Page 75 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘You already think you’re a star, huh? You’ve been at this for…’ He checks his wristwatch. ‘Twenty-three minutes.’

‘Feels like an eternity,’ I say, sighing dramatically, receiving an amused shake of the head in response.

‘Alright, a home run it is. Are your bases loaded?’

‘Oh yes, maximum adoration is coming my way.’

‘Look at you craving the limelight, actress girl.’

‘Ha! More that I recognize the need to boost my confidence before my mom starts criticizing everything about me and my life choices.’

Mike looks at me like I have ten heads. ‘She’s really that big on your having everything figured out by the time you’re thirty?’

‘Really. She’s already furious about the actress thing.’

‘You mean your career change? Is it a very recent thing?’ His eyes narrow, contemplatively.

I. Am. Such. A. Bad. Liar.

‘Ah, yeah, quite recent.’

‘I guess I assumed you’d been at it for a while, what with the apartment and…’ He gestures to my outfit. ‘Swanky wardrobe.’

‘Be careful, Mike, assumptions kill.’ Kill the idea of new Abbey, the one you have agreed to date. Though, I have to admit, being in front of a camera, however brief my acting career has been, and maybe flaunting an MLB player around the set, have, I think, given old me the tiniest confidence boost. ‘So, can I have loaded bases, please?’

‘Go for it.’

I hold my knife as Mike twirls his fork as if he’s pitching the ball. I’m about to cheer and declare my home run when Mike interjects. ‘Strike one.’

He didn’t!

He braces to pitch a second ball. I flick my knife as if I’m swinging my bat. I set off on my run around the bases, bopping the knife off the tray table, but Mike calls, ‘Strike two.’

‘Hey!’ I don’t mean to do it but my foot stomps the floor. ‘Stop it. Let me have this. I need this.’

Mike can barely contain himself.

‘Nobody likes a comic who laughs at his own jokes.’

I’m really quite cross. Yet my words only make him laugh harder.

But when we reset, Mike pitches with his fork and I knock that ball right out of the park, yelling, ‘It’s a home run. The crowd goes wild. All the bases are home!’

He doesn’t have a chance to call a strikeout.Ha!

I only realize I’m being way over-the-top with my celebrations when Mike’s eyes widen and he looks around our otherwise tranquil cabin area. I slowly bring my hands down from the air and pinch my lips together.Oops!

Mike leans across the table and whispers, ‘Now who’s a freak?’

Placing my fingers across my lips, I mutter, ‘Me.’

I scan the nearby passengers and see an elderly lady, wearing a chic silver-grey crop of hair and a boldly patterned two-piece suit. She smiles at me and I hold up a hand apologetically, to which she flicks her fingers –not a problem.

Then she says, ‘Young love is a beautiful thing.’

I’m about to tell her that Mike and I aren’t a couple, but we are. We’re in public, therefore we are acting the part. So, I drop a hand to Mike’s lap, drawing his gaze to mine.

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