Jennifer Crusie - Faking It

“Wait, don’t hang up, when are you coming down here?” Sophie said.

“Next Sunday,” Davy said, watching the curve of Tilda’s terry-cloth-covered rear as she rolled off the bed away from him. “I have some things to finish here first. But I will be there next Sunday. I swear. I have a present for you.”

“Forget the present, bring your landlady,” Sophie said.

“I don’t think so,” Davy said, as Tilda disappeared into the bathroom again. “She’s not a biddable female.”

“I like that in a woman,” Sophie said.

“So do I,” Davy said. “So do I.”

TILDA WENT downstairs the next morning to find Davy standing across the street from the gallery. He looked wonderful in the sunlight, big and dependable and… leaving. Why should I care? Tilda thought, and cared.

“Now what?” she said when he motioned her across the street.

“Gwennie’s been a little frosty to me lately,” he said. “What’s up with that?”

“She doesn’t want to attach in case Ford kills you,” Tilda said. “What are you doing out here?”

“She doesn’t want this show, does she?” Davy said.

Tilda sighed. “Not particularly.”

“Why? She hates the place, you’d think she’d be happy about-”

“She doesn’t hate the place,” Tilda said, surprised.

“-anything that would get her closer to freedom.”

“Hey, this is her home,” Tilda said.

“I think she wants to leave the nest,” Davy said.

“Is this the boat thing?”

“Boat thing?”

“Never mind. Gwennie will get over it. What are you doing out here?”

Davy squinted at the storefront. “Do you remember what colors the gallery used to be? The kids did a good job of scraping, but they didn’t uncover much original paint.”

“Blue,” Tilda said, squinting at the gallery front, too. “Sort of a midnight-blue trimmed with a red oxide. And the letters were gold, I think they were actually fake gold leaf.”

“Sounds expensive,” Davy said.

“It is,” Tilda said. “Although not like real gold leaf. It’s hard to put on, too.”

“Too bad,” Davy said. “Because we’re going to have to do it.”

“Can’t we do something new?” Tilda said. “I thought maybe black and white-”

“No,” Davy said. “Your dad had a reputation in this town and we’re building on it. We’re restoring, babe. Not to mention there’s already enough white in your life.”

“Funny,” Tilda said. “Listen, I really-” but he’d already started across the street.

He dragged her to a paint store and they bought gallons, a soft white for the interior -“It’s a gallery, Davy, it’s supposed to be white”- and a light blue and green Tilda talked him into -“We’re not selling what Dad would have, so we should be us”- and gold leaf for the letters, along with brushes and scrapers and another ladder. “Who’s paying for this?” Tilda said, and Davy said, “Simon, on loan. You can pay him back out of the till on opening night. Or you could have Louise stop by. That would cheer him up enormously.” When they got back to the gallery, Nadine was inside with Gwen, Ethan, and a new boy, this one dressed in a button-down shirt and immaculate khakis.

“This is Kyle,” Nadine said. “We met him working at his father’s furniture store in Easton.”

“Nice to meet you, Kyle,” Tilda said, a little taken aback when he shook her hand. Behind him, Gwen rolled her eyes and went back to her Double-Crostic.

“My pleasure,” Kyle said, every inch the gentleman. He turned back to Nadine. “I have to go to work, but I’ll call you later.” He kissed her on the cheek and nodded politely to Tilda and Davy. Ethan, he ignored.

“That kid is up to no good,” Davy said when he was gone.

“Oh, please,” Nadine said. “He was a perfect gentleman.”

“What were you doing in a furniture store?” Tilda said.

“Davy sent us out to look at prices on handpainted stuff. And Kyle’s father’s store was the biggest.” Nadine smiled at the memory.

“He’s Eddie Haskell,” Davy said. “Carry Mace.”

Ethan nodded. “Don’t get me wrong when I tell you that Kyle, while being a very nice guy, is the devil.”

“What?” Tilda said.

“Broadcast News,” Davy said. “Try to keep up.”

“Cut me a break.” Nadine picked up a scraper. “You guys are worse than my dad.” She went out the door and sat down in front of the gallery to finish scraping the front, the top of her curly blonde head just visible through the gallery window.

“And yet, we’re right,” Ethan said, picking up a scraper, too.

“Do the two of you have any particular knowledge of this kid you want to share?” Tilda said, as exasperated as Nadine. “Because he looked pretty boring to me.”

“It’s a facade,” Davy said.

“He’s evil,” Ethan said.

“And the two of you are insane,” Tilda said and went out front to help Nadine.

“Do you believe them?” Nadine said when Tilda was scraping beside her.

“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.”