Faking It d-2 Read online

  She went to change the sheets, and found herself humming one of those obnoxious songs with forgettable lyrics and an unforgettable tune, cha-cha-ing around the mattress with a spring in her step as she reclaimed her bed. When the bed was smooth and new again, she picked up the phone and called down to the office. “Ethan?” she said, when he answered. “What is this?”

  She hummed a few bars and Ethan said, “Wait. Let me get Nadine.”

  “What?” Nadine said when she picked up the phone and Gwen hummed again. “It’s that Beach Boys thing,” she said. “Something, Jamaica, oooh, I’m gonna take ya.”

  “ Aruba, Jamaica,” Gwen said, the song dying on her lips.

  “Where is Aruba anyway?” Nadine said.

  “The Caribbean,” Gwen said. “Bring me up the vodka, would you, honey?”

  “ABOUT MUSSOLINI and Grandma,” Tilda said, later that night in bed, as Davy was dozing off, his arms around her.

  “You have to ask before we do it,” he said sleepily into her neck.

  “Right,” Tilda said, trying to free her arm from under him. “When do you think we’ll be playing that one?”

  “Whenever you want,” he mumbled.

  “No,” Tilda said, “I meant when …” Her voice trailed off as he began to snore.

  Steve took that for a signal and jumped up on the bed.

  “What I want to know,” Tilda said to Davy’s unconscious body, “is when are you leaving me, you bastard, and are you coming back?” She swallowed. “Because I’m believing in you and that can’t be good.” He snored again and she had a moment’s suspicion that he was faking it. Then she remembered that he hadn’t had any sleep the night before, that he’d sold furniture for hours straight, that he’d moved the entire contents of her studio up five flights of stairs, and that he’d just made athletically passionate love to her. “He’s really out, Steve,” she said to the dog. “But tomorrow we ask him. We are not going to be those people who dillydally and then regret it. He said he loves me. He said he’s going to get rid of the forgeries. He’s staying. Right?”

  Steve sighed and stuck his nose under the quilt. Tilda lifted the edge for him and he tunneled under.

  “You’ll never leave me, will you, Steve?” she said to him. Then she looked over at Davy and said, “You never will, either.”

  She looked around the attic, now stacked full of easels and foam core board and paint and canvas, even her drawing board in one corner, and she thought, This is so much better. This is so right.

  She looked at Davy again, asleep beside her, and leaned over to kiss him on the cheek. Then she slid down under the covers between the two men in her life and fell asleep.

  THE NEXT MORNING when Tilda went down for muffins, Eve was sitting in the office, looking like death.

  “What?” Tilda said, still on a high from the night before. “What happened?”

  “Can we go someplace else?” Eve said. “I want to get out of here.”

  “Sure,” Tilda said, “What’s wrong?”

  “I told Simon I was me,” Eve said.

  “Oh, boy,” Tilda said. “Let’s go.”

  Chapter 19

  “W HAT HAPPENED?” Tilda said when they were sitting in a booth at the diner and had ordered omelets.

  “He’s leaving,” Eve said, her voice husky.

  “Oh.” Tilda took her hand. “Is that good?” She ducked her head to see Eve’s face. “No?”

  “He didn’t believe me,” Eve said. “Not at first. I had to get the wig and show him.”

  “And then?”

  “And then he was mad as hell,” Eve said. “So I told him if he’d been paying attention that he’d have noticed, the way Davy knew you. I told him he was getting two for one. I told him he probably had secrets from me, too, but that I’d understand.”

  “And he didn’t buy it,” Tilda said, scrambling to think of a solution. “Maybe if you give him time-”

  “He’s a thief,” Eve said flatly.

  “Oh.” Tilda regrouped.

  “He told me all about it when I said that thing about his having secrets I’d understand. He said he didn’t think I would, that he’d been a thief for years before the FBI asked him to consult. Since he was a teenager. He stole from everybody.”

  Tilda swallowed. “Everybody makes mistakes.”

  “He stole, Tilda,” Eve said, taking her hand back. “He went into people’s houses and he took their things. He just took them. He still doesn’t think it was wrong. He says he only took from people who could spare it.” Eve shook her head. “That’s like Ford only killing people who deserve it. It’s what he did that counts, not who the victims were.”

  “Well, he’s reformed,” Tilda said. “Maybe-”

  “People don’t reform,” Eve said. “Not hike that. There’s a piece of him missing that let him do that. And he’s not even sorry. He’s just mad about Louise. He says I lied to him, which I didn’t. I never said I wasn’t Louise.”

  “I don’t think that’s the point,” Tilda said. “I think-”

  “We just stood there and looked at each other,” Eve said. “Like we were looking at each other for the first time.”

  “Well, you were.”

  Eve shook her head. “All I could think of was, I slept with him and he was a thief. And he kept saying that he couldn’t believe he’d slept with Nadine’s mother. Except he didn’t say ‘slept with.’ I didn’t even tell him that it wasn’t me, it was Louise. He wouldn’t get it. And I didn’t care.”

  Tilda sighed. “Look, you hit the sheets about fifteen minutes after you met, and then you lied to each other for almost three weeks so you could keep on doing it. It’s not a huge surprise that it didn’t work out. Can’t you just chalk it up to experience and great sex?”

  “Is that what you’re going to do with Davy?” Eve said, her mouth set in hard lines.

  “No,” Tilda said. “Davy is forever. But that’s because we know the truth about each other.”

  “Davy’s a con man,” Eve said. “Did you know that?”

  “Yes,” Tilda said. “He told me.”

  Eve looked at her in outrage. “And it doesn’t bother you?”

  “He is what he is,” Tilda said. “He’s not breaking the law anymore, and neither am I, and we can make our peace with that.”

  Eve shook her head. “I don’t see how you can stay with him knowing the truth.”

  “I think it’s like a litmus test,” Tilda said. “If you’re going to make it, you can tell each other anything, and it may not be what you want to hear, but it doesn’t matter. Even if you cry all over him and end up a soggy, pathetic mess.”

  “So it’s love,” Eve said, clearly not buying it. “Well, that’s very optimistic of you, but you’re still trusting a con man.”

  “And he’s trusting an art forger,” Tilda said, exasperated. “Nobody’s perfect. Everybody who’s ever loved anybody has had some stuff to get past. So you get past it because you really don’t have any other choice. You can’t leave.”

  Eve shook her head. “I just can’t be that way.” She sounded almost smug, and Tilda lost what little sympathy she had left.

  “You love Andrew,” she said.

  “Well, of course, I-”

  “And sixteen years ago he used you to convince himself he wasn’t gay,” Tilda said. “He knew he was gay, he’s always known, but he didn’t want it to be true, and he knew you loved him and would do anything he asked, and he slept with you to lie to himself.”

  Eve’s face was like stone.

  “And he’s felt like hell about it ever since,” Tilda said. “As much as we all adore Nadine, she stopped your life in its tracks at eighteen.”

  “Andrew stopped, too,” Eve said.

  “No,” Tilda said. “He went on and found the love of his life and the career he always wanted. Andrew doesn’t stop for anybody. And good for him, too, he’s doing it right, but he still screwed up in the past, and you’ve forgiven him.”