Page 8 of Fake it With Me

“What exactly does one wear to a yacht club?” I asked. “Do you drape sweaters over your shoulders instead of actually wearing them? Is that a real thing or just something they do in movies?”

Janice grinned. “I have no idea. Are boat shoes a thing? Or is that just what they’re called and you wear them everywhere?”

“I think you’re thinking of Sperry’s. Rich people definitely wear those.”

The sales associate returned with an armful of options. Sundresses in pastels. Linen pants. Blouses that probably cost more than my monthly rent. A blazer that felt like butter when I touched it.

“Try these on,” she instructed. “And don’t worry about the prices. You can make decisions based on fit and style.”

Don’t worry about the prices. As if that were possible. But I went into the fitting room and started trying things on.

The first dress fit like it had been made for me. Soft blue linen hitting just above my knee in a way that felt elegant without being matronly. I stepped out to show Janice.

“Holy shit,” she said. “You look like you own a yacht.”

“I look like I’ve committed identity theft,” I countered, but I was smiling.

We spent the next two hours playing dress-up, building a wardrobe for a version of me that didn’t exist yet. Janice kept making me laugh with her running commentary on the people we’d presumably be rubbing elbows with.

“If you want to fit in, you have to send food back to the kitchen. Rich bitches always find something to complain about.”

“What?”

“I’m serious. I used to waitress at that fancy place on the Upper East Side, remember? These women would order a salad and then send it back because the lettuce wasn’t ‘crisp enough.’ And they’d be so rude about it. No compassion for the hardworking staff, no awareness that they’re making someone’s life harder for no reason.”

I looked at her, horrified. “I could never do that.”

“I know you couldn’t. You’re too nice. You’re going to be the worst fake rich person ever.” She grinned. “But I love you anyway.”

“This is just a means to an end,” I said, more to myself than to her. “A stepping stone. I do this for one month, get enough money to finish my dissertation, and then I go back to my real life. I’m not going to turn into one of those people.”

“I know.” Janice smiled. “You’re one of the good ones, Liza. Don’t forget that.”

On our way to pay for everything, I spotted a display in the children’s section. Stuffed animals arranged like they were having a tea party.

And right in the middle was a little plush whale. Blue and white, with a friendly smile stitched onto its face. I picked it up without thinking.

“For the kid?” Janice asked.

“Yeah. Darek’s daughter. Daisie. She’s seven.” I turned the whale over in my hands, examining the stitching. “I figured it might help break the ice. I’m not great with kids.”

“You’re great with everything. You’re just overthinking it.”

“I’ve never really spent time around children. What if she hates me? What if I’m terrible at this and I ruin everything?” The anxiety that had been lurking at the edges of my consciousness all day suddenly rushed forward. “Oh god, Janice. What am I doing? I’m going to live with a man I don’t know and his seven-year-old daughter and pretend to be his girlfriend and I have no idea how to do any of this. It feels so wrong.”

“Hey.” Janice grabbed my shoulders. “Breathe. You’re going to be fine. You’re smart and adaptable and you’re literally a scientist who studies the ocean. If you can track whale migration patterns, you can handle one billionaire and his kid.”

“Those things are not remotely similar.”

“They’re both large mammals that require observation and patience.”

Despite everything, I laughed. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m right though.” She took the whale from me and added it to our pile. “Buy the whale. Be nice to the kid. Don’t send food back to the kitchen. And remember that this is temporary. One month, and then you’re free.”

We paid and I watched my bank account drop by three thousand dollars, still leaving me with two thousand. Then it was time to find a cocktail dress. Della specifically said I needed a cocktail dress, and while Bloomingdale’s had plenty, none quite hit the mark.

This was exhausting. I wasn’t a shopper. Finally, we found one that cost over a thousand dollars. I nearly cried paying for it. But it was a necessity for the job.