Playing Pretend Box Set

by Natasha L. Black

  All right, that was my cue to speak. James had even talked me up by pointing out my Italianness. I forced my face away from a grimace. "Sure."

  A minute or so later, I was drinking the vodka water, which, admittedly, didn't taste as bad as I'd expected.

  "Doesn't mean it tastes good, either," I added, after I'd told the girl the first part, too.

  "So that's it?" She said. "You take one sip of something and don't give it a chance?"

  I paused.

  There was something else in what she was saying, something that indicated that she noticed the way my gaze had flicked to the door as we were talking.

  I understood at that moment what I really wanted.

  "I know what I like," I said.

  Then I left.

  I opened the door to my condo, the moonlight the only illumination once the door clicked behind me. I kicked off my shoes and padded to the window. I stared at the surf, the waves crashing onto the empty, white beach. A lone bird flew over the water, its shadow soaring beneath it, over the foam.

  I shook my head and moved into the bedroom, dropping my pants as I pulled my shirt off of my body. I moved over to the windows again and, with a final look out at the lonely night, roughly pulled the curtains shut.

  Fuck it.

  So much for trying to forget Kandice—some random girl had seen right through it.

  I climbed into bed. As the silk sheets fell in cool folds around me, outlining my naked shape, all I could think about was Kandice and what James had said.

  I rolled over and shut my eyes, reminding myself of James’ words.

  “Mind over matter… It will blow over.”

  The next morning, I walked along the beach. The long bar of sand and its pool of endless blue, speckled with happy, sun-basking and romping families, didn't do much to improve my mood.

  I preferred the lonely, blue landscape I’d gazed at last night. Less irritating than this happiness I felt nothing in common with.

  There was nothing that annoyed me more when I was in a foul mood than seeing people who were happy.

  Grey skies and dismal people going about their business. Maybe it was shitty, but that was what suited me best when I was in a bad mood. Even the sun annoyed me right now.

  I turned away, taking refuge under a small awning that was part of a hotdog stand.

  Yeah, even the sun was too hot.

  Nothing felt right.

  Not unless... I took out my phone. Of course, Kandice hadn't called in the few minutes I'd spent strolling along the beach, but still.

  Who was I kidding? The party was tomorrow. Whether I was trying to avoid talking to Kandice to sidestep dealing with my feelings, I still had to, for practical reasons.

  Just the other day, Mama had been badgering me about how many people Kandice was bringing so she could set the table accordingly.

  I needed to talk to her.

  I dialed her number again. She answered on the second ring.

  "Hey," I said. "I want to talk."

  "Okay," she said simply.

  That stopped me. I'd been ready for an angry comeback. But not indifference.

  "It's Mama,” I said, “She wants to know how many people you're inviting, if any."

  Kandice's silence encouraged me to continue.

  "You don't have to invite your parents if you don't want to," I said. "I was being pushy. For that, I'm sorry."

  "Okay," she said. Same word, but in that tone, there was a fraction of a difference. "Thank you for apologizing. I appreciate it. I probably won't invite my parents, but maybe my friend. She has a new guy she’s seeing, too..."

  "Great," I said.

  "Great," she echoed.

  Different ideas of what to say next floated past my eyes, all of them contrasting and slamming into each other.

  Then, as I glanced at my phone and my recent messages, an idea came to mind.

  "You like art, right?" I asked her. "There's a gallery show. I have a friend who puts them on every month. At the end of the month. I’m sure there’ll be one tomorrow, if you wanted to go. I could take you."

  "Yeah," Kandice said. "That would be—"

  She fell silent.

  "Kandice?" I asked. In the background, I could hear loud knocking and a door opening.

  "Gotta go," Kandice said quickly, her voice edgy.

  23

  Kandice

  I snuck my way over to the door, feeling silly walking through my hotel room like a cat-burglar.

  I had just honestly felt like I couldn’t get over here with Giovanni on the phone. Stupid. I was still feeling nervous about Shanghai, and… Who would be knocking on my door? The room is under Giovanni’s name.

  I shouldn't have hung up like that. I peered through the peephole… If whoever is at the door is violent... My heartbeat slowed in relief, though my body was still tense.

  What were the police doing here?

  "Hello, ma'am," the beefy officer said. "We just have a few questions, if that's okay with you. It won't take too much of your time."

  "Okay," I said.

  It's not about what you think it is. It can't be about what you think it is, I consoled myself.

  "Did you travel here from Shanghai with Giovanni Bruno?”

  “Yes…”

  “That’s okay, ma’am, we aren’t looking for Mr. Bruno. We were just wondering if you have any information about a woman named Briar Raze," G.I. Joe said, looking at me significantly.

  Yep, this was it. I hadn’t even told Giovanni… Or my parents... Jen knew, but I was sure it wasn’t something she necessarily remembered. It had kind of just happened when I gave up my citizenship, though it wasn’t an official name change.

  “Briar Raze, ma’am, do you have any knowledge of this person?” the second officer repeated. There it was again, my freaking pen name. How did they... It didn't matter.

  Now was the moment of truth. Did I lie to the police, or not?

  "No," I said. "Why?"

  The officers shifted in their uniforms.

  "Ma’am—”

  “Kandice, Kandice McArthur.”

  “Well, Ms. McArthur, Ms. Raze is also from Shanghai," the officer said. "Same age, same characteristics. The only thing is, back in Shanghai, the people looking for her only have that to go on, not many specifics about her, but," he looked about as muddled as I felt, “she was last seen in Shanghai with Mr. Bruno, and now…”

  "Were you guys hired for this?" I asked.

  I thought that was illegal.

  "No," the other man barked. "Chief's orders. Came from one of the higher ups and—"

  G.I. Joe gave his buddy a 'don't you dare' look.

  "We aren't permitted to reveal that information, ma'am, but thank you for your time. Sorry to have caused you any confusion."

  With the final click of the door, my brain pulsed to the consistent rhythm of oh crap, oh crap, oh crap, they left.

  I stared at the dark wood grains of the space that now filled where they’d been standing.

  The door.

  I slid the chain bolt into place and made sure the deadbolt was locked, my shaking hand retrieving my phone. Right now, I needed Giovanni.

  No. While he would reassure me, I didn't want him going into overprotective mode either. Or just getting angry with me that the police were now getting involved.

  No, for now, I'd keep this to myself and... Jen.

  Bingo.

  I called my friend.

  "Hey, Kandice!" Jen said. "You will not believe what Gino got me a few hours ago."

  "Not now," I said. "The police were just here."

  "Wait—what?"

  "I know," I said. "They knew my pen name, Briar Raze. But at least they didn't know it was me. They asked me if I knew anyone by that name."

  "And?" Jen said. "For the love of God, Kandy, please tell me you didn't tell them the truth."

  I suddenly fell silent, wondering if the police would go so far as to tap my phone. But what was done was done. />
  "No," I said. "I'm not a total idiot, although... What could they really do to me? I just wrote an article about a corrupt official in Shanghai. Would the police in the United States really be coming after me for that?"

  "You'd be surprised," Jen said. "Just watch the Bourne Identity movies. The police, especially the CIA, are total crooks. I wouldn't put it past them to do some shady stuff if it came down to it. I mean, they have bosses just like you and me. Or like you used to, anyway."

  "Thank you for reminding me of my unemployed status," I said dryly, somewhat amused that Jen was using a fictional movie to base her opinion of the police on.

  "Anytime," Jen said. "And I'm sorry about before. It must be getting old listening to me rave about Gino."

  "Basically," I agreed.

  "I can't help it," she said. "Grandma Beatrice already told me we're both going to hell because we're rushing things, and she didn't want to hear another word about it. My colleagues at work just nod and don't take off their headphones. You're the only one I've got. Plus, you're my best friend."

  "And I'm happy for you," I said.

  Although I thought she needed to slow down too, I’d already told Jen what I thought. No point in beating a dead horse.

  "So," I said, putting on my good friend cap. "What did he get you today?"

  "He got me tickets to see Kinky Boots on stage. Remember that awesome play I was telling you about?"

  "Wow," I said. "This guy gets brownie points and everything."

  Though the mention of the show reminded me of something.

  “Giovanni invited me to a show, too," I told her. "But it's at an art gallery, I think. I'm not sure if I want to go. I said I would, but after that police scare..."

  "You really think it's a better idea to sit around in your hotel and be a party pooper?" Jen asked skeptically.

  "No," I admitted. "I just don't feel comfortable telling Giovanni about it until I've gotten my head around it. I'm just worried it's going to cast a gloom over the evening."

  "Maybe," Jen said, chomping away at what sounded like a bowl of popcorn. "But do you know what would cast an even bigger gloom over the whole night?"

  "What?" I asked, knowing the answer already.

  "Not going," Jen said, "and missing out on a fun night." I could hear the sounds of fingers tapping away on a keyboard. "Did he say which one it was? Like, at what gallery?"

  "No," I said. "He didn't get a chance before the police came knocking at my door and I had to hang up."

  "Okay," Jen said. "But if this show is at the Snitzer Gallery, Kandice, it's going to be freaking awesome. They only have one a year to showcase new, as well as old, talent. It’s essentially the Paris Fashion Week for Miami Artists. Elite. Amazing. Fan-freaking-tastic."

  I checked my phone and found a message from Giovanni. Let me know. It’s at the Snitzer Gallery. My jaw dropped.

  “Yeah, it’s there,” I admitted. “Pretty cool.”

  Jen made a dubious sound. "It's not just cool, Kandice, this is a once in a lifetime opportunity! Tickets are super expensive and sell out within seconds. I can't believe Giovanni snagged you some."

  "I guess he beats Gino in one way," I teased.

  "Maybe," Jen conceded. "But seriously, you have to go."

  "Okay, okay," I said. "But I still have to meet this beloved Gino of yours."

  "Of course," Jen said. "So, you can see that he is just as wonderful as I've made him out to be."

  "We'll see," I said, smiling. "Thanks for talking me down off the hide-away-in-my-hotel-room cliff."

  "Of course," Jen said. "You're my best friend. If your life is over, mine is too, and I cannot have that—it’s just starting!"

  "Thanks," I said, chuckling. "Talk later."

  "You know it," Jen said.

  I hung up. Within seconds, my phone was ringing again. It was Giovanni.

  "Is everything okay?" He asked.

  Oh yeah. Now that I thought about it, our last conversation had ended abruptly. The concerned tone in his voice made sense.

  "Sorry," I told him. "There was someone at my door. Then I had to talk to Jen quickly and—"

  "Were you even going to call me back to let me know about the gallery show?"

  "No, I mean, I meant what I said," I said. "I want to go."

  “There’s just one thing,” Giovanni continued, “the dress code."

  "Oh?" I said.

  "It's ripped trash clothes. Think, paper bag princess."

  I waited for the ironic chuckle that never came. On my phone, I swiped through pictures of the event last year, the attendees all dressed to the nines.

  "You liar!" I accused him.

  "Got me," Giovanni said. "I wouldn't have actually let you show up like that. Although, it would have been funny."

  "We still can," I offered.

  Not that I thought we'd have enough time to do the distressing that an outfit like that would require.

  "Maybe another time," Giovanni said. "I have a business associate or two who may be there."

  "Oh," I said quietly.

  Was this just another excuse for Giovanni to show off? To parade our engagement around in people's faces? In that case, he'd probably be better off going without me.

  "So, I'll pick you up at 6:45?" Giovanni asked.

  "See you then," I said, then hung up.

  I walked over to my duffle bag, unzipping it to look through my potential options for tonight.

  I was never what my mom called fashion-forward. While I did try and shop at the stores that were trending, the results always ended up being a bit jarring.

  That's why I usually stuck with a t-shirt and jeans. There were too many patterns, styles, lengths, and colors to choose from that when I invariably made my choice, I looked like an alien who'd been trying to disguise themselves as a "normal earthling."

  Right up until my parents had left Shanghai, I relied on my mom for her critical yet life-saving expertise when it came to clothing.

  Not that I cared that much, but there were only so many social events you could attend and have people marvel at your "unique" choice of ensemble before it got old.

  The sad part was that people, in some cases, thought I was pulling their leg. I'd shown up to a party once in a neon yellow top paired with orange shag pants, and everyone had assumed I'd dressed that way as a direct "fuck you" to the establishment and fashion industry. I hadn't been.

  The few times I didn't dress in neutral colors and normal, regular clothes, and actually tried something new, the results were stupendously disastrous.

  Yep, I sure could use my mom's expertise now.

  Or Jen's. She wasn't as harsh as my mom.

  I quickly laid out the six dresses I had. Next to jeans and a t-shirt, dresses were a piece of clothing I loved. Dresses were hard to mess up. It was just one piece. No need to pair it with anything unless you counted some ballet flats or heels, two of the three shoe options I owned.

  For tonight, I had a high-neck white dress, a small black dress with a longer skirt, a red number that hardly covered my butt and clung to my curves as if it were vacuum-sealed, and an Iris-printed tea dress with a white bodice and poof skirt.

  As my eyes scanned the dresses, my gaze continued to snag on the first option. Exasperated, I grabbed the white dress and pulled it on.

  There. That was done. Now, onto the shoes.

  I knew better than to try the heels. Though several evenings of practicing had allowed my mastering of walking in them to reach a satisfactory level, that level went from okay to disastrous as soon as alcohol got involved.

  Nope. I needed to be on my A-game tonight. At the very least, so I could avoid telling Giovanni about the police's visit for as long as humanly possible.

  Or maybe not that long. Just long enough for me to wrap my head around it so I could talk about it nonchalantly, to avoid Giovanni freaking out.

  I had done enough freaking out for myself, thank you very much.

  For make up, I just did
my usual routine: a light application of mascara, paired with some deep red lip color. I took a step back from the mirror and gave myself the most confident smile I could muster.

  No one could be privy to the inner workings of my brain tonight—the fact that I was there with a fake husband, that it was going to be the coolest gallery show I'd ever been to, that my dress was extremely prone to stains, and I, to clumsiness. No one.

  Just then, my phone rang again. It was Giovanni. He was here.

  It was as I was walking to the lobby that I wondered why I was so nervous. It wasn't the gallery show, because when I'd worked for Rayli, I'd attended more than a couple of glitzy events. Many of which were more in the journalism sphere, but I'd even gone to the odd swanky art show, too. No, I wasn't nervous because of the show.

  I didn’t see Giovanni in the lobby when I arrived. There was, however, a tall, alluring stranger in a beautifully tailored grey suit standing with his back to me.

  He turned around and my heart somersaulted, landing with a thud against my ribs.

  That was no stranger. That was Giovanni. He looked me over with a familiarity that sent waves through me.

  That look, it was almost as if he... That was the thing, though. He had. We had…

  Yes, I knew the exquisite body under those clothes all too well. I bit my lip.

  If I was just going to go along with this, like I’d told Jen I was going to at the bar, then why did I feel so damn anxious? Maybe it was the conflict of feeling like this was both going to be a giant mistake, and the coolest thing I'd ever done?

  Giovanni slid his hand into the small of my back. "You ready?"

  "Ready as I'll ever be," I said with a smile.

  Giovanni grinned at me and I rolled my eyes.

  Great. I was already starting to use his signature sayings. Not that he wasn't charming or witty. Or handsome. But he was looking at me like he was considering skipping the entire event and leading me back to my hotel room.

  Focus, Kandice.

  Outside, there was a limo waiting.

  "So, you save these guys for special occasions?" I asked.