CHAPTER TWO
SCOTTIE
“Something strong,” I say, setting my purse on the bar top and sliding onto a leather barstool.
“Yikes, what happened to you?” Mika, my best friend, asks as he places a napkin and a bowl of pretzels in front of me.
I lean on the counter and say, “I had the worst day of my life.”
The only thing that can take this headache away is a flammable drink and a night at Stockings—the best gay bar in town with drag shows every weekend.
I became addicted to coming once I found the place back in college, especially on the weekends.
Not only are the drag shows fire, but I love the aesthetic of the bar.
Concrete floors, black walls, and pantyhose everywhere.
All shapes, all sizes, all colors. They dangle from the ceiling, they’re framed on the wall, and they’re the curtains for the drag show.
Looking for a good time, come to Stockings; you won’t be disappointed.
Mika winces as he starts filling up a tumbler with alcohol—not even sure what kind, but I don’t care. I’ll take whatever I can get. “Did Chad forget multiple commas this time?”
“I wish.” I toss my hands up in the air just as someone slides onto the stool next to me.
“It’s time to celebrate,” my other best friend, Denise, says as she slaps her hand on the counter.
“Guess who just booked a big wedding for this weekend?” She points to herself.
“This girl. The makeup artist booked for the Coopertart wedding got the flu, and they called me to fill in. Me! I mean, I hope the flu girl is okay, but oh my God, the luck. I’m telling you, this is going to be a game changer for me, and I plan on doing all the social media.
We’re talking Brie Coopertart. brIE!” she shouts.
Silence falls between us, because this is really bad timing on Denise’s part, not that she’d know though.
“What’s going on? Why aren’t you screaming for me? Mika, you love Brie.”
“Yeah, it’s just that Scottie came in here kind of upset.”
“Oh shit, really?” Denise turns toward me. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” I smile at her and muster all the excitement I can for my friend. “Wow, Brie Coopertart, that’s amazing. Isn’t that wedding the talk of the town right now? It’s being held at the public library, right?”
“Yes.” Denise eyes me for a second. “It’s supposed to be huge, and the media is going to be all over it.
I was placed as backup in case something happened to her makeup artist, and lo and behold, she got sick.
And once again, not happy that she’s sick, because that sucks, but also, I’m positively thrilled she got sick.
” Denise claps the tips of her fingers together in glee.
Being the good friend that I am, I turn toward her and give her a hug. “This is huge. I’m so happy for you.”
Denise has been a makeup artist for several years now.
She started doing makeup for fashion designers for their runway shows.
She actually started with nails, volunteering to paint the models’ nails.
Then she worked her way up to makeup. She now has quite a successful online presence, has really come into herself, her brand, and I can easily see her going places with her determination.
It’s fun to watch her grow—even if she’s wishing illness on others.
“Thank you. I met with Brie and the bridesmaids today to do a makeup trial, just to make sure I have everything they might need. I’m grateful it’s just her and two of her friends.
Their wedding party is small, but the extravagance.
I can’t wait. I’m spending all day tomorrow making a game plan, cleaning all my brushes, and making sure everything is ready for Saturday. Eeep, I’m so excited.”
Mika sets my drink in front of me and whispers, “Drink slowly.” Then he turns to Denise and asks, “Same as usual?”
“Please.” Denise picks up a pretzel and shoves it in her mouth. “Ahhh, I’m so excited. God, is that tar and stomach acid in your tumbler? I can smell it from here.”
I lift it to my nose and feel every hair in my eyebrows curl into coils. “Jesus, Mika. Is this gasoline?”
“You said you wanted something strong. That’s the strongest.”
Mika has been bartending at Stockings since I’ve known him; that’s how we met actually.
I stumbled into the bar, looking for a good time, and he was the one serving.
I, of course, was trying to hit on him because I was drunk and his black hair and gray eyes are hard not to drool at, but sad for me, he’s gay.
Nonetheless, we formed a bond, and he’s now my best guy.
“That should be illegal,” Denise says, waving her hand in front of her nose. “Drink that and lose your esophagus.”
Mika plants an Angry Orchard in front of Denise. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“I’m not.” Denise takes a sip of her drink. “I’m scared for our friend.” She pokes me in the arm. “What could be that bad that you need a drink like that?”
“Strap in, because I have a story for you…”
When I set my drink down, I look up at my friends and find utter shock splayed across their faces, both blinking, both with their mouths open.
In the distance, our favorite drag queen, Miss Guided, takes the stage and cheers erupt all around us, but it’s all ignored as my friends process the day I just had.
After a few seconds, Denise says, “Why the hell would you say you have a husband?”
“I don’t know,” I say on a groan. “I panicked. She was in town for the first time in a long time, and I thought, why not try to impress her? But then she comes into the office, all friendly with the Brads and Chad, and I felt left out.”
“That’s not a way to fit in, Scottie. Ask her where her blouse is from. Don’t put a nonexistent ring on your finger.”
“I see that now,” I say and press my hand to my head.
“God, what the hell am I going to do? This is such a nightmare. And the worst part, apparently her husband is the best of the best, like a one hundred percent success rate. So am I going to be the deranged one who can’t make it work with their husband? ”
Denise scratches her ear. “No, you’re going to be the deranged one who shows up with a blow-up doll dressed in a suit, because you have no husband.”
I rub my eyebrows, my anxiety at an all-time high now. “So many bad choices were made today. So many.”
Mika walks off to help another customer while I contemplate the blow-up doll situation. I mean, at least if I say things don’t work out, Sanders will understand, but then again, I run the risk of him thinking I’m a nut job…
“How strict do you think the patient-therapist relationship is? Think Sanders will tell his wife that her employee brought in a blow-up doll to a therapy session?”
Denise thinks on it for a second. “You know, that’s a good point. I don’t think he can say anything to your boss, which means, if you’re brave enough, you could take the doll and maybe make up a story about how he’s afraid you might pop him and that’s why the marriage is on the rocks.”
I mean, there’s some meat to that story. Consider me crazy, but I’m sort of considering it.
“Over my dead body will my friend pretend to be married to a plastic fuck hole,” Mika says as he rejoins the conversation.
Well, tell it like it is.
“That fuck hole is her husband.” Denise pounds her fist to the bar top, mirth written all over her face. “Don’t talk about him that way.”
“That fuck hole is not going to work.”
“Fine, but the idea had merit,” Denise says, sitting taller. “Hey, wait a second. Take Mika. He can pretend to be your husband.”
“Ooo, that’s a good idea,” I say, turning to my friend, feeling an ounce of hope.
“You might not have known I’m gay,” Mika says, “but your therapist sure will. The minute my mouth opens, he’ll know.”
“That’s okay. It’ll be obvious as to why it’s not working out between the two of you,” Denise says.
“Yeah, that’s such a good idea.”
We both lean on the bar counter, staring down Mika, who lets out a deep breath and says, “What time?”
I clap my hands and say, “Nine. Tomorrow morning.”
“Ooo, this will be so perfect. Can I come and watch? I want to see how this plays out,” Denise says.
“You have a wedding to prep for,” I remind her.
“Oh right.” She winces. “Jesus, one friend emergency, and I’m already forgetting my responsibilities. Yikes.”
“I can’t do it,” Mika says, looking at his phone.
“What? Why?” I ask.
“I have an appointment with my actual therapist tomorrow morning at nine.”
“Nooooo,” I drag out. “I mean, good for you, happy you’re making a healthy routine with your mental health, but noooooo.”
Denise taps her chin. “Maybe I can wear a mustache, pretend to be the man in your life.”
“That won’t be obvious at all, almost as bad an idea as the inflatable love companion,” I say on a groan. “Ugh, I don’t want you to move your appointment, and I don’t want to ask, but do you think…”
He shakes his head. “They charge me if I cancel within the twenty-four-hour period.”
“Freaking capitalism,” I say and pick up my margarita, which I down the rest of in one giant gulp.
Okay, decisions, decisions. Denise with a mustache or a blow-up doll?
“I know,” Mika says. “Why don’t you just take my brother?”
I look up from where I’m hanging my head in disappointment. “Your brother? Pretty sure he has better things to do with his life than attend a marriage counseling session with someone he doesn’t know.”
“He’s retired.”
“Retired?” I ask. “Isn’t he younger than us? Or is there a secret brother I don’t know about?”
“Only one brother and he’s two years younger to be exact,” Mika says.
“Wait, didn’t he sell an app or something?” I ask.
“Yup, hence why he has time on his hands.”
“Now there’s an option for you. Younger brother, retired at the ripe age of twenty-seven.” Denise nudges me with her elbow. “Also, beggars can’t be choosers and you, my dear, are currently a beggar.”
She’s not wrong, but Mika’s brother?
I shake my head. “He’s not going to want to help me out.”
Mika shrugs his shoulders. “You never know. Let me text him.”
“Oh my God, Mika, do not text your brother. That’s humiliating.”
But Mika doesn’t listen as he taps away on his phone.
“Mika, seriously, stop. I don’t want to bother your brother.” I lean over the bar, trying to swat at his phone, but he takes a step back, out of my reach.
“It’s not like you’re asking him for money or something. You’re asking him for his time, and he has plenty of that,” Mika says and then smiles before looking up at me. “He’s in.”
“What?” I nearly shout. “What did you say to him?”
“That my friend needs a fake husband for a therapy session tomorrow at nine in the morning, can you fill in? He said, ‘Sounds like fun, send me the deets.’”
“Well, there you go.” Denise picks up her bottle of Angry Orchard and clinks it against my empty glass. “Problem solved.”
“No, not problem solved. I don’t know him. This is a recipe for disaster.”
“Nothing to really know,” Denise says. “You go in there, knowing nothing about each other. It might help actually. You’ll look like you’re in so much disarray that before you know it, this Sanders character will give up. Might be perfect.”
“She’s right,” Mika says. “Cause some chaos and leave.”
“But I don’t want to cause too much chaos, as this is my boss’s husband after all.”
“You know what? Meet up with Wilder fifteen minutes prior to get your stories straight. That should do it.”
“Your brother’s name is Wilder?” I ask. “How come I didn’t know that?”
“Because you’re not the best at paying attention,” Mika says before booping my nose. “Maybe use that in your marriage counseling tomorrow. I’m giving him your contact info. Expect a text from him.”
When Mika’s done, he sticks his phone back in his pocket and then moves down the bar to a couple that just arrived.
I turn to Denise and whisper, “This is a bad idea.”
“Just get through the session tomorrow, blame everything on Wilder to save face, and then move on, simple as that. When your boss asks why things didn’t work out, you can push all blame to the husband. You look good, and then you can go and live your life.”
I nod, mulling that over. “You know, that’s not a terrible plan.”
“Precisely, and that’s why you have us as friends.”
I blow out a steady breath. “Yeah, this might work.” I nervously laugh. “For a second there, I thought I was going to have to FaceTime Matt into the counseling session.”
Denise shakes her head. “Not an option. We don’t associate with the devil anymore.”
I chuckle. “No…no, we don’t.”