Chapter 3
Chapter Three
WILDER
“Binoculars, binoculars, where art thou, binoc—aha, there you are. You motherfucker, diagonal and backward, should have known.”
I highlight the word binoculars in my word search with a green Sharpie highlighter. They have a clear window to look through while you’re highlighting, making them the best on the market at the moment. I pick up my Diet Coke with lime, take a sip, and then start looking for the word cravat .
Tonight’s word search theme—things you wear around your neck.
The night took a turn for the worse when I had to try to find noose . I thought it was vastly inappropriate, but this isn’t my normal word search brand. It’s one Mika found for me when he was visiting his friends upstate. He liked that there was a swear-word puzzle. I’m not a prude by any means—some might say I have a dirtier mouth than others—but there’s a time and fucking place for it, and it’s not in a word search puzzle.
I readjust my stretched-out legs, getting more comfortable, just as my phone beeps next to me. I glance at the screen, and when I see Mika’s name pop up, I pick it up.
Mika: Scottie needs a fake husband for a therapy session tomorrow. You in?
Well, that’s random.
But also intriguing. I set my puzzle down and text back.
Wilder: She weird?
Mika: She’s my friend, what do you think?
Wilder: Slightly weird, but solid personality.
Mika: Exactly. You in?
I think on it for a second. I mean, there’s not much context to his message, but then again, things have been pretty flat around here, and I could use a new experience to mix up my day-to-day.
Might give me a chance to work on my improv skills, which I’ve been dying to do given the classes I’ve been taking. Bringing my knowledge into a real-world setting, really gets the adrenaline going.
Seems like a no-brainer to me.
Wilder: Yeah, I’m in. Send me the deets.
Mika: Awesome. Here’s her contact info. Meeting is tomorrow morning at nine. She’s humiliated that she even had to ask. Make sure you text her.
Wilder: Got it.
Scottie’s contact information comes up, and I click on it. The thumbnail picture of her shows off a beautiful girl with long, light brown hair. From what I can see, she has one of those noses that has the smallest of swoops at the end. The lightest splattering of freckles on her cheeks. And one single dimple on the right side of her face. She’s hot. Why the hell does she need a fake husband?
My phone buzzes with another text from Mika, startling me from staring at her picture.
Mika: You’re probably doing intel on her already, noticing how hot she is, but she’s drinking right now, so you might not want to text her at the moment. She’s questioning her decisions. Shoot for later.
Wilder: Understood.
Mika: Have fun.
I set my phone down and stare at the burning fireplace image on my TV that I set every night while Led Zeppelin plays in the background.
Pretend husband.
Marriage counseling.
With a girl named Scottie.
I think this is something I can run with.
Smiling to myself, I pick up my notepad and pen that I always keep close by, I tug on my lip ring with my teeth, and I start taking notes on how I can play this character.
You know, this might be the fun I need in my life right now.
“Dude, why are you late?” I ask Derek as he comes striding up to me, still tying his tie.
“Sorry, man, Denise was a mess this morning.” He takes a seat at the bistro table I snagged us that is right next to the window and then picks up the coffee I ordered him. “Thanks. I really need this.”
“What’s going on with Denise?” I ask my best friend and accountant.
“She booked a wedding this weekend, a big one. It’s for an influencer named Brie Copperhead, something like that. All I know is she’s freaking out, and I spent last night and this morning trying to calm her down. Didn’t help that last night she came home drunk from the bar. She was saying some crazy shit.”
I bite into the coffee cake I gleefully purchased this morning. It’s my treat for the week. I tend to eat as healthy as I can, but every week, I treat myself once for every meal. Breakfast this week is this coffee cake.
“What was she saying?” I turn my wrist and check my Apple Watch for the time. I have about ten minutes before I have to bolt. Luckily, I’m close to where we’re meeting.
“She was going off about this Brie girl and then she started telling me about Scottie and how she’s married to Mika or I don’t know. She was slurring.”
I smile. “I think she meant me.”
“What?” Derek asks, looking all kinds of confused.
“Terrible day to be late, man. I have to leave in a few, but to make it short, Mika texted me last night that Scottie needed a fake husband, and—” I shrug. “I said sure, why the hell not.”
“Wait…what?” he asks, setting his cup of coffee down. “What are you talking about?”
“All I know is that Scottie needs a husband and so?—”
“Wilder, are you insane?” he asks. “Do you even know Scottie?”
“Never met her. She’s Mika’s friend, so I’m assuming she’s at least halfway decent.”
“I mean, yeah, she is, but why would you say yes to being someone’s fake husband?”
I pick off a piece of my coffee cake. “Not that I’m complaining, but being retired can be pretty boring at times. Seemed like something new and fun to do.”
“Don’t you volunteer every day? Maybe up all the charity work you do.”
“Yeah, but that’s for a few hours. There’s only so much I can do to keep myself busy. Plus, don’t want to over commit myself.”
“Okay, do more word searches. I know you love those.”
“Dude, those are a sacred nighttime ritual, you know that. And why do you even care?” I say, motioning toward him. “It’s not like you’re the one pretending.”
“No, but I’m your accountant, and I know how much stock you own in a variety of companies. You own enough stock in different places so if you do something stupid and you’re caught, you can throw off investors.”
“Jesus.” I roll my eyes. “I’m not that important. And it’s one day. It’s not a big deal.”
“What are you even doing with her?”
“Going to a marriage counseling class with her.” I shrug again.
Derek’s face falls flat, and he’s forced to push his thin-framed glasses back on his nose. “You’re going to go to a marriage counseling class with a woman you’re not married to nor know?”
“Yeah, what’s the big deal?”
“The big deal is the therapist is going to ask you questions about each other, and you don’t know her last name.”
“Isn’t it Prince?”
“Price,” Derek corrects me.
I shrug. “That’s where the fun comes in and my ability to improv. Honestly, I’m kind of excited about it.”
He pinches his brow. “This seems like a bad idea.”
Here’s the thing about Derek Hanson. I’ve known him since high school, and one of the things I know most about him is that he never steps out of his comfort zone. Ever. He wears the same white Fruit of the Loom undershirt under all his dress shirts. He listens to the same three playlists over and over again: the Harry Potter soundtracks, the Star Wars soundtracks, and The Best of Dolly Parton . He knows numbers; he liked them growing up, therefore, he became an accountant. Anything that steps outside what he knows, what he finds to be comfortable, he doesn’t dare touch.
So understanding my intentions behind helping Scottie out? They’re beyond him.
He also doesn’t quite understand what it’s like to feel bored.
He likes a routine. He has said time and time again, he wishes his life were just as regimented as mine, whereas I wish that I had more spontaneity.
And sure, I have the money to be spontaneous, but I don’t want to use my money like that. I want more life experiences…and convincing and lying through my teeth is one of them.
“There’s nothing bad about it. Seems like fun to me.”
Derek shakes his head. “If Denise wasn’t so crazy stressed right now, I’d ask her what the hell she was thinking by allowing this to happen, but I’m sure she’ll bite my head off if I do.”
“Yeah, I’d stay away.” I shove a big piece of cake in my mouth.
Derek watches me chew for a few seconds and then says, “Breakfast cheat?”
I swallow and then nod. “Yeah, been eyeing it all week.”
“Good?”
“Slightly dry.”
“That sucks.”
“Eh, you live and you learn.” I pop another piece in my mouth and then stand up. “I should get going. I don’t want to be late for my wife.”
Derek rolls his eyes and then stands as well. “Dude, please.”
I chuckle. “Don’t roll your eyes at me. I’m getting into character.”
“I knew you taking improv classes was going to be idiotic.”
“Idiotic?” I scoff and adjust my beanie on my head. “Derek, I’m saving lives out here with my improv skills.”
“Yeah, really saving lives.” He lifts his coffee in my direction. “Thanks for the drink. Sorry I was late. Same time next week?”
“Yup.” I pick up the rest of my coffee cake to eat on my short walk and then head toward the door.
We offer our goodbyes, and then I take off toward Third Avenue, where I’m supposed to meet Scottie. I texted her late last night, introduced myself, and sent her a picture so she knew what to look for. She responded that I looked like a bulkier version of Mika. I took that as a drunk confession, because I doubt she’d say something like that to someone she didn’t know. And then we agreed to meet in front of the Anthropologie on Third. She stated it was appropriate because there were wedding dresses in the window display.
But that’s about all I know.
I thought about asking Mika for more information, but since he works late, I knew he wouldn’t have time to answer me, and also, I kind of want this to be a mystery. I’ve known Denise for years, but I’ve yet to meet Scottie. I think Mika said she’d only recently moved to NYC a few months ago.
I finish my coffee cake, throw my garbage in a bin, and then cross the street to the Anthropologie, where I find a woman standing in front of the window display, arms crossed, glancing around as if she’s looking for someone.
From the uneasiness in her stature to her wandering eyes, there’s no doubt that it’s her, so I pause for a moment to take her in.
Standing at what I’m going to assume is five six with heels, she comes off as professional in a black pencil skirt with a tucked-in white blouse, the sleeves rolled up to her elbows. Her legs are bare, and her feet are fit into simple heels. Her hair is tucked behind her ears, curled at the ends, and she doesn’t have one strand out of place. She seems poised, ready to take on the world, but the knit in her brow and the worry on her lip lend me to believe as an onlooker that something’s troubling her.
I can only imagine what that is…
With my hands in my pockets, I cross the street, and just as I hit the sidewalk, her eyes connect with mine.
She stands a bit taller, adjusts her purse strap on her shoulder. “Wilder?”
“That would be me,” I answer as I watch her eyes not so coyly take in my black worn jeans, forest-green T-shirt with a hole in the collar, and my loose-fitting beanie.
“You’re…you’re not what I expected,” she says, giving me one more once-over.
“Yeah? What were you expecting?”
“Well, I mean, someone with…” She gestures toward me but doesn’t follow it up with a definition.
“Might have to catch me up on what you’re trying to say, because it’s not making much sense.”
She clears her throat. “Sorry, I just thought given your position in life, that you might look more…professional.”
“Ah.” I nod and then glance down at my clothes. “Not much of a clothes guy. Don’t bother spending my money on something that in the grand scheme of things doesn’t matter.”
“Some might argue that appearance matters.”
“Others might argue that you should never judge a book by its cover,” I counter with a smirk.
She studies me for a moment while I nervously tug on my lip ring. I was not expecting such a lukewarm welcome. I thought that I’d show up, she’d express her gratitude for my help, and then we’d go have some fun in marriage counseling. But this cold, standoffish exterior is quite chilling.
Clearing her throat, she says, “Well, I guess this will have to do.”
She guesses I will do?
Well, glad I could accommodate.
She then holds her hand out and says, “Hi, I’m Scottie.”
Knowing I really have nothing better to do today, I take her hand in mine and give it a shake. “I’m Wilder. Nice to meet you.”
She presses her hand to her skirt, fidgeting with the fabric as she avoids eye contact. “Yes, well, I’m sorry that we had to meet for the first time under these circumstances.”
“I’m not,” I say with a smile, causing her eyes to meet mine, confusion evident.
“Excuse me?”
I shrug. “Breaks up the normal routine, and it allows me an opportunity to practice my improv?—”
“Um…improv?”
“Yeah, Mika didn’t tell you? It’s a hobby of mine, so kind of frothing to test myself in real life. Not to mention, really enjoying the whole angle of this. Thinking I should start a business to pretend to be fake husbands all around the city.”
Her mouth parts open in surprise as she adjusts her purse strap again. “I’ll have you know there is nothing exciting or enjoyable about this ‘angle’ for me. I woke up this morning on the verge of losing all contents of my stomach?—”
“From nerves or from drinking last night?”
She lifts her chin, showing me that this woman has a lot of pride and she plans on displaying it often. “Nerves. I had two drinks last night.”
“If they were made by Mika, two drinks are more like six.”
“Doesn’t matter,” she says, swiping her hand at me. “What matters is that there’s nothing I want more than for all this to be over. I hate that I got myself into this mess, and now that I have to dig myself out, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t find joy in my demise.”
“Demise?” I say as I rock on my heels. “Babe, a demise would imply there’ll be death at the end of all this. From where I’m standing, you’re looking pretty healthy.”
“First of all”—she holds up one finger—“do not call me babe. Second of all, if I screw this up, I might as well throw myself off a cliff, because there’s no way I’ll be able to step foot in my office building ever again.”
“Wow, seems like high stakes.”
“Yes, it is. And I’d appreciate it if you’d go along with my plan, and in return, I’ll do anything you’d like—within reason. I’m not into sexual favors.”
The corner of my lip tilts up. “Good to know, but I need nothing from you. I have everything I need.”
“There has to be something in this for you.”
I shrug. “Nah, just something to do on a Friday morning.”
“That makes no sense. There must be something you want.”
I shake my head and rock on my heels. “Nothing.” I then take a look at my watch and say, “Also, if you don’t want to be late, you better set the scene for me. Are we talking about a grounded act? I’m assuming it will be in the sauce.”
Her nose scrunches up. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Different types of improv.”
“Oh my God, this is not… This is not a classroom skit. This is real life.”
“So in the sauce. Got it.”
She presses her hand to her forehead, looks around for a second as if she’s calming herself down and counting to ten. After a few seconds, she says, “Look, we’ve been married for five years. We met at the bar. We had a whirlwind of a romance, got married too young, and now we both want different things.”
“What do I want?”
“I don’t know,” she says.
“Well, don’t you think that’s a question this guy is going to ask?”
“I don’t know. Maybe I want children, and you don’t.”
“Technically, I think children are pretty awesome. Wouldn’t mind a few.”
“Okay, but this isn’t about what you personally want,” she says. “This is just a character. So the Wilder that goes in there, he doesn’t want kids.”
“Sure. I mean, I don’t like it, but I can go with it. If anything, I’m adjustable.”
“Great. Let’s go.”
“What do I do for a living?” I ask, not moving as she starts to walk away.
She turns around to face me. “Uh, I don’t know… Sell pharmaceuticals.”
“I know nothing about the pharmaceutical industry.”
“Can’t you make it up?”
“That’s tougher.”
“Okay, then what do you know?”
“Word searches. I know how to solve a Rubik’s Cube in seconds. I know the difference between Coke, Diet Coke, Coke Zero, and the pure shit that is Pepsi.”
“Dear God,” she mutters and looks away.
“I also know a lot about green roofs,” I continue, sidestepping her clear irritation.
“What are green roofs?”
“It’s a partially covered or fully covered roof of vegetation. They’re great for cities because they help reduce the heat island effect by reducing sunlight, and they help cool the buildings surrounding them. Not to mention they clean the air, reduce energy consumption and water runoff, and they have psychological benefits.”
“Okay, sure, you do green roofs.”
“I can see someone cares about the planet,” I say offhandedly.
“Please, Wilder.” She takes a deep breath. “I’m just trying to make it through this hour. Once this is done, we can go on our merry ways and never see each other again.”
“I wouldn’t say never. Your best friend is my brother. If he ever gets married, we’ll definitely see each other, unless there’s a falling-out between the two of you.”
“You know what I mean. This, us, we won’t have to play these parts again. Okay?”
“What if I need you to return the favor in a fake marriage scheme?”
“Then obviously, we’d see each other again, but that’s only because I would feel the need to do so.”
“Good to know.”
“Now, are you ready? Or do you have any other questions?”
“Nah, let’s do this.” I rub my hands together and then follow my fake wife up the street to our first marriage counseling session.
Let the games begin.