The Pretend Girlfriend (20 page)

"Hi, mom," Gwen said.

"Hello indeed! Do you know what your Aunt Virginia just finished telling me on the phone?"

Gwen stuck her elbow against the desk and planted her chin in her palm. She stared at the picture of Big Ben, wishing she could just concentrate hard enough and find herself in London. Having an entire ocean between her and her life right at that moment sounded pretty good.

"I don't know, mom, something about watching paint dry?"

Her Aunt Virginia was her mother's oldest sister. A dull old spinster who enjoyed being surrounded by cats and spent most of her time trolling Facebook for interesting bits of family gossip she could use to stir people up.

"You don't have to be like that, Gwenny. And actually, she says that you've taken up with a new boy. Why didn't you tell me!? Virginia says your father knows. What possible reason could there be for you to tell him and not me?"

Gwen loved the way her mom worded that, as though she was in junior high trying to hide a boyfriend after being told she wasn't allowed to date until her senior year of high school or something. Gwen swore, if a person were to go by her parents' description of her, they would think she was an airheaded teenager.

She stared up at the ceiling.
This is my punishment for not using my time to get my paper done, isn't it?
She was squandering her time pining about a boy rather than doing what she knew she should, and this was the universe trying to set her back on track.

"I didn't want to tell him, either..."

"What? Why?"

Gwen stood up and started pacing. "Because I knew this was how you'd react."

"Gwendolyn! I have a right to know what's going on in your life..."

"And I have a right to choose when and if I want to tell you!" Gwen said. Her voice had more bite to it than she'd intended, and she knew she was taking out her frustrations on her mother, who, despite her nosiness, really did just want to be included in her daughter's life.

"Well then," her mother said after a moment's pause, "Does this have anything to do with all the rumors?"

The sinking feeling in Gwen's stomach forced her to sit down on the foot of her bed. "What rumors?"

Rick couldn't have gotten that bit up online already, could he have?

"Virginia told me there are pictures of you and this boy all over the internet! People are saying things about you."

Pictures?
Gwen wondered. Then she remembered all those cameras at the charity event at that Hilton. Her stomach twisted as she thought of how they might be captioned, and what the people she knew thought of the whole thing.

I must look like a gold digger or something.

"Is he a nice boy, at least?" her mother said.

"Man, mom; he's a man. Please stop calling him a boy." Nothing like being infantilized by your parents. She wondered at what point your parents were supposed to stop thinking of you as the little kid they walked to Kindergarten.

"Fine. Is he a nice
man
?"

"Yes, yes he is," Gwen said. And she meant it. No matter what else you said about Aiden, you had to agree with that. Nobody could do all that charity work without official support from his company and not be a good person, somewhere deep inside.

That thought rid her of some of the anxiety and worry stewing inside her. It made all the effort on her part seem at least partly worthwhile.

"And you really like him?" her mother asked.

"Yeah, mom, I do."

And she meant it. The real question, the million dollar question, was whether he liked her, too.

A
fter that call, Gwen surprised herself by banging out an introductory paragraph and the first few sentences of her initial argument. She ran out of steam around lunch, stood up, and performed a well-deserved stretch. Her back and shoulders ached from sitting in the opposite-of-ergonomic office chair at her desk.

She'd just pulled out the can opener and a can of chicken noodle soup when her cell rang. This time it was Aiden's name listed on the caller ID.

She couldn't help feeling the thrill of excitement. Admitting her feelings out loud earlier to her mother had a recharging effect on her, it seemed. Once more, he was the handsome mystery man just waiting to be figured out. She'd found the chink in his armor once already, and she wanted another crack at it.

"Hey!" she said, smiling.

"Do you like racing?" He replied.

"I once ran a half marathon sophomore year of high school," Gwen said. She could practically see his frown. She knew that wasn't the sort of answer he was looking for, but she was feeling playful.

"Maybe I should re-phrase. Do you enjoy watching horse racing?"

"Well... all that running does get my throat a little dry," Gwen said, proud of spinning is words into a pun.

"Also not what I meant," Aiden said. The exasperation in his voice tickled her. And was it just her imagination, or did she hear a hint of some amusement from his end of the line, too? Perhaps this wasn't such a bad day, after all.

"Yeah, yeah. I don't know, okay? I've never actually been. I thought
Sea Biscuit
was a pretty good movie. Why? Did you buy a horse or something?"

Wasn't that something rich people did, buy horses and yachts and houses?

"No, but I am hosting an event, and I'd like you to attend it with me."

Well that was new. He wasn't demanding, wasn't telling her to just be ready in fifteen minutes for the car. He wanted her to. That, to her, meant that she could decline.

Not that she intended to. Though he didn't need to know that. Not yet, at least. She hopped up onto the counter, her legs dangling until she locked her ankles together.

"Actually, I do have this important essay I need to write..." she said.

"Oh, well then, I won't keep you. Bye," Aiden said.

Gwen hopped down off the counter, raising her hand as though he could somehow see it. "Wait!"

Aiden chuckled. She'd been expecting to get one over on him there, but he'd seen right through her and reversed it. "Changing your mind?" He asked.

"I really do have a paper I need to write, you know. But yeah, I'll come. Just so long as there's food, anyway." That can of chicken noodle soup looked less appetizing by the minute.

"Why is it you always seem hungry when I try to get a hold of you?"

Gwen was really enjoying this. It felt good to flirt with him. Natural, even. She could tell they had a connection. Chemistry. If only Aiden would let it grow into something more.

"I don't know. Maybe you don't pay me enough," Gwen said. Her heart lurched as soon as she realized what it was she'd said.

The flirty mood disappeared. She could feel it dropping from his end of the line.

"Apparently not," he replied, his tone reserved once more, "And yes, there will be food. I'll have the car come by your place in an hour. Please wear something nice. It's not black tie, but no jeans or anything like that. Okay?"

Gwen rubbed at her eyes with thumb and forefinger. Why did I have to say that? Stupid, stupid! "Yes, your majesty," she replied.

Aiden hung up.

***

I
t was a nice day to be outside. The afternoon had really warmed up, and not a single cloud obscured the apparently limitless depth of the blue sky. Gwen leaned against the banister that ringed the upper level of the main building as she looked down at the track.

It was just outside the city, nestled off the highway within what looked like some sort of artisanal farms perfectly preserved to look as they'd appeared a hundred years or so ago.

The sweetness of the countryside lingered in the air, like the notes of a fine wine. And, away from the constant buzz of the city, Gwen could actually make out the sounds of that breeze rustling through the fields.

The whole place smelled earthy, the dirt a rich scent. It also, of course, smelled vaguely of what Gwen assumed to be horse. She'd never really been a horse girl. She knew that many women, and especially young girls, were perceived to just love horses for whatever reason.

From this vantage point, she could see back behind to gate to where the horses waited. They all had colorful numbers hanging down off their sides (flanks?) and ranged in color from mostly white, to a sandy dun, to the shiny black that she associated with expensive luxury cars.

There was a certain allure to the beasts. They looked large and graceful, especially with the tiny jockeys standing around them.

There had been relatively little fanfare at their arrival. Their limo dropped them off in front of this building and then circled around to go wherever it was limos went when their owners weren't riding inside them. Gwen was fine without the notoriety. She'd quickly grown tired of the flashing cameras and microphones.

This was a private event, apparently. Organized by Aiden and held at a track owned by one of his friends. It was open to the public during most of the season, but today was the domain of the wealthy.

And there were plenty of them around. They were dressed mostly casually: khakis and polos for the men, sundresses for the women. Gwen was sure their dresses cost more than her rent. At least. It was funny, the sheerer a piece of clothing was, the less fabric that went into making it, the more expensive it was.

She counted herself lucky for pulling out a sundress herself, and a pair of comfortable flats that were Wal-Mart knock-offs of much more expensive ones. The breeze ruffled the light fabric of the dress around her legs.

Ever since meeting Aiden, she'd been wearing dresses a lot more. She'd always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of girl before this, reserving dresses for certain events. It was nice, actually, having more reasons to put one on. No other boyfriend had given her so many excuses to do so. Dresses were pretty, and freeing. She'd never really thought about just how it felt to constantly have pant legs constantly touching your skin.

Aiden came up beside her, arriving in her peripheral vision. Her comment about money still weighed heavily on both their minds, and they hadn't really spoken except for Aiden telling her just what was going on.

"Here," he said, offering her a glass. It was lemonade, with ice cubes clinking around against the glass. It sweated in the sunlight. Gwen took a sip. Sweetened just right. And made of real lemon, too, she bet. Nothing powdered or from-concentrate for people like this.

Aiden also had a glass of lemonade. A bead of condensation dripped from the bottom to splash in an irregular circle on the floor.

"Thanks," she replied. She'd meant to turn away again, but didn't.

In the darkness of the limo, she hadn't really gotten a good look at him. And they hadn't exactly been staring at one-another after getting out.

He was attired similarly to the rest of the guys in attendance: khakis and a polo, brown shoes to match his belt. She'd seen him in casual wear once before, but this was different.

He looked good. The shirt emphasized his shoulders, the V-shape of his torso. And the cuffs of the short sleeves hugged his biceps. She wondered if he'd ever played sports at school.

"Do I have a thread?" he said, looking at his shoulders.

He was, of course, referencing their first meeting at the party in Manhattan, where the black dress she'd worn had a thread coming out of the shoulder strap. A thread he'd so kindly plucked.

Gwen set her glass down on the banister and then lightly brushed his shoulders. When she finished, she didn't take her hands away. "No," she said.

Gwen became keenly aware of the gentle rise and fall of his shoulders as he breathed, and then of how that action stopped when he looked down at her. The world quieted around them.

"You look good, too. Dresses suit your figure," he said.

Unconsciously, their bodies drew closer together, not quite touching. But close enough that she felt the electricity building between them, trying to draw them together.

"I dress to impress," she said, relieved. It seemed he'd moved past that little faux pas on the phone.

Then he pulled away and stood by the banister. He eyed the horses. Some big shiny black one flicked its tail and whinnied loudly as the jockey adjusted a saddle strap.

"So... You like the horses?" he said, shoving his free hand into his pocket.

Gwen picked her glass up from the banister, leaving behind a rough circle of moisture. She took another sip without really tasting it. Frustration buzzed in her chest. It was every time. Every time anything happened that felt genuine, Aiden shut it down.

That's fine, she thought, if he wants to play it this way, we can play that way. "They're okay. Very... furry? And big. Do you think they like running around with those little men on their backs?"

"It's what they were born to do," Aiden said.

"That doesn't mean they like it. Or that they should do it." Her frustration was coming out as an argumentative streak.

"If you have to do something, it doesn't matter if you like it. Besides, they get to run. Horses were born to run, whether there's something on their backs or not. The philosopher Aristotle said that a happy, good life comes from fulfilling your purpose, what you were born to do. Horses run," Aiden said.

Gwen's comeback fizzled at the back of her throat. Was Aiden trying to convince her, or himself?

"And what were you born to do?" she said.

Aiden's shoulders heaved in a sigh even a crusty old Greek philosopher would have to consider heavy with meaning. He started to speak, but someone interrupted him.

"Aiden, you dog! Is this the vision that's been gracing the tabloids? How'd you convince her to start something? I'll bet you opened your checkbook..."

Both Aiden and Gwen turned to face the newcomer. He was a young man, about Aiden's age. The two of them were of a height. In a certain light, they might have been taken for brothers. Or perhaps cousins.

Except where Aiden exuded a sort of quiet reserve, this guy was anything but. Gwen decided that "animated" was the best word to describe him. A big grin split his handsome features, and his hair was arranged just so to look as though he'd just rolled out of bed and come out this handsome.