Erin Watt - When It's Real

I curl my fingers into fists. If Claudia’s team wasn’t sitting between the two of us, I might’ve reached over and smacked his smug smile off his smug face.

Paisley grips my hand, an unspoken gesture for me to get it together.

Even Claudia must sense that my patience is coming to an end. Hurriedly, she says, “Let’s do hand-holding on the third date and then a kiss on the fourth date. We’ll keep the first couple of dates under wraps, but leak the later ones to the paps.”

“Hold up, we’re going to kiss? I have a boyfriend,” I remind the room. “No one said there’d be kissing.”

“We’re gonna have a year-long relationship and we don’t kiss? Why don’t we just announce that it’s fake from the beginning?” Oakley mocks.

“But...but...” Yeah, I definitely didn’t think this through. I quickly turn to Paisley for help.

She grimaces. “They’re right. No one is going to believe that you and Oakley haven’t kissed. Not if you’re serious.” Her tone is apologetic, but her words don’t provide me any relief.

“You don’t expect me to...” I trail off, not able to bring myself to say the words out loud.

“Of course not,” Jim interjects briskly. “We’re not that kind of agency.”

He tries to play it off as a joke, but, um, they kind of are. They’re hiring this guy a girlfriend and they expect us to kiss.

How am I going to explain this to W? Sorry, babe, not willing to have sex with you yet, but I’m going to kiss another guy. In public.

That will go over well.

Claudia leans forward. “This is no different than if you were acting on a television show. Remember, you’re playing a part in a big love story.”

Her assurance doesn’t help, either. I may not know what I want in life. I may just be telling everyone I want to be a teacher because that’s easier than admitting I’m clueless about my future and that I’d rather hide as a waitress for the next five years. But I do know that the entertainment industry doesn’t interest me.

Paisley squeezes my hand again, probably to remind me why I’m doing this. By playing the role of a girlfriend, I get to lift the burden off my big sister’s shoulders and provide for my brothers. It’s not like I’m signing my entire life over. It’s just one year.

“What do I need to do?” I ask, feeling resigned.

“Just a few kisses, some hand-holding. It’s nothing, really.” Claudia waves her hand airily. “And it doesn’t need to be in the contract other than some general terms about physical contact when necessary.”

“Does any of this need to be in the contract?” Oakley sounds annoyed.

“I agree. If this ever got out, it would be terrible for Oak’s image,” Jim points out.

“The terms need to be specific so that the girl can be held to them,” one of the suits replies. Then he and Jim engage in some furious whispering until the lawyer presses his lips together in unhappy surrender. “Fine, it can be general, then. A general contract of employment.”

Once that’s decided, Claudia returns to her list. I wonder how long it is. I glance at the big white clock on the wall. It’s going on three hours and I’m exhausted.

“Let’s talk about her look again.”

“I’m not changing my look,” I mutter. “I like my look.”

I like my comfy skinny jeans, assortment of colorful T-shirts and the Vans that W and I doodled on during morning advisory last spring. The sneakers are filled with details marking our favorite dates. There’s a wizard’s wand along the left sole because we’re both Harry Potter fans. Then there’s the light post to signify the Urban Light display on Wilshire, where W kissed me for the first time. Where there was definitely tongue. His initials are on the back of one shoe and mine are on the other. He has a pair of them, too, but he doesn’t wear his. He says he doesn’t want to ruin them.

“You have a look?” Oakley raises his eyebrows.

“Yeah, and it’s better than yours,” I retort, tired of his attitude. “Would it kill you to wear pants that actually fit around your waist? No one wants to see your underwear.”

“Baby, everyone wants to see my underwear. I get paid a hundred grand per pap pic.”

“Baby?” I scoff.

He leans forward, threading his surprisingly elegant fingers together. “Don’t like that one? Pick another, then. You’re my girlfriend,” he reminds me mockingly.

“So you’re into infants?”

“What?” He rears back. “No. Fine. How about—” he pretends to think and then snaps his fingers “—old lady?”

“Great.” I give him my fakest smile. “I’ll call you...dick cheese.”

“Vaughn, gross,” my sister interjects.

Oakley covers his mouth. I swear I see a smile. I wait for his response and I’m not disappointed. “I have no problem with that, crabby patty.”

“All right, that’s enough of that. None of this needs to be in the contract.” Oakley’s lawyer rattles his papers in agitation.

I turn back to Claudia. I’ve given in on the kissing. On the dates. On this made-for-the-media breakup with my boyfriend, but no way am I going to let them change my look. I’ve got to fight for something. “I thought you wanted a normal girl. I’m a normal girl. This is what some normal girls wear.”

When Claudia and Jim exchange a glance, I know I’ve won this one. They agree to keep my look...for now.

“But when we take pictures, at least let us do your makeup. You’ll want us to,” Claudia promises.

Um. That doesn’t sound ominous or anything.

The negotiation goes on. When will our first official picture be released? Where will the dates take place? Will I go to an awards show with him? How about fashion week in New York? How often should I be seen with him? Every day? Every other day?

Oh, and I would not get Oakley’s phone number. Like I care.

But I still find it weird, because what nineteen-year-old isn’t allowed to give his number to his own girlfriend? And how does he communicate with his friends? Wait—does he even have friends? Or are they all fake like me?

I peer at him from underneath my lashes and feel a pang of sympathy. Oh, brother. Am I actually starting to feel sorry for him? I think I might be.

But then my stomach growls and reminds me that we’re still mad. And unfed.

“You’ll text Amy or me if you want to get ahold of Oakley,” Claudia says.

“I feel like I need my own people. My people can text your people,” I joke.

No one laughs. Instead, Claudia looks like she’s seriously considering it, but then decides against it. “No, I think two nonteens Tweeting each other and commenting on Instagram would appear too contrived. And your voice, we want to preserve that. Whereas Amy has been running Oak’s page for a couple of years now.”

I have a voice?

“Whatever.” I’m exhausted and hungry. One granola bar wasn’t enough, and my stomach rumbles again to alert everyone to that fact.

“Is the granola bar all you’ve had today?” Oakley asks.

A burst of surprise jolts me. Out of all the people in this room, Oakley’s the one to ask? “I had breakfast, but I like to eat like a normal person.”

A faint smile touches his lips. “Jim, we need to eat.”

“Oh, sure.” Jim turns to Paisley. “Run and get us one of everything from the café across the street.”

I see a chance for fresh air and an escape. “I’ll go, too.” Not to mention that I don’t want to be here without Paisley.

“Oh, no, we’ll need you here,” Jim objects.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur to my sister. She doesn’t need to wait on me.

Paisley laughs. “It’s my job, silly. I’ll be right back.”

She trots out like she’s glad to be out of there, while I watch her exit and wish I could go with her.