Just Pretend (Love Comes To Town)

“That’s it,” I say drily. “The horrendously cracked state of my lips drove him off—so peeling they were like a blistered sunburn, his eyes were burned by the hideousness that was my lips.”

“And this is why you’re a journalist,” Josie says, and I can almost hear her nod. “A way with words. Though Wynona—you bitch!”

“What—it’s a possibility,” Wynona protests.

“And so is you getting leprosy and your limbs falling off, but you don’t see me just mentioning that to you!” Josie snaps back.

“It’s OK,” I say, before this breaks out into all-out war. I’ve been with the twins many many times when they fight, and it’s definitely not pretty. “Although it is really weird.”

“Think he chickened out?” Josie says, making a bawk-bawk noise that sends us all cracking up.

“You saw the man,” I reply, deadpan, once I’m done laughing. “Why would he, of all people, chicken out? He probably has girls like me for breakfast.”

“Correction,” Josie cuts in. “He has girls like you never because you are a one-of-a-kind, darling.”

“Thanks, J,” I say.

“Are you going to take the job?” Wynona demands. “You’d be a fool not to.”

“Wynona!” Josie snaps.

“Yeah, yeah,” she mutters.

“Wyn’s probably right, though,” I admit. “Even if it’ll be kind of weird working for a guy I went on a date with, at least it’s a job? And not the Pancake House?”

“That’s it,” Josie says soothingly. “Focus on the positive.”

“On that note,” I say. “Horatio hasn’t pooped on my new rug yet.”

“Wow, luck is just flying your way left, right and center,” Josie says cheerily. “Now, call him.”

Said in the same chirpy tone, the second part of her words throw me for a loop. “Huh? Now?”

“Why not?” she insists.

“Because it’s… I don’t know… ten o’clock at night and I’m about to go to bed?”

“She’s right,” Wynona says heavily. “What if he meets another hot journalist in the next hour? Better jump on that job op quick.”

“This is a great opportunity,” Josie continues soothingly. “You said it yourself. Nolan probably has some great connections too, maybe even to get you more work if you do well. So call him—do it.”

“Do it,” Wynona insists. “Don’t be a pussy.”

“Do it,” Josie insists. Then, in a scolding tone, “Don’t be mean, Winnie.”

At her hated nickname from when we were kids, Wynona sighs.

“OK, OK,” I say, more to shut them up than anything. “I’ll do it. Bye?”

“You better,” the twins chorus, then chuckle. “Night, Sie.”

Seconds later, before I can talk myself out of it or come up with any of the very good reasons why this is a bad idea, I call Nolan up.

“Wow, that was fast,” he says, picking up right away. “Not that I’m complaining.”

“I didn’t say that I’d take the job,” I point out.

“So you already decided that you don’t want the job without even knowing the salary or anything?”

“Those details you can email me. I’ll send you my email address tomorrow. But as long as we’re not talking minimum wage, I’m in.”

“Yeah?” He’s grinning; I’d put money on it. Hell, I’m grinning too.

“Yeah!” I say. “I actually like your comedy club, so it’ll be a fun story to do.”

“Oh, hey, I’m not talking story—there’s going to be stories! Lots of them.” He chuckles. “Sorry, I probably sound like an overexcited tool. Hey, but I am right now. You know what? Tomorrow morning, let’s do this, get started. The renos are delayed enough as it is, let’s not delay this. If you’re free?”

“Yeah, I…” Holy shit, tomorrow. “Sure. Nine AM works?”

“Nine AM is perfect,” he says. “You’ll see, Sierra. This is going to be great.”

“I’m excited,” I say.

After we’ve hung up, I sit down on my old corduroy couch that sinks in the middle. Horatio comes over and plops on my lap, giving me a disingenuously knowing look.

Because really, I have to wonder: Are Nolan and I excited for the same things?

**

The next morning, I’m up bright and way too early. I give Horatio a walk, he terrorizes some pigeons, then I gulp down some chili ramen. Finally, at 8:30, I put on my best work suit and hurry off.

Nolan’s waiting for me in the restaurant part when I arrive. It’s closed, and you can hear the sounds of construction from the comedy club part.

“Hey! You look great.”

I pause, smiling with embarrassment and stifling my inner frustration.

This man could get a medal for his ability to mess with my head.

“Come in,” he says, with that grin that makes me want to grin too. “I’ve got a surprise for you.”

You’re here for a job, Sierra. Remember that.

“Look at this,” he crows, walking me over to a room that’s as far from the renovations as you can be while still being in the same building. “Your own office.” He hastily moves some papers. “Of course, if you’re still sure that you want the job, obviously. I almost forgot—the salary is $40 an hour, but we’re not paying for you to get glasses or some shit like that. No benefits.”