Fauxmance

  “And how old are you?” I asked.

  He tutted. “A gentleman never reveals his age.”

  I laughed. “I think that was my line.”

  “How old do you think I am?”

  I studied him. “I’m not sure. You seem sort of ageless.”

  “I hope that’s a compliment.”

  “It is,” I assured. “You’ve got that whole immortal vampire thing going on. Like you’ve lived several lifetimes but haven’t aged a day.”

  My candidness surprised me, and something about what I said gave Julian pause. “Very perceptive. Unfortunately, I’m quite mortal. I just turned thirty-two.”

  I drank some more wine and fiddled with the stem of my glass. Thirty-two was a good age. Not too young and immature, but also not too old either. When I looked up, Julian was staring right at me.

  “Has anyone ever told you you’ve got the most unusual coloured eyes? They’re so green.”

  I sat back, my entire body tensing. If he kept looking at me this closely, he’d soon realise the truth. That what’s unusual about them is that they’re completely fake.

  “I um, I’m sorry, but I’m not feeling very well. Please excuse me.” I stumbled off the stool ungracefully and headed for the living room.

  “Hold on, let me help…”

  I didn’t catch the end of his sentence because I was already at the front door of the apartment. When I managed to flag a taxi and climb inside, I realised I’d lost an earring. It was expensive too, made of real diamonds. I considered going back in, but my reserves of confidence had run dry. Instead I texted Suze, apologizing for leaving early and requesting she search for the lost earring.

  I slid my phone back in my bag and dropped my head into my hands.

  What a disaster.

  Chapter Three

  Julian

  David: Someone posted this video on YouTube. You owe me big time.

  I grinned as I clicked the link and up popped footage of David at Suze’s apartment, reluctantly serenading the room with his dulcet tones. Elodie’s prediction had been right, though honestly, I didn’t understand why David was mad. He looked good and his singing was on point. He definitely hadn’t lost his voice over the years. When I scrolled down, the majority of comments were positive, mostly ladies expressing how they’d very much like to ‘get naughty’ with him.

  Sure, there were one or two twats who posted insulting comments, but this was the internet. It was par for the course.

  Julian: Read the comments. You should be thanking me. They’re calling you a DILF. And besides, today’s news is tomorrow’s loo roll.

  David: I’d need to have actual children to be a DILF. Someone said I look desperate. This is why I don’t accept any of those offers to take part in nostalgia tours.

  Julian: Whoever called you desperate is jealous and probably lives in their parent’s basement. You look and sound great. Own it.

  I put my phone away when my date for the evening, Cathy, arrived. She walked into the bar looking a little unsure of herself, though I suspected it was because this experience was still new to her. She was a recently divorced thirty-eight-year-old. However, from our casual first meeting last week, I could tell she knew what she wanted from our arrangement. Cathy’s reason for hiring me was simple. She wanted to enjoy some male company without any obligations for a relationship. Most of her time was dedicated to her work, and though she did want to find love again someday, right now, she was only in the market for some no strings fun.

  That’s where I came in.

  And before you ask, no, I didn’t always sleep with my clients. But yes, I did sleep with a lot of them. I laid out my rules very clearly. There’s a set charge for the date, which does not include sex. Sex requires a second charge, but I only allow that to happen if both parties are feeling it and things progress naturally.

  I know it sounded very clinical, but believe me, it wasn’t.

  I’d done clinical in my early days as an escort. I would show up to a flat or hotel room, with an instruction to let myself in. When I went inside the woman would be waiting somewhere, scantily clad or not at all, with the expectation of getting straight down to business.

  After a year of those sorts of jobs, I said no more.

  Now I dealt in intimate, one-on-one experiences. Yes, I was being paid, but I genuinely enjoyed getting to know these women in a deep and meaningful way. I wasn’t only intrigued by those who were beautiful or sexy. Past experiences desensitised me to any disgust in the multitude of variations in the human form. I could just as happily make love to a woman society deemed “pretty” as I could to another deemed “ugly”.

  I was mostly fascinated by how people could transform in your eyes after you heard them speak. A person’s voice, mannerisms, and beliefs revealed the truth about them, and all were a huge factor in determining their attractiveness. After all, a plain person could open their mouth and become the most beautiful person you’ve ever met, and a beautiful person could speak and turn ugly.

  It wasn’t just an empty saying. I truly believed that beauty was in the eye of the beholder. It didn’t live on the surface of our skin, but rather deep inside the depths of our hearts.

  If I clicked with clients on a personal level, then looks were irrelevant. And believe me, coming from someone who had always been considered attractive, I knew it could be a curse just as much as a blessing.

  The women I took on dates were vetted in advance via phone calls. I also did background checks, since you could never be too careful. I once had a journalist masquerading as a lovelorn singleton try to hire me, but with a little sleuthing I discovered her real identity. I wasn’t interested in being the topic of a magazine article for strangers to read and judge.

  I had endured enough shame during my teens and early twenties.

  What I did with my life now was nobody’s business but mine.

  Cathy was slim but pear-shaped. She wore a pencil dress under a wool coat and had straight brown hair. Her eyes were blue and her nose pert, her upper lip thinner than her bottom. She was neither striking nor unattractive, but there was a light behind her eyes that interested me. It spoke of hidden depths and secret passions.

  It was good to feel that interest, that spark, small as it may be. Like I’d confessed to David, I’d slowly been losing the joy in my work, slowly yearning for something else. Something different. Perhaps Cathy would be the one to re-inspire me.

  “Julian,” she said as I stood to greet her.

  “It’s a pleasure to see you again, Cathy.” We hugged briefly, then sat. I already ordered her a glass of pinot grigio, as she’d mentioned it was her usual tipple.

  “I think you get more handsome each time I see you,” she blurted.

  I gave a pleased smile for the compliment. “That’s very kind of you to say. I hope you don’t mind that I ordered you a drink.”

  She lifted the glass. “I never say no to a glass of wine. I’ll admit I’m a little nervous this time.”

  “Why be nervous?” I asked and leaned forward so that we were close. “You set the pace. Whatever you’d enjoy doing tonight, I’m your willing participant.”

  She swallowed nervously and glanced to the side. “Can I be honest?”

  “Of course, always.”

  “Well, what I’d really like to do is go dancing.”

  I smiled wide. “I love to dance.”

  “I didn’t know if you’d be up for something like that, or if tonight was all about…” she trailed off bashfully.

  “Sex?”

  “Well, yes.”

  “Like I said, this can be whatever you want it to be. We’re simply here to enjoy the pleasure of each other’s company.”

  My words seemed to ease her stress as she swallowed a gulp of wine. “There’s a Latin night not too far from here.”

  “Well then, that settles it. I dance a mean Paso Doble.”

  The relieved anticipation in her smile was exactly what I’d been hoping for. “Tha
nk you,” she whispered. I reached out to give her hand a brief, gentle squeeze.

  “No thanks necessary. We’re going to have a fantastic night, I promise.”

  * * *

  It was Tuesday again and this time I had a reason to go see Elodie at the Polka Dot Café. I was in possession of a small diamond earring that belonged to the object of my obsession. I saw it on the floor after she pulled her disappearing act, twinkling under the light of the bulb overhead. I still didn’t understand why she had left so suddenly. Even I, who had many years’ experience getting up close and personal with the opposite sex, was at a loss to explain her behaviour.

  When I arrived, both she and Suze were sitting at their usual table, deep in chat. I stepped up behind Elodie and carefully placed the earring down in front of her. “I believe this belongs to you,” I purred flirtatiously. She blinked at the earring then looked up at me.

  “Oh. Thank you,” she breathed.

  “I searched my entire apartment for that earring and you had it all along,” Suze commented with a slantways grin.

  “Afraid so,” I said, eyes on Elodie. “I would’ve called to let you know I had it, but alas, I don’t have your number.”

  “Well,” said Suze, smiling widely at her friend. “I’m sure we can remedy that. Give him your number, Elodie.”

  Elodie took a sip of her coffee as though to delay answering. She seemed to be gathering her nerve before she glanced up at me, a twinkle in her eye. “I don’t go handing out my number to just anyone.”

  Ah, there’s my girl. This was the first time I got to experience the real Elodie, the one I’d been watching for weeks, the one who oozed confidence and self-possession.

  I pulled out a chair and sat. “I’ll have to work on not being just anyone to you then, won’t I?”

  Suze laughed and eyed Elodie. “Oh, he’s smooth.”

  “Smooth can sometimes be slippery,” Elodie murmured into her mug.

  “And sometimes it’s velvety soft,” I countered, seductive. I hoped the dark look I gave her translated.

  Suze fanned herself. “You two. It’s like watching the start of a porno. One with great production values.”

  I chuckled. Elodie appeared to flush and I studied her, puzzled. Surely, a woman of her experience wouldn’t be embarrassed at a little bit of harmless flirting. The other night at Suze’s, there’d been a moment when I thought I had her, but then I lost her just as quickly. Maybe I should just leave her alone. She really didn’t seem to be very interested. And from the stories I’d spent weeks listening to, when Elodie was interested in a man, he knew about it.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it. I just wanted to come and return the missing earring.”

  “Nonsense! Stay and chat with us,” Suze argued, placing a hand on my arm. “I was so impressed with how well you and David did on the catwalk, especially given neither of you have experience.”

  “True, but we both had our peacock phases, so we’re well adept at showing off.”

  Elodie gave a small smile and I was glad to see I’d amused her. If she wasn’t interested in me romantically, then maybe we could be friends.

  “Looking how you do, I’m not surprised,” Suze said. “I sometimes wonder what it’s like to be a devastatingly handsome man. Women must fall at your feet, and men for that matter.”

  “Not always,” I said, casting a quick look at Elodie before I brought my attention back to her friend. “And besides, you’re a beautiful woman. It’s not so different for you, I’m sure.”

  “A beautiful woman who’s married,” Suze sighed. “Come on, I’m trying to live vicariously here.”

  “Well, I can’t really say whether or not people treat me differently, because I’ve always had this face. However, sometimes people let you get away with more simply because you’re pretty to look at.”

  “How very interesting,” Suze said, fingering the rim of her cup.

  Elodie frowned. “Does that mean you use your looks to trick people?”

  “Not at all. Just that you sometimes you’re forgiven more easily for poor behaviour. For instance, you could be in a bad mood, or say something surly, and nobody would call you on it. Little things like that. I don’t agree with it, but it definitely happens.”

  “So, you live in ‘the bubble’,” she stated, miming bunny ears before folding her arms. All of a sudden, I felt like I was being interrogated. Where had that steely look come from?

  “Don’t you? Surely men are rendered babbling fools in the face of your beauty all the time.”

  “That’s different. I never use my looks to get what I want.”

  I leaned forward, resting my elbows on the table. “Nor do I.”

  “That’s not what you just insinuated.”

  “Hey! What’s put a bee in your bonnet?” Suze interjected, shooting Elodie a baffled look. “Has that pilot not returned your calls?”

  Elodie blinked, then frowned, then worried her lip. I got the sense she hadn’t meant to challenge me like that. She shook her head, her expression apologetic. “I’m sorry. I’m feeling a little catty today. And no, I never called the pilot. If you must know, I’ve moved on.”

  “To?” Suze asked, grinning now. I could see she was hoping for a story. Truth be told, so was I. Elodie’s stories never failed to entertain.

  “Actually,” she said, glancing between the two of us. There was an odd sort of calculation on her face before she continued. “I’ve started seeing a male stripper.”

  “What?!” Suze exclaimed. “Okay, tell us everything.”

  Elodie emitted a theatrical sigh. “I’ve just been a little insecure reconciling the reality of his job with the fact that I have feelings for him. He strips in front of women every night for money, gives lap dances. It makes me unreasonably jealous, but then, the sex is incredible and he’s such a sweet person.”

  “What’s his name?” Suze asked.

  Elodie cast me a quick, speculative glance before replying. “Sebastian. He’s from Northern Spain.”

  “Oh, what a sexy name!” Suze enthused. “I bet he’s gorgeous. Do you have any pics?”

  Elodie shook her head. “No, but I’ll bring one to show you next time. You’re going to die when you see him.”

  “I already can’t wait.”

  Something about Elodie’s story niggled at me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it.

  Still, the idea that she was insecure about dating a stripper made me certain she wouldn’t be able to handle going out with me. It was definitely best that I look at her as a friend and nothing more.

  Elodie was regaling us with details of her last date with Sebastian when my phone rang. I saw it was Rose, so I stood to answer.

  “I’m just going to take this outside,” I said and headed for the exit.

  I emerged into the mild London morning and hit ‘answer’. “Hello, darling.”

  “Julian, I thought you’d be at the flat. Where are you?”

  “Just having a coffee with some friends.”

  “Oh, well, I was hoping we could go for lunch. I also wanted to pay a visit to the bookstore. Damon’s filming until late and it’s my day off so…”

  “So, you were hoping for some company. Not a problem. I’ll meet you at the flat when I’m done here. We’ll do Greek for lunch then go to the bookstore after, how does that sound?”

  I heard the smile in her voice. “Perfect. See you soon.”

  I’d just hung up when the door to the café opened and Elodie walked out. I stood off to the side, so she didn’t see me as she buttoned up her coat and headed down the street. An odd urge struck me to follow her. My feet started moving before I could stop myself. I had no clue why I didn’t call out to her, but then, maybe I did.

  There was just something about Elodie that didn’t add up. I’d sensed it the first time we spoke, and the more time I spent with her, the more I suspected something wasn’t quite right.

  It was just a feeling I couldn’t seem
to shake.

  I walked a good distance behind her for about five minutes, then she turned and went inside a small, independent bookshop. I couldn’t see too clearly, but it looked like she retrieved a key from her bag to unlock the door. When I got closer, I saw her flip the sign from ‘Closed’ to ‘Open’ then disappear inside the shop.

  Huh.

  Did she work there? I distinctly remembered her telling me she was an accountant. Plus, she’d mentioned it several times during the conversations I’d listened in on. Was she lying about her job?

  I didn’t go inside, not wanting her to know I’d followed her, and instead continued on to my flat. I’d walked by that bookshop a million times but never thought to go inside. Rose normally shopped at the larger chain stores because they had a bigger selection, but I was struck with the urge to bring her here after our lunch.

  I rejected the idea. Elodie’s business was none of mine, and if she was lying about her job, well, it was hardly my place to out her.

  “My goodness, I’m stuffed,” Rose groaned as we walked arm in arm out of the tube station. We’d shared a delightful lunch in Soho, before heading back home. I’d managed to convince her to check out the bookshop Elodie had gone inside earlier.

  I know, I was despicable, but my curiosity about this woman just wouldn’t let up.

  She was a mystery I had the unfathomably strong urge to solve.

  “You were right, this place is adorable,” Rose enthused when we arrived at the Zigzag Bookshop. A middle-aged woman with short blonde hair sat by the till, her head buried in a dog-eared copy of Don Quixote. She glanced up as we entered, giving a polite nod before returning her attention to her book.

  I looked around, but there was no sign of Elodie. Perhaps her shift ended earlier. Or maybe she was the owner? She wore the type of clothes you could only afford if you had money, so that would make sense.

  There was a little reading nook by the window with lots of zigzag furnishings, and the walls were papered with a similar zigzag design. If you stared too long, you’d get a headache. Rose headed down a narrow aisle, already lost scanning the spines of possible purchases. I frowned, and I had to admit I was disappointed Elodie wasn’t around. Not because I wanted to confront her with her lies, but merely because I yearned to see her again.