The Paradise Problem (12)

“Yes.” I work to not let my gaze do another sweep of her apartment. I’ve never been to Pulau Jingga, but my mom has been sending me info that I’ve mostly ignored for months. I know the basic idea—a luxury resort and conservation area set in the Indonesian archipelago—and it’s about as far from this dark, cramped living room as I can imagine. Right now, I need Anna to believe she can do this. Yes, she may be at rock bottom, but I need her to think she is just one fairy godmother moment away from sliding gracefully into the world she’s imagining.

“Who will be there?” she asks, her voice a little wobbly.

“My family. You know Jake, of course. Family friends. Some of my sister Charlotte’s friends. Her fiancé’s family. Some business partners of my father’s. Some press.”

“Press?”

“Yes.”

“To cover…?”

“The wedding. And to write a profile on my father, I think. Just the standard Weston bullshit.”

She lifts her hands, making air quotes. “?‘The Standard Weston Bullshit.’?”

“Right.”

“So, lots of fancy people.”

I don’t sugarcoat it: “Very fancy people.”

Anna looks down at herself and I follow her attention to the front of her shirt, where a Froot Loop adheres to the cotton over her left breast. She plucks it off and pops it into her mouth. “Why not just find someone who can pretend to be me and who knows how to behave around societay?”

“Because my mother knows what you look like.”

She squints at me. “How? I’ve never even met her.”

I hesitate. “I’ve shared a few photos.”

Anna cocks her head. “Photos from when we were roommates? Did we ever take any together?”

“I have the one of you and Jake hiking the Hills in a frame in my living room. It looks enough like me from the back.” I pause, scratching my jaw. “And… I’ve had a few others digitally photoshopped.”

“That’s…” She whistles. “That’s weird, my dude.”

I blow out a breath. “It’s very weird. I concede that.”

“But I guess I’d do weird shit for a hundred mil, too.” She looks to the side, thinking. “Why can’t you hire a look-alike?”

“Five ten, pink hair, beauty mark, and oddball fashion sense? I seem to remember my mother saying something about your nose.”

Her hand moves to her face. “My nose?”

“That it’s small, upturned. She described it as ‘the nose Jenny Nelson wanted and didn’t get.’ She’d notice if it was someone else’s nose.”

“This sounds… I mean, that sounds crazy, West.”

“I know.” This isn’t only her rock bottom; it’s mine, too.

“In what universe am I your type?”

“You were present and willing. At the time, that’s all I required.”

She twirls a pretend mustache. “Ah, amour.”

“This isn’t about romance, Anna. I’m asking for a business arrangement.”

“A business arrangement where we’ll also have to canoodle to be convincing. This feels very Indecent Proposal.”

“I’m sure my family doesn’t expect me to be overly affectionate in public. It’s not really my style.”

She guffaws. “Really.”

“We’ll have to share a bungalow,” I say, ignoring her, “but I expect it will be large enough that we’ll have our own spaces when we’re alone.”

“When is all of this happening?”

“We’d have to leave on the first.”

A pause. “May first?” She slowly counts on her fingers. “That’s four days from now.”

“You’re unemployed and high before lunch,” I say carefully, fighting a laugh. “Can you squeeze this in?”

“Excuse me, Mr. Weston, not everyone gets to live off their grandparents’ money for the rest of their lives. Working for a living is hard. Sometimes we sullied masses will make mistakes and take a pack of gum!”

I don’t love the implication that I don’t work, that I’m trying to breeze through life on my inheritance, but I understand why she sees it that way. The truth behind everything isn’t important right now, and if this goes the way I hope it will, this will be an easy twelve days together and then we’ll never have to see each other again. “Anna, are you available to do this? Please. I will pay all your expenses. I will even give you some money if you need to buy clothes.”

She sits up, self-consciously straightening her ancient T-shirt with its frayed hem. “I have clothes.”

I’m skeptical that we mean the same thing. She’s removed the Froot Loop from her breast, but the ketchup stain on the collar remains.

Anna points at me again. “Okay, I see that look, and so let me ask: what manner of clothes are required on this trip?”

I sigh. “My mother keeps a pair of Gucci slides by the back door to wear to take the recycling out.”

“I’m proud of her for not making the butler do it.”

“He gets off work at six.”

Her expression deflates. “Oh.”