Just Fake It Read online

  I’m grimacing at the plate, imagining the talkback I’m going to get from my cherubic four-year old, when suddenly I hear a low voice grumble, “I’ll take it.”

  I look up. Hottie is hunched over a cup of black coffee. He’s looking at me, motioning me forward, his lips curled up in a mischievous little smile that does a number on my heart. I can’t tell if he means to help me or devour me, but either way, I find myself moving toward him as if pulled by a string. He probably has this effect on every girl.

  When I’m right across the counter from him, I remember the meatloaf. “You want this?”

  He nods. “Sure thing.”

  I set it in front of him, smiling, unable to meet his eyes. God, he has green eyes. Like emeralds, framed in dark lashes. I’ve never seen anything so mesmerizing. “Well. Thanks.”

  “Hey. Girl!”

  I cringe. Table twelve again. Right, they’d wanted their water filled.

  Hot guy looks over his shoulder at them, his look very similar to what I feel. “Don’t let them get to you,” he says. “They’re fucking with you. They’re just looking to get that rise.”

  Well, at least I have one ally in the place.

  I smile at him. “Thanks.”

  I go and grab a pitcher and as I’m sweeping out from behind the counter, stand on my tip-toes to see if Brandon has gotten his grilled cheese yet. When I get to the table, I lift a glass and manage to politely spit out, “That burger will be right up. How’s everything else?”

  “Shitty as usual,” one of the men says between bites of his BLT. “But we didn’t expect much.”

  And fuck you, too, I think, taking another glass. “Well, we welcome comments on how we can improve,” I say with a tight smile. “And thank you for your patronage.”

  One of the men laughs. “I could write a novel on how this place could improve, baby.”

  Just then, I hear Brandon’s blood-curdling shriek from the kitchen. I whirl, miss the glass I’m pouring into.

  Before I can realize what I’m doing and catch myself, a sheet of water falls right into red-cap’s lap.

  He jumps to his feet, screaming bloody murder.

  Every eye in the place falls on us.

  And holy shit.

  I’m in some deep trouble.

  Chapter 2

  My shoulders slump as red-cap asks to speak with my manager. Of course, he wants to talk to my manager. He’s probably never had a stink he didn’t raise straight up to the President of the United States.

  He looks ridiculous, standing there with a wet spot on his chinos, like he couldn’t control his bladder. That doesn’t really help me feel any happier about this situation.

  “You’re a danger to society, sweetheart. I wouldn’t let you wait on my dog, much less a human being.” He crosses his arms, speaking so loudly that no one in the restaurant misses a word he’s saying. “What if that had been a hot drink?”

  Then you would’ve gotten your dick fried and I’d have been a lot happier, I think, sighing. “I can only say I’m sorry so many times,” I say.

  He snorts. “Let me guess. You’re an actress? Well, take it from me, sweets, if you act as well as you waitress, I’d never let you set foot in a studio again.”

  My ire is rising. I know I’m a good actress. But that’s not what I’m looking for these days. No, my priorities shifted the second I found out I was pregnant with Brandon. I don’t know if it’s bitterness or exhaustion that overcomes me, but it just slips out: “I don’t really give a shit what you think,” I mutter.

  The group around the table starts to murmur.

  “Whoa,” Red cap says. “Do you know who I am?”

  I shake my head. And I don’t really care, either. Though I get the feeling he’s going to tell me, and it’s going to make me care. He probably owns the building where my rent is due, or is mayor of this city, or has something else he can hold over me that’ll make my situation infinitely worse than it already is. And I didn’t think that was possible. “I’ll just get the manager for you.”

  As I’m whirling to go fetch Jeb, I hear a voice say, “Gentlemen, what seems to be the problem?”

  Jeb is approaching. Jeb, who is nearly seven feet tall and built like the Incredible Hulk. From the way he’s glaring at me, I think he might have heard the whole exchange.

  “Your waitress,” red cap says. “We’ve been coming here from Emblem every week, but this is the first time we’ve had such sub-par service.”

  Red cap gives me a look icier than Jeb’s, and the rest of his group snickers.

  “I apologized. I don’t know what else I can do,” I explain to Jeb quietly.

  Jeb says, “Maybe you can start by taking the words I don’t give a shit what you think out of your vocabulary? You’re dealing with customers. Your business is giving a shit what they think.”

  I cringe. Yeah. Well, that’s true. “But—"

  “No buts, Bev. This is the fourth time we’ve had this discussion in so many weeks.”

  “Four?” Red cap shouts in exasperation, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. “Jesus! And you still keep her around? You’ve been more than generous to her, old man. But eventually you’ve got to realize this is just business and cut loose the dead weight.”

  Jeb looks at me sadly. “Yes, well . . . Bev’s a good . . .”

  “You know what?” the man says, standing up. Geez, he’s even shorter than I am, and I’m no giant at five-six. “How about this? You’re the only diner in the area and I want to see you succeed. We’ll forget this ever happened and just carry on business as usual . . . as long as you get rid of Miss Incompetence over here. It’ll be doing both of us a favor. Trust me.”

  I stare at him, horrified.

  Jeb swallows, stroking his jaw and assessing me. “Well. You know, Bev, they are right. You never really got a hang of this serving business, have you?” He titters a little.

  Sure, side with them. The customer is always right, I guess. My face heats. The whole crowded restaurant has dissolved into silence. Every eye on the place is on me, colder than the Arctic. I glance toward the back of the restaurant and see Ava and Brandon, standing in the doorway. Great, now Brandon will see mommy get fired. “Yes, but . . .”

  “Fuck no. They’re not right,” a voice says behind me. I turn to see hottie striding forward. He’s easily a foot taller than the guy with the red cap, a Goliath to his David, staring him down with those intense eyes. “This waitress is the reason I come in here. She’s the best one you have. These a-holes have just been giving her shit the whole time because she had the common sense to turn them down when they hit on her.”

  Red cap stares up at him, his brow wrinkled. Is it me, or is there some recognition there? Someone mutters something under his breath that sounds like, “Avignon.”

  I wait for red cap to tell him to go to hell, but he just pulls off his cap, and screws it on his head, tighter. Then he steps away and looks at his boys. “Come on guys. Let’s go.”

  The rest of the men get up and file out, leaving a table of half-eaten meals, slathered in ketchup and grease. Of course, they didn’t pay the check, so that’s eight meals I’ll have to eat.

  But I don’t care. At least they’re gone. And I still have my job. I think.

  Whew. Crisis averted.

  I stare after them as they disappear in the direction of Emblem, wondering what the hell just happened. Jeb looks similarly confused. We look back at the hot guy, who’s loping back to his counter as if he didn’t single-handedly make those eight guys turn tail and run. Who is he? Some kind of superhero? Does he work for Emblem, too? Have I ever seen him before?

  Jeb goes back to his grill without another word to me.

  I see Ava and Brandon at the counter, so I go up to them. “Whoa, that was intense,” Ava whispers.

  I shrug and give Brandon a kiss as I tighten his jacket over his body. “I’ll see you back home, later. We’ll have a good dinner together, okay, sweets?”

 
He nods excitedly, and I know there’s no way in hell I’ll feed him meatloaf. I’ll find a way to get him some pizza or something he likes. Somehow.

  When my son and sister leave, I turn around and walk behind the counter. I fill hottie’s cup with coffee, even though it’s still half-full. His head is down, nose buried in his phone, and his dark hair is every-which-way and spiky over his caramel forehead. I kind of want to touch it, sweep it back. But I restrain myself. “Thank you.”

  He doesn’t look up. He lets out a low grunt and continues to scroll through his phone.

  Okay. Maybe he’s busy. So I add: “Even though what you said is a big fat lie. I’ve never served you before.”

  He shrugs, eyes still plastered on his phone. “So what? Those assholes deserved it. I saw what they were doing. That’s not the way they should be acting, and I get the feeling that if the President of Emblem saw, he’d put them all out on their ears, union or not.”

  I smile. I’ve been in this town just over five years and I can count on one hand the truly nice, thoughtful people I’ve met. I’m so taken by him I nearly forget I’m holding a full carafe of coffee. The last thing I need now is to let that spill. Then I really will be the worst waitress on the planet. “Well. Thanks again.”

  I think that’s the end, so I start to walk away when he says, suddenly, “Are you?”

  I stop. “Am I what?”

  He looks up, fixing those hot emerald eyes right on me. “Are you an actor?” His eyes float down to the nametag on my chest. “Beverly?”

  I’ve always hated my name. I thought it sounded like an old grandma. But I don’t think anyone has ever said my name in that way before. He makes it sound sexy. I feel it down to my toenails, but I feign disinterest, shrugging. “This is Hollywood. Aren’t we all?”

  I meant it to be a joke, but he doesn’t smile. I wonder what he looks like when he smiles. I wonder if his teeth are as perfect as the rest of him. He says, his voice a low grumble, “I’m not one. And that’s my fucking problem.”

  I fight the urge to tell him that he looks like one, that he probably could be one, because I’m sure he’s seen me drooling enough over his perfection as it is. I wonder what he means. Why would not being an actor be a problem? In this town, he’s fucking lucky to have escaped the actor’s life, because take it from me . . . it sucks balls.

  “Wait.” Then, so suddenly I can barely think, he reaches out and puts a finger under my chin, tilting my face toward the light, as if to get a better look. I let him for a moment, because hell, he defended me, until it gets creepy. He starts to tilt my face back and forth into the light, drawing me closer. Like, I swear to god the way those eyes are scrutinizing me, hard and heavy, that he can see straight through to my very thoughts.

  I have to step away. “What are you doing?” I snap. “Do you normally inspect people’s faces like cantaloupes in a supermarket? Want to squeeze my ass for freshness, too?”

  He holds his hands up. “Whoa. Nothing. Sorry.”

  Then he slips off his stool, opens his wallet, slams a bill down on the counter, and leaves.

  I stare after him until he disappears from view. Then I look down on the counter. He didn’t eat the meatloaf; didn’t touch it. I don’t blame him for that. It’s deadly. But food’s food . . . I should probably bring it home.

  But why did he take it, then, if he wasn’t going to eat it? Just to be nice?

  And he left a hundred. For Margo. On a check that couldn’t have been more than fifteen bucks. Damn, Margo has all the luck. Rolling my eyes, I finish up with the rest of the lunch rush. No drama, and I do manage to collect a few nice tips along the way. Pockets heavy with change, I start to untie my apron when Jeb motions me into the back office.

  I know what this is about. He’s going to give me a good strong talking-to about being nice to customers, again. I’ve been through the drill. Yes, I can get a little snippy from time to time, but Jeb has a good heart and has put up with me. I go inside his cramped off and say, “You wanted to see me?”

  He nods and points to his chair.

  I sit. “I know, the thing with those douches from Emblem wasn’t the best thing to ever happen to me. But I promise, I’ll— “

  “Bev,” he says, shaking his head. “That’s it.”

  I stop. “What’s it?”

  “I’m done with it. It’s not just men like that. It’s anyone who comes into the restaurant who has absolutely anything to do with the movie business. You hate them, and it shows.”

  I stare at him in shock. “No, I don’t, I— “

  “Yes, you do. And I can’t have someone like that working for me. Ninety percent of my business is movie people, Bev. And I know you had a bad taste in your mouth with Hollywood, but I can’t have it affecting my business.”

  “It’s not.” I know I don’t look sincere. I can’t even act sincere where ego-inflated, phony, “Let’s-do-lunch-babe” Hollywood-types are concerned. “I mean, okay. Maybe it has a little. But I promise I won’t let it happen anymore. Just give me another chance.”

  He’s shaking his head. He reaches into a drawer and pulls out a check, addressed to me, for one-hundred-and-twenty dollars.

  And it suddenly hits me, like a pile of bricks, what that means. “You’re firing me?”

  He nods. “I’m sorry, Bev. You know I didn’t have the job open when I took you on, two years ago. But business has only gotten slower and slower since those new food trucks started coming in.”

  I nod, even though I know it’s a lie. He turns people away regularly. “I understand.”

  I get up, hand him my apron, and slip out of the office without another word. The other employees, Margo and Eduardo, the dishwasher, are watching me, and don’t volunteer a goodbye or a “nice working with you”. I simply slip into the parking lot, get on my bicycle, and pedal the twelve blocks to my apartment.

  Fired. I’ve been fired.

  I think I might have fifty dollars in my underwear drawer for emergencies, but that’s it. Rent’s due in two days, and I have no food in the house whatsoever.

  What the fuck am I doing to do?

  When I park and chain up my bicycle outside my crummy apartment building, it suddenly hits me. I even forgot the crappy meatloaf.

  Shit.

  Chapter 3

  To think, when I first moved out here, I shared a swanky Hollywood condo with four other actresses. It had a hot tub and a fireplace and a balcony overlooking L.A.

  Shortly after that, I went to sharing an apartment with my sister on her campus. When the deans found out, I was forced to live in a shelter.

  Jeb’s job gave me the money to get my own place. My apartment is the tiniest little piece of shit in a fairly decent part of L.A. This place is just a sliver of an improvement from the shelter, though I’ve always been reminded that I’m just one missed paycheck away from being back there. The superintendent, Maude, is a nice old lady who always gives Brandon a lollipop when she sees him, isn’t too much of a stickler on when I deliver rent, and will sometimes babysit when Ava has class.

  As I get inside, Ava’s sitting on the beaten thrift-store sofa, packing her Chem textbook into her bag. “Brandon’s asleep?” I ask.

  She nods. “Just put him down for a nap. What’s up with you?”

  I can’t hide anything from my little sister. She may be younger, but she’s definitely the more observant, smarter one. I was always the one with my head in the clouds, the dreamer, which has really paid off well for me. I collapse into a chair. “Got fired.”

  Her eyes bug out. “Really? Why? Because of what happened with . . .”

  “Yeah, that, and the fact that he never wanted me to work there in the first place,” I mutter.

  Ava tosses her hair over her shoulder. She’s blonde and tan and fits in effortlessly with Southern California, except for one thing: Despite looking like a movie star, she has no desire to act whatsoever. She’s studying to become a doctor and I can practically feel my parents’ love and re
spect for her, even from four states away. Just as much as I can feel their hate for me. Even though she has all this going for her, and I have nothing, I can’t possibly be bitter. Ava’s just too sweet. She volunteers her free time to babysit Brandon whenever I need it, and she’s always sneaking snacks out of the cafeteria for him. Without her, I’d be sunk.

  “Well, do you need me to babysit so that you can go out and find a new job?” she suggests hopefully.

  I gnaw on my lip, thinking of the last time I’d been jobless. I’d wallpapered the town with applications and ended up with nothing. “Um. Maybe.”

  Thinking of that demoralizing experience, I want to bury my head in the ground and never come out.

  “Don’t worry, Bev. Something will come up. I know it.” She’s smiling in a way that would almost make me believe her. Maybe she should’ve been the actress in the family.

  “You know, if you just called mom and— “

  “No,” I force out. That’s the one thing I absolutely, completely, utterly CAN NOT do. It’s been five years since I went against their wishes and dropped out of school. Over four years since I told them I was pregnant and put the final nail in the coffin on my relationship with my parents. They told me I was no longer their daughter, then.

  “But they’ve been softening, Bev. They miss you.”

  I frown. She tells me that all the time. But I’m determined to make it through life without their help, which would likely only come with a cartful of I-told-you-so. I want to succeed. To make my mark on the world, find my destiny here, and show them that moving out here wasn’t just a colossal mistake. If they couldn’t stand by me when I needed them most, then screw them.

  The look in Ava’s eyes tells me she wishes I wouldn’t be so stubborn. She still goes back for Christmases and summer breaks, and wishes I could go, too. But hell no. No matter how lonely it makes my holidays, I will not give in.