Fake it til you make it

Today was the day. I had to be fake married to Bryson and pretend to be some rich woman for intel. I felt like I could vomit.

At breakfast, I ate slowly or barely picked at my food. Bryson seemed to have no aversion to the day, that might have made it worse for me. How does he find this so normal? Or better yet, how is he so okay with that?

"You've barely touched your food." Joe pointed out as he grabbed his cup from the table.
"I'm nervous," I admitted.
"That's to be expected. But no amount of slow eating will stop the day from coming." His words triggered a memory.

I remember watching the Grinch one Christmas. He stole all their decorations, gifts, and anything else he could get his hands on. That didn't stop them from celebrating. The day wasn't about all of the flashy things, it was about being together and family. My mom told me that no matter what knowing what really matters was always important. We can always embellish things, as long as we don't lose sight of the true value. I was only 8 or 9 at the time but the words stuck with me.

Tonight wasn't about the party or the money they had. Tonight was about finding the criminals and stopping a crime. Despite my discomfort, I have to take a step back and look at the bigger picture.

After running all his errands after breakfast, he was back by 10 and ready to start the whole ordeal. I regrettably could wait another century and still not be ready.

Joe sat me in an office chair. Next to us was a table of makeup and hair products. I was embarrassed to admit I didn't know what half of that stuff was. My mother was a military woman, we didn't do fancy or girly things. The only person I knew who did, was Grandma Campbell and she passed away when I was 11. That was before my prime years even started.

Joe started with my hair. I had always let my hair grow. I wasn't a fan of short hair on me, but I never knew what to do with it. My strawberry blonde hair always hung so lifelessly around me, or it was in a messy pile at the top of my head.
"When's the last time you did your hair?" I huffed.
"I don't know how to. My grandma used to play with it a lot though." Joe cringed.
"Those are not words I want to hear, darling." I smiled.

Growing up, I didn't have the beauty queen moments, I never understood them. I had two older stepbrothers, a military mom, and a stepdad. None of that screams girly. We had Nerf wars. We watched Star Wars and Harry Potter. Family days were spent on a paintball field. Nowhere in there did I paint my nails or have my mom do my hair. If it wants in a ponytail or a bun at the top of my head, it was doing and running its own show.

Joe went through my hair with a curling iron, then put each curl on a roller to 'set', whatever that meant. He started rummaging through the makeup that was scattered all over the table.
"I don't even have a dress." I realized. He smiled, still not looking at me.
"That's okay. We have one already picked out for you. Henry is running to get your and Bryson's attire for the evening." I was nervous. I wasn't comfortable in anything outside of what I already owned. I was already out of my comfort zone. I wasn't Miss USA, I was the girl next door people constantly thought was a lesbian.
"Joe, I can't do this." He stopped digging to look at me.
"What do you mean you can't do this?"
"I live in cargo pants, baggy t-shirts, and work boots. I don't know how to do any of this. They will know I'm a fraud the second they see me." My head dropped. Joe lifted my chin, our eyes met.
"You will be the prettiest woman in the room, and everyone will think so." His words caressed my rapid heart. Joe was a magic worker, why did I think he would fall short now? "You just have to fake it til you make it."

My nerves rode a roller coaster, first they were fine, then they are fried, then their fine again. I wish they would make up their mind alright! Fidgeting in my seat, despite Joe's many swats I thought about the task at hand.

Putting all his brushes down, Joe handed me a pile of clothing, then set a black band on top.
"The hell is this?" I held it up. He smirked.
"I thought you might want to bring a weapon while you're there." Then he exited the room. Of course, a place to hold a gun. Joe knew me too well.

After getting dressed and strapping everything into place I looked in the floor-length mirror. I went from being a GI Jane to Jessica Rabbit. I hardly recognized my own reflection. Was that really me? I twisted and turned to see the way the dress moved and hugged all different angles of my body. If I hadn't been sitting here all day while Joe dolled me up, I never in a million years would have believed it was me.

Taking one glance over and a deep breath, I opened the door. Bryson and Joe were casually chatting, waiting on me. They both turned to look at me. Bryson's jaw dropped. His eyes traveled down me like a waterfall in slow motion. I was so nervous I felt like I could puke.
"Woah." He breathed, finally. "You look so-" he shook his head not knowing what to say. My cheeks felt warm. Is this what it felt like to go to prom? Pressing my hands to my stomach, I smoothed my dress out.
"What have you done with Lawrence?" Joe beamed.
"I feel weird without my cargo pants and boots."
"You look weird without your cargo pants and boots." I shot Bryson a glare.
"I am still armed and will hurt you."
"Ope, there she is." Joe handed me a small bag. "Your purse." I looked at it.
"Can in even fit a quarter?"
"Of course, I have at least 2 in there." I smiled at him.
"Fair enough." He grabbed the long, cream-colored scarf to my right.
"And your scarf."
"No jacket?" He rolled his eyes.
"No, dear, only a scarf." He draped it around my shoulders then gave me a little shove towards Bryson. "Have fun you love birds, enjoy the party. Remember I'll be in your ear." Great, can't wait for the tournament to start.

On the way to the plane, I walked ahead of Bryson. I was so nervous at any minute my legs are going to give out. I needed to sit down.
"What's that smell?"
"What smell?" I looked around us. It was only the two of us.
"I don't know, it's almost flowery."
"It's perfume, jeez Bryson. Haven't you ever met a lady before?" Joe barked in our ears. I smiled down at my feet as we waited for the doors to open.

I assessed the stairs first. Just as I turned to head back towards the body of the plane, I caught a glimpse of Bryson.
"We're you checking me out?" I snapped, mostly embarrassed by the thought. He stammered, trying to find a coherent grouping of words.
"What? No. I mean. Uh. I'm sorry?" I rolled my eyes and found a seat. Bryson sat across from me. Joe stayed silent in our ears but I'm sure he heard the transaction which made it all the worse. "For the record," I gave him a bitter and stone look. "I like the way that you smell better." My insides felt like mush.
"Creepy and weird compliment, Bryson."
"I'm just trying to make you feel better, and I know it worked." He teased.
"Okay, Jeffrey Dahmer." Turning my head, I looked out the window. It did work, but I refused to let him know that.

The plane ride was nothing short of boring. What can you really do in 48 minutes? Driving would have taken at least 4 hours, hence why we flew.

I looked out the window again at the personal airport we landed at.
"I can't get off the plane." I sat in my seat like I was glued to it.
"And why not?" Bryson gave me sympathetic eyes as Joe chewed my ear.
"There are people out there. Rich people. I'm not rich. Fancy people. I'm not fancy! I miss my boots." Joe's laugh was loud in our eyes, making us both flinch.
"Baby, fake it til you make it!"
"Rene," Bryson grabbed my attention. This was one of the few times he actually called me Rene. "First we get off the plane, then we get into a car, then we are at the party. Baby steps until we get there." I nodded baby steps.