting to write about it. Mr. Reynolds said in their interview that the position and department were experimental at this time. They wanted to make sure it would be cost effective and successful before naming it a permanent section, but Genevieve was happy to take the risk, even if only for a few short months.

  Genevieve sat at her computer and opened her favorite search engines. When she started typing, the recent search bar dropped and she saw the words “lesbian sex.” She smiled sadly before deleting her search history and typing how to get a passport.

  The next week flew by, and March felt much colder than February did. On Sunday evening, Genevieve was preparing for her final interview with The Press. She was equal parts confident and nervous. Her passport was ready, and she had purchased new luggage two days before. She checked off her list of things she needed to get before taking on her new job, and she jotted down positive thoughts in the margin.

  A knock at her door startled her. She gasped when she looked through the small peephole. Although her unexpected guest stood with her head down, Genevieve would have recognized Harper anywhere. She opened the door and stared at Harper blankly.

  After a moment’s silent standoff, Harper finally offered a small greeting. “Hi.”

  “Hi.” Genevieve crossed her arms over her chest and leaned against the door frame. She tried to act casual, distant even, but so much more was happening in her head and her heart. Genevieve might have been ready to start a new job and travel out of the country, but she wasn’t ready to see Harper again.

  “I’m sorry to just stop by like this. I’m sure you’re probably busy.”

  “I am, actually.”

  “I wanted to talk to you.” Harper cleared her throat and looked past Genevieve into her apartment. “Can we go inside?”

  Genevieve didn’t want to. She didn’t want to let this woman into her life just to watch her walk out of it again, but she didn’t want her neighbors in her business either. “Fine,” Genevieve said, stepping aside. Harper went right for the couch after taking off her bulky jacket.

  “It’s been so cold lately,” Harper said awkwardly.

  “It has been.” Genevieve sat in her computer chair and faced Harper. She needed to maintain her distance if she wanted to keep her wits about her. Seeing Harper revived a storm of emotions within her. Even though she still felt an overwhelming sense of pain over their split, she also found an unexpected rush of happiness. Genevieve shook away those thoughts. “What did you want to talk about?”

  “I received two very interesting phone calls this week. The first was from The Press, asking about your work with Out Shore and how I’d rate you as a staff member.”

  Genevieve fidgeted nervously.

  “Don’t worry. I gave you a glowing recommendation. You were the best writer I’ve hired since Maxine.” They shared a small laugh before Harper grew serious again. “The second call was a bit more of a surprise.”

  Genevieve racked her brain for who it could’ve been, but she was coming up short. “Who?”

  “Your mother.”

  “My mother?”

  “Yes, your mother. Sandra is a very charming woman.”

  Genevieve thought of her mother standing in her decorative rooster-cluttered kitchen in a worn apron and tried to picture that as charming. “What did my mother have to say?”

  “That I’m an idiot. Well, to be exact, she told me that I’m a gorgeous idiot.”

  Genevieve covered her reddening face with her hands.

  “She told me how smart and caring and how wonderful you are, and she told me that I have no idea what I’m missing out on by walking away from you.”

  “Harper, I am so sorry. I can’t make enough excuses for my mother, but really I don’t think she knows any better than to be overly invasive.”

  “It’s okay, really. We had a good conversation about trust and relationships.
She told me about her divorce and I told her about mine. It was very therapeutic.”

  Genevieve raised her eyebrow skeptically.

  “I told her that I do know exactly what I’m missing, but I don’t know how to trust you again.”

  Genevieve swallowed against the tightness in her throat. “And what did my mom say to that?”

  “She told me that if trusting you again was something I wanted, then I’d have to talk to you about it.”

  “Where was this wise advice when I was a teenager?” Genevieve said, trying to distract her from an errant tear that fell down her cheek.

  “She must’ve been storing it away for the big moments,” Harper said with a laugh before looking Genevieve in the eye. “How do I trust you again? Can I trust you again?”

  Genevieve reigned in her eagerness. She took a long breath before answering. “You can. I may have lied about my circumstances, but I didn’t lie about who I was.” Genevieve took another deep breath. “And I never lied about my feelings for you.” They shared a silent look for a moment too long, and the atmosphere grew uncomfortable. Harper stood and put on her jacket.

  “I should go.” Harper walked to the door with Genevieve hot on her heels. She turned back and said, “I want to trust you again, but I need time.” They were standing within a foot of each other, and Genevieve felt the same pull she always had toward Harper. She looked up into her clear gray eyes and felt a weakness that twisted her insides pleasantly.

  “Of course,” Genevieve agreed readily, even though she had no idea what Harper meant by needing time.

  “And I want you back at Out Shore. I know you have an incredible opportunity lined up, and I wouldn’t blame you for hopping on a plane to get away from the drama, but your fans miss you.”

  “My fans?” Half of her focus was on Harper’s words while the other half was divided between her request to come back to the magazine and looking at Harper’s full lips.

  “Your readers have been emailing nonstop asking when the next update to your column was coming. I haven’t responded to any yet.”

  “My readers miss me?” Genevieve said in wonderment. She never really expected to have a devoted following.

  “They do, and I think even Matthew misses having you around.” Harper shot her a lopsided grin.

  Genevieve bit her lower lip and looked away. Her heart was telling her to go back, to be present every day and use that as a way to win Harper’s trust again, but her head was singing a different tune. Would she be able to respect Harper’s need for time while working side by side five days a week?

  She whispered out the two hardest words she’d ever spoken. “I can’t.”

  Harper nodded solemnly. “Of course.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to, but—”

  “I get it, Genevieve. Who would turn down a job that’ll take you all over the world for one where you stare at the same ocean every day?” Harper leaned in and kissed her cheek. She let her lips linger slightly, just long enough to whisper her parting words close to Genevieve’s ear. “Good night, Genevieve.” Harper turned away from Genevieve and was out the door in a rush.

  Genevieve stood in her open doorway well after Harper had departed. She replayed their conversation over and over in her head, but that only served to intensify the pain. Harper thought Out Shore was second-choice material, when in reality it’d be Genevieve’s first choice every time.

  She was just trying to use her head for once.

  Step Twenty-five

  If You Fail, Start from the Beginning

  Genevieve bounced her knee up and down nervously. Time hadn’t moved much since she last checked, but the last thirteen seconds felt like an hour to Genevieve. She had never expected to be starting a new job again within six months, and it was just as nerve wrecking the second time. No, her first day at Out Shore was a cakewalk compared to this.

  The Press occupied two floors of an aged office building in the heart of Asbury. The artificial lighting and bland decorations reminded Genevieve of her former offices at the Sunrise.

  Distance and time, Genevieve reminded herself. The most important outcome of this whole mess was a potential reconciliation with Harper. Harper would have the time she needed, and this job would give Genevieve the distance necessary to grant Harper her request. If she had returned to Out Shore like Harper had wanted, Genevieve would have been incapable of keeping a clear mind. She’d probably dive headfirst into yet another irrational action.

  Not again, Genevieve scolded herself and looked at the clock again. This time she was mildly satisfied that two minutes had passed. Joe Reynolds should be calling her in at any moment, and he would give her details about her first destination piece.

  A few women walked by where Genevieve sat in the hallway, but she didn’t receive even the slightest side-eye. Even the difference in attitude was obvious. The space was quiet, women were dressed in monochromatic workday attire, and the men wore tired trousers with shirts and ties. Genevieve smoothed her moist palms along her thighs.

  “Genevieve?” Mr. Reynolds said from his office doorway. Genevieve hadn’t even heard him open the door. She looked up at him with wide eyes and a fake smile. “Come in.”

  Joe Reynolds’s office was as dark, cold, and impersonal as Harper’s was warm and friendly.

  “I hope you didn’t have any troubles finding the office.”

  “I found it without a problem,” Genevieve lied. She had arrived on the wrong floor twice before finally finding where the executive offices were, and she had to ask three less-than-friendly people where to find Mr. Reynolds. “It’s an impressive building.”

  “It could use some updates, but it works for now.” They stared blankly at each other after sharing a small smile. He nodded slightly, and Genevieve wondered if he had forgotten he was leading this meeting. “So, I have some new hire paperwork for you to fill out.” Joe placed a blue folder on the desktop. “Tax forms, personal information, all the good stuff.” He handed a series of papers to Genevieve.

  “I thought this was a final interview.”

  He smiled broadly. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you’d likely be our choice,” he said. “I got the go-ahead this morning from my boss to hire you.”

  “Wow.” Genevieve released a long breath. She looked over the forms.

  Each page asked her basic information, a few asked for her Social Security number, and the final page was a contract of employment.

  “I know it seems daunting, but once these are all filled out, we can move on to the fun stuff—Montreal.” He motioned through the air with his hands as if the word would appear on a floating banner.

  “Right, Montreal.” Genevieve breathed deeply. She grabbed a pen from the cup on Mr. Reynolds’s desk and started to scribble her answers into the blanks. Every sheet was easy until she reached the contract. Her work, all of her intellectual property really, would be the property of The Press. She looked at him.

  “Just a formality,” he assured her. “A few years ago we had a columnist who reported back to one of our competitors with our every move.”

  “Sounds like some serious espionage for local newspapers.”

  He shrugged. “Competition is competition. Anyway, you leave tomorrow. Here’s a list of stops we’d like you to visit and highlight in your write-up.”

  Genevieve looked at the pamphlet he handed her. She hadn’t noticed how much she was shaking until the sounds of pages smacking together filled the cramped office. Was this really what she wanted? It was the sound decision, yes, but since when did Genevieve Applegate ever make sound decisions?

  “I cannot apologize enough, Mr. Reynolds, but I don’t think this position is right for me,” Genevieve said quietly. “I’m sorry.” She stood and pushed her purse onto her shoulder.

  “You haven’t even worked a day yet.”

  “I don’t have to.” She smiled at him kindly. “There’s another position I think would fit me better.” She was out the door before he could say
more.

  Genevieve drove directly to her apartment to change.

  *

  Genevieve strode through the large, clear doors of Out Shore and paused long enough to allow the moment to wash over her. Spontaneous or well planned out, what the hell difference did it make when it came to the perfect job and love?

  A small smile lit up Genevieve’s face as she approached Dana’s desk. Expectedly, Dana was working diligently on some paperwork before her. Genevieve cleared her throat and straightened the collar of her green blouse. “Is Ms. Davies available?”

  Dana looked up at Genevieve, and for only the second time in their working relationship, her professional exterior slipped. “She’s, uh, in her office. Y-you can go right in, Gen.”

  Genevieve smiled at her uncharacteristic stutter. “Thank you.”

  When she walked into Harper’s office that Monday morning, a pleasant sense of déjà vu washed over her, and she hoped Harper would feel the same. Harper was chatting with someone on the phone, her back was to the door, and Genevieve knew she was likely staring at the calm ocean as she spoke. Genevieve stood before Harper’s desk and waited.

  “Thank you very much, Chris.” Harper spun her chair around and jumped noticeably at Genevieve’s sudden presence. She kept her eyes on Genevieve as she ended her call. “I look forward to participating at this year’s event. We’ll talk soon. Take care.” She hung up and smiled up at Genevieve. “Hey.”

  Genevieve reached out her hand. “Good morning, Ms. Davies. I’m here to interview for the available position.”

  “You don’t have to do that.”

  “My name is Genevieve Applegate.” Genevieve kept her hand outstretched until Harper took it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Ms. Davies.”

  “Have a seat. And please call me Harper.”

  Genevieve released a slow breath when Harper started to play along. She was willing to embarrass herself on a regular basis, but she didn’t want to make Harper uncomfortable.