by Melinda Minx
“You’re the one that wanted to race in the park,” I say. “Maybe you’ll learn a lesson from this.”
“Shit man,” Cunningham says. “Let’s go. No one can make us pay this thing anyway.”
Fat Mike puts on some up-tempo electronica song, and the two of them ride off into the city.
Ruth laughs. “That was really fun.”
I sigh. “I guess it was, but I can’t believe that asshole was going to ram you off your bike.”
“He’s done it before to his friends,” Ruth says. “I don’t think he means anything malicious by it. He’s just so dumb that he thinks it will be funny for everyone involved, even me.”
My heart is pounding, and I realize I’ve been filled with adrenaline since the race started.
“I could use some ice cream,” Ruth says.
I laugh, but then I realize I want some too. The sun is out and it’s unseasonably warm for late winter.
“I know a good place,” I say.
We’re Uptown now, so I lead the way.
20
Ruth
When I get to the shop the next morning, everyone is laughing and gathered around a laptop.
Pictures and videos of our race went online within a few hours. The most popular clip was Eric head-butting Fat Mike off his bike, and then us kissing after we won.
“What’s so funny?” I ask.
“Shit, Ruth, you’ve gotta see this,” Wilson says.
“I was there,” I say, “I—”
He turns the screen toward me and starts the video over.
I see Fat Mike and Cunningham standing next to each other in Central Park. Someone is interviewing them.
“So this is where Eric Prince head-butted you?”
“And punched me, yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I was just like, playing some joke, you know?”
“What kind of joke?” The person behind the camera asks.
“Ah,” Fat Mike says. “Just this joke I always do.” He bends down and picks his bike up, and he lifts the front tire up so it’s in frame. “I got these big-ass tires on it so I can ram people down without hurting ‘em too much. It’s funny stuff.”
“So,” the interviewer asks, “you were going to ram into Eric Prince?”
“Nah,” Fat Mike says. “I figured I’d go for his girlfriend, like that’d be funnier, you know?”
“Not really,” The interviewer says. “So you decided to knock Ruth Biederman off her bike, and that’s why Eric Prince jumped on you?”
“Yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I think that guy is mad in love, like so much that he can’t appreciate a good joke no more.”
“What did you say to make him punch you?”
“Probably called him a bitch!” Cunningham says.
“Yeah,” Fat Mike says. “I call everyone a bitch, but it’s not a gendered insult or nothing. I know you ain’t allowed to call women bitches anymore, but I call everyone a bitch, so it’s cool, you know? Equal opportunity insults and slurs.”
“So you called him the b-word,” the interviewer asks, “and then he punched you?”
“B-word,” Fat Mike says, snickering. “Nah, he just punched me. I think he wanted to like, incapacity me—”
“Incapacitate,” Cunningham chimes in.
“Right,” Fat Mike says. “Knocked the wind out of me so he could win the race.”
“And you’re not pressing charges?”
“Nah,” Fat Mike says, “But I got a three hundred dollar fine here, so Cunningham and me, we got a GoFundMe setup to cover the fine, and then we’re asking for some more money to support our YouTube channel—”
“Yeah,” Cunningham interrupts. “It’s a prank channel. We do a lot of hilarious pranks.”
“We got this one,” Fat Mike says, “Where we take our bikes and run into—”
The clip cuts off and goes to an anchorwoman. She starts talking about Eric and me, and they roll the clips that I’ve already seen.
“Sorry if I scared them out of the shop,” I say.
Maya shrugs. “They were here this morning. I think they are grateful to you and the shop for giving them their fifteen minutes of fame.”
“Hopefully, they’ll get a lot of Patreon money and spend it here. I could use the commission,” Wilson says.
I feel a little bit taken aback. Fat Mike said that Eric loved me. I never thought I’d hear that in regards to Eric and from Fat Mike of all people. It did feel good for Eric to protect me like that though.
The bell rings, and I turn to see a customer coming in.
We shut the laptop, and I go up to help him since I’m working the floor this afternoon.
“Hi. How can I help you?”
He’s a guy in good shape, and quite attractive. He’s not nearly as good looking as Eric. He looks damn familiar, but I can’t place him.
He grins at me. “You don’t recognize me?”
“I’m kind of bad with faces,” I shrug, “you look familiar though…”
“Dmitri,” he says. “I came in here with Eric when you guys first met.”
“Oh!” I say. It clicks, and I suddenly remember him. “Yeah, I do remember you. Did you decide you want a bike too?”
He shrugs. “Yeah, I might. Show me what you’ve got.”
I show him around, and he makes a it a point that I know money is no object, so I show him all of our highest-end models.
He seems somewhat engaged, but I get the feeling that he’s not really interested. He has the aloof air of a billionaire who doesn’t really know what he wants. He just wants to spend a lot of money on something.
“So,” he says, “things are going well with Eric?”
I bite my lip, not wanting to get too sneaky and ask what Eric has said about me. “Eric told you that?”
“I haven’t seen much of Eric lately, I was just basing it on what I’ve been hearing about you two in the news.”
I laugh nervously. “I’m still not used to being in the news. I’m not the kind of person who is supposed to be famous.”
Dmitri smiles. “Eric is natural in the limelight, isn’t he?”
I nod. “Yeah, he is. I couldn’t handle it alone.”
“No matter how well someone handles the light, everyone still has secrets,” Dimitri says cryptically.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “Secrets? Are you talking about Eric specifically?”
“What about this one?” Dmitri says, pointing to a bike hanging up on the top rack.
I’m tempted to repeat my question, but I can tell he’s intentionally dodging it. I get the bike down, and Dmitri says he wants to test ride it.
“You have to sign some waivers,” I say.
“Sure thing,” he shrugs.
When he’s working on the waiver, I ask him, “What did you mean about secrets? Are you telling me Eric has some dark secret?”
Without looking up, he says casually, “Everyone has secrets, but every billionaire has at least one dark secret. Hell, I’ve got dozens.”
I laugh, trying to sound more casual than I feel right now. “So what is Eric’s then?”
Dmitri finishes the waiver and hands it to me. “Well, that’s not for me to tell, is it?”
21
Eric
“You see those dumbasses got like ten thousand dollars on their GoFundMe?”
I look up and see Dmitri.
“You’re like King Midas,” Dmitri says, “making everyone you gut punch rich.”
“That’s not what King Midas did,” I say.
He grins. “At least it looks like you’re having fun with this whole thing.”
I grit my teeth, but try not to show how annoyed I am. I want to just tell him that I am having fun, because I like her for who she is, and the only thing spoiling it is our fucking bet.
If he were a friend, I could tell him that, offer to do some other embarrassing bullshit, and he’d let me off the hook.
But billionaires don’t have friends, they have enemies they keep close. Dmit
ri is a shark, and if I so much as hint to him that I genuinely care for Ruth, he’d do everything in his power to destroy her.
I wave a hand. “When I’m done with this, I never want to ride a bike again.”
Dmitri laughs. “I actually just bought one myself. All carbon fiber, the thing is lighter than air.”
“And will crumple like a beer can in a light wind,” I say.
Dmitri laughs. “Mister bike expert here. I’m not planning to crash.”
“I wasn’t either,” I say. “But I had to ram Fat Mike twice the other day.”
“That played well,” Dmitri says. “I wouldn’t be surprised if you’re already on the New York’s Best Couple radar. One month to go, and your timing is impeccable. You wouldn’t want to get on their map too early, lest you fizzle out before it comes time to decide. You also wouldn’t want to wait any longer, because then you might get dismissed as some kind of fad couple—”
“Aren’t these things always fads anyway?” I ask. “Glorified popularity contests.”
Dmitri sneers. “For someone who hates popularity contests, you sure are good at them, Eric.”
“Where’d you buy your bike?” I ask.
“Ordered it online,” he says.
“Yeah?” I ask. “Which site?”
He shrugs. “Don’t even remember, just an impulse buy.”
I nod, but I don’t quite believe him. I wouldn’t put it past him to go into the Fixed Gear and try to gather intel on Ruth and me.
“I heard Andrea Copeland was here the other day,” Dmitri says.
“Yeah,” I say. “She was asking if I could come to their party.”
It’s a lie, but she did mail me an invite.
Dmitri yawns.
“I will be going,” I say.
“Of course,” he says. “It’s rumored she’s on the panel. You’ll need to bring Ruth and make yourselves look like a best couple.”
I lean in toward him. “Don’t show and run interference on me.”
“Of course not,” he says.
“An unspoken rule of bets like this, is that you don’t interfere,” I say caustically.
I glare at him, trying to read if he went to the bike shop or not.
“You want to go for a ride with me? I want to try this bike out some more.”
“I’m busy,” I say. “Maybe another time.”
22
Ruth
As we’re closing up, I see Dmitri come back inside.
“Something wrong?” I ask.
“No,” he says with a smirk, “just picking up Maya.”
“Oh,” I say, going back to cleaning up the shelves.
Maya helped set Dmitri up for his test ride, and then the two of them were gone for much longer than needed for a regular test ride.
And now he’s... taking her out?
Is he trying to copy Eric or something? He’s the kind of guy I don’t trust, but after he mentioned Eric’s dark fucking secret, I don’t necessarily trust Eric either.
Maya looks over at me with a big smile, like she’s gloating or something. If I date a billionaire, she has to do it too?
I want to shout at her, that I’m not ‘dating a billionaire,’ I’m dating Eric. And Eric is a way better guy than Dmitri. I don’t really like Maya—at all—but I don’t want Dmitri to hurt her.
I text Eric, You done yet? Can I come by?
He responds soon. Not done, but come by.
I bike uptown to his building. I’ve visited him at work once before, but the awkward stares from everyone in his building put me a bit on edge. I’m hoping that it’s late enough now that very few people will still be there.
I lock my bike in the garage and take the elevator up. All the way up. Eric’s office is on the top floor—corner office with a view—of course.
Lana buzzes me right in, but not without giving me a nasty look. I walk in to see Eric sitting in front a pile of papers, three computer screens, and his laptop.
“This fucking account,” he says.
“Maybe if you stare at it angrily enough it will fix itself,” I say.
He laughs and leans back in his chair.
I shut the door behind us, and then I stride over and sit on top of him, straddling his lap.
“Mm,” he says, “We’re going to do this right here?”
“Tell me about that Dmitri guy,” I say.
Eric jolts back and looks at me, grasping both of my arms near the shoulder. “Why? Did you see him?”
“He bought a bike today.”
“That fucking liar,” Eric whispers.
I get off his lap and pull up a chair beside him. “What did he lie about?”
“Nothing,” he says, waving a hand. “Just, um, realize that he’s not really my friend. We’re in competition with each other—we both do the same type of work. He actually works in this building. It’s called ‘the cooperative,’ but it’s almost like some 1984 doublespeak more than anything.”
“I see,” I say. “It seems complicated.”
Eric sighs, and I get the feeling that he’s somehow being evasive with me. He’s telling me not to trust Dmitri—and I don’t—but I can’t help thinking of this dark secret that Dmitri eluded to.
“You know you can be honest with me,” I say.
“I am honest with you,” Eric says, too quickly.
“Then why do I feel like you’re being pretty evasive right now. Your whole body reacted when I mentioned this guy’s name.”
“I’ll be honest with you,” Eric says. “Sometimes I have to withhold information with you to protect you.”
I glare at him. “Really, Eric? You’re going to use that simplified logic on me?”
“I don’t think you’re an Idiot, Ruth,” he says.
“Great,” I say, standing up. “I’m glad you think so highly of me that you don’t think I’m a total idiot. Or was that doublespeak? War is Peace, Freedom is Slavery, and I don’t think you’re an idiot, Ruth.”
“Why are we fighting right now?” Eric asks.
“Because you’re not being honest with me,” I say, “I can just fucking tell.”
“Ruth,” he says, standing up and taking my hand.
“Forget it,” I hiss, breaking away from him and heading toward the door. “Just forget it. Get back to me if you want to actually talk.”
“Ruth,” he says. “There’s a party tomorrow night. Will you go? We can talk then. I’m just really stressed out right now, and I’m not in the right frame of mind to—”
“Fine,” I say, cutting him off. “I’ll see you at the party.”
“Hey Tracy,” I say, walking into the kitchen. “Do you know who Vincent Copeland is?”
“The Vincent Copeland?” She asks, looking up.
“I guess that means you know who he is.”
“He’s a huge deal in the fashion world,” Tracy says. “His wife, Andrea, is a reality TV bigwig.”
“So she’s like a Kardashian, and he’s—”
“No,” Tracy says. “Andrea’s like a producer, director... behind the camera using her influence to make Vincent an even bigger deal.”
My eyes glazed over at the Wikipedia article. It was one of those articles where I read it and understand all the individual words, but still couldn’t figure out why these people were actually famous.
“Anyway,” I say, “I’m going to their party with Eric.”
“Oh my God!” Tracy says, almost squealing from excitement.
“How annoyed do you think I’d make everyone if I just wore my usual there?”
“You can’t!” Tracy says, looking mortified.
“I’m kind of pissed off at Eric,” I say. “I kind of want to get a rise out of him.”
Tracy sighs. “Ruth, sweetie, you’re not going to get a rise out of the guy by dressing like you always do. Come on now.”
“What do you suggest then?”
Tracy gets a huge smile on her face, but she tries to suppress it.
�
�What?” I ask.
“Promise you won’t get mad if I suggest it,” Tracy says.
“I promise.”
“Makeover! Let me give you a totally killer makeover. I’ll make you shine so bright that he’ll get a rise alright, and if he does whatever it is that’s pisisng you off so much, you’ll make him feel like a total idiot when you walk out on him and the party,” she says with a pleased smile.
I want to protest, to say it’s a terrible idea and that I’m allergic to makeup, but I think she’s right. What would get Eric more flustered than if I suddenly look hot as hell?
I sigh. “Okay, Tracy, I’ll do it, but it’s for you, not for me—”
“Tell yourself whatever you have to,” Tracy says. “As long as I get to do it. Let’s go shopping!”
We go shopping in Manhattan, and I can almost hear the damn musical makeover montage playing in my head as Tracy hands me different articles of clothing to try on.
What music would be playing during my montage? If it were a 90s teen movie, maybe one of those old bands that were a big deal that disappeared off the face of the Earth, like Six Pence None The Richer? Or maybe if the movie wanted to really play up my transformation, it could play something like Punk is Dead to symbolize how much I am totally selling out by shedding my “I don’t care” appearance to appeal to some reality TV assholes at a snobby party.
As cynical as I want to be, I have to admit I’m having fun. Tracy makes picking out clothes and trying them on way less nerve-wracking than it is when I do it by myself. I usually see something I think might look good on me, but then I convince myself that it’s too different, and I walk away from it feeling dumb for even considering it. Tracy convinces me that it’s not too different and would look great on me, and then she tells me it looks great after I’ve finally tried it on.
Four hours later, I have three bags full of clothes, including two “evening dresses” that will be appropriate attire for the party.
“Now,” Tracy says, “don’t get mad, but we have to do something about your hair.”
