London Falling

by T. A. Foster

  “It’s fake. It has to be.” I was certain. “I know acting when I see it. I’ve been on stage long enough to know those people aren’t having real feelings.”

  “I agree. But how do we prove it?”

  “Hear me out. This might sound crazy.” I couldn’t believe what I was getting ready to say. “You know how Professor Garcia wants us to be the show? What if we date?”

  “What?” Beau sat up.

  “Not really date, but date like they do on the show. We’ll try to go on the same kind of dates they do and we’ll prove that you can’t force people to have feelings just by putting them in romantic situations. Since neither of us believes it’s real, we’re going into this on the same page.”

  “Yeah. Yeah, it could work. We copy their dates each week.”

  “We’ll work in some theory from class. And we can even blog about it. That can be our social media component. I’ll write about the date from a girl’s perspective and you give the guy’s take. It’s perfect.”

  “I’m in.”

  “Good. We have a deal.”

  “Yep.” Beau raised his beer to my water bottle until they tapped.

  I smiled. I could see the A for Communication 224 on my transcript now.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Beau and I had watched the first two episodes of the new season of Love Match and tonight was our first fake date. We had settled on going to the West End Wine Bar and then a pottery-painting place.

  Victoria, the newest bachelorette on Love Match, had already been on countless dates with her collection of suitors. Most of the dates were completely out of the question for us, like singing on stage with Bon Jovi or acting as stunt doubles in a movie. We suffered through the episodes, waiting for a date that had some kind of plausibility for our college budget.

  There were still twenty minutes before I had to meet Beau. I stood in front of the mirror debating my outfit. I opted for skinny jeans, leather boots, and a fitted sweater. It only took me a few extra minutes to curl my hair so that it cascaded down my shoulders in long layers.

  “Wow-za. Look at you.” Nina whistled as she walked up behind me.

  “It’s just a fake date. Don’t get excited.”

  “You look pretty hot for a fake date. Where are you two going?”

  “Wine bar and then the pottery place. Do I look too dressed up? I don’t want to look like I’m dressed up.” I started pulling on my sweater, thinking maybe it clung to my curves more than I had intended.

  “You look amazing. He’ll like it.” Nina winked at me.

  “I don’t care if he likes it. We’re group partners. This isn’t a real date. You know that, right?”

  My roommate stuck out her bottom lip. “I can dream, can’t I? You haven’t been on a date since last semester, London. Why not try him out?”

  I didn’t need Nina to remind me how things ended with my ex. I chose plays and rehearsals over movie nights and parties. It made sense that dating someone else involved in drama would be a great fit, but even he didn’t get me. Acting was only a college hobby for him.

  “I am perfectly ok with my love life. I’m leaving for California in a few months. There’s no point in even trying to date someone right now. And Beau Anderson is not that person.”

  “What’s wrong with him?”

  I ran my hands through my hair to give it an extra shake of volume before spraying it with a light mist of hairspray. “I didn’t say there is anything wrong with him. There just isn’t anything about him. He’s just a normal, regular guy.”

  “Um. Ok, whatever you say. Not everyone is an artist or an actor. There are guys in the world who are interesting even if they aren’t involved in theater. Why don’t you just date him?”

  I shot Nina a don’t-mess-with-me stare.

  “I get it. You don’t want to date right now. Not a nobody. Not a theater guy. But, speaking of theater guys, I’m going to call Derek and see if he needs any help with the play.”

  I thought about telling my friend to give it up. Derek hadn’t returned a single advance and all he did was take advantage of her willingness to help his artistic crises. I liked him but enough was enough.

  “London, did you hear something?” Nina scrambled off my bed in the direction of the muffled sound.

  I followed her to the living room. Candace stood in the middle of the room with her hands covering her face.

  “Candace, what’s wrong? Are you ok?” I questioned my distraught roommate. We huddled around her.

  Sobbing into her hands, I thought I heard her say something about a breakup.

  “Sweetie, we can’t understand you. Here, sit down.” I led her over to the couch. “What happened?”

  “He said it’s over, that he just can’t see where this is going.” She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “How can he not see a future for us? What is he even saying?”

  I pulled her against my shoulder, grateful my sweater was black. “Pearce doesn’t know what he’s saying. You’re going to be fine. You’ll be over him in no time.”

  Candace wailed into my shoulder. “But I don’t want to be over him.”

  “Shhh. Shhh. You’re going to be ok. We’ll get some ice cream and make it a girls’ night. Right, Nina?”

  “You’ve got your date. You’re going to be late meeting Beau. I’ll stay with Candace. You go.”

  Candace perked up. “Date? London, how did I not know you have a date? Oh yeah, I guess because I haven’t been here. I’ve spent the past few weeks with Pearce. A good friend would know you have a date.” She started crying again.

  “It’s not a date. It’s a project for my Comm class. I can cancel it. This is more important.”

  “I’ve been the worst roommate and the worst friend. I don’t know what’s going on with either of you. I haven’t done any of my work for the play.” She sniffed. “How can you even stand me? Pearce can’t. Do you believe he said that to me? He can’t stand me.”

  Nina handed her a tissue and stroked her blond hair. “Candace, we don’t think that at all. We love you and we know you’re here for us if we need you.”

  I walked to my room to search for my phone. If I texted Beau now, I could still catch him before he made it to the bar.

  It had been well before Christmas since the three of us had a night together at the house alone. Candace might be feeling like crap now, but Nina and I could get her through this. She and Pearce hadn’t been together long enough for her to be so wrapped up in him. A girls’ night would put everything back in perspective.

  I walked to the living room. “Why don’t we make sundaes or brownies?” I stopped. Standing in our living room was a towering muscled athlete with his arms around my tear-stained roommate. Nina was planted on the couch, looking as dumbfounded as I felt.

  “Hi, Pearce.”

  “Sup, London?” He didn’t make eye contact with me. He was focused on Candace. He brushed her tears away with his thumb.

  Before I could ask what in the hell was going on, she took him by the hand and lead him down the hall to the bedroom that hadn’t been slept in, in several weeks.

  I shrugged my shoulders in defeat at Nina. Candace had been sucked back into the portal that was Pearce Hudson. We probably wouldn’t see her again for another month or until the next time Pearce broke up with her.

  “Can you believe that shit?” Nina fumed.

  “There’s nothing we can do about it. She’s crazy about him.”

  “Yeah, psycho crazy. Does he have some kind of mind control over her? I’m going to go down there and tell him what I think.”

  “Hold on, Nina. You don’t want to go in there. Just think what they’re doing.” I blushed a little knowing Pearce and Candace were in makeup sex heaven.

  “You’re right, but I’m done with this. Next time he breaks up with her, I’m not fetching tissues or chocolate.” She crossed her eyes and cast an evil eye down the hall toward Candace’s door. “You better go. You’re late to meet Beau.”

  �
�Shit. I am. Ok. I’ll be home later. Not too late.”

  “You should stay out all night. See what happens on one of those Love Match dates.” My persistent roommate giggled.

  “You’re not going to give this up, are you?” I hugged her and left for my first fake date.

  ***

  Date One: Paint the Town Blue

  Beau was already at the bar, where they kept wine on tap. I showed my ID at the door to the bouncer, and walked up to my non-date for the evening. Tapping him on the shoulder, I waited for him to turn around.

  He had forgone his usual T-shirt attire for a light blue, long-sleeve, button-up shirt. The sleeves were a little tight on his arms. It even looked like he had run some kind of gel through his hair. It was styled and I smelled a hint of aftershave.

  “London. You made it. I was getting ready to text you. Thought you stood me up on our first date.” He smiled.

  “It’s not a real date.” I didn’t mean to say it like that. I kicked myself and checked my inner bitchy meter.

  Unfazed, he continued. “I know. It’s a fake date. Here. I got a glass of wine for you.” He reached across the bar and handed me a glass of something red.

  “Thanks.”

  “Let’s go up on the roof.” He started walking toward the iron staircase.

  “But, it’s January. It’s freezing.”

  “You’ll be fine. There are heaters up there. Plus, when do they ever have a date on Love Match when they aren’t on a rooftop?”

  “Good point.” I grudgingly followed my partner up the spiral stairs.

  Beau opened the door for me to walk out into the cold Chapel Hill night. I caught my breath. The rooftop was empty. Sparkly lights draped the perimeter and a few scattered heat lamps dotted the patio.

  “How about over here?” Beau pointed to a table.

  I gently placed my wine glass down and sat directly under the heat lamp. The warmth from the glowing tower was enough to keep me from shivering.

  “I’ve never been up here.” I looked up. The sky was crystal clear and the stars glimmered overhead. I glanced over the edge of the brick wall to see the street sprawl out in front of us. A couple walked just below us holding hands.

  “It’s pretty cool.” Beau shifted in his seat and took a sip of the wine.

  “Did you do the reading yet for this week? I couldn’t believe it was on how reality TV romances gear subject matter to appeal to the female demographic. It’s the perfect article to use for the project.”

  “Do you always talk about class?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “London, look around. We’re the only people on top of the wine bar. That down there is Franklin Street—one of the most famous college streets in the country. We’re seniors. Just take it in.” He swirled the wine around in the bowl-like glass.

  Beau caught me off guard. I wasn’t expecting a lecture on seizing the moment. “Wait. Is this one of the things on your list?”

  He leaned into the table and smiled. “No. But what does it matter?”

  “It doesn’t. You’re right. It’s a beautiful night.” I took another sip of my wine and felt it warm me down to my toes.

  “Something bothering you? You’ve seemed a little off since you got here.”

  Being a little off was becoming a trend whenever I was around Beau. I wasn’t sure if the wine had already gone to my head, but I told him why I was late arriving to our non-date.

  “It’s one of my roommates. She’s dating a football player and they broke up for about five minutes. I thought she would figure out he’s just using her, but she took him back. It’s depressing seeing someone you care about be treated that way.”

  “That sucks. Who is she dating?”

  “Pearce Hudson.”

  “Whoa. You know Pearce Hudson?”

  “Try not to sound so excited. He’s really a dick and I hate how he treats my friend.” My mood was souring the rooftop atmosphere.

  “He’s only the best wide receiver to ever play at Carolina.” I shot him a be-careful stare. “But sorry to hear he’s such an asshole to your roommate.”

  I laughed. “Thanks. That actually makes me feel better. Now, if only we could get Candace to see it.”

  “Well, do you want some unsolicited advice?”

  I looked at him cautiously, although I was dying to know his male perspective on this problem. “Sure. What should I do?”

  “Nothing.”

  “Nothing? That’s your helpful advice?”

  “If he really is a jerk, she will eventually figure it out and then she’s going to need you to help her do whatever girls do to get over asshole boyfriends. Drink wine. Eat chocolate or something. The point is, if you interfere now, you won’t get to be that person for her when she really needs you.”

  I was surprised. It was exactly the advice Nina and I needed but couldn’t hear through all of the Pearce drama. “That’s really—sweet, I guess.”

  “I have my moments.” He winked. “What about you? Are you dating the quarterback?”

  I almost spit my wine out. “No, I’m not dating a football player.” I wished I had said I wasn’t dating anyone. Suddenly, I wanted Beau to know I was single. Although, it shouldn’t matter. It didn’t matter. He didn’t need to know my personal love life status. I abandoned clarifying my relationship situation and focused on my wine drinking. He had chosen an excellent merlot.

  He raised his glass. “Since we’re supposed to be mimicking Love Match. Let’s make a toast.”

  Every date on that show had no less than three toasts. They were always toasting to true love, finding forever, or dreaming big.

  “Do you have something in mind?”

  “How about to making it count?”

  “Isn’t that a quote from Titanic?” I would be surprised if he had seen the epically tragic movie.

  “I don’t know. It sounds like something they would say on the show.”

  I inhaled the icy January air and raised my glass until it tapped Beau’s.

  “To making it count.” I smiled at him over the rim of my glass. His eyes were locked on mine. A little chill rippled through my chest and it wasn’t from the air. I was completely caught off guard.

  “You sure you’re ok, London?”

  I nodded vigorously, trying to convince myself more than Beau.

  “All right. We’ve got two parts to this not-date. Ready to go paint some pottery?”

  “Um. Yes. Let’s do that.”

  Beau was standing next to the table with a hand extended. I hesitated, for a second, but placed my hand in his.

  “Ok. Pottery Paints. Here we come.”

  During last week’s episode, Victoria took five of her suitors to a pottery shop where the men painted various figures in an effort to capture the eye of the bachelorette. By the end of the date, the guy with the best piece of art received a rose and some special one-on-one time. Beau and I laughed at the guys’ attempts to make a bisque model car or frog look like anything other than an elementary school project.

  Pottery Paints, the studio on Franklin Street, was brightly lit. Across one wall was an assortment of plain, untouched clay molds. On the opposite wall were the finished products of the customers who had spent time in Pottery Paints.

  I selected a canister with a lid that had a small bird perched on top. I watched Beau as he scanned the choices. He reached for a plate.

  “What are you going to paint on there?” I asked.

  “I thought I’d go ahead and make the commemorative championship plate.” He started sorting through the various shades of blue on display.

  “What kind of championship?”

  For a second, I thought there was something on my face. His shocked expression had me brushing my cheeks.

  “What kind of championship? Girl, you’re at the mecca for college basketball. I’m talking about our championship.”

  “Oh. Ok. Cool.” I sat on the bench next to him.

  “Well, I learned somethi
ng about you tonight.” His voice was playful.

  “What’s that?”

  “You are definitely not a sports fan.”

  “I guess it’s that obvious.” Part of me wished I had been more observant growing up around so many sports fans, but I was always more interested in reading or watching a Lauren Bacall movie.

  “Uh-huh.” He was penciling in a victory slogan on the plate. “Should I quiz you on the difference between off sides versus a false start?”