Spicy Pickle (Fake Engagement)

by J J Knight

  “I told you we should ship them!” one says with a squeal.

  “Congratulations you crazy kids!” the other cries.

  Guests from the green room pass by, clapping me on the back and winking.

  Once we’re free of mics and have collected our things, Cruella practically knocks people out of the way to get us out the back door. Apparently, she doubles as security.

  I’m liking her better all the time.

  The town car Charity arranged for us waits in the private lot.

  We jump into the back of the car, and I give the address of the hotel.

  Magnolia stares out the window, fingers pressed to her lips as if I hit her, rather than kissed her. I wonder, all too late, if she has a boyfriend I don’t know about and I just made things terribly, terribly worse.

  Finally, she asks, “What was that?”

  I want to tell her that it was the result of all my pent-up feelings. The way I felt about her since she shocked me by walking on the set of Milton’s show.

  But I have to get the new problem out of the way.

  “Did I cause trouble for you with a boyfriend?”

  She seems taken aback by the idea. “No. I don’t have one.”

  Thank God.

  It all comes out in a rush. “So, we were sitting there. And people kept booing. And I started thinking—why should you take the fall for this?”

  Magnolia interrupts. “Because I was the one in the footage, you numbskull. It had to be me.”

  I ramble on. “I decided that instead of you having to confess and take the fall, for us to be united.”

  “United?”

  “Yes. I thought, Milton’s trying to ruin both of us by having everyone take sides. You versus me. What if there were no sides to take? It’s like Charity said. A united front.”

  “Go on.”

  Her tone isn’t very encouraging, so I stick to the concept and leave out any feelings.

  “Now all the speculation will be on our relationship and when it began. People will completely be on our side.”

  Magnolia’s hands fold tightly together. I wonder if she’s imagining choking the life out of me for what I did. “And now that you’ve started this, I assume we have to keep up the ruse?”

  My heart thunders down my chest. She hates this. I should have known. I was foolish. But I have to keep going. “We will have to see how it plays out. Maybe not.”

  Magnolia doesn’t reply, simply staring out the window.

  I resist the urge to reach over and touch her. “I thought you’d be glad. You didn’t have to confess to something you didn’t do. Or take that heat.”

  “What about our family?” she asks. “My dad will wonder why I’m suddenly hooking up with the deli owner across town.”

  “We can tell our families it’s not real.” I have to swallow my disappointment. I thought there had been something in that kiss. It felt perfect at the time.

  But I was dead wrong. “As long as we don’t antagonize each other online or in public, no one’s going to know we’re not actually seeing each other.”

  She lets out a long sigh. “All right. It makes sense.” She opens her purse. “Don’t forget we had to turn our phones all the way off.”

  “Oh, that’s right.” I jerk mine out of my coat pocket.

  When we power on, both our phones start buzzing with notifications. Everyone saw it live, all right. I have messages from Dad, both my brothers, Grammy Alma, and my cousins. I steal a glance at Magnolia. She’s tapping away as well.

  I say the same thing over and over again.

  Brilliant tactic, right?

  I think we’ve solved it.

  This should blow over now.

  When I finally look up, I realize we’ve barely moved three blocks. I lean forward to tap on the glass between the front and back seats. The driver rolls it down.

  “What’s going on?” I ask.

  “It’s rush hour,” he says. “Midtown’s a beast. Are you in a rush to get somewhere? I could try some side streets.”

  “No. Just the hotel. Thanks.”

  He rolls the window back up.

  I glance over at Magnolia. She’s absorbed in her phone.

  I fire off a call to Charity. She answers after one ring with, “Bloody brilliant, Anthony! Have you seen what’s happening online?”

  “We’re still in the car.”

  “The Internet is rooting for you two. I’ve had my people push out the hashtag #ShipBoudrickle with clips from the live broadcast.”

  “Boudrickle?”

  “Yes! Boudreaux. Pickle. Isn’t it cute?”

  So, I have a “ship” name.

  Charity goes on in a rush. “My writer is preparing a Buzzfeed article titled ‘Ten Times Anthony and Magnolia Accidentally Revealed Their Secret Love on Television’ with associated stills from your appearances.”

  “You found stills that work?”

  She sounds breathless. Clearly this scenario is her jam. “Tons. This is the easiest fake news I’ve ever had to sell.”

  “Really?” I want to ask her to send them to me, but Magnolia’s in the car. Later. “You’re worth every penny.”

  “You bet I am. So, what are the plans for tonight?”

  “Should there be something?” I glance over at Magnolia. Her fingers have stilled on the phone. In fact, the screen is dark. She’s been listening for a while.

  “I would suggest a romantic dinner. I can make the reservations. I’ll tip off some photographers. We could milk it. A short stroll. Buy some flowers for her at a street vendor.”

  Whoa. “Let me put Magnolia on, so she can have a say in this.”

  Magnolia’s eyes catch mine, one eyebrow lifted.

  I lower the phone and switch to speaker. “Okay, Charity, we’re all here.”

  “Magnolia, you were magnificent,” Charity says. “Wait. Magnolia. Magnificent. Let me note that play on words.”

  Magnolia shakes her head, but her serious expression loses some of its strain.

  Charity returns. “Magnolia, this is a very time-sensitive opportunity. If you two can pull off enough of a romance to push out any negativity Milton has been spreading, he’ll be toast. If he tries to put a wedge between you again, he will be the one getting boos from the audience.”

  I haven’t taken my eyes off Magnolia, but she stares down at the phone. “You think it will work?”

  “Of course it will work! I’m only angry that I didn’t think of it! Shipping the two of you is the simplest and cleanest solution to this publicity challenge!”

  “But Milton can still say we doctored the pickles.”

  “So what if you did! He’ll be the villain, and you are the romantic leads in this story.”

  “What do we have to do?” Magnolia asks.

  “A short walk. A romantic dinner. A few meaningful glances if you can pull it off. I won’t ask for another kiss. But if you can—another kiss!”

  The car goes silent.

  “Are you two in?”

  Magnolia’s eyes meet mine.

  “Up to you,” I say. “But I’m game.”

  Still, she hesitates.

  But Charity is a master seller. “Here’s the thing. Magnolia, you’re after a younger market and opening a second deli, right? You need capital, right? Seed money?”

  “Yes,” Magnolia says.

  “I say let’s go full-tilt romance. You two create something you can package and sell online. A love pickle, maybe.”

  Magnolia sounds like she’s choking. “A love…pickle?”

  “You two can argue specifics. My team can have an online shop ready to roll in a few hours. You just need to create the magic. We can even farm this out. Chocolates. Whatever. It’s all about the label. I feel like we could raise six figures in the next two months. For each of you. Then you’re well on your way to opening that new branch, right? The relationship can die off and you’ll be yesterday’s news, but with a lasting legacy.”

  My mind is already
buzzing. “Dad was already working on a pickle line for distribution,” I say.

  “Perfect,” she says. “We can lead that line with the love pickle, or whatever you decide. I’d recommend packaging that ghost pickle too. It’s a hit already.”

  I glance at Magnolia. “It could work.”

  Charity can’t seem to stop. “In the meantime, Anthony, you be your brilliant self and come up with a shared menu for both your delis. A Boudrickle sandwich. Do it up big. Give it to all the delis. You’ll have them lined up to get it before the ink is dry on the sign.”

  “That’s something we could discuss over dinner,” Magnolia says. The fire is starting to light in her eyes. “We could create new combos from ingredients we already have. Maybe a dessert for upselling.”

  “I love the way you’re thinking, Magnolia. Strike while the iron is hot!” Charity is practically preaching from the pulpit. “Ride the wave!”

  Now we’re both laughing. Laughing because we’re through this ordeal. The future feels wide open. Not just for me and Boulder Pickle. But for Magnolia. We’re going to get her that second branch.

  “Don’t get sticker shock from my bill!” Charity says with a laugh. “I’ll text directions to your dinner tonight. Magnolia, dress romantically. Something that will whoosh if Anthony spins you in a circle. Anthony, spin her. Buy her flowers. I’m going to call a few tasteful photographers who won’t stalk you, but stay discreetly away. Let’s do this thing.”

  She clicks off the line. We stare at the dark phone for a moment, then I manage to say, “What do you think?”

  The car inches forward, and Magnolia leans back against the leather seat. “I need a couple of hours to process all this.”

  “I think it’s going to be fun. We can pretend we’re in a sweeping romantic movie and ham it up.”

  Magnolia gives me side-eye. “Are you a Hallmark movie fan?”

  I press my hand to my chest. “I might own a ‘This is my Hallmark movie watching sweater.’ I may or may not have bought it for myself.”

  Magnolia’s laugh is loud and genuine. It’s music to my ears. “Well, I’m delighted to hear it. We can both be the heroes of our story.”

  “You can be the small-town girl trying to save her family deli,” I say.

  “And you can be the promising young chef who aims to help her succeed,” she says.

  We grin at each other, and for the first time since I met Magnolia, I feel hope that we will work things out.

  14

  Magnolia

  Soon I will have to go downstairs to find a romantic dress. I have no idea what makes one fit well, and certainly not one that will “whoosh” like Charity requested.

  The only dresses I’ve worn past the age of ten were those I’ve borrowed from Havannah.

  I call my sister in a tizzy and explain the situation. She already knows my big kiss was fake. She was the first person I texted in the car.

  “You have to help me!”

  “Where are they sending you to look?” she asks.

  “The boutique in the hotel. But I doubt I can afford anything in it. This is a high-end hotel.”

  “Take pictures and send them to me.”

  “How am I going to look like a smitten girlfriend?”

  She pauses. “Are you sure that kiss was fake? Because it looked damn real from where I was sitting.”

  “I didn’t even know it was coming. I’m probably more shocked than anything.”

  “I’ll agree with you on that. But it keeps going well past the shock point.”

  “Did it?” I haven’t sought out any clips from the show. I’m scared to look. “But Havannah, focus, I need a dress! I’ll go down to the boutique. If it’s obviously too much, I’ll walk a few blocks. Surely there’s something nearby.”

  “Is your makeup still good?”

  I rush to the bathroom mirror. “I’m solid. The show was only an hour ago.” It feels like a year since then, though. Life is rushing at me.

  “You should go. You’ve only got two hours until this date. That’s not a lot of time to shop.”

  “I’ll ring you if I need help. Don’t leave your phone!”

  Havannah laughs. “I’ll glue it to my hand.”

  I hang up and scramble for my bag. I keep our checking account lean, but I do have a credit card. If our future is everything Charity says, it might make sense to invest in a pretty dress.

  Thank goodness I have nice shoes on. I guess the dress will have to match them. Splurging on a new pair doesn’t seem smart.

  When I arrive at the downstairs boutique, my anxiety rises. It’s gorgeous, all gold columns and heavy draperies. The racks are spread apart, with what appears to be exactly one size of each item. It carries a wide range of apparel from dresses to jeans to tailored jackets.

  A young pink-haired salesperson approaches eagerly. I’m wearing the same outfit from the show, which might’ve been a mistake. I could be recognized.

  But if this woman knows who I am, she doesn’t let on. “My name is Esmée. I will be your personal shopper. What are you looking for, ma chérie?”

  I want to browse and see if the prices are way out of my league, but Esmée’s clearly going to be stuck by my side, so I say, “I need a dress that will swing in a circle.”

  At that request, she spins to the rear counter and waves at an older woman with a vintage beehive. “Sonata! It is her!”

  What does that mean? While the other woman approaches, I finger a silk blouse on a rack close by. No price tag. My face flames. Nothing here has a tag on it. That means the people who normally buy clothes here don’t care what things cost.

  I’m totally out of my element.

  Sonata arrives and reaches out her hands to grasp mine. “Magnolia, you made it.”

  “You know who I am?”

  “Charity called and said you’d be coming. I have already found three beautiful dresses for you to try.” She releases my fingers with a quick squeeze.

  Sonata leads me to the back of the store, where two elegant dressing rooms lined with gold silk wait for customers. It’s like the bedroom of a princess. My chest goes tight. I know for sure I can’t afford anything here.

  “This one is yours,” she says, pushing open the door.

  Inside are three dresses the likes of which I would never have considered for myself before.

  All are knee-length with miles of fabric on the skirt. The first is all white, with a scoop neck and long sheer sleeves. The second is the wintry floral in cool blue and silver. It’s sleeveless but is paired with a silvery blue wrap.

  The third is poppy red with a scalloped neck and hem. The sleeves fall to the elbow, then flare out.

  They’re beautiful. I might as well try them on. It’s not often you get treated like a star. I step inside to choose one.

  I glance at my black shoes. They won’t go with the white dress or the silvery blue.

  Red it is. I switch out from my skirt and top and into the dress. It fits like a dream. The waist is fastened with a sash that requires tying in a bow. I do the best I can and step into my shoes. When I open the door, both ladies are standing outside.

  “It is very lovely,” Sonata says. “Come see.”

  She leads me to a carpeted platform surrounded with mirrors, something you might see in a bridal store. I step up.

  Esmée hurries away as I turn in the mirror.

  “Let me get that bow,” Sonata says. She swiftly reties the sash.

  My cheeks grow warm as I examine myself in the dress. The red makes my hair shine like gold. I turn in a circle and the skirt flares as promised.

  Esmée returns with three shoe boxes. “I pulled three styles for you. Size seven, oui?”

  “That’s right.”

  As she sets them in a line at my feet, I hesitate. There’s no way I can afford all this.

  “How much is the dress?” I ask.

  Sonata waves my question away. “It is already covered. Have no fear.”

  What doe
s that mean? I can only assume Charity will take the money from whatever we earn with the online store. Or charge it to Anthony. We can make it square later.

  I assess the shoes. One pair is stilettos so high that my ankles cry for help just looking at them.

  The second have a more modest heel, red with a closed toe.

  The third are ballet flats like I wore to the second show, patent leather with a small gold bow.

  I should probably go for the flats, but I might be able to manage the modest ones.

  I kick off my shoes and slide my foot into the heels, feeling very much like Cinderella.

  “They’re a touch tight across the instep,” I say.

  Esmée nods. “We can have them stretched if they’re the ones you want. We will run them over to the dry-cleaning service. They have someone who can do it on the spot.”

  “Did you want to try on the other dresses?” Sonata asks.

  “I’m tight on time,” I say. “And we have to stretch the shoes.”

  Sonata nods, straightening the flowy sleeve. “All three are lovely, but I think this is the best choice. You have a good instinct.”

  I don’t, I only chose it because of the shoes, but I give her a small smile.

  “Why don’t you leave it on,” she says. “Then you won’t have to worry about the bow. Your date is in an hour, right?”

  “What time is it?”

  “Six-thirty.”

  I suck in a breath. It’s all happening so fast. “Yes.”

  “I’ll run the shoes over,” Esmée says. She waits for me to step out of them, then rushes out the door.

  “What about accessories?” Sonata asks. “Perhaps a necklace?”

  “I’m not sure.”

  The woman bends down conspiratorially. “If I were you, I would make the most of this opportunity.”

  Except this is probably going to come out of whatever profits I make.

  Sonata gestures to a glass case on the side wall. “Just let me show you. If nothing looks good, all is well.”

  It can’t hurt. My bare feet pad on the floor as we head over to the counter lined with jewelry.

  “I think you are more of a modest girl, not one for statement pieces, correct?”

  I nod.