by T Gephart
I cursed softly as I dialed Dave’s number and waited until he picked up.
“Wow, found a part so soon? Must be my lucky day,” he laughed, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. “I’m not doing the dog food commercial.”
“Hey, it’s Jess,” I said, gripping the phone hoping my smile was beaming down the line.
“Did he think by you calling me I’d agree? C’mon, Jess, you know I’m still out.”
To his credit, he didn’t hang up which was what most actors would have done. Hell, it’s what I would have done, but not before telling them to kiss my ass a few times. Especially if I felt like I was being handled, which ironically, was exactly what was happening. I’ll admit that wasn’t my favorite part of my job, but when it came to talking people off ledges, I was pretty damn good at it.
“No, I know,” I started, in no way intending to talk him into it. “I do still think Jeremy is trying to do the best for you, but I’m not asking you to reconsider. I just want to make sure you knew that we took your concerns on board, and that we are committed to finding you the right role.”
He laughed, his earlier sarcasm missing in action, with his chuckle sounding genuine. “You seriously didn’t regurgitate the company line did you? You’re better than that, we both are. So just tell Jeremy to pull his head out of his ass and find me something decent. There are other agents, you know. Maybe it’s time I shopped around.”
He could be bluffing, but there was no way to tell. And I wasn’t about to gamble. He might not have been a huge fish, but losing a client wasn’t an option.
My eyes fell to the invitation on my desk, and I had possibly the most brilliant—or stupidest, jury was still out—idea I’d ever had.
“Dave, I think I might have something for you.” I reached down and picked up the invite, the tiny foil hearts sticking to my fingers. “It’s an independent project. Very small budget.”
Was I actually going to do this?
I wasn’t sure I hadn’t blacked out, the suggestion almost so preposterous it made trolling for hookers sound sane. I was also fairly sure I was breaking about a hundred employment rules, not to mention possibly risking my job.
But clearly, desperate times called for desperate measures, my sanity the least of my concerns as I sunk even lower into deceit. I mean, it was okay as long as we both got something out of it, right?
Lord, I better pack my sunblock—I was going to Hell.
“Really?” Dave hummed into the phone. “I don’t have a problem with independent or small budget as long as it’s a decent role.”
“It’s a lead.”
Shit.
Too late now, my mouth had volunteered us for the biggest sham of the century before my brain properly evaluated the situation. I guess I’d told so many lies, what was another one. I was almost positive there was going to be no amount of Hail Marys getting me out of this one.
“Don’t tease me, Jess,” he purred into the phone, his voice more seductive than he’d probably intended.
“I’m not. I promise.” I looked at the date on the cardstock and cringed. “But you don’t have a lot of time to prepare. Shooting starts next month.”
I wasn’t sure if it made me the worst person in the world—lying to my family and Dave—or if I was brilliant. I mean, who best to play the role of a fake boyfriend than an actual actor? In its purest form, the idea was genius. Or at least that’s what I told myself as I picked up the shovel and dug even further into the hole.
“I’ll come in and pick up the script.” His response coming so fast there was no time for further internal debate. Ready or not, we were doing this.
Assuming he agreed.
And that was a big IF.
My eyes shot to Jeremy’s closed office door, and I almost threw up in my mouth. Images of Dave sauntering in, asking for the script that didn’t exist, for the part that didn’t exist, made me dry heave. To say I hadn’t worked out all the particulars was an understatement. And as good as I professed to be, there was only so much I could spin on the fly, especially with my boss only a few feet away. It would be like jerking a guy off in a confessional; while the element of taboo was hot as hell, even I had standards.
“Meet me tonight and we can discuss it. It will make it less formal.” Sure, that didn’t sound suspect. The suggestion was thrown out like we were meeting up for a drug deal. I wasn’t convinced I didn’t sound like a lunatic.
“I have plans tonight, won’t be free until later, like around eleven?”
“Eleven is perfect,” I answered a little too eagerly, my concern over it sounding shady less than my need for him to agree. “There’s a twenty-four hour coffee shop downtown, The Americano. I can send you the address.”
A bar probably would have made more sense. I had contemplated it, hoping that after a drink or two, my idea wouldn’t sound so crazy. The drinks were for me of course. But as tempting as it was to blame alcohol for the insanity, I needed both of us to be sober when he heard my pitch, and hopefully accepted. Last thing I needed was dubious consent added to my growing rap sheet of sins.
No, at the very least we should start sober, after that it was anyone’s guess how it was going to go. There was always the chance he would run, cowering from my hideous idea like it—and in turn me—were infested with cockroaches. And if that happened, there was a huge possibility I’d have to drink myself into oblivion. Couldn’t attend a family wedding because I was passed out drunk in a pool of my own vomit, sorry Lana. That would have to be Plan C, the prostitute was still standing strong as a solid Plan B.
“I know the place. I’ll meet you there around eleven.” He took a breath. “Thanks, Jess, you were probably the one who pulled the strings and I appreciate it.”
I shook my head, his sincerity making me feel like a total ass. “Well don’t thank me just yet.” Literally. “See you tonight.”
After a quick goodbye and ending the call, the realization of what I’d done and what I was about to do became extremely apparent.
If I had half a brain, losing my job would have been my number one fear. But instead of being concerned about possibly joining the percentage of the population who were unemployed, I felt energized—excited almost—with rational thought leaving the building as the fever of delirium took over.
Dave Larsson wanted a lead role with more substance than the stupid commercial Jeremy had offered him. I needed a guy to play the part of boyfriend for a couple of days.
If both of us were to each get something out of it, then what was the problem?
And sure, he wouldn’t be getting any recognition or exposure like a regular job. He’d also be paid less than the commercial had promised. But think of the good karma it would attract; it would be like his fast-pass into Heaven. Not to mention I’d beg, cheat or steal to get him something worthwhile to star in next. There was a script currently on my desk that was perfect for him. And Jeremy owed me, and he owed Dave too. Plus, I would still pay him; I wasn’t expecting him to do it for free. And he’d get to sample some of the best southern cooking known to man. That had to be worth something?
It would be a job like any other, only the script would be more fluid and he wouldn’t have any pesky cameras pointed in his face. And while the five grand I was intending to pay him wasn’t huge, I’d cover all the expenses too.
It would be like an adventure. How could he possibly resist?
I refused to eye the invitation on my desk any longer, shoving it back into the envelope and tossing it into a drawer.
In a few hours, I’d find out either way and refused to accept any outcome other than the one I had in my head.
Dave would say yes, we would go home, play the part of the loving couple, and then “break up” after the wedding. I would be saved from being excommunicated by my family and move on with my life with no one none the wiser.
What could possibly go wrong?
I WAS INVINCIBLE.
At least that was what I had convinced myself of, my pos
itive affirmations ringing in my ears as I went about my day. And I wasn’t just trying to inflate my ego; I really was brilliant at fixing problems.
In the last few years I had learned a lot. Not only about the industry, but about myself too. My biggest take away? Don’t take things personally.
Whatever happened tonight wasn’t about me; it was business. So while it was easy to be worried about the rejection, or even be embarrassed I was in the predicament from the start, he was either going to say yes or walk away. Neither was going to make me any less of a person, which was why as I sat in The Americano waiting for Dave I felt an odd sense of calm.
And yes, with my level of expertise and impressive contact list, I probably could have found a legitimate date. Possibly even—gasp—a boyfriend in the next few weeks, but I didn’t want the baggage that came with it. Plus, dating in L.A. was a minefield.
The last guy I’d been out with was a self-confessed vampire. He’d worn prosthetic fangs and had a coffin in his living room. And while I had sort of been caught up in the whole Twilight phenomena like a lot of teenage girls years ago, Edward isn’t so sexy when he’s a pasty white guy from Pasadena who was unemployed and broke.
Hiring a professional made sense, and it really was the best solution. And while man-for-hire sounded slightly skeevy, it wasn’t like I was paying him to sleep with me. Please, I wasn’t that ridiculous. He was an artist, and I was merely giving him an opportunity to perform. Realistically, I was providing a public service.
In fact, the more I thought about it, the better the idea sounded. It really was a win for everyone involved. I didn’t even worry about what his rationalization was for meeting me so late. He could be moonlighting as a freaking murderer and I hadn’t given it a second thought. Clearly, my predicament far outweighed stupid stuff like personal safety.
“Been here long?” Dave’s voice broke me from my thoughts of all the awesome as he shuffled into the booth. “Sorry, I’m a little late.” His lips pulled into a frown as he checked his watch. “Shit, Jess, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting.”
I’d been so absorbed with “The Best Plan Ever” to even notice his lateness, but found his annoyance with himself endearing. Think we could rule out murderer for the time being. There was a positive. “It’s fine, I haven’t been waiting that long.”
Of course that had been a lie, I’d been there for over half an hour. Which was something I had been doing a lot lately.
Lying I mean, not waiting.
But if Dave could play fairy godmother to my Cinderella and help me get to the ball, I’d wait a hell of a lot longer than thirty minutes. Bibbidi-bobbidi-boo.
“Good.” His lips spread into a grin, the light hitting his warm brown eyes. “I’ve been thinking about you all day.”
Before I melted into the cheap vinyl of the booth, I reminded myself he meant me in the vaguest sense of the word. Or maybe he had been thinking about me—and my stellar personality—but that was incidental. Because as much as I would have loved to be taking up room in his cerebral space, I was a cursory visitor. An interloper, and what he was really giving time to, was the potential proposal I had to offer.
The indecent proposal.
Of which he knew nothing about.
So considering what I was about to ask him, I had no reason to be neither hurt nor offended. It wasn’t personal, remember?
I had no problem with a sexy man—who made angels cry when he looked at them—sitting across from me to not feel attraction. For when he looked at me, for his interest to be only business. In fact, it was easier that way. Lord knows I’d thought about him in ways that weren’t professional, so one of us needed to keep our head screwed on straight. And as my eyes flicked over his lickable hot body—his muscular chest housed in a fitted T-shirt, his strong arms resting on the table in front of him as he met my eyes—that person was probably not going to be me.
“I’m so glad, Dave. I really hope we can work on this together.”
Please, baby Jesus, if there ever was an opportunity I needed proof of your existence, now was the time.
Taking a deep breath—and saying a quick prayer to the Virgin Mary, just in case—I stopped prolonging the inevitable. Besides, it was already skating dangerously close to midnight, and I didn’t know if he needed to continue his murderous activities, so dragging it out wasn’t smart.
I cleared my throat, sitting up straighter as I spoke, because the voice of my mother whispered in my ear telling me posture was always important. “It’s a romantic comedy. A smart, successful woman takes her boyfriend—who is madly in love with her—to meet crazy, but loveable family in Shreveport, Louisiana. Hilarity ensues.” I spread my fingers out either side of my face as I jazz-handed my enthusiasm. “Obviously, you would play the role of the talented, successful and extremely good looking boyfriend.”
His brow rose slowly. “It doesn’t sound very funny. What’s the angle? And who is directing it? They cast the female lead yet?”
All those questions were perfectly valid, if we were discussing a film.
Which we weren’t.
And I as much as I wanted to lay down some more foundation work before coming clean, I decided the Band-Aid approach would work best—rip it off without hesitation. Besides, what was the worst that could happen? He flipped me the bird, told me to go fuck myself and then grumbled about me wasting his time? Pfft, that was nothing compared to the damnation I was going to get from my mother.
“Sooooooo.” I chewed on my bottom lip, forcing a grin. “Well see, the funny part is that it isn’t actually a movie.”
“So, it’s T.V. series?”
“No.”
“A play?”
“Not that either.” I waved my hand, trying to make it sound better than it did. “It’s more a real-life drama.”
He leaned in closer, his eyes widening in either interest or utter disgust, I wasn’t sure which. “Like a reality show?”
“As in, I’m the fucking dumbass who told my dying grandma I found a soul mate and now I need to produce a man for my cousin’s wedding. But it just can’t be any guy, he needs to be convincing and pretend to be in love with me. Then I need to think of something suitably devastating where he breaks my heart so I have a reasonable explanation for our split. And then I can go on with my life. Hilarity ensues.” I jazz-handed again.
He laughed, relaxing back into his chair. “Oh, I see the comedy. You’re kidding. Great. Good one. Now, what’s the real job?”
“Dave, I’m not kidding.” But how I wished I were. “The job is you helping me fool my family into thinking we’re a couple. Attend the wedding. Break my heart. End scene. You’ll get paid for it, and of course all of your expenses will be taken care of.”
I mean, it was the least I could do. While I was positive Dave Larsson wasn’t hurting for money, I wasn’t about to take advantage of him either. It only seemed fair that I compensate him as best I could for the time and the effort. After all, he was a professional.
And this was business.
Professional business.
He stopped laughing; his voice dropped as the warmth left from his tone. “Is this some kind of fucking test you and Jeremy cooked up to see if I’ll just take anything? I mean, I assume he thinks I was being overly dramatic today when I turned him down, but I’m not an idiot either.” He looked around, scanning the tables around us. “Where is he? He sitting around laughing his ass off or did he just send you to do his dirty work, expecting a full report later?”
“He doesn’t know,” I added quickly, trying to salvage the situation. I hadn’t even considered he’d think it was a joke or that my boss was in on it. “This isn’t a test, and Jeremy knows nothing about it. In fact, I’m probably risking my job and my reputation by even suggesting it. But I’m sort of desperate and it seemed like a good idea.”
Maybe it was one of those things that sounded better in my head than it actually was. Like deciding at four a.m. it was easier just to stay awake rather t
han get only a couple of hours sleep. In no world is no sleep a good option. And possibly, hiring a man date isn’t one either. Who knew?
“It was stupid, but I’m sort of stuck now.”
Stuck was an understatement, and if he didn’t say yes I was faced with the very real possibility of putting a Want Ad in the paper. Or cruising Sunset and promising some poor asshole he was going to be staring in a new version of the Truman Show. I wasn’t above Craig’s List as a last resort either, or trolling a Wal-Mart. I’d come this far, there wasn’t much further I could drop into the pit of dumbassary.
He stopped, looking at me in what I assumed was a moment of compassion. “You’re serious?”
No, I would make up something like that because I liked the idea someone would mistake me for an escapee from an asylum.
“Yes, yes, I’m serious.” I nodded, a little too excited that he hadn’t left yet. “I need a man, but without the complications. And preferably someone who can be convincing so I can somehow come through this unscathed.”
“Why don’t you just tell your family that you made the whole thing up? They’re your family, surely they’ll understand.”
It was my turn to laugh. “Are you kidding me? You have not met or know my family. In their eyes, there is never a reason to lie to them. Ever. It doesn’t matter if it was for good intentions, or you had a good reason—to them, it’s one of the biggest sins there is. They will not understand, trust me.”
If I thought there was a chance, I would have already come clean. But there wasn’t, so the road, however treacherous, needed to be continued.
“What about if you break up with him before the wedding? People break up all the time.”
He was adorable.
Trying to be helpful even though it was a possibility I’d already thought of myself.
“No. If I break up with him before the wedding, I will have to spend the entire trip needing to explain why.” My family weren’t the type of people who’d let that one slide. They’d need dates, times—a Machiavellian storyline complete with plans for revenge. It had been by the grace of God, I’d managed to go three months avoiding the subject—my grandma’s recovery saving my ass. Thanks Gran, I owe you one.
