Page 12 of Fake It 'til You Make It

‘Why are you so tired? You told me your new bed is the comfiest thing you’ve ever slept in,’ Dee says.

I hold the café door open for them and the smell of our savior hits my nose. ‘Rich, dark, intense, exactly how I like my coffee.’

‘That’s exactly how I like my men,’ Shernette replies, heading to the counter.

When we’re seated on stools in the window of the café, looking out to the traffic and bustle of Fifth Avenue, I finally reply to Dee’s question.

‘I’m tired because of the freaking guy in the apartment above me. I don’t know what he’s doing but there’s a rhythmic banging like he’s going to bounce a shot put right through my ceiling every night. I’ve half a mind to go up there and tell him to quit it, but you know me, I hate conflict.’

Shernette, now holding her hand to her head as if she hasbrain freeze from zealously sucking her iced smoothie, says, ‘Sex. He’s obviously romping the night away.’

‘No, I don’t think so. It’s been both nights. Forhours. I appreciate I only have a wanker to compare him to but does any man have that kind of stamina?’

My sister and best friend look to each other, their jaws metaphorically hitting the floor. Then they gush, ‘We are soooooo proud of you.’

‘Huh?’

‘That’s the first time you actually called Andrew out on being a complete, total and utter dick-fest,’ Dee says, before slurping her decaffeinated Frappuccino through a straw.

I feel a slight turn of my lips. ‘It did feel good. Unlike me but kind of cathartic.’

Shernette nudges into my shoulder. ‘New apartment, new wardrobe, new woman.’

‘I’m not sure about that but I am at least starting to feel like a work in progress.’

‘You’ll be faking your entire pre-thirty checklist in no time,’ Dee tells me. ‘Now tell us more about the sex pest in the penthouse. Is he a filthy rich old man or a hot younger model?’

I shrug. ‘Objectively, you could say he’s young and attractive.’

‘Objectively? That’s Abbey code for mega hot but she’s been denying herself for years, repressing her libido for the sake of Mr Wrong.’ Dee rolls her eyes teasingly.

‘Well, there’s nothing to report. He’s a nuisance and, even if he weren’t, he’s seen my period panties, so it’s safe to say he will not be romping the night away with me.’

‘Yet!’ Dee winks.

I’m still laughing at her, a little buzzed on caffeine and shopping endorphins – the latter very unexpected. And I supposethat’s why, when she stops outside the entrance of Saks Fifth Avenue, I agree to look inside.

‘I cannot buy anything in here, though. I’m looking with my eyes only.’

As I say this, I’m following behind Dee and Shernette, who are making strides for footwear.

‘The shoe department in here is so big, it has its own zip-code,’ Dee says. ‘We can at least acknowledge the greatness by trying on a few pairs.’

It’s an activity I would usually consider pointless but today, I’m willing to step into someone else’s shoes. Someone truly glamorous. If only for one day.

As I’m perusing the Dior shelf, picking up some heels to admire, horrified by the deathly height of them, one of the store assistants approaches me. I sheepishly replace the white, pointed-toe stiletto I’m holding. I’m sure one look at me has satisfied her that I’m just not the kind of girl who buys Dior.

‘It’s a beautiful shoe,’ she says. The badge on her lapel tells me her name is Kiara.

Kiara takes the shoe from the shelf and holds it between us, as if I belong here, like I might one day wear a shoe as pretty as this.

‘It’s called the Aureli 85,’ she tells me, turning the shoe to display its various angles. There’s a pearl strap across the middle. Delicate. Pretty. Something my mom would adore. ‘They’re real pearls,’ she adds.

I feel compelled to reach out and touch them.

Mom loves shoes. Loves clothes. Loves being the focus of attention, entertaining, and being, as she calls herself, ‘front of house’ of our family.

She’s originally from New York. She was apparently quite the socialite, even forty years ago, when she met Dad. He’d beenvisiting the States on a business trip from Vancouver, where he lived at the time.

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