Faking It Read online

  “He’s not hungry,” Eve said. “Nadine got him designer dog food and four kinds of biscuits.”

  “Yes, but Steve?”

  “Nadine and Ethan and Burton were watching Fargo again, and she decided he looks like Steve Buscemi.”

  Tilda broke a chunk off the bar and squinted at the dog. “Not much.” She bit into the chocolate, felt the waxy sweetness rush her mouth, and twenty years fell away, and she and Eve were back in bed, whispering over torn brown wrappers with silver letters. The bars had definitely been bigger. And she definitely felt better. “Who the hell is Burton?”

  “Nadine’s latest. Very pretty. No sense of humor. Has a band. She’s singing.”

  “He won’t last if he doesn’t laugh.” Tilda sat down at the head of the bed, and the dog moved up beside her.

  “I hope he doesn’t. He’s a pill.” Eve made kissing noises at the dog. “C’mere, Steve.” The dog crawled slowly across the bed to her, and she stretched out and propped her head up on one hand, scratching the dog behind the ears with the other.

  “So,” Eve said, looking innocent. “Tell me everything, Bundle of Lust.”

  Chapter 4

  TILDA CHOKED ON HER CHOCOLATE. “Nothing to tell,” she said when she’d gotten her breath back. “What’s up with you and Andrew?” She picked up the quilt and shook it out until it settled over Eve and the dog, its pattern of appliquéd leaves looking like a forest floor across the bed.

  Eve looked up at her and smiled. “Come on, Vilma...”

  Tilda broke off another piece of chocolate. “Really, what’s Andrew upset about?”

  “Louise,” Eve said. “There was this guy at the bar and he looked like fun and I was done for the night so I had a drink. Well, Louise had a drink. I don’t think I’d be his type. I never am.” She shrugged that off. “Andrew’s just overprotective.”

  “He’s overpossessive,” Tilda said. “He wants you home being safe little Eve.”

  “Then he shouldn’t be paying me to be dangerous Louise,” Eve said, rolling onto her back. “I hate it when he makes me feel guilty. He was never jealous of you and Scott.”

  “He’s never jealous of me at all,” Tilda said, wiggling her fingers at the dog.

  “He knew Scott was all wrong for you. He knew it wouldn’t last.” Eve held out her hand. “Give me the chocolate.”

  Tilda tossed the bar down to her. “Scott was perfect.” She patted the quilt. “Come here, Steve.”

  The dog romped down the length of the bed to her, landing in her lap with a clumsy splat, and she laughed because he liked her so much.

  “See, his name is Steve,” Eve said. “And I don’t think you want a perfect guy. I think you’ve got some Louise in you. I think you want a burglar in the night.”

  Tilda petted the dog. “I am so not Louise.”

  “Like Barbara Stanwyck in The Lady Eve,” Eve went on as if she hadn’t spoken. “She says she wants a guy to take her by surprise like a burglar.” Eve rolled up on her elbow, chocolate on her mouth, her blue eyes wide and innocent. “So tell me about your burglar. Was he hot?”

  “So Andrew’s mad at you,” Tilda said, gathering the dog up in her arms.

  “That good, huh?” Eve broke off another piece of chocolate. “Was he perfect?”

  “No.” Tilda thought about his kiss in the closet and shivered. “Not even close.”

  “Oooh,” Eve said, grinning at her. “Perfect.”

  “See, this is why I should never talk to you about boys,” Tilda said. “You encourage me to be bad, and I get into trouble.”

  “You bet,” Eve said.

  “Give me the damn chocolate,” Tilda said, letting Steve settle back onto the bed, and Eve tossed it to her.

  “So why did he steal the painting for you?”

  “I think he felt sorry for me.” Tilda broke off another piece.

  “And the Bundle of Lust part?” Eve said. “Come on. Give it up.”

  “There’s nothing,” Tilda said primly, but she started to grin in spite of herself.

  “Til-da’s got a se-cret” Eve sang, her perfect voice making even that sound good, and Steve pricked up his ears.

  “And you’re how old?” Tilda said, trying to sound mature.

  “Thirty-five, but I’m not meeting burglars and doing God knows what.”

  “Kissing,” Tilda said and then laughed when Eve shrieked in delight and Steve jerked back.

  “More,” Eve said.

  “There’s not much to tell,” Tilda said, trying to sound offhand. “I opened a closet door, and he jumped me and gave me an asthma attack, so I bit him. Then he criticized my clothes and told me he was no gentleman and kissed me.”

  “Ooh, ooh,” Eve said. “How was it?”

  “Pretty damn hot,” Tilda said, feeling safe enough in the basement with Eve to tell the truth. “I frenched him.”

  “Yes,” Eve said, and Tilda laughed again.

  “It wasn’t my fault,” Tilda said, breaking off another piece of chocolate. “I was scared and he was standing between me and disaster.”

  “For which you say, ‘Thank you very much,’ not ‘Let me lick your tonsils.’”

  “It was the adrenaline. It had to go somewhere and it ended up in my mouth. Plus I knew I was never going to see him again, and we were in a dark closet, so it was like it wasn’t me.” Tilda felt cheered by how reasonable it all sounded.

  “That was the last you saw of him?” Eve said, disappointed.

  Tilda nodded. “Except for about twenty minutes in the diner when he threatened me, told me I have bug eyes, and stuck me with the check.”

  “Edgy,” Eve said. “Iconoclastic. Not your mother’s Oldsmobile.”

  “Right,” Tilda said, deciding they’d talked enough about her sins. “So does Gwennie seem a little odd to you lately?”

  “Gwennie always seems odd to me,” Eve said, sitting up, “which is one of the many reasons I love her. Did I tell you she went to the Eddie Bauer outlet and came back with five sweaters, one for you, one for her, one for Na-dine, one for me, and one for Louise? I said, ‘Gwennie, that’s two for me,’ and she said, ‘Don’t be ridiculous, dear, you’d never wear black.’”

  “Which is true,” Tilda said. “Although I never thought of Louise as an Eddie Bauer girl.”

  “Which is why you need this guy and not Scott,” Eve said. “You need a burglar in the night, not a lawyer in the day. The Louise in you needs him like the Louise in me needs a black sweater.”

  “There is no Louise in me.” Tilda felt a little depressed about that. She stood up, handed Eve the last piece of chocolate, and put Steve on the floor.

  “There’s a little Louise in every woman.” Eve leaned down the bed and straightened the painting where it rested against the headboard. “Just because yours is nicknamed Vilma doesn’t mean it isn’t really Louise.”

  “And I do not need a burglar in the night.” Tilda thought back to her disgraceful behavior, asking him to rescue her. “That guy brings out the worst in me.”

  “That’s your inner Louise,” Eve said, approval in her voice. “Set her free. Really, I don’t know what I’d do without Louise. Just about the time I think I’m going to start screaming, it’s Wednesday night and there she is, blowing off all my steam.”

  “Right,” Tilda said. “I don’t teach elementary school, I paint murals. It’s very peaceful. I have no steam to blow.”

  “Just remember the three rules,” Eve said as if Tilda hadn’t spoken. “She only comes out four nights a week, she never has sex at home, and she never tells anybody she’s you.”

  “It’s not too late to get therapy,” Tilda said. “I’m sure your school insurance covers it.”

  “Why?” Eve stood up and straightened her pajamas. “I’m happy. And I got two sweaters.”

  “Good for you,” Tilda said. “Look, the guy in the closet was not that hot, I was exaggerating.”

  “You know,” Eve said. “You keep talking yourself out of all