The Breakup Artist (22 page)

“Marie,” he said with a charming smile, “you’re here early.”

“Actually, Alex, I’m here right on time,” I replied, giving him a wink and my most inviting smile. I had to try to keep the small talk up for a while since Rachel said she might be a bit late. We had decided that the best way to get this whole thing done would be to bring her parents along with her so that they would see just how “horrible” Alex was and forbid her from seeing him anymore. Sadly this meant the scene that played out here would probably be very dramatic and loud, but I didn’t mind too much since I was positive I wouldn’t be coming back to this restaurant again any time soon.

I made sure to rest my hand lightly on the table so that Alex could place his hand gently over mine. Our conversation wasn’t particularly exciting, but I pretended to hang on his every word, leaning over the small circular table to get closer to him. The waitress had already come around and taken our orders, which worried me since I had expected Rachel and her parents to be there long before that happened. I was sorely tempted to take out my phone and call her to ask what was taking so long but I knew that would look far too suspicious, not to mention low-class. Instead I let Alex order for me (since I definitely didn’t speak French) and continued to lean into him as if everything he said enthralled me.

After forty-five minutes of listening to him ramble on about why the public school system was so beneath him and he liked when people knew their place in society, Rachel and her parents finally arrived. As much as I didn’t want a scene, I was desperate to get out of that restaurant so I decided to help things along a little. I snuggled up closer to Alex so that I was practically sitting on his lap and made a small, innocent observation.

“Alex, why is that girl looking over here? She just keeps staring and it’s starting to make me uncomfortable. Could you do something about that?” I asked, looking up at him from under my eyelashes.

“Where?” he asked, obviously surprised that I had spoken, since it was the first time since this date started that I had been able to get a word in. As Alex looked around the room, I saw all of the color drain from his face faster than I thought was healthy. After that it didn’t take long for the fight to begin. Rachel strode over to the table like a bull on a rampage with her parents in tow behind her. Alex stood up with his arms spread wide as if trying to say that he had no idea how he had ended up at a nice restaurant with a girl who was definitely not his girlfriend. This, however, didn’t seem to work because Rachel drew her hand so far back that she almost hit her startled mother and slapped Alex hard enough to quiet the whole restaurant.

Though I knew there would be a scene, I hadn’t expected such a forceful reaction, especially since Rachel had planned the whole thing. I thought she would at least cut the boy some slack since she knew he wasn’t technically cheating. This knowledge didn’t seem to faze her at all.

“Daddy, do you see what I have to put up with?” she shrieked, drawing the attention of everyone who hadn’t already been alerted by the slap. “He’s disloyal! I’ve been trying to tell you for so long. I deserve so much better than him, Daddy!” After this proclamation, Rachel broke down into what I can only describe as the most poorly acted fit of crying I had ever seen. Her mother wrapped an understanding arm around her daughter’s shaking shoulders, which I found at least slightly endearing. They might be filthy rich and spoiled rotten but they still possessed human emotion, which was more than I expected. The “human emotion” coming from Rachel’s father, however, was less endearing and more terrifying.

I couldn’t quite understand what he was saying but he was definitely turning an unhealthy shade of scarlet as he bellowed at a still-dumbfounded Alex. I didn’t quite know who I should feel sorry for in the situation that was playing out before me; though I was quickly starting to suspect that I shouldn’t really feel sorry for any of them. Instead I sat awkwardly at the table, fully aware that many of the eyes were turned on me. I was officially cast as the “other woman” in this scenario. I twisted my cloth napkin into a small pillar in my lap before finally deciding it would be best to just get out of there. My usual apologize and dash strategy didn’t seem appropriate for this situation so I had to think quickly.

Standing up I shot an icy death glare at Alex and threw my cloth napkin down on the table. Rachel’s father had stopped yelling for a moment, presumably to catch his breath, so I took that opportunity to say in a high-pitched, indignant voice, “I can’t believe you didn’t tell me you had a girlfriend,” before stomping out of the restaurant, hoping I wouldn’t trip over anything and draw even more attention to myself.

Once I reached my car, I turned and looked behind me to make sure Alex or Rachel’s family wasn’t coming out of the restaurant to see my old, unimpressive car. Much to my delight they were nowhere to be found.

I drove home with a grin plastered to my face, excited to recount the night’s events to David and discuss our plan of attack for the next day, though I suspected that after that performance, Alex wouldn’t find me quite as appealing as he had just moments ago.

☼☼☼

I wore a low-cut, teal, silk blouse to school on Tuesday with black skinny jeans and open-toed teal heels. It was easy to spot Alex in his normal spot by the tennis courts. He looked eager as I walked up behind him, which I thought was odd since I had just caused him quite a bit of grief the night before. I had to think of a good excuse as to why I would be coming around after I had declared my loathing so forcefully just a day ago. He glanced around often; apparently looking for someone that I assumed was me. I decided not to disappoint him. Leaning over behind him, I whispered a quick, “Looking for someone?” in his ear. His cheeks instantly turned red when he saw me, though he kept himself beautifully composed.

“Hey, Marie,” he said casually, though by the way his eyes kept wandering to my lips, I knew I’d snagged him. “I’m really sorry about last night. I should have told you about that little detail,” he said casually. I figured that when he said “little detail” he meant the fact that he had a girlfriend who he was cheating on with me. Instead of showing my true disgust for this boy, who apparently hadn’t learned his lesson, I simply shrugged my shoulders.

“I’ve already forgotten about it,” I said sweetly.

I spent all of my energy that morning being as openly flirtatious as I possibly could be without literally throwing myself at Alex. David spent the day away from the spot because, according to him, just because he’d agreed it was a worthy cause, it didn’t mean he’d be able to stand by and watch some other guy ogle me. I found his jealousy endearing.

I left school Tuesday afternoon (David and I had agreed not to meet in the parking lot in case Alex showed up) and drove down to the park, slipping out of my heels and exchanging them for the black flip-flops I had tossed in my car that morning. David was waiting for me in his car, and I got in the passenger seat. We had decided that since we weren’t able to make our date a few days ago, we would celebrate our inevitable victory tonight by going to dinner. It had been my idea to meet in the parking lot of the park rather than at my house, after our last experience there. David assured me that wasn’t likely to happen again but agreed to the park.

We went to the same Italian restaurant he had taken me to on our first “fake” date. The food seemed better this time, and the conversation was infinitely better. We sped through the list of “favorites” (favorite movie, color, animal, food) and worked our way into goals for the future. I had much more to say about my goals, since I didn’t posses any favorites of my own. The conversation continued as we migrated back to the park and ended up lying on a blanket in the grass.

David had his arm around me, enabling me to rest my head on his chest as we spoke. The lights around the park made it difficult to see the stars, but I wasn’t looking at the sky anyway. With my eyes trained on the perfect boy beside me, I asked him to tell me about his family. I knew it sounded like an oddly masochistic question coming from someone in a broken home, but I actually enjoyed hearing about normal families.

“Well, you already know about my parents. I’ve got one little sister and no brothers, but I do have a rather amusing grandma,” he said, sounding very much like someone telling a bedtime story. “She grew up in the south but moved down to Simi Valley when my dad moved to Thousand Oaks. She always says the most inappropriate things.” He laughed softly at some unspoken memory and continued. “Most of the time she’s pretty funny, but we have to be careful when we’re out in public. Some people don’t understand where she’s coming from.”

I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of David’s heart, never wanting this moment to end. “What about the rest of your family?” I asked, just wanting to keep him talking. The way he talked about his family was so loving that it made me wish I had that kind of relationship with my own.

“The rest of my family is pretty normal. We try to get together every few years, but it’s difficult with everyone spread out all over the country.” He shrugged and fell silent, and we both listened to the wind blowing through the trees for a little while. After a few more moments of silence, I voiced a thought that I had been entertaining since our talk a few days earlier.

“David?”

“Mmm?”

“I was just thinking about how well this job is working out . . . and how well Blane worked out, and I was thinking . . . maybe if we did a background check on each client to make sure they weren’t some sort of ‘chronic dumper,’ we could still keep the business going.”

He didn’t say anything for a minute, and I thought maybe I’d overestimated the appeal of this proposal.

“Go on,” he said after a moment, much to my relief.

“Well, maybe you could perform the background check since you have vast journalistic skills,” I said as I nudged him with my shoulder. We had moved on from his less-than-kind description of me in his article, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t taunt him with it every now and then. “Maybe you could decide if the person is a worthy client and I could do what I do, then you could sweep in and save me from any commitment at the last second.” I paused, thinking through this a bit more now that I’d said it out loud. “Maybe we could say that everyone can get one breakup before they’re no longer eligible for the service. The only time we’d perform multiple breakups for the same person would be in special cases like Rachel McKlintock, where they’re already so spoiled that our refusal wouldn’t make a difference.”

I looked up at David and saw that he was actually working through my proposal in his head, which, honestly, was much more than I’d expected. I tried to let him think without staring at him, so I closed my eyes and just concentrated on the way his chest rose and fell with each slow breath he took.

“I like that idea,” he said finally, actually sounding pleased. I looked up at him to see him smiling back down at me. He kissed the top of my head and I reveled in the odd compromise to the two futures I had originally imagined. I was the luckiest girl alive to get to have a little of both of the worlds I couldn’t seem to give up.

☼☼☼

Project “Alex Swensen” was in full swing by the time I pulled into the parking lot on Wednesday morning. David had scoped out the perfect spot where he could keep an eye on what was going on and sweep in at just the right moment. No matter what happened, today was a pivotal moment for this job, and a lot rested on exactly how I played the whole thing.

I emerged from my car in a dark blue lace tank top and a short white skirt. I passed David in the parking lot briefly, but we didn’t acknowledge each other’s presence, though I could have sworn I heard him say something about how I looked like a sailor. I wanted to turn around and shoot some counter attack about how he had dressed like a rich kid today, but I had to stay focused on the job. I had a very expensive looking, but very fake diamond necklace around my neck, and I had curled my hair once more, letting it fall wildly around my face.

David and I had both gotten to school a bit late that day and therefore had to wait until break to perform the entire scene. It worked out better that way, in my opinion, because having more time was always an advantage. It left room for mistakes. I walked to my class, taking note of the various prom posters around school. They all advertised the same date: May 17. It was only four days from now—this Saturday night. I wondered fleetingly if David would ask me, or if I even wanted him to ask me. Prom seemed like such a trivial ritual, but it would be fun to go. I had never been to a dance before, and while I was sure actually dancing was out of the question, it would be nice to get all dressed up with David.

I spent my entire class texting David to make sure he was ready for everything. He quickly reminded me that it wasn’t hard to strut in and act like he loved me. This made me smile and blush deeply, which didn’t escape the notice of my teacher. I tried to keep my emotions more at bay for the rest of the class but continued to text David any time my teacher wasn’t looking.

By the time I left class and headed toward the tennis courts, I was feeling like a secret agent. I was even considering coming up with my own theme music when a look at Alex brought me back to the here and now. I noticed with some apprehension that his friends weren’t flanking him as they normally were. I started to wonder if I had overestimated my charm. Alex wore an odd expression that I couldn’t really understand, and I was slowly becoming convinced that he had found out the entire plan and had dismissed his cronies to beat me to a pulp, or something equally as horrible. Knowing him, that “equally as horrible’” thing would have something to do with discontinuing my nonexistent trust fund.