The Boyfriend Swap Read online

  Sidney nodded. “I agree. You shouldn’t.”

  A breeze of relief zipped through my core. “Glad we’re on the same page.”

  “You shouldn’t have to lie, but in our case, we sort of do. If we want to make it to the New Year without requiring a straitjacket, that is.” She smiled, a slick grin I was certain both assured her clients and put the fear of the devil in her adversaries in equal measure.

  At the realization she was serious, my eyes bugged out. I took a huge gulp of wine, nearly choking on the contents. This was wrong on so many levels. For one, Perry was my boyfriend. I couldn’t just lend him to someone else temporarily. It would be like prostitution. Only without the sex, of course. I also didn’t feel right lying to my parents. They’d never believe me anyway. “My folks won’t buy it. The closest I ever got to bringing home a lawyer or even going on a date with one was the time I had coffee with one of my student’s dads to discuss how to register the copyright for the original songs I wrote for the school concert.”

  “What reason could you possibly have to lie? They’ll be surprised, for sure, but they’ll also be thrilled. Don’t you think?” Sidney asked.

  I covered my mouth with my hand and blew out a stream of air. Perry’s ego wasn’t fragile, but he wasn’t made of stone either. He’d be hurt. Dropping my hand, I said, “Wouldn’t you feel guilty handing off your boyfriend to another girl?”

  Sidney appeared to silently contemplate for a moment and I held my breath. Maybe I’d gotten to her. “I hear what you’re saying, but it’s for Will’s own good,” she said.

  I narrowed my eyes. “How so?”

  “Let me count the ways. For one thing, Will doesn’t like discussing law unless he’s on the clock—an impossibility in my dad’s company.”

  This surprised me, as I assumed most lawyers liked to brag about how important they were and how much money they made, while simultaneously complaining about how hard they worked.

  “And more importantly, Will is really into me, and my family is like an anti-attraction injection. If they take to him, which they will, I’m afraid I’m going to lose interest. I know it sounds immature, but it is what it is. Will lights my fire, but my parents might as well be New York’s Bravest—on duty to put it out. If our relationship stands a chance, I need to leave my parents out of the equation.” She shrugged. “I haven’t had a chance to think it through, but I’ll probably emphasize the work part when I approach him with the idea. He doesn’t need to know I’m uncertain whether our chemistry could withstand my family’s influence.”

  I laughed despite myself, even though Sidney was acting like swapping boyfriends was a foregone conclusion. “What do you think of all this?” I said to Anne Marie.

  Anne Marie opened her blue eyes wide and laughed. “I was joking.” She took a sip of wine and jutted her head toward Sidney. “But if anyone can devise a foolproof plan, it’s this one. I’ve seen her pull a diamond out of a trash heap many times. Metaphorically speaking, of course.” Her face radiated admiration as she smiled at Sidney.

  Sidney flipped her shoulder-length straight hair. “Why, thank you,” she said before scraping the icing off a mini cupcake and licking it off her finger. She gazed at me squarely. “But I must have misunderstood you. I thought you sincerely dreaded bringing Perry for Christmas to the point that the lining of your stomach felt like it was being peeled away one layer at a time. That’s the sensation I experience when I imagine Will around my parents. Even though I adore Will, I’m fully prepared to entertain your Perry as my fake boyfriend for a few days. But if you were exaggerating the extent of your distress, by all means, I’ll drop the subject.” She tapped her unchipped fire-red painted nails on the wood surface of our kitchen table.

  I blinked at her in awe. She was good. No wonder she was a lawyer. The truth was I hadn’t overemphasized my holiday-related anxiety one bit and she knew it. It was like she’d hovered over my bed as I tossed and turned the last few nights, trying to predict what my parents would say to Perry so I could prepare mechanisms in advance to get through. All I had come up with was excusing myself to the bathroom every time the subject of his career came up, but I feared my parents would think I had a weak bladder or irritable bowel syndrome. “Why would Will or Perry ever agree to this?” Sidney’s poor boyfriend would be forced to sing Christmas carols (and the occasional Hanukkah jingle) at our piano after dessert—a Lane family tradition. My parents didn’t take “no” for an answer and refused to let any guest sit it out. It was all in good fun, they’d say. I once even tried to defend my preference for song-and-dance men to my mom as more compatible with our family dynamics by saying a suit-and-tie guy would be so stricken with performance anxiety, he’d never want to come over for dinner. She assured me there were plenty of men who worked as accountants and computer software programmers who could hold a tune, but I wasn’t so sure.

  Sidney ran her tongue along her bottom lip and winked at me. “I’ll make it worth Will’s while. I’m sure you can do the same for Perry, no?”

  I felt myself blush. Perry and I had plenty of sex, but whenever I engaged in conversation with others on the subject I closed up, reverting to my bashful younger self. I glanced down at my cracked nails and pictured Perry at my parents’ house over Christmas. He’d joyously croon holiday songs, completely clueless to my angst and to my parents rolling their eyes behind his back. Maybe he’d be better off at Sidney’s—even if he didn’t know it. But I still had questions. “Okay, let’s say Perry and Will agree to this farce. And I’m not betting on it. But for fun and games, we’ll pretend they do. I introduce Will to my folks as my boyfriend and they buy it. What do I tell them after Christmas, when they ask how he is?”

  “You tell them it didn’t work out,” Sidney said simply before downing the rest of her wine and emptying what was left in the bottle into her glass.

  I frowned. “Just like that? ‘It didn’t work out.’” My mom was accustomed to more detailed explanations for my breakups even though she was usually thrilled regardless of the cause.

  Sidney nodded. “I’ll say the same to my parents if they ask, but I’m betting they’ll forget Perry’s name the second we leave.”

  Lost for a retort, I rested my head on the kitchen table and imagined introducing my parents to my boyfriend, the attorney. There would be no need for my mom to give me sidelong glances while Perry droned on about the impromptu song and dance numbers to which he treated his tables at Carmines, the Italian restaurant where he worked as a waiter to pay his rent. And no one would have to suffer through my father’s tales of the “good” old days—when he and my mom had lived cramped in a two-hundred-square-foot apartment in Sunnyside, Queens and subsisted almost entirely on twenty-five cent boxes of Kraft Macaroni and Cheese and Ramen noodle soup because they couldn’t afford to eat anything else on the meager pay they received from their occasional gigs.

  When I raised my head, Sidney and Anne Marie were watching me. Anne Marie nervously chewed on her lip while Sidney’s expression reflected assumed victory. Her idea was insane, but she had a solution for every potential issue I’d raised, and I was certain her answer well would not dry up any time soon. I took a deep breath and let it out. “Fine. Count me in. Assuming Will and Perry agree to it.”

  “Leave that to me,” Sidney said, before proposing the four of us get together to discuss it in a few days.

  I was only half listening by then. I was too busy praying all the alcohol we’d consumed had gone to Sidney’s head and she’d wake up acknowledging how barmy her plan was. Maybe she wouldn’t even remember the conversation. She’d definitely drank the most of the three of us. It also occurred to me that even if one of the guys said yes, there was no way they both would, and I smiled to myself as the tension left my body. Within seconds, my muscles knotted once again—if they didn’t agree to the swap, I’d be taking Perry home with me. No matter which way the pendulum swung, it was going
to be an anxiety-ridden Christmas. It was only a matter of which version was the lesser evil.

  Chapter 2

  Sidney

  I perked up at the mention of coffee. My father suggested we refuel after we’d been behind closed doors in his office for the last two hours going over deal points for a talent agreement in dispute. The agency we represented was sold on the actor but wished his hard-edged attorney would get hit by a moving bus. “Coffee sounds great,” I agreed, tossing my empty Starbucks Grande Blonde into the trashcan next to my father’s desk.

  Michael Goldberg glanced at me long enough to say, “Terrific. How about you grab one for all of us, JB.” One of the partners had taken up the obnoxious habit of referring to me as JB—Junior Bellows—and unfortunately, it had stuck. I took it up a notch by assigning my dad the nickname SB—Senior Bellows—but the only other person who had the balls to use the initials within earshot of my father was his partner, Stan Burke.

  I blinked at my father, who I could tell was working hard to avoid eye contact with me. My father considered his law firm his oldest child and made it clear as glass I was not getting a free ride, but he had no interest in office politics. We both agreed I should fight my own battles, but I was getting tired of the war. “Seriously, Mike? Don’t you think there are better ways my time could be spent than fetching coffee? I’m a third-year associate, not an intern.”

  My dad rubbed his plump cheeks and subtly rolled his green eyes at me. “Shani can do it.” He called his assistant and asked her to make a Starbucks run. “If there’s a long line, cut it. You’re working on a talent contract involving one of People magazine’s sexiest men. Nothing they’re doing is as important, I’m sure, or else they wouldn’t have time to wait in line at Starbucks.”

  I snorted before giving Michael a sideways glance. He was adjusting his paisley-printed tie and shaking his head of receding dirty blond hair in amusement. One thing even we could agree on was the enormous size of my father’s ego and inflated sense of importance of his work in the grand scheme of things.

  “Thanks,” my dad said before hanging up the phone and leaning back in his chair with his arms clasped behind his head. “Where were we?”

  Two hours later, I was still in my father’s office and high on caffeine. Michael had been excused, but my dad wanted to call my mother and asked me to stay. She phoned twice during our meeting and told Shani she wanted to speak to both of us.

  My dad put the call on speaker and pursed his lips at me over the table. “Be nice to her,” he said, wagging a finger at me.

  I bounced my leg underneath me. “I’m always nice to her.”

  “She wants to talk about Christmas.”

  “Shoot me now,” I muttered under my breath. It was stuffy in his office so I removed the navy tailored jacket I was wearing over my white dress shirt. Grabbing a pencil from his desk, I gathered my hair into a bun on the top of my head. I didn’t feel the need to be as formal when it was just the two us, especially for holiday talk with my mom.

  “I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that,” my dad said as the phone rang once, then twice. “Your mother is a perfectionist when it comes to party planning, and I, for one, appreciate her hard work. I have two potential clients coming this year. I’ve been courting them for three years already. I’m hoping a bottle of Glenfiddich 1937 will seal the deal once and for all.” He ran a finger along his thin auburn eyebrows, the same color as mine.

  “I could buy myself a crazy shoe collection with the money you spent on that Scotch.” It was five o’clock somewhere and, in need of a drink of my own, I smacked my lips, already tasting the grapefruit undertones from the bottle of Chilean Sauvignon Blanc chilling in my refrigerator. I didn’t drink whisky recreationally. I reserved it for business dinners, as a way to minimize the divide between me and my predominantly male clients. It did little to sway their focus away from my tits and ass, but it made me look fierce.

  “If you have a personal relationship with Jimmy Choo and can bring him to B&B, the money is yours. Otherwise—”

  “I’m here,” my mom’s voice called out, sounding out of breath. “My phone was all the way at the bottom of my handbag.”

  My dad raised a finger to his head and made a circular motion. “Honey, I’ve got Sid with me.”

  “Great. I have you together,” my mother said excitedly. “You there too, Sidney?”

  My dad rolled his eyes at me and mouthed, “Isn’t that what I just said?”

  I chuckled and shifted my chair closer to my father’s desk so she could hear me better. “I’m here, Mom.”

  “The count for Christmas is now thirty-nine people. I want to finalize the seating chart. We’ll probably get some last-minute guests and a few will cancel—”

  My dad interrupted, “Who’s going to drop out? Unless someone has an aneurism or a last-minute stroke, assume everyone who said yes will be there. It’s the party of the year.”

  I silently disputed his statement based on my attendance at the party for most of my twenty-eight years, during which I counted the minutes until it was over almost as soon as it began.

  With an impatient edge to her trademark “Kathleen Turner” throaty voice, my mom said, “Fine. So we’ll assume minimum forty people. I need to know if you’re bringing a date, Sidney.”

  Wincing, I clicked the notes application on my phone to my running to-do list. “Plan double date with Robyn to discuss the boyfriend swap” was second on the agenda after “schedule appointment for underarm laser” and before “read through last three issues of People and OK! magazines in preparation for conference call with CAA.” I’d been severely intoxicated when I transformed Anne Marie’s throwaway comment about swapping boyfriends into a full-fledged plan, but five days later and sober, I still thought it was brilliant.

  Before I could answer, my mom said, “Because if you’re attending alone, I think we should seat you next to Aaron Davenport. He finally broke things off with his latest young trophy girlfriend. You can keep him entertained for a couple hours.”

  I didn’t need her to clarify what she meant by “entertain.” My mother was not the madam of a brothel. She was merely a real-life society Westchester housewife whose most important role the last quarter of every year was to plan, as my father called it, “the party of the year.”

  My dad yawned before saying, “Aaron hasn’t cut Ashley loose yet. He just manages his dates with her more carefully. Someone mentioned the politician Bill Boner over Thanksgiving dinner at the country club and apparently Ashley asked if he was ‘that guy from the porn movie, Ram Me in St. Louis.’”

  I snorted. “Priceless.”

  “At least Sidney manages to be charming even when she’s inappropriate,” my mom said.

  “It’s my gift,” I said.

  “So?” my mom prodded.

  “Sorry, but you’ll need to find someone else to stroke Aaron’s ego for the evening. I’m bringing someone.” One way or another, I was bringing a plus one. Only time would tell if it would be Will or Perry.

  My dad leaned forward in interest. “Potential client perhaps? Or someone with connections to the next big thing?” he asked, his face shining with hope.

  “I don’t think he’ll be of interest to B&B, Dad.”

  His face dropped as if the only reason I could possibly have to date someone was to add to B&B’s bottom line.

  “Can you spare a tiny morsel of your life with your dear old mom? Is this ‘someone’ anyone special? A boyfriend? A friend? A plaything?”

  Usually, I didn’t break a sweat over my mom’s desperate inquiries into my love life. She was used to them going unanswered ever since I broke up with my last serious boyfriend, Jake. We met in college, but our coupling didn’t make it past my first year of law school. That was entirely due to my determination to graduate at the top of my class, leaving me little time to spend with him, even on the weeke
nds he came to visit me. Ivy League educated with more than a splash of Midwestern charm, Jake was the son my folks never had, and they took our split badly. It was years before we could get through a family gathering without his name coming up in conversation. Ever since, I worked hard at keeping my love life close to the chest. But even though I kept the information to myself, I always knew the answers. This time was different. I shifted uncomfortably in my seat and looked down at my J. Crew suede kitten heels.

  If I brought Will as my plus one, the answer was “some of the above.” Will fell somewhere between “plaything” and “boyfriend.” We were exclusive, which suggested “boyfriend,” but at only four months, we were still in the honeymoon phase. Our relationship was mostly sexual in nature so far. Not that either of us were complaining. If Perry accompanied me, on the other hand, the answer was “nothing special.” His only role was to be of as little interest to my parents as possible so we could all eat our baked ham, roasted artichokes, and apple pie in peace.

  “Well, can you at least give me a name? I have an appointment with the calligrapher tomorrow,” my mom said when I failed to provide the desired response.

  I took a deep breath and let it out. “Perry.” I should have asked Robyn for a picture so I’d know what I was getting into. I was usually more on the ball. If he was unattractive, at least I wouldn’t have to actually sleep with him.

  “Perry what?” my mom asked.

  I gulped the rest of my coffee and winced from the stale cold flavor. After tossing the empty paper cup in my dad’s trash can, I stretched my neck from side to side to work out the stress-induced kinks while simultaneously wracking my memory for Perry’s last name. Did Robyn even mention it? If I’d asked, I could have stalked him on social media—party fail. Having stalled long enough, I said, “Perry…” just as a reminder showed up on my phone for my 8 o’clock dinner plans with Will at The Smith restaurant. It would have to do. “Smith. Perry Smith.”

  Robyn