I continued to gape at her, my mouth hanging open, my head a blur. I tried to figure out what the hell she was talking about. I thought I had heard the word "engaged" but that couldn't have been right. My friends didn't get
engaged
.
Maybe she said en
raged
. That would certainly make more sense given Sophie's propensity for drama. Yes, actually, now that I think about it, I'm positive that's what she said. She and Eric are
enraged
about something.
But then Sophie pulled her left hand out from underneath the table, where she apparently had been hiding it since we walked in the door, and held it up so we could all see the enormous diamond that radiated almost as brightly as her face.
Zoë immediately leaped into action, leaning over me to get a closer look at the ring, pushing my body against the back of my chair in the process. I sat motionless, leaning as far back from the table as I could to avoid getting whipped in the face by Zoë's long, dangling, blond hair. But, more important, to avoid the large, menacing rock that seemed to be drawing closer with every threatening move of Sophie's hand.
I watched the whole spectacle unfold in front of me like an old silent black-and-white movie. Pictures without sounds. Quiet, muted faces mouthing words of congratulations and joy. But somehow, completely unable to participate.
"Jen," I heard Sophie's voice come through a long wind tunnel, and suddenly all the humming and buzzing in my ears vanished.
I blinked. "Yeah?"
"What's wrong?"
I looked up to see Zoë's and Sophie's faces staring at me from behind the giant diamond. Zoë was now hovering over the back of Sophie's chair to get a closer look.
"I... um, I thought you weren't able to see him this weekend," I said weakly.
Sophie's face glowed brighter. "I know! But it was all a ploy to catch me off guard. He showed up last night and surprised me!"
"OMG," Zoë gushed in her typical IM speak. She usually resorted to it when she wanted to be extra dramatic and express something either truly grotesque or truly mind-blowing. Or occasionally just to save time. "How'd he do it?"
Sophie's beaming face never dimmed for a moment. "Well, I was sitting at home alone, pissed off because he wasn't answering his cell phone. It was turned off. And I assumed he had shut it off because he was out drinking with his stupid friends from the hospital."
Zoë and John nodded eagerly, hungry for more, as if stranded on a deserted island and marriage proposal details were their only hope of survival.
"And then the doorbell rang. I had absolutely no idea who it could be. No one ever rings my doorbell, except my landlord when she's delivering a package." Her voice was fast and animated. And with every word her eyes lit up like sparkling firecrackers. "And I almost didn't open it because when I looked out the peephole there was no one there."
"This is good," Zoë confirmed, egging her on.
Sophie grinned and continued. "But I thought, what the hell, maybe it's a package she forgot to drop off earlier. So I opened the door."
"And he was there!" Zoë interjected, considerably proud of her supersleuth, Encyclopedia Brown–esque ability to conclude the story before it was fully revealed to the audience.
"Yes!" Sophie exclaimed. "He was there! On one knee, holding out the ring!"
John and Zoë exchanged a sentimental glance worthy of a true Hollywood romance.
"And that's why I couldn't see anyone through the peephole," Sophie explained.
"Because he was down on one knee!" Zoë stated the obvious in an overly sappy tone that I rarely ever heard from her unless she was mocking a soap opera, a reality show, or a colleague she disliked for being "too girly."
"Exactly," Sophie replied, in the same tone.
The three of them simultaneously let out an emotional sigh, and then upon becoming aware of my lack of participation, turned and stared at me. The same unnerving, inquisitive expression spread across each of their faces. It was as if they were a group of scientists examining a newly discovered alien species from another planet. A planet where, evidently, the word "engagement" didn't exist in the local language or telepathic form of communication.
I stared blankly at the closed menu in front of me.
"Jen?" Sophie implored. "What's the
matter
?"
I looked up at her, dazed. "Huh? Nothing."
"What do you mean 'nothing'? I'm getting
married
and you haven't reacted at all!"
The truth was, I didn't know how to react. I didn't know how to think. Up until now the only marriages and engagements in my life were the ones I exposed as fraudulent. Not the ones being planned for my best friend.
But in regards to the present conversation, that certainly wasn't a viable explanation for my strange behavior. "I'm sorry," I said, trying to shake myself from my daze. "I guess I'm just in shock. Congratulations!"
Sophie's confused frown slowly turned into another beaming smile as I leaned over to hug her.
"Fabulous, honey. Well done. Way to latch on the ol' ball and chain," John commended her.
"Thanks," Sophie said, turning to each one of us, her silly lovesick grin as prominent as ever.
I admit it was wonderful to see her so happy. But something wouldn't allow me to be happy
for
her. And it ate me up inside. I wanted to jump up and down and squeal with delight the way Zoë had... and even John. After all, I was her best friend. We'd been best friends since the third grade. If anyone should have been involved in some type of celebratory jumping ritual, it was me. But it felt like there were weights in my shoes and bricks on my shoulders cementing me down to the ground. Forcing me to resort to a time-perfected, skillful performance of forged emotions. Just like every other day of my life. Playing the role of the flight attendant, the lonely businesswoman, the raging sorority girl, the irresistible computer geek, the merciless temptress. And now, apparently... the overjoyed, congratulatory best friend as well.
But the problem was, that was something I never thought I'd ever have to fake.
Even though my friends didn't know what I really did on all those business trips, I still felt like I could be myself around them. I still felt like they were the only ones who really knew
me.
A few lies here and there. A handful of harmless cover-ups to explain why my housekeeper cleans out my suitcase with disinfectant, or why I can never talk on my business cell phone when they're around. But I've never had to act like someone else.
I've never had to fake it with them.
The server soon approached the table, and as I watched Sophie place her usual eggs Benedict order, I realized that something had changed.
In all of us. Our group would never be the same again.
Sophie was engaged. She was going to get married. And she had the ring to prove it. Everything would change from here on out. She would move in with him. They would buy a house together. And suddenly it would be "we" want you to come over for a BBQ; "we'd" love it if you could meet us for drinks; "we" haven't agreed on a day-care for the baby yet.
But as much as I wanted to believe it, I knew that a fear of change wasn't the real reason I couldn't be happy for her. It was something else. Something much darker. And I certainly wasn't about to let that show through and cast a shadow on everyone's joyful brunch.
So as soon as the server disappeared, I painted a happy, best-friend smile on my face, and with anticipation in my voice I successfully helped Zoë cover all the required, post–engagement announcement questions.
AN HOUR later I said good-bye to Zoë and John as the valet attendants drove up to the curb in Zoë's car, and then watched as she handed over her parking stub and tip before driving away. Sophie and I stood silently, waiting for our turn to repeat the familiar Los Angeles parking routine.
I stared down at my feet, trying desperately to avoid acknowledging the silence that had, for the first time in twenty years, turned awkward. I reached into my bag and pulled out a five-dollar bill, ready to tip the valet as soon as he appeared with my Range Rover.
And when I couldn't take the silence any longer, I decided to break the ice. "So when do I finally get to meet this nice Jewish boy of yours?" I said in a rich New York accent, mimicking Sophie's overbearing grandmother just as we'd been doing since elementary school.
Normally that's when Sophie would either laugh hysterically at what she calls my "goya Jewish accent" or break into a well-practiced grandmother imitation of her own.
But not today. Instead she blurted out anxiously, "I need to talk to you."
And there it was. The urgency. The paranoia. The neurotic Sophie I knew and loved had finally returned after a brief, brunch-long vacation on the island of worry-free, post-engagement bliss.
"What is it?"
She tugged me a few steps farther away from the curb. Her eyes darted back and forth as if checking our earshot radius for spies and hidden bugs. "It's a bit, well... unconventional," she began warily. "And when I tell you, I don't want you freaking out. I've been thinking about it for a while now and ever since the engagement last night. I've made a decision, and I'm going to go through with it."
I wrinkled my forehead and looked at her quizzically. "What the hell are you talking about? Are you joining the CIA?"
Sophie looked around suspiciously again. "No. It's just that you know how paranoid I am... about Eric and everything."
I sighed. "Yes. But he proposed to you last night. You said he was going to move out here after he finished his residency. I think his intentions should be pretty clear by now."
The words were coming out of my mouth, perfectly rehearsed with flawless enunciation and indisputable sincerity, and yet...for the first time, I found myself having a very hard time believing them.
"Which only makes it even more critical," she urged.
"Soph, you're talking in code. I don't understand what you're getting at."
She lowered her eyes, almost in shame, and then slowly reached into her bag and pulled out a small, folded-up piece of white paper.
"There's this girl at work," she began reluctantly. "I was talking to her one day at lunch... about Eric."
I nodded.
"And she told me a story..." She paused and began to unfold the paper in her hand. "About a close friend of hers who hired someone. Like a...a specialist."
I felt the blood in my veins turn to ice. Every inch of my skin was instantly covered in tiny goose bumps. I was suddenly very thankful for my big and bulky clothing selection. It was the only thing hiding the sudden horror that washed over me.
"What...
kind
of specialist?" I asked faintly. Even though I had a sneaking suspicion I knew exactly what kind she was referring to.
It was a kind I knew well. Very well.
All too well.
Sophie took a deep breath and looked up at me with remorseful eyes. As if she was apologizing in advance for my inevitable disappointment in her. Like she had finally cracked under the pressures of her insecurities... and she knew it. "Well, she called her a 'fidelity inspector.'"
I closed my eyes and nodded painfully. The familiar title suddenly feeling...well, not so familiar. Foreign even.
And cold. Very, very cold.
When I opened my eyes again Sophie had finished unfolding the piece of paper in her hand. I hardly noticed the valet standing in front of my Range Rover, waving his hand in the air, trying to get my attention, because I was completely spellbound by the letters and numbers that seemed to jump right off the paper in front of me, attacking the very core of my nervous system.
It was almost funny. I'd never actually seen it with my own eyes before. Even though I knew pieces of paper like this existed all over the city. All over the country, even. But ironically, I was seeing one for the very first time.
Ashlyn
310-555-2120
"JEN!" SOPHIE'S voice awoke me from what I could only pray was a dream.
I blinked and looked down at the piece of paper in my hand
for the third time. It was no dream. There was my name...my secret identity,
written clear as day. And right below it was the number to my business line.
It had come back to haunt me. My by-referral -only business had not come close
to home, it had come
to
my home. To my best friend. My life. It was
all too surreal for me to even attempt to make sense of it.
There was only one thing I knew for sure had to be done.
"Are you crazy? You're not actually thinking of calling this person, are you?" I demanded, my voice strained and distressed.
"You don't even know what she does. My friend said her services are invaluable."
I snorted. "I can only imagine what she
does
." As soon as the words left my mouth, I felt guilty for betraying myself.
Sophie took the paper from my hands and studied it.
"It's some sort of undercover test."
I watched her slip into a meditative state as she ran her fingers over the letters on the paper. "'Ashlyn,'" she read aloud. "It's a pretty name."
Hearing that name come from Sophie's lips sent shivers up my spine.
She looked up at me. "Supposedly she's very good at—"
I immediately snatched the paper back from her and crumpled it up. "This is insane!"
"Hey!" she said, reaching unsuccessfully for the note. I felt like we were two five-year-olds fighting over the last piece of good chocolate from Grandma's candy jar. "What are you doing?" From the confusion in Sophie's eyes I could tell she was thinking that
I
was the insane one. And the truth was, at that moment she was probably right.
My heart was racing and I could feel my body start to slip into panic mode. My eyes darted toward the valet stand, where I saw a small black trash can. I took one giant stride and tossed the paper in the trash. "I'm saving you from doing something you'll regret."
Sophie put her hands on her hips and glared at me. "Something I'll regret? You don't think I'll regret marrying someone who might one day cheat on me?"
Her words once again turned the blood in my body ice cold, and I felt like someone had stuck me inside a meat locker and bolted the door shut. It was exactly the reason I did what I did. To
avoid
regret. To offer answers to those who wanted them... those who needed them. Women just like Sophie.
But those women
weren't
Sophie. That was the thing. They were nameless, practically faceless. They were easily forgettable.
Well... almost.
I couldn't let my best friend suffer through what I had seen so many women suffer through. Not a chance. Besides, Eric wasn't even the cheating type. I was almost positive about that. True, I had never met him, but I had a sixth sense about these kinds of things...even from a distance.
I had a superpower, damn it!
Although, the more I tried to ignore the fact, the more it haunted me: the real reason I had thrown away that number. And it was a very selfish reason.
Sophie couldn't know.
She couldn't find out.
I had to keep the secret. And tossing that thing into the nearest trash can was the only way I knew how.
"Miss." A voice came from my left. I looked up to see one of the valets in his red jacket motioning toward my awaiting car. "Your car is here." His tone hinged on aggravation.
"One second!" I snapped back, causing him to cower slightly and step away.
Sophie tossed me a concerned look. "Jen, what's gotten into you?"
I bit my lip and tried to smile. "What do you mean?" But who was I kidding? I knew damn well that I wasn't fooling anyone.
"First you don't react to my engagement announcement, then you freak out when I tell you I want to hire someone to make sure Eric is a trustworthy guy before I marry him, and now you're yelling at some poor, innocent valet for no apparent reason. This is definitely not you."
She was right. It
wasn't
me. I wasn't sure who the hell it was. I took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I've been under a lot of stress at work," I lied quickly. Ah, yes. The legendary work scapegoat saves the day again. "Look, let's talk about this some more later. It's a lot of information to take in all at once. I just need time to digest it."
"Okay..." Her voice trailed off with uncertainty.
"Just promise me you won't do anything or call anyone until we've talked this through."
Sophie lowered her head and fidgeted with her valet stub.
"Promise me!"
"Fine, I promise," she finally conceded.
There was a moment of awkward silence between us as I attempted to collect myself. "Hey, I know! Let's get together for drinks tonight and celebrate your engagement!
The mention of her engagement immediately brightened her face again, and she smiled. "Totally! I'm in!"
"Great!" I exclaimed, forcing every ounce of excitement I could muster into my voice. "You can bring Eric! I'll finally get to meet . . ."
Her face sank again as she shook her head. "Eric left this morning. He really
did
have to work this weekend."
"Oh."
"But he's flying me out next weekend," she added hopefully.
I placed my hand on her shoulder. "Well, that's good news."
She nodded. "But
we
can still go out."
"Definitely. I'll call Zoë and John on my way home and we'll all meet up."
But I didn't call them on my way home. My mind was turning faster than a tornado and my thoughts seemed just as destructive. A major crisis had been averted...at least temporarily.
How on earth would I convince Sophie not to go through with this? Or should I even try?
My meeting with Roger Ireland only a few days ago was repeating over and over again in my head. I heard my own voice playing on an endless loop:
"It's best to test them
before
they get married. If all my clients had done so then maybe I wouldn't see half of the things that I've seen."
Sophie was doing exactly what I would have advised her to do had she been...well, anyone else but her.
I thought about my options.
The first one was to just tell her the truth.
This is what I do. That's my phone number on that piece of paper and I've been leading a double life: my own and some imaginary girl's named "Ashlyn."
It would certainly solve the problem of having to watch my friend go through with something as stressful as a fidelity inspection. There was no way she would want
me
testing her fiancé. That was a given.
But was I really prepared for her to know? Would she even understand? Would she forgive me for keeping it a secret for more than two years? And would I have to tell the others as well? Zoë? John?
Just the thought of that made me feel sick to my stomach.
I moved on to option two: Convince her not to go through with it.
Eric is a trustworthy guy; he'd never cheat on you. This is a ridiculous idea!
That seemed like the more viable option. But it would require more lying. And not just small "little white lies" like "I'm in Boston because a company is in the middle of a billion-dollar acquisition and their investors just backed out." Oh, no. These would be much bigger lies. Because they went against everything I believed in. Everything I stood for.
And even if I did try to persuade her to just let it go, what's to say she would even listen? No one knows as well as I do that trust isn't something anyone can convince you to have. It's something you have to find within yourself. And in the end, most people just hire someone like me.
Of course, I could always go with option three. But I suppose that would require me to actually come
up
with an option three. And so far I was drawing a blank. So there went that idea.
By the time I arrived home I had made a decision. That destructive little piece of paper was in the trash, but that meant nothing. She had gotten the number once; if she wanted to, she could easily get it again.
I just had to get to her first. Explain myself and hope to God she understands.
And tonight was the perfect time to do it.
I called up Zoë and John and told them to meet us at our favorite bar at 10:00. Then I called Sophie and told her to meet me at 9:00. One hour should be enough time to work my magic. Hey, if I could convince a forty-year-old CEO of a reputable auto engine manufacturer that I knew how a spark plug worked, I should be able to convince my best friend of what I was about to tell her.
Should
being the operative word, of course.
SOPHIE AND I found a quiet booth at the back of Jayes Martini Lounge, an upscale Brentwood bar that had recently replaced our former local hangout after Zoë insisted that it had become overrun with "HDFBs" (horny drunk frat boys). Plus, Jayes offered us a much larger selection of fun, froo-froo, girly martinis that would surely make James Bond cringe.
Sophie slid into the booth and looked disconcertedly toward the front door. She checked her watch. "I wonder why they're not here yet."
"Actually," I said, sliding in across from her, "I told them to come later. There's something I want to talk to you about."
Sophie placed her small, lime-green handbag down next to her, then set her drink on the table and arranged it perfectly so that it sat centered between her shoulder blades. Finally she looked up at me, ready for whatever was coming...or at least she thought so.
"What's up?"
"It's about before," I began. "The name and the number you showed me."
She nodded. "The one you threw in the trash."
I smiled. "Yeah, that one."
"What about it?"
"Well..." I swallowed hard. Here goes nothing. "There's something you don't know about me."
Sophie laughed loudly, and it came out more like a snort. "Jen, I've known you since we were eight. I know
everything
about you."
I nearly cringed. Her words stung, and it made what I was about to do that much harder.
"Well, you don't know this," I said sincerely.
The seriousness in my voice immediately got her attention and held it. She leaned in closer and waited.
"You know that...well,
skill
I have?"
"Men reading?" Sophie said promptly. That's what she and Zoë had endearingly nicknamed it a long time ago, when we first discovered I was blessed with it. Although tonight it seemed more like a curse.
"Yes... that." I took a deep breath. "Well, recently it's been... let's just say 'enhanced.' And now it's more than just a...you know, party trick. It's...well, it's pretty damn accurate."
I could feel a groan building up in my throat. I sounded like one of those crazy psychics on Venice Beach, trying to convince some gullible tourist to buy into my mind-reading abilities. It was pathetic.
Sophie crinkled her forehead. "What do you mean?"
I stammered, searching for the right words, but they wouldn't come. It was as if they didn't even exist. The English language just wasn't designed to explain something like this to your best friend. "Fuck it!" I finally said. "I know for sure that Eric's not the cheating type, and that's all there is to it."
I released a heavy sigh and then watched Sophie's reaction carefully, waiting for any indication of conviction. She looked down and touched the frothy top of her Orange-Dream Martini with her fingertip.
Her lack of words made me feel obliged to add more of my own. Lots more. "Just trust me on this one. Like I said, I'm hardly wrong about men...you know that! You don't need to go through with this fidelity-whatever crap. It's totally useless." I was starting to ramble. "He'll pass this so-called 'undercover test' with flying colors, and then you'll forever have to hide the fact that you sent out some professional to
spy
on him because you didn't trust him! You don't want to start this marriage out on the wrong foot, do you?"
"You've never even met him. How can you be so sure?"
I hesitated, scanning the room for help, any kind of help. "I... I...I've never met...
that
guy," I said, quickly pointing to a man at the bar who was attempting to chat up a tall, attractive Asian girl, and unsuccessfully at that. "And I bet I can read him."
Sophie looked over at the man at the bar, then turned back and skeptically crossed her arms over her chest. "Okay, fine."
I twisted in my seat and watched the subject in the dark pants and starched gray button-up shirt. I studied him exactly as I would study a client's husband or boyfriend. I looked for tiny details... small, unnoticeable mannerisms. There was usually no method to the madness; the answers just
came
to me somehow . . . almost magically.
"Well, for starters, he likes Asian women."
Sophie rolled her eyes. "C'mon... that's a little obvious.
I
could have told you that... and I know
nothing
about men."
I held up my hand. "Yes, but would you be able to tell me that he's never dated one before?"
Sophie's doubtful expression slowly morphed into masked intrigue, and I knew I had to keep talking. "This is a relatively new obsession for him. He's always liked classic-looking white girls. Blond hair, blue eyes, the usual. In fact, he'd never even given Asian girls a second glance. But he probably recently saw
Memoirs of a Geisha
or some other movie that had a beautiful Asian woman in it, and then suddenly he wondered why he'd never noticed them before.
"So, very soon after, he decided he would start trying his luck with Asian women. Partly because he now saw how beautiful they were, but mostly because he just hadn't had any success with the blondes. He comes to bars at least twice a week to try to meet girls, but for the most part, it's a fruitless effort. Because he doesn't know how to talk to them. In attempting to impress women he ends up sounding either too anxious or too arrogant, because those are the only strategies he knows."
I took a deep breath and sat back in my seat. I knew I was right. I only hoped that Sophie knew it too.