Faking It

by Jennifer Crusie

  “I know,” Tilda said. “The thing is, they’re usually right.”

  “I know,” Nadine said. “But his dad runs this huge furniture store, and Kyle really knows what he’s doing. He’s not fooling around.”

  “You’re dating him for his furniture store?” Tilda said.

  “He could teach me a lot,” Nadine said. “I’m thinking about retail as a career.”

  “Nadine, it’s not a good idea to date as a career move.”

  Nadine raised her eyebrows. “And you’re not dating Davy to get your paintings back?”

  “I’m not dating Davy at all.”

  “You’re just sleeping with him.”

  “Only in the literal sense,” Tilda said. “We’re not lovers.”

  Nadine looked through the window at Davy. “Why not?”

  Tilda followed her eyes to where Davy was looking at something in a newspaper Ethan was showing him. He looked sure and strong and hot.

  And very Federal.

  “I have my reasons,” Tilda said.

  Davy shook his head at Ethan, and they came out to the street to hand her a sheet of newspaper.

  “I was spreading them out so we could paint inside,” Ethan said to Tilda. “And that name jumped out.”

  He pointed to a want ad that said “Scarlet Hodge” in inch-high letters, and Tilda clutched it to look closer. “Wanted: any paintings by Scarlet Hodge,” the copy underneath read and gave a phone number. Tilda looked up at Davy. “Mason?” The word came out on a wheeze.

  “Or Clea.” Davy pulled the top of the paper up so he could read the date. “It’s Wednesday’s paper. Thank God Colby doesn’t read the want ads.”

  “I hope none of them do,” Tilda said. “Or they’re going to be really mad.” She tried to pull air into her lungs but they were too tight, and when she felt in her pocket for her inhaler, it wasn’t there. She drew in another shallow breath.

  Davy took the paper from her, folded it up, and handed it back to Ethan. “That’s all right. Somebody’s always mad at me.” He hauled her to her feet and turned her toward the door. “Go get your inhaler before you pass out. We’re going to be fine.”

  “But—” Tilda began and then stopped. He’d said “we’re.” We’re going to be fine.

  “Miracle man,” Davy said, pointing to himself. “Go breathe. We have work to do.”

  “Right,” Tilda said and went to get her inhaler, feeling comforted.

  BY THE NEXT DAY, the outside of the gallery was scraped and ready to paint, the inside had a first coat on and no longer looked like a flophouse, and Davy was feeling not only a sense of accomplishment, but real anticipation. The place would be a gold mine for a gifted grifter; the possibilities were endless. And from what Gwen had told him about the art field, the possibilities weren’t even illegal. It wasn’t even a game of chance. It was like playing poker with the Goodnights.

  “So there’s a poker game tonight,” Simon said, coming into the gallery and interrupting his thoughts.

  “Yes,” Davy said. “Every Sunday. And except for Tilda, they’re all terrible players. Try not to take their money.”

  “Why, so you can?” Simon said. “Doesn’t matter. I’m just in it for Louise.”

  “It’s Sunday night,” Davy said. “Louise is gone on Sundays.”

  “No, she’s staying over,” Simon said, smiling.

  “She showed up last night, huh?” Davy said. “Congratulations. I’ve never seen you wait around for a woman before. This must be the one.”

  “Not even close,” Simon said. “She’s skilled, but—”

  “Not somebody you’d want to marry?” Davy said. “Imagine my surprise.”

  “I’m never getting married,” Simon said. “I’m a cad, remember?”

  “As are we all,” Davy said, watching the gallery door open.

  It was Kyle, looking very natty in a shirt and jacket, come to pick up Nadine.

  “Kyle,” Davy said genially, thinking, This kid is definitely up to no good. “Date tonight?”

  Kyle nodded. “Nadine wants to see the store after business hours,” he said, smiling a little. “She wants to see everything.”

  “She’s very career oriented,” Davy said, disliking Kyle even more. He’d seen that smile before. In his mirror.

  A few moments later, Andrew and Jeff came in from the street, carrying grocery bags.

  “Sunday-night-poker food,” Jeff said cheerfully. “It’s the only reason I play the game.”

  Andrew slowed as he saw Kyle. “You’re here to pick up Nadine?”

  “Yes, sir.” Kyle stuck out his hand like a gentleman. “I’m Kyle Winstock. Of Winstock Furniture.”

  Andrew shook it, looking deeply suspicious. “I’ll tell Nadine you’re here.”

  “Thank you, sir,” Kyle said, his smile fading. He looked around at the four of them and added, “I’ll wait outside.”

  When he was gone, the four men looked at each other.

  “Doughnut,” Davy said.

  “Absolute doughnut,” Jeff said.

  “My daughter has an affinity for doughnuts,” Andrew said.

  “What?” Simon said.

  “Two kinds of men in the world,” Davy told him. “Good guys and the guys who are only after one thing. Good guys are muffins and—”

  “He’s a doughnut,” Simon said.

  “Is Mace illegal?” Andrew said. “I know Gwennie keeps some behind the counter.”

  “Why don’t we just talk to Nadine?” Jeff said, once again the voice of reason.

  “You go,” Davy said. “We’ll wait here.”

  When they were gone, Simon said, “Nadine is not the person I’d converse with on this.”

  “Shall we?” Davy gestured to the street where Kyle waited.

  “After you,” Simon said and followed him out.

  “Kyle, old boy,” Simon said when they were outside, and Kyle turned around, his face a polite mask. “A word with you.”

  “Yes, sir?” Kyle smiled at them, citizen of the year.

  “About Nadine,” Davy said. “Make a move and we’ll break all your fingers.”

  Kyle’s smile froze in place.

  “You see, Kyle,” Simon said, still affable, “we know you.”

  “Hell, Kyle,” Davy said, “we are you.”

  “And we care deeply for Nadine’s health and happiness,” Simon went on. “We are, if you will, honorary uncles.”

  “With police records,” Davy added helpfully.

  “Uh,” Kyle said.

  “So we wanted your assurances,” Simon said, “that Nadine will have a pleasant evening.”

  “That won’t involve her Macing you,” Davy said.

  “Because we would take it amiss.” Simon smiled at him.

  “Which is where the broken lingers would come in.” Davy smiled, too.

  “Uh,” Kyle said again, and Nadine came out of the gallery.

  “I’m ready,” she said brightly, looking like a present waiting to be unwrapped.

  “Touch her and die,” Davy said to Kyle softly.

  “Great,” Kyle said, looking from Davy to Simon and back.

  Nadine looked at them, too, suspicion dawning in her eyes. She took Kyle’s arm and said, “I forgot to tell you, do not talk to these guys.”

  “Uh-huh,” Kyle said and let her steer him toward his car, casting one wary look back over his shoulder as they went.

  “I feel fairly good about that,” Simon said.

  “Me, too,” Davy said. “We’ve got an hour before poker. How about a drink?”

  “After you, old boy,” Simon said, opening the door. “Are you really going to break his fingers?”

  “Nah, I’ll let Nadine do it,” Davy said, seeing Tilda through the office door. “These Goodnight women are nobody to mess with.”

  THAT NIGHT the poker game got two new players: Louise and Ford. Ford was exactly the poker player that Davy had figured him for —alert, smart, and ruthless— but he sat down at the
table with a handicap: Gwennie. His concentration was fine until she’d move or speak and then, for a moment, he’d be gone. Davy was torn between interest in the situation in general and concern for Gwen in particular. He didn’t know who Ford was, but he was certain he wasn’t a fuzzy bunny.

  Of course, neither was Gwennie, all appearances to the contrary. There were those teeth, for example.

  Louise provided the other wrinkle. She distracted Simon so Davy had no competition there —Simon would have gratefully turned over his entire wallet if he could have gotten her upstairs immediately— but something about her was bothering everybody else, too, except for Jeff. Davy was developing a fine appreciation for Jeff; he was like the control in an experimental group of reality-challenged divas. Louise was also distracted, much more interested in Simon than she was in her cards, and the result was that after four hands, Davy was annoyed. He didn’t mind winning if there was some skill involved, but with all the tension at the table, he could have just reached over and taken their money and they wouldn’t have noticed. Even Tilda, he noted with disgust. They were starting their fifth hand, and he was about ready to quit and go play pool when Nadine came in, her face stormy. Davy tried to look innocent, but Nadine honed in on him with eyes like blue-white lasers. It was like having Tilda mad at him. He felt right at home.

  “You’re back early,” Andrew said as he dealt the cards.

  Gwennie reached up and patted Nadine as she came to stand beside her. “Didn’t it go well, honey?”

  “It would have gone better,” Nadine said, staring at Davy, “if somebody hadn’t threatened my date.”

  Gwen looked at Ford, who looked back at her, calm as ever, while Davy ignored Nadine to pick up his cards. A queen, a nine, a six with a four and a deuce showing. Garbage.

  “Davy?” Tilda said from beside him.

  “Not my bet,” Davy said. “Gwennie’s up.”

  “About the date,” Louise said, turning to look at Simon. “Which one of you—”

  “They both did,” Nadine said, transferring her scowl from Davy to Simon and back to Davy. “They said they’d beat him up.”

  “Davy,” Tilda said.

  Davy put his cards down. “We did not say we’d beat him up. Exactly. And it was necessary. That kid was up to no good.”

  “No doubt about it,” Simon said.

  “Bring home a good one,” Davy said to Nadine, “and we won’t interfere.”

  “I get to decide who the good ones are,” Nadine said.

  “I don’t think so,” Davy said. “You picked out Burton and Kyle.”

  “Daddy,” Nadine said. “Talk to them.”

  Andrew lifted his chin. “Nadine is allowed to date whomever she wants as long as he’s not over eighteen and doesn’t have a police record.”

  Ouch, Davy thought, watching Simon try not to flinch. Ford remained impassive.

  “And we never interfere in her life because we trust her and admire her,” Andrew said.

  Nadine nodded.

  “Except for this time because that kid really was up to no good.” Andrew stuck his thumb up. “Way to go, guys.”

  “Thank you,” Davy said. “We’re playing poker, Nadine. It’s a game of chance, much like the way you date. Go get your piggy bank.”

  “Wait a minute,” Louise said, sounding fiercely maternal, “is this a Poor Baby?” and Nadine shook her head.

  “They’re right,” she said, pulling over a chair. “He was awful about music. He’d never heard of Dusty Springfield, if you can believe it.”

  “Told you,” Davy said to Tilda.

  “Could we play poker?” Simon said, and the rest of the table turned to look at him.

  “In a hurry, old boy?” Davy said. “Just shove your money across the table to me. That’s where it’s going anyway.”

  “First, you promise never to do that again,” Nadine said to him. “To my dates, I mean.”

  “What good would promising do?” Davy said. “I lie. You in this game or not?”

  “I’m in,” Nadine said.

  Davy threw his cards in the middle. “Redeal, Andrew. Your daughter wants in so she can give me her allowance.”

  Andrew gathered up the cards again. “And you had a lousy hand.”

  “That, too,” Davy said.

  “So did I,” Andrew said. “Toss your cards in, ladies and gentlemen. It’s a new deal.”

  “That also is not fair,” Tilda said, but she gave Andrew her cards.

  “Of course not, honey,” Davy said, rubbing her shoulder. “You’re playing with me.”

  Andrew dealt again and Davy watched them all pick up their cards, more from force of habit than from any real interest. He was going to win anyway unless Nadine decided to take her vengeance with cards, and even then—

  Across from him, Louise tapped her finger on one of her cards three times and sighed.

  Davy put his cards down and stared.

  “What?” Eve said to him from behind Louise’s contacts.

  “I’m out,” Davy said, standing up. “And so is Tilda.”

  “What?” Tilda said. “Hey, I—”

  “Now, Betty,” Davy said. “Say good night to the family.”

  Tilda looked up at him. “Good night,” she said to her staring family, and he led her through the door and up the three flights of stairs to her room.

  “About Louise,” he said when the door was closed behind them.

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Tilda said. “That’s what this is about? Look, I know she’s practically devouring Simon at the table, but she’s perfectly sane, she won’t jump him. There’s no reason—”

  “Louise is perfectly Eve,” Davy said. “ ‘It’s the same dame.’”

  Tilda went still.

  “That’s a movie quote,” Davy said.

  “I know it’s a—”

  “From The Lady Eve,” Davy said. “Louise’s favorite movie. How dumb am I?”

  Tilda’s crazy blue eyes widened as she looked up at him, and he thought, Here comes a lie.

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said. “Eve’s at a class. Meeting. Thing.”

  “When will you learn?” Davy said. “You do many things well, Matilda, but you cannot lie to me. Give it up.”

  “No, really,” Tilda said.

  “No, really,” Davy said. “Face it, once somebody’s on to it, she can’t pull it off anymore. It’s a miracle she’s managed it this long.”

  Tilda sighed. “Well, she only had to fool you and Simon,” she said, letting her eyes go back to normal. “She kept Louise away from you and Eve away from Simon and neither one of you was paying much attention.”

  “Simon is not going to be happy about this.”

  “You can’t tell him,” Tilda said, sounding shocked. “It’s none of your business.”

  “Well, somebody’s got to tell him,” Davy said.

  “Why?” Tilda said, and Davy didn’t have an answer. “Look, once Simon finds out she’s Eve, it’s over for them. Eve is real, not Louise. They can’t exist in the same world. Plus Simon has that stupid mother rule. How does he think women become mothers?”

  Davy sat down on the bed. “Okay, I’m not used to being the voice of sanity in the room, so bear with me here, but has it occurred to you that Eve might need some therapy?”

  “No,” Tilda said. “Eve knows perfectly well who she is. She’s a single mother who’s helping to keep a roof over her family’s head while dealing with the fact that the great love of her life is living with another guy. Eve can’t do the things that Louise does because Eve has to be practical. But four nights a week, Louise does the Double Take and for those nights, Eve is free.” She frowned. “Which means she should be gone because it’s Sunday. It’s driving us all crazy. She’s breaking her own rules.”

  “It’s not healthy,” Davy said. “Maybe this should be group therapy. Family rates.”

  “You’re overreacting.” Tilda sat down beside him. “Look, did you e
ver go to Mardi Gras?”

  “Yeah,” Davy said cautiously.

  “Well, Eve has her own Mardi Gras Thursday through Sunday. She just does a better mask than most.”

  “Doesn’t she ever get confused?”

  “No. People think that wearing masks makes them different, but what happens is they become the people they were meant to be. Without the mask, they’re Eves, doing the right thing, sacrificing for others. With the masks they’re Louises, completely themselves, without guilt. They can do anything. It’s that transformation thing.” She smiled slightly, her lips curving like a wistful secret, and Davy sucked in his breath and wanted her more than he thought possible.

  “Tell me you have a Louise,” he said, “because I would really like to buy her a drink.”

  “Very funny,” Tilda said, looking away. “I don’t do that.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of,” Davy said. “Does Nadine know?”

  “Of course Nadine knows,” Tilda said. “Everybody knows. Except you and Simon.”

  “And Nadine is all right with it?”

  “Why not?” Tilda said. “Louise isn’t a drug addict or a drunk or a child abuser. She’s just another set of clothes.”

  “That sleeps with Simon.”

  Tilda shrugged. “Well, as Gwennie always says, if you can’t be a good example, you’ll just have to be a horrible warning.”

  “Ah,” Davy said. “The Michael Dempsey School of Parenting. I’m going to tell Simon.”

  “You think he’s going to thank you?” Tilda said, sounding exasperated.

  “I don’t—”

  “You think he’s going to say, ‘Thanks, buddy, for screwing me out of the best sex of my life’?”

  “That’s not—”

  “Face it,” Tilda said. “You want to tell him because it’s the right thing for you to do, not the right thing for him to hear.”

  Davy frowned at her. “So I’m a selfish bastard for wanting to do the right thing?”

  “Yes,” Tilda said.

  “I know that’s wrong.” Davy stood up. “Let me get back to you on why.”

  “Well, until then, keep your mouth shut,” Tilda said. “You honest people can make life hell for everybody else.”

  ON MONDAY morning, having finally accepted that the gallery was going to be restored whether she helped or not, Gwen moved the stepladder to the side wall and climbed up, determined to hammer that damn piece of ceiling tin back into place once and for all. Of course the ceilings had to be a mile high. Tony had explained to her that it was because the artwork had to breathe. Well, the damn artwork should have put the ceiling back then. She climbed up as high as she could go, held the hammer by the very end, and took a whack at it, but she overbalanced and dropped the hammer, grabbing the ladder at the last minute and swinging her weight to the left to stop it from toppling. When she had her breath back, she realized she hadn’t heard the hammer hit the floor and looked down.