I gave him a look. “You only want to be my friend because of Elodie. If you saw me on the street, the real me,” I gestured to myself, “you wouldn’t give me a second glance.”
“There are plenty of people I wouldn’t give a second glance. That doesn’t mean they aren’t worthy of friendship. It simply means we’re all too busy with our own lives to stop and say hello. How lucky we are that through Elodie we’re now aware of one another’s existence.” He gestured between us with his hands and smiled.
Damn, he really had a way with words. I forced myself to look him in the eye.
“Cards on the table, Elodie is…was a total glitch. I am the most boring person you’ll ever meet, and I have every intention of going back to being as boring as possible.”
He leaned close to whisper, “I don’t believe you.”
Tingles skittered down my spine at the warm look he gave me. I glanced at the man who’d come into the shop, just to make sure he wasn’t trying to steal anything. He had his head buried in a thick hardback, not paying Julian or I any attention.
The shop door opened again and a group of five or six tourists walked in. Judging from their accents, they were American. They spoke excitedly about going to see the house from Notting Hill and visiting the markets. I watched them wander down the aisles, oohing and aahing about how quaint the shop was.
I looked to Julian and noticed he was watching me watch them.
“What?” I mouthed.
He looked like he was about to say something, then thought better of it. “How are Skittles and Rainbow today?”
I was surprised he remembered their names. “Skittles was being feisty this morning. Rainbow is the well behaved one. Skittles sometimes bullies him.”
“Do they require a lot of care?”
“Yes, you need to handle them every day to keep them tame. My grandmother had a pair when I was little, Toto and Leaf. I loved those two birds so much I decided to get two of my own.”
“I’ve never had a pet,” Julian confessed, and I widened my eyes at him.
“Not even when you were a kid?”
He shook his head. “Mum didn’t like animals in the house, which was ironic since that was the word I’d use to describe many of her boyfriends.”
I frowned, not knowing how to respond to that, nor understanding how he could so casually reference personal subjects. “Well, um, you should consider getting one. If you live alone, they’re great company. Skittles and Rainbow always get so excited when I come home. Rainbow likes to sit right on top of my head, and Skittles bites on my hair.” I gave a soft laugh. Most people didn’t realise what characters birds could be. They each had their own personality. Even though Skittles and Rainbow were practically identical, with their green, yellow, and peach feathers, I could always tell them apart.
Before Julian could reply, several of the tourists walked up to the counter. “This place is just adorable,” one of the women exclaimed and I smiled politely.
“Yes,” another added. “I was just saying I could spend hours looking through your shelves.”
I forced another smile as I started to clam up, drumming my fingers on the countertop. It wasn’t that they were being in any way scary or intimidating. Quite the opposite, in fact, they were nothing but friendly. I was the problem. When I had to speak to more than two or three people at a time, I choked. Heat built up inside me and I just couldn’t get the words out. School had been a nightmare. Whenever a teacher called on me to speak or answer a question, I became mute, even when I knew the answer.
Hence, why being Elodie was so liberating.
“Are you the owner?” a man asked. All six of them had gathered around the counter now, including Julian. I hadn’t spoken to this many people all at once in years. Normally, Bernice was around to converse with customers, but today she had a doctor’s appointment.
My cheeks grew warm and my lips dry. I opened my mouth but only an inarticulate, “Erm…no I…” came out.
“She’s not the owner,” Julian volunteered, eyeing me.
“Oh, well, we really love this place. It’s so cute,” the first woman said.
“Do you stock the Harry Potter books?” the other woman asked. “I told my son I’d bring him back the British version of book one. Apparently, the title is different over here.”
I swallowed a deep breath and forced myself to reply. “Y-yes. I’ll go grab you a copy.” Fetching the book was the escape I needed. It was one thing talking to Julian alone, but another entirely having a dozen or more sets of unfamiliar eyes on me.
I found the book too quickly, and when I returned, Julian was chatting with the tourists.
“If you’re looking for good vegetarian food, I highly recommend Mildred’s in Soho. There’s also Tibit’s in Mayfair if you’re interested in something quick. They do an amazing quinoa bowl,” he said. I envied his ability to converse with such confident ease. Then again, most people didn’t react to social situations in the same way I did.
Why couldn’t I just be normal?
“Here it is,” I whispered as I presented the book to the woman.
“Fantastic! I’ll take it,” she replied, and I rang up the purchase.
A minute later they left, and I felt like I could breathe again. The man in the History section was still perusing books and didn’t look like he’d be leaving any time soon.
“So, is that why you pretend to be Elodie?” Julian surmised when we were alone.
My brow furrowed. “Pardon?”
“Those tourists. You looked like you were about to have a panic attack when they spoke to you.”
I’d say he was perceptive, but anyone with a pair of eyeballs could see something wasn’t right. I swallowed and replied, “I typically clam up when I have to talk to more than one or two people. One on one is fine, two on one is okay. Anything over and above that, I tend to freak out a little. But it’s all right. It’s just something I have to deal with.”
Julian’s face grew thoughtful. “Why do you think that is?”
I shrugged, not really wanting to talk about it. “I don’t know. I’ve just always been this way.”
He was silent for a moment, studying me. “You’re shy.”
State the obvious, why don’t you. My throat grew heavy because for some reason it upset me when people pointed it out. But really, this never felt like simple shyness. It was an invisible disability that everyone could see. I know that didn’t make sense, but it was the only way I could think to describe it. And it didn’t even really deserve to be compared to a disability, because there were people out there with problems much worse than not being able to talk sometimes. It was an inconvenience. I just had to struggle through it.
I refused to feel sorry for myself, or at least, I refused to acknowledge my selfish woe-is-me feelings of self-pity.
“So, can I ask where Elodie came from?” Julian rested an elbow on the counter, giving me his full attention.
I tugged on the hem of my top, that familiar sense of embarrassment creeping in. I decided to just bite the bullet and tell him. “She’s a…a character I made up. When I’m her, I don’t feel shy or self-conscious. For the most part.”
“Ah. So, she helps you deal with being around people, making friends,” Julian guessed.
I nodded. “It’s weird, I know. I’m a weirdo.”
“Not at all,” he was quick to counter. “I think it’s genius. You created a persona, whereby you can go out, have fun, interact with people and not have to worry about being self-conscious. For Elodie, there are no consequences, because she’s not real. For Ellen, there are, because she is real.”
I felt exposed when he summed me up in such a perfect nutshell.
“Um, yes, that’s…that’s pretty much why I do it.”
Julian’s eyes glittered as he slowly shook his head from side to side. “Amazing.”
Having him look at me like that while wistfully uttering the word ‘amazing’ was quite the feeling. My heartbeat sped u
p.
Then, a worrying thought hit me. “Are you going to tell Suze?”
One eyebrow rose slightly. “Suze doesn’t know?”
“I met her as Elodie. That’s who she thinks I am.”
“My, my, you must be a good actress.”
“Too good,” I said, suddenly relieved to be able to talk about all this with someone. Julian wasn’t judging me. If anything, he appeared impressed by my oddness. I felt, I don’t know, justified somehow.
Another silence fell, and I saw cogs turning over in his brain. He stared at me, gaze alight.
“What?” I asked, far too curious as to what he was thinking.
“Why don’t I help you?” he suggested.
“Help me how?”
“If you wish to explore more possibilities as Elodie, I can take you out, introduce you to people. You can pretend to be her at parties and soirees and such. I get invited to a lot of those sorts of things. You could be my plus one.”
“What are you, some sort of socialite?”
“In a sense, yes.”
Hmm, that would explain his fancy dress sense and the fact that he was swanning around town mid-morning with seemingly no job to answer to. I wondered if he was a trust fund baby or the heir to some big business. Perhaps his surname was Dyson.
“What’s your surname?” I asked with interest.
“Fairchild, why?”
That did sound fancy, but I didn’t recognise it. “Just wondering.”
“Are you going to Google me? You won’t find much. I don’t have any social media accounts.”
“Neither do I.” Aside from my author accounts, but those didn’t have any pictures.
Julian smiled. “We’re birds of a feather. So, what do you say, Ellen? Would you like to explore the world as Elodie with me as your guide? I have to say, I’d be honoured if you said yes.”
I tensed, but I couldn’t deny the idea was tempting. It was actually more than tempting, it was also scary. I had no idea if being Elodie would even work with anyone other than Suze. “I don’t even know you.”
“And I don’t know you. Finding out is half the fun.”
“So, you want to be my what? My fairy godmother? Or wait, fairy godfather?”
Julian smiled, a dimple deepening in his left cheek. “Since I believe gender is non-binary, fairy godmother will do. I definitely have one lurking inside of me somewhere,” he joked and gave a soft chuckle, gazing down at me. “My little Cinderella, I intend to prepare you to be the bell of every ball.”
I gulped, having a feeling I was in for something far removed from my normal, quiet little life. Ellen was quaking in her boots, but Elodie could hardly wait.
Chapter Seven
Julian
Fairy godmother.
I smiled to myself, quite liking the sound of that. When I got home after sharing coffee with Ellen at the bookshop, I thumbed through my diary, searching for an appropriate social engagement I could invite her to. Aside from meeting with clients, I prided myself on maintaining a full and varied social calendar. Over the years living in London, I’d made many friends and acquaintances spanning an array of social classes.
I kept all my upcoming events listed in my diary, mainly because I preferred hard copy over soft. I didn’t like to leave any sort of electronic trail in regard to my work. Sure, I used the internet from time to time, but I never saved any important information on my laptop.
I scanned the coming weekend and found I was invited to the birthday party of Branson Sutton. Branson was a successful and very wealthy race car driver whose wife frequented the same nail salon as I did. Yes, I got manicures and pedicures once a month just like any self-respecting metrosexual. Besides, keeping my appearance in optimum condition was technically a work expense.
That’s what my accountant said anyway. My official job title was “Freelance Alternative Therapist”. Go on, laugh, I know you want to. But nobody could deny that my work was both alternative and therapeutic for the women who hired me.
Anyway, Branson’s wife, Krystyna, was a blonde Polish beauty who thought I was an absolute hoot. Every time I saw her, she invited me to some new social event or other. The party would be a great opportunity for Ellen to spread her wings. She would be a complete stranger on the arm of an enigma. I was a known face in these circles, but few knew what I did for a living, unless they were a past or present client.
I pulled out my phone to send a text. Ellen and I had exchanged numbers before I left the bookshop.
Julian: Be ready this Saturday at 8 pm. I’ll pick you up from your place. Dress code is black tie.
Her response came several minutes later.
Ellen: Can I ask where you’re taking me?
Julian: To a party. Trust me, Elodie will love it ;-)
She didn’t text back after that, which I interpreted as acceptance. These days, I was a little jaded when it came to parties. They didn’t possess the same allure, and the women I met at them rarely interested me sexually. So yes, I was somewhat jaded in that respect, too. But the idea of going with Elodie, pretending with her, excited me. I enjoyed the prospect of being her escort, showing her a world she’s never experienced before. Opening her up to the possibilities.
If my estimation of Ellen was correct, she hadn’t done much socialising in her life. It would all be new to her, and I got to experience that newness through her eyes.
On Saturday, I pulled out my finest Hugo Boss suit, showered, spritzed on some Paco Rabanne, and I was ready to go. I arrived in a cab outside Ellen’s house at 8 pm and got out to knock on the door. It opened a little too quickly, like she’d been pacing the entryway, waiting for me.
There was a flash of red hair, my eyes catching on the black silk evening gown she wore. It had been a while since I’d seen Elodie. I’d almost forgotten how differently she dressed compared to Ellen. Every inch of the dress hugged the curves Ellen normally kept hidden under baggy T-shirts and jeans.
She ran her hands down her sides. “Is this okay? I ordered it online, so I wasn’t sure how it would fit.”
I held a hand out to her and she took it. “First of all, the dress looks incredible. And second, Elodie is not the sort of woman to second-guess what she’s wearing.”
She let out a nervous breath. “Right. I forgot. Sorry.”
I arched a brow and gave a tut. “Would Elodie apologise?”
Ellen blinked, inhaled a deep breath, then said, “No, she wouldn’t. Elodie knows she looks fantastic no matter what she wears.”
I smiled my approval. “Exactly.”
I helped her climb into the waiting cab, my gaze idling on the impressive diamante encrusted heels she had on. They gave her an extra five or six inches of height, and I realised that was why I thought Elodie was taller. She always wore heels, no matter what.
“Nice shoes.”
She glanced down a moment, then back to me. “Yes, I like them, too.”
“Are they new?”
“No, but this is the first time I’ve worn them…out.”
My lips twitched. “Does that mean you wear them around the house?”
She gave a sultry look that was pure Elodie. “Maybe I do.”
“They must’ve cost a pretty penny.”
Now she smirked. “A lady never reveals the price of her possessions.”
Again, I wondered how she could afford such fancy things.
Not that her possible wealth changed my opinion about her. I was a firm believer that people got to decide who they wanted to be in life, no matter their beginnings. Having been born the son of a poor, single mother with alcohol and mental health issues, not to mention little education, I shouldn’t speak, act or dress the way I do. However, this was how I chose to portray myself to the world.
I refused to let my start in life define me, and I thought that if more people did the same, there would be a lot less misery out there.
“So, are you going to tell me where we’re going, or shall it remain a mystery?” El
odie asked. I’d call her Elodie now, since most traces of Ellen had vanished. Gone was the uncertain girl who’d answered the door so hastily. Now she held her chin high in a haughty fashion, taking on the air of a woman who took what she wanted from life and apologised for nothing. I relished her immersing herself in her role.
“We’re going to Branson Sutton’s birthday party at the Savoy,” I replied, and she blinked at me.
“The race car driver?”
“The one and only.”
She took a moment to absorb this, then flashed me a sassy smile. “Great. Maybe I can bag myself a rich racer boy.”
“You aren’t seeing the stripper anymore?” I questioned, playing along.
Elodie shook her head and levelled me with a coy look. “No, when it comes to matters of the bedroom, I don’t like to share. Strange women had their eyes all over him every night. I didn’t like it.”
Something about the statement made my chest burn. Perhaps because there were certain similarities between my work and that of a stripper. I brushed it aside. It wasn’t like I was doing any of this to romance her. I was doing this out of sheer enjoyment and mischief. I quite liked the prospect of fooling all the rick folks at this party into believing Elodie was real. My fatigued soul needed a change to make parties exciting again, and Elodie was the perfect recipe to provide it.
I returned my attention to her and winked. “In that case, let’s find you a racer boy.”
When we arrived at the hotel, a bellhop came to open our door. I got out first, then assisted Elodie. I offered her my arm and we strode into the party. We were two people aware of our attractiveness, intending to use it to our full advantage.
“Is that Elton John?” Elodie leaned close to whisper, awe trickling into her voice.
“I do believe it is. Old bastard borrowed my Alexander McQueen scarf last month and never gave it back.”
Elodie laughed. “Good one.”