The Arrangement: Chapter 6
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The Arrangement
A Cal Kestis Fanfiction
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Summary:
Cal and his fake girlfriend go on their first date.
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Chapter 6: The Uncertainty
The black leather folio becomes my nemesis all of Saturday. With each half-hearted attempt to read the instructive paperwork inside, I am hit in the face by the horrible memory of kissing Cal. Instead, I leave it on my speckled laminate breakfast bar and opt to sit outside—watching the hypnotic ocean waves.
On Sunday, a dark blue work van pulls into my driveway. A dark-haired woman confirms my name before unloading the entire vehicle’s contents into my small house.
The pressed garments come wrapped in excessive amounts of clear plastic and lie in a sizable heap on my sage green bedspread. The moment I lift the top bag, the rest slip into a new and worse pile on my rug-covered floor.
I unwrap the sundresses and evening gowns, hanging them in my reach-in closet. I run out of space and end up installing one of my outdoor laundry lines in my modest living room to hang everything else.
I tie knots along the clothesline to prevent the hangers from bunching in the center. Thanks to the “dry-clean-only” instructions and the included laundry service, I can live without the extra drying line.
Various neutral blouses, skirts, dresses and dress pants block the couch from view. A mountain of shoes occupies an entire cushion. I expected I’d mostly be wearing high heels, but there are a few pairs of flats. Though I don’t suppose I’ll get to wear them too often.
The leather folio seems less intimidating today, so I look over the extensive wardrobe section. To my relief, Cal has already laid out exactly what kinds of outfits I should assemble, based on the “work” type each day.
I hang tomorrow’s baby blue sundress in the bathroom to let the shower steam handle any wrinkling from transportation. Our first public outing is a lunch date.
My last proper date was with a civilian I met through a military dating site. He was nice—I think. We even had dinner a few times. Lucky for him, I broke off the short-lived relationship once I learned of my upcoming deployment. I wasn’t the same person when I returned.
A wave of discomfort about my upcoming “relationship” eats at me. I prefer living in the background. Cal chose the wrong woman for this charisma-based job. I’m about to call and tell him this won’t work. However, when I grab my knock-off brand phone, I see a text waiting from Cal.
I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 11:30.
Undeterred by his straightforward message. I type out a short “I quit” text as a mobile alert from my bank informs me of my recent transaction: my sizable mortgage payment. So, I opt to compose a new text.
Neat.
Cal responds right away.
I probably should have checked earlier, but you do own makeup, right? I’ve never seen you wear it.
There’s ancient makeup shoved in the back corner of a bathroom drawer. My effort to wear it ceased when I began coming home shit-faced shortly after my first hit job.
I was a drunk prior to the job too. But buying my broken-down house had inspired me to clean up my act. I put much of my effort into fixing up myself and my new home. But I fell back into my old ways.
My next text to Cal is a screenshot of a web search: “Can you get pink eye from old makeup?”
He doesn’t respond.
Hours later, I hear a knock at my door and find a small gift bag of new makeup sitting on my front porch. It’s nothing extravagant, the basics in neutral colors.
By the evening, the entire folio is read, reviewed, and noted. Before going to bed, I shoot off one last text.
Hey Mini, I’m going on a date tomorrow. Please don’t wish me luck or anything. I just wanted you to know before anyone else.
Cal’s luxury vehicle pulls up, and I am eager to get this over with. I leap from my narrow porch, dashing barefoot across the smooth gravel before he can finish unbuckling.
“I would have gotten the door,” he says.
“Why? No one’s watching.” I shove my feet into the lemon chiffon heels I was carrying before buckling.
“Yes, but we should keep up appearances,” he says. “Why weren’t your shoes already on?”
“These are expensive, yeah?”
“Yes.”
“My driveway is gravel.”
Cal’s gaze lingers on my straight-neck dress before he pulls back onto the dirt road. “You look nice.”
“Yeah,” I say, looking him over, trying to find a change in his appearance. He’s wearing the matching navy suit jacket he typically forgoes. “Nice jacket.”
Cal snorts and gives me a confused look. “Nice jacket? That’s it?”
“What else am I to compliment? You’re always wearing the same thing, like a cartoon character. The jacket is the only change.”
His pleasant laughter fills the leather interior of the vehicle.
“You could compliment other aspects of my appearance. I’m more to look at than my clothes,” he says.
“I’m not going to compliment the rest of you. Plus, you only complimented my clothes.”
“Did I?”
I shift in my diamond-stitched seat, opting to look out the tinted window to avoid this uncomfortable conversation topic. Cal continues to glance at me, waiting for my unlikely response.
“Do you know why I wear similar clothes every day?” He asks, breaking the stretch of enjoyable silence.
“Should I?”
“It makes the paparazzi’s job harder. The tabloids don’t want hundreds of similar photos.” He smiles to himself, and I nod along. “That’s why your clothing instructions forbid you from wearing a ‘going out’ outfit twice. You’ll set apart this period of my life.”
“So I’m an accessory.”
“That makes you sound unimportant,” he says. “In photos, it appears my life is mundane and monotonous. Your appearance fills it with life and color. The breakup will solidify me as a victim of love.”
Recognition is something I’ve avoided considering my day job. Previously, it would have landed me in prison. After Cal, I will suffer a fate worse than that—public disdain. As if I don’t already feel like enough of an outcast.
We pull into the valet of a chic French restaurant in the downtown area. There are no cameras waiting yet.
Cal puts the car in park and gives me one of his practiced smiles. “Stay in the car until I open the door for you.”
As he deals with the valet, I look around the interior of his car, unsure of what I’m supposed to be doing while waiting for him. Do expensive women have a reason to linger longer? Or is it all for appearances? I glance at my phone to kill time. Mini responded.
This good-luck wish is for the guy, not for you. Please pass it along.
I smile at my phone and tuck it away as Cal opens the door for me. He offers me his hand, which I take. I don’t grimace or throw a snide remark his way, though I want to.
Pretending to be infatuated with him feels…unnatural. I would never be infatuated with anyone. But I smile and remember to let my eyes linger on him once every thirty seconds.
The host greets us as Mr. Kestis and “guest”—to my delight, I’m ignored. The staff is respectful of me as we’re seated in high-backed chairs, but they don’t speak to or make eye contact with me. I’m treated as Cal’s very expensive property. This isn’t so bad.
I tell Cal my choice for my meal. He approves of the food but vetoes the wine. My dissatisfaction subsides when he orders a pricey bottle of champagne instead.
I’m sipping the bubbly drink when I remember the recent text from my brother. “Oh, my brother says, ‘Good luck’. To you. He asked me to pass it along.”
His eyebrows raise, putting his crystal champagne flute on the white-clothed table. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”
“Yeah, hopefully you know nothing about me, past our work together.”
“Does he live nearby?” Cal asks.
I shake my head. “No, he’s doing grad school in Peru.”
“Really? What field?”
“Archeology, though maybe it’s more specific. It honestly seems really boring.”
Cal scoffs. “That does not sound boring. I’m rather fond of learning about history as well. I look forward to meeting him.”
“Yeah, I’ll let him know that he’ll finally have someone to talk about his interests with,” I say sarcastically.
“I sincerely hope you do. It’d be preferable for him to like me before I make his acquaintance.”
“Wait, you’re serious?”
“Of course. I can’t possibly expect you to meet my family and not meet yours. I just didn’t realize you had family.” He gives me a long look. “Do you have more family that you’re close with?”
“No, no one else,” I say, finishing my champagne.
“What about your parents? Should I expect to meet them?”
Cal reaches across the table to refill my glass, waiting for my answer. Despite my hesitation on the topic, I cannot resist the siren call of an expensive drink.
“Mom’s dead, Dad left us, I don’t know who or where he is.”
Cal tips the bottle, and my glass is full again. As I reach for it, he meets my fingertips, enveloping them in his, preventing me from getting my drink.
My immediate scowl softens as I see the look in his eyes. He’s pretending to pity me for the sake of appearances.
I slide my free hand over his, giving a gentle squeeze that he returns. Our touch breaks as the first course arrives.
Throughout the duration of the meal, I provide Cal with information about my brother. Telling him stories of our childhood. By the time we’re finishing our slow-paced meal, Cal is informing me of his own longing for siblings, that it would have taken the pressure off his parents’ wishes for him.
“Are you ready?” Cal asks, pocketing his wallet.
“They’re out there, aren’t they?”
“I would hope so; otherwise, that ‘anonymous tip’ was all for nothing.”
I drain the last few drops from my glass. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
We stand, and he intertwines our fingers. I rest my other hand in the crook of his elbow as he guides us towards the exit.
It’s a noisy affair. The vulture-like people yell out demands and questions as the door opens. Cal pulls a pair of mirrored sunglasses from his breast pocket, settling them onto his face as we step into the bright midday light. That was an option?
My eyes cannot adjust to the glaring sunshine and flashing cameras. Cal comes to my rescue, pulling me close and pressing a soft kiss to my cheek. I lean into it, closing my watering eyes. I’m offered a few seconds of relief and recalibration.
We descend, and the valet slips Cal his car key. The racket dulls the moment I am closed in his car. There is only a brief interruption of sound as Cal enters the driver’s side.
“You all right?” He asks, pulling away from the curb.
“Yeah, next time can I wear sunglasses too?”
“Not yet.”
I want to argue, but I know the impression he is trying to make. The drive back remains silent. I’m dropped off with a reminder of spending time at his estate tomorrow.
At least I won’t have to pretend to be in love.
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