by Liz Durano
Roxy: I’ll be in dreamland by then. My stop is coming up. Have a safe flight.
I slip my phone into my purse and stare straight ahead. I lied. My stop isn’t coming up, but I didn’t want to keep talking about what happened. I just want to move on from all this and not let myself get paranoid about people looking at me and recognizing me as Kodi Donovan’s “latest fling” or “flavor of the week.” There were other comments in those threads, each one worst than the one before it.
Oh well. Welcome to the world of the not-rich and infamous.
I stop at the store for groceries, figuring I might as well hole up at home for the next few days and think about my life. As I walk up to the counter, I can’t help but wonder if people around me have seen the pictures online.
Did any of them say those nasty things about me? If they managed to track down my work, what about where I live?
The tears finally come the moment I close my apartment door and make sure I lock it. I barely wear any makeup for work, and so nothing runs, no mascara, no eyeliner. And even if it did, I don’t care. I’m tired, and I can cry all I want, for however long I want. It’s just me and–
The knock on the door snaps me out of too-brief pity party. I groan, wiping away my tears as I return to the door. Caitlin better not have changed her mind and decided to stay in town and comfort me. It’d be so like her, too, even if she couldn’t have possibly made it here from the airport so quickly.
“Cait, I can’t believe you canceled your flight and…” My words fade the moment I see who’s standing out the door and it’s certainly isn’t Caitlin.
He’s also the last person I want to see right now.
Chapter Five
“What are you doing here?” Roxy asks, her cheeks wet with tears. Without makeup, she’s beautiful, almost innocent with dark brown eyes and a heart-shaped mouth. Her dark hair is pulled in a ponytail, her thick bangs framing her face. She’s still wearing her hospital scrubs, pink unicorns gracing her top and plain lavender scrub pants.
“I came to talk,” I say. “I heard you got some kind of warning or something.”
Her face flashes angrily. “Who told you? Caitlin?”
I shake my head. “Jordan. Cait told him.”
“Oh well, you really can’t hide anything in this town, can you?” She asks, her eyes flashing angrily. “Anyway, it was just an oral notice. They told me to stay home until after this whole social media thing blows over. The hospital was apparently getting calls from people asking about me, my work, and all that. Basically wasting hospital resources.”
As Roxy sighs heavily, a door at the end of the hallway opens, and an elderly man sticks his head out. He glares at me through thick glasses.
“That’s Mr. Reyes,” Roxy says as she waves at him. “He’s like our building Neighborhood Watch.”
I turn to look at Roxy. “Can I come in before he thinks I’m bothering you?”
She steps out into the hallway and waves to the old man. “He’s a friend, Mr. Reyes,” she says as he nods and disappears back into his apartment.
I step inside her apartment, and Roxy shuts the door behind me. Her place is small and neat with a Rockabilly design aesthetic that makes me think I stepped into a 1950’s home. A dark green polka dot love seat graces her living room, and next to it is an old Singer sewing machine cabinet complete with the foot pedal. Her round dining table with its Formica top and aluminum trim looks like it’s been fished out of an old coffee shop and restored. Built-in cabinets above the sink probably came with the apartment but instead of adding cabinet doors to it like my friends or I would have done, Roxy has left them wide open, and I see a collection of retro plates and bowls, cups, and saucers in happy colors of chartreuse, orange, and sky blue. Even her stove is completely retro, baby blue with white and silver knobs.
“I rented the apartment because of that stove,” she says almost sheepishly. “And the built-in shelves. The rest I added in one by one whenever I found them.”
The only modern piece of furniture is an Ikea bookcase that separates her sleeping area from the rest of the apartment. An assortment of books, vinyl records, shot glasses and picture frames fill the slots in the bookcase and a record player sits on top, flanked by retro-looking speakers in mint green.
Beyond the shelf, the retro theme continues with soft white draperies in dotted Swiss fabric. It matches the pillowcases and the embossed white pillow shams. The whole effect is very feminine, very Roxy. I suddenly see us in my mind, snug in her bed cuddling like we did the day before. But I’m kidding myself; I see us doing more than cuddling.
I clear my throat, forcing myself to focus on what I came here to say. For all I know, depending on how she takes what I have to say, this could be the last time I ever see Roxy again.
“Roxy, I’m so sorry about the pictures,” I begin.
“You don’t have to apologize, Kodi,” she says. “It’s not like you had those photographers lying in wait or anything.”
“I need to make things right, Rox. And I know I can.”
Roxy laughs. “What? Are you going to pull strings? Because that’s what everyone will think, you know, you being well-connected pulling strings with management.”
I almost want to tell her, so what? But she’s right. All it would take for me is a phone call to my father to see if he still knows people on the Board of Directors at Miller General. But that would be involving more people… and owing them, too. At the moment, I don’t want to owe anyone, especially not Dad, not when I’m sure he’s probably got another woman he wants to introduce to me like he always does. And as much as I love women, I like being able to pick them myself.
“Actually, no. I have another idea, but it will only work if you agree to it,” I reply.
“If I agree? What could possibly make my walk of shame justifiable considering there are pictures of you putting that garter around my leg at the reception, too,” Roxy says.
“We’ll tell everyone we’re engaged.”
Roxy stares at me. “That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
“And Hashtag WalkofShameRoxy isn’t?” I ask. “Come on, think about it. Everything about this whole social media thing is extreme, so why not face it the same way and be done with it? Instead of telling everyone we’re dating, we tell them we’re engaged.”
“How long will this engagement be for?”
“Just enough time to get the hospital to realize they’ve made a mistake and have you come back to work,” I reply. “One day, one week or two weeks, we’ll play it by ear. Surely it’s not illegal for an engaged woman to appear next to her fiancé in New York City, right? Then you can officially dump me and move on.”
“But we don’t even have anything to support that engagement,” Roxy stammers. “No pictures of us dating or anything.”
“Not everything has to be out in the open.”
“It is on social media,” she says as I shrug.
“I’m not on social media. Are you?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t have time for those things.”
“So how about this. We’re friends. We’ve known each other for over a year, but we kept our relationship private. I worked abroad for three months, and we texted the entire time,” I say, pausing. “Unless you were dating someone else—or are—then this won’t work, of course.”
“I broke up with Jax three months ago.”
“So we dated shortly after you broke up with him, right before I left for Asia,” I say. “Think about it, Roxy. It could work. We’ve been emailing back and forth, texting, sexting… whatever. Then after Jordan and Addy’s wedding reception, I proposed and you said yes.”
She folds her arms across of her chest, looking at me with one arched eyebrow. “So if I said yes, where’s the ring?”
“We’ll get one.”
She thinks for a few moments, the furrow on her brow deepening. Then she sighs, looks down at her unicorn blouse, and sniffs her shoulder. “This is all happening so fast, an
d I need time to think about this. But I need to hop in the shower first. I just finished my shift.”
“Go ahead. I’m in no rush.”
“Make yourself at home then, and I’ll be right out.” She pulls the elastic from her hair and I watch her shake her hair loose over her shoulders. Then grabbing her robe hanging from a hook next to the bathroom, she steps inside and shuts the door. Seconds later, I hear the shower running.
As I stand in the middle of her apartment, I expect to feel panic hit me, or maybe regret, for my suggestion. It’s so unlike me but it’s the only thing I can come up with to save her reputation. After all, if I’d only insisted on getting the Jeep out of the garage and stopping at the townhouse to pick her up, none of this would have happened.
But I also know there’s something else, something I haven’t said out loud before. The more I’m learning about the real Roxy, the more I want to get to know her. It was no accident that she ended up in my bed after the reception. Whether we’d both had too much to drink or not, we had a connection, one that started when I first slipped that garter around her leg. One that kept on going long after I kissed her.
Maybe this is my chance to see where it finally goes.
Chapter Six
Of course, I say yes.
Kodi’s idea actually made sense, considering we didn’t have a lot of options. Actually, we didn’t have any. Who knew internet trolls were real? I sure didn’t, and I’d actually resolved to live in infamy as that girl who spent the night with Kodi Donovan after meeting her at a wedding and looked like she got the fuck of her life (she didn’t) the morning after. She didn’t, of course, but who would believe that?
I was angry, too, angry that faceless strangers who had no idea who I was were spending their time judging me. Didn’t people have lives? Why were they so invested in my life? And why, between the two of us, was I the one who was getting the brunt of the Internet hate? Because I’m a woman? Because I wear my hair like Bettie Page? My tattoos? Or is it because I’m not a man merely sowing his wild oats and thus, perfectly okay?
No, definitely not okay.
By the time I emerge from the bathroom half an hour later, clad in a robe with my hair blow dried and accented with a polka dot hair band, Kodi has managed to pick a few records to play on my turntable. The one that’s playing right now is Cliff Richard’s Living Doll, and it’s hard not to miss the way he looks at me as I walk past him. He even bites his lower lip playfully, and in response, my stomach does a flip-flop.
As if catching himself, his cheeks redden. “Sorry.”
I laugh, wriggling my hips playfully. “You might as well appreciate your new fiancé, Mr. Donovan. Because this is a limited time offer, you know.”
His expression turns serious. “Are you serious?”
“I told you I’d think about it while I showered and I did.” She pauses, her eyes narrowing. “You didn’t change your mind while I was in there, did you?”
“Of course not,” Kodi replies. “You have no idea how relieved I’m feeling right now. I want to make things right any way I can.”
“I have to admit this is extreme, but I can’t think of any other way to change people’s minds that I’m not what they think I am.”
“I know you’re not, Roxy,” he says.
“So what’s the plan?” I ask, opening my closet and rummaging through my clothes on hangers.
“We pick out an engagement ring,” he says, pulling out his phone. “Is there any place nearby that you know of?”
“There’s one on Austin Street. I’ve never been, but I remember Cait telling me it’s where Jordan got his Mom’s engagement ring sized for Addy. It’s not too far from here.”
While Kodi searches for the jewelry store on his phone, I choose to wear a navy blue shirt-waist dress with a turn-up collar and flared skirt that falls just below my knees. As I pull out a slip from my dresser, I hear Kodi ask someone on the phone about office hours. A few moments later, he clears his throat.
“Maybe I should step out while you get dressed.”
“If you want to, although I have to warn you that Mr. Reyes will be checking you out right away,” I reply, chuckling. “Or you can turn around. It will take me a minute or two.”
He hesitates for a moment, then nods. “I’ll do that then.”
As I get dressed, Kodi busies himself with the picture frames on my shelf. They’re of my parents and me as a kid in pigtails.
“Do your parents live nearby?” he asks, not turning to look at me.
“They used to. They moved to Arizona five years ago after Dad got a new, less stressful job, and so far, other than the heat and humidity, they like it there,” I say, buttoning the front of my shirtdress and draping a scarf to keep my neck warm. “Cost of living is definitely less expensive. They call this place the NYC, the New York Closet.”
He chuckles. “Hey, don’t let them knock it. You did a great job with it,” Kodi says.
“Thanks. You can look now,” I announce and when Kodi turns to face me, I see him catch his breath.
“That dress looks great on you,” he says. “It suits you.”
I laugh. “It better. I made it myself.”
Kodi looks at me incredulously. “You did? It’s beautiful!”
“Don’t laugh but I use that machine right there.” I point to a vintage Singer sewing machine in its cabinet complete with a foot pedal and wheel. “Foot power and everything. I make my own patterns.”
“Who taught you?”
“My mother was a seamstress for one of the theaters on Broadway, and so she was really good at getting everything to fit perfectly no matter their body shape or size,” I reply. “She still sews, but now she does it for herself.”
“Have you ever considered starting your own fashion line? You could totally pull it off,” Kodi says and I laugh.
“Yeah, right. When? In my sleep? Besides, such things are so expensive to get off the ground.” I sit on the edge of the bed and slip on my shoes, patent leather Mary Janes that’ll go well with my dress. “So, anyway, what happens when we break up? Aren’t we just setting everyone else to be disappointed?”
Kodi’s brow furrows. “It’s not like we’re taking out a full-page announcement.”
“I know that. But I don’t want to hurt anyone, Kodi. Whatever happens with my work, I’m a big girl. I can handle it.”
Kodi gets down on his haunches in front of the bed and holds my hands on my lap. “Yet you were crying when I arrived, Roxy, and I don’t want you to face this alone,” Kodi says quietly. “You put up a good front, but this isn’t your fault. It’s mine. Because of me, you got in trouble at work and that’s not right.”
“If I get fired, I’ll bring it up with my union rep. They have no grounds to fire me anyway... unless being an Internet meme is a fire-able offense.”
“We’ll be engaged just long enough to change the narrative about your walk of shame and get people to stop talking about you,” he says. “At least, they’ll stop saying the nasty things they’re saying about one of the most amazing and fun people I know, who can make some mean cocktails, and looks great in everything.”
I roll my eyes. “You forgot to add beautiful.”
“I know,” Kodi says, grinning. “I didn’t want it all to go to your head.”
Half an hour later and feeling wide awake thanks to a large cup of coffee and pure adrenalin, Kodi and I walk into a family-owned jewelry store on Austin Street to choose an engagement ring.
At first, I pick out the most modest ring out of practicality, one that features two hands holding a heart that has a crown above it. Besides, this is all temporary anyway. But Kodi chooses a vintage-style platinum ring with a crown of baguette and pavé-set diamonds surrounding a large round diamond. I don’t even want to know the price because there aren’t any listed in the whole shop.
“If we want everyone to see that we’re engaged, then we need a real ring.”
“You mean a big one.”
&nb
sp; “Yes.”
I sigh. “Well, if I’m going to wear an engagement ring for the next two weeks, I might as well wear one I actually like, right?”
“Right.” Kodi starts to slip the ring around my finger but pauses and looks at me. “Unless you have a better plan..”
I shake my head. “Not really.”
“Then I guess the next question is, Miss Roxy Porter, will you marry me?”
I smile, trying hard not to giggle. “Yes, Mr. Donovan. I will marry you.”
As the two brothers who own the shop congratulate us from behind the counter, it suddenly hits me that this is real. I’m officially engaged to Kodi Donovan. And from this moment on, it’s show time.
Chapter Seven
The first thing we do to be “seen” is have breakfast in the city. Kodi takes me to one of his favorite places in Lower Manhattan known for serving their eggs en cocotte, where eggs are baked and then served in small dishes together with toast ‘soldiers.’
The place is buzzing with activity as well as people he knows who apparently come in regularly. Before long, friends wish us congratulations, and I get to show off my ring until our food arrives.
We talk about his latest trip, the things he did and the things he still needs to do. He’s glad that he’s home and even considers this trip to be his last one in a while.
“I’ve been traveling for two years straight and honestly, there’s more work that needs to be done here like raising money and awareness,” he says as I take a sip of my second cup of coffee. “Everything else is in place abroad, from the staff to the manpower.”
“So what are your plans now? I mean, you just got back. Surely you plan on relaxing a bit.”
“Work is never done,” he replies, chuckling. “What about you? Do you see yourself as a nurse in the next five years?”
I set down my cup. “I only have a few more months left before I get all my student loans paid off and then I can live out loud and proud. Maybe see the world or something.”