Rent a Boyfriend Page 12

  Before I’d left, my mother had fussed over my outfit and makeup, but to her credit, it hadn’t been more than usual. Hongbo picked me up, and then, weirdly, drove me to his parents’ house.

  “Just wait here a sec” is what he should’ve said before leaving me in the car in his parents’ driveway.

  Fifteen minutes in, I was this close to using my phone to mail-order him a durian. (No, that’s not a real thing. But it will be, once I raise enough money to start my totally legal revenge business.)

  At twenty minutes, I strode through the mansion’s white columns and past the unlocked front door to find Hongbo throwing a tantrum, stomping foot and all, in the foyer in front of his mother.

  “Everything okay in here?” I asked.

  “Aiyah, Jing-Jing, you were in the car? Wǒ de lǎo tiān yé!” his mother exclaimed. “Hongbo, how could you? I thought you were picking her up later! Why didn’t you at least invite her inside?”

  He shrugged, then used his mother’s complaint against her. “Let’s not keep her waiting longer; just give me what I asked for.”

  His mother sighed. “You just received your allowance last week, and that should be plenty. Don’t you think three thousand dollars is a big ask? Even if it is for dear, sweet Jing-Jing,” she said, smiling at me so wide her eyes crinkled.

  Holy baloney, was he planning on paying me three thousand dollars? We hadn’t discussed the fee in detail other than my mother promising he would “shower me with money.” But I hadn’t dreamed that big. Big enough to make a sizable dent in my student loans. I tried to keep a gigantic grin from spreading across my face.

  Meanwhile, Hongbo’s tantrum continued.

  “Don’t you think this is a worthy cause, Mother?” His eyes narrowed. “Don’t make me remind you what’s at stake.”

  With this threat, Mrs. Kuo frantically took her phone out and pressed, typed, and swiped—presumably transferring money. Then, with way too much enthusiasm, she said, “Okay, you kids have fun.”

  Because I was too entranced by the flashing money signs, I failed to see the red flags: Hongbo had needed to beg for money; Mrs. Kuo’s behavior toward me had changed from previous indifference to hungry interest; Hongbo’s massive ego would never allow him to be tutored by someone six years younger than him; and Hongbo’s Gudetama ass would never want to attend business school when he already had blood rights to No One Systems.

  But in that moment I had practically skipped back outside and into the BMW. “Where’s Sheila?” I asked, trying to be friendlier.

  “In the shop.”

  Which was less appealing, someone who drove a Lamborghini or someone who lied about having one? But I forced a smile in response.

  Then the next red flag was accompanied by alarm bells: Hongbo zoomed past the library.

  “Hey,” I blurted, pointing back toward where my mother had said we’d be studying. “Aren’t we… Where are we going?”

  “Prime Strip,” he answered, devoid of emotion.

  I wasn’t happy about prolonging my time with him, but for three thousand dollars, fine.

  “I like steak,” I told him, like a nincompoop.

  He laughed. At me, not with me. “See? This is why I need you,” he chuckled.

  “I don’t get it.”

  “Exactly.”

  We pulled into the parking lot. Of Prime Strip. As in neon boobs jiggling and a chalkboard out front advertising EXTRA FREAKY FRIDAY DEAL! TWO DANCERS FOR THE PRICE OF ONE!

  “What the…,” I started, but trailed off because I couldn’t think of any explanation for this.

  “They have good steak, too, I promise,” he teased as he pulled the parking brake up.

  “I’m not going in there.”

  He sniggered, feeding off my discomfort.

  “Seriously, why are we here, Hongbo?”

  He shrugged. “When I agreed to this date”—what the fuck?—“I was scared you’d think it was real since it’s probably your first, so, I dunno, I thought it’d be a good idea, and funny, to bring you here.”

  “Date?” I repeated in shock.

  He scowled at me. “What’s wrong with you? Yeah, date. The one our parents set us up on.”

  And, just like that, I was the fool, triple-pointed hat and everything.

  I replayed my conversation with my mother.

  Me: Just so you know, I was able to put a chunk toward tuition last quarter—I mean, semester—with my tutoring.

  Mom: That reminds me, Hongbo requested you personally.

  Me: For tutoring? What, for the GMAT or something?

  Mom: Why don’t you see him Friday?

  Me: [inaudible grunting]

  Mom: His treat. Bài tuō le, Jing-Jing.

  Me: No need to get dramatic. [pause] I’m not in.

  Mom: He’ll shower you with money. I already told him you would do it. What’s so bad about spending a few hours with him at the library on Friday?

  Goddamn it. That crafty badger.

  The math tips and vocab word lists in my purse were laughing at me. The previous red flags I’d unconsciously ignored now came screaming to the forefront at full speed, mocking me and telling me I deserved Prime Strip for letting myself get bamboozled by money.

  “Take. Me. Home,” I said evenly through my teeth.

  Hongbo rolled his eyes.

  When he didn’t start the engine, I exited the car, slamming the door as hard as I could.

  He jumped out of the driver’s side. “Hey! Easy on the door!” He hurried over and blocked my way. “What’s wrong with you? Just come in, eat some steak, watch the show—you could learn a thing or two. Here, I’ll even be a gentleman and let you use this.” He pulled out a filled-out punch card that said FREE NACHOS AFTER 10 LAP DANCES. “Or maybe we’ll share. I earned this, after all.”

  I pulled my phone out to call an Uber and he threw a palm up. Worried he was reaching out to take my phone, I tucked it into my armpit.

  But, worse, he was reaching up to point at my head as he said, “You have a screw loose up there? Girls would give up their firstborns for a chance to be with me! Not that I’m sterile or anything—I have supersperm—it’s just a metaphor. Do you know what a metaphor is? Because I do. Obviously.”

  “Oh my God, I know what a metaphor is!” I burst out.

  “Well, good, because I’m asking you to be with me metaphorically and only metaphorically. Because I’m not, like, attracted to you or anything. Blech—you have the sex appeal of a cactus.”

  I was so overwhelmed and angry and disgusted I didn’t bother asking what being with someone “metaphorically” meant, and I instead tried to fully convey how not interested I was. “I would rather have sex with a cactus than be with you.”

  He narrowed his eyes with resentment even though he’d just said the same thing to me. Then he shook his head. “You idiot, it’s a business transaction: you do me a favor, I do you a favor.”

  “How in the hell would you be doing me a favor?”

  “By pretending to date me, you’d get to live a little more.”

  “What, like free nachos while someone’s ass waves in my face?”

  He rolled his eyes. “No, I meant more like”—he gestured to his car—“stuff like this. And, if you play your cards right and we get married, you’d get a piece of the fortune.”

  If I had been drinking water, I’d have spat it out dramatically, like in a movie. But since I wasn’t and my mouth was completely dry, I choked on my own tongue and, surprise, Hongbo didn’t notice, continuing, “It’s all pretend. You’re obviously allowed to do whatever with whoever, if you even want that”—his eyes flicked to my private parts as he snickered, and I could hear him all over again telling everyone about my shriveled vagina—“and I obviously would live the same life as now. Who knows? Maybe you’ll even be lucky enough to get a piece of me too, though you’re not my type, and guessing by this”—he gestured vaguely at my genitals with a circle of his hand—“you don’t have the experience to make up
for the rest of it.”

  I’d never kicked anyone in the balls before, but that didn’t mean I wouldn’t be good at it or that I shouldn’t.

  I had to swallow some bile. “Why the fuck would I want anything to do with you, let alone a fake relationship?” I pulled my phone out again. “I’m leaving. Please don’t ever contact me again.”

  This time he did swipe for my phone, but I dodged him.

  “Look,” he said, a little desperate. “My parents want us to be together, okay? Because, you know, you’re like the community virgin or whatever.”

  I was sort of aware that I had that reputation, but I hadn’t known it was so official. Why would it be, when it was nobody’s business but my own? The ironic part was that their so-called community virgin was and had always been open to romantic relationships, including the physical parts, but had just never found anyone who made her stomach flip or whatnot. Maybe because the community’s flagship bachelor was worse boyfriend material than a cactus.

  I shook my head over and over and over. “All of this is…” I circled a hand, not able to find the words for how absurd this was. “We’re so far off the deep end we’re not even in the pool anymore.”

  “See? You’re perfect for this. ‘We’re not even in the pool anymore,’ ” he mimicked. “Who fucking talks like that?”

  Finally my eyes and voice turned as murderous as I felt. “Stay the hell away from me.”

  I retreated to the other side of the parking lot to wait for my Uber, and he left me alone.

  But not for long.

  One week later and one day before my escape halfway across the country, I was focused on more important things: Were two hats, three scarves, and fifty hand warmers enough for the upcoming winter? Better make it sixty.

  The doorbell rang and I assumed it was a family friend stopping by with a home-cooked dish, but…

  “Jing-Jing!” My mother’s shrill but singsongy tone told me exactly who it was.

  I threw the additional hand warmers into my suitcase and fought off the urge to scream.

  Only nineteen hours and forty-two minutes before you’re outta here, I reminded myself as I reluctantly dragged my ass downstairs.

  My parents were fawning over him, complimenting his Nike high-tops, asking about his parents and their company. “Aiyah, your family is so impressive. Number One Systems is number one all right!”

  As soon as my foot touched the hardwood of the first floor, Hongbo…

  Excuse me, I was gagging in the corner.

  Hongbo fucking pulled out a ring box.

  My mother gasped so hard she dissolved into coughs.

  He shoved the box toward me. When I recoiled, he opened it, as if the size of the stone would sway me. The fucking Hope diamond wouldn’t have done it, let alone the square-cut canary one picked out by his mother.

  “No,” I said, trying to fight back tears. How had it devolved into this, and so quickly? “Please leave,” I begged, simultaneously trying not to hurl something at him or hurl, period.

  “Shut up!” my mother yelled at me as she grabbed the box. “We humbly accept, Hongbo.”

  I ran. I didn’t know what else to do.

  “How dare you, Jing-Jing!” Hongbo shouted. “Can you get that stick out of your ass for one second and smarten up before it’s too late?”

  “He’ll provide for you; your life will be so easy,” my mother called after me. “And we’ve known his family for so long—what more could you ask for?”

  “You’ve never had a serious boyfriend—how can you know what you want?” my father added.

  I had never felt so utterly, completely alone.

  * * *

  I ended my recounting there since it naturally picked up with where Andrew came in, though in reality a piece was still missing. But it was a piece I couldn’t bring myself to share with him because it was embarrassing and horrible and made me feel like a piece of shit on the sidewalk. And thus I had left it off the application, too. He didn’t need to know; none of our potential plans were affected by this final nail in the coffin—just my ego and self-worth.

  When I finished relaying the hellish details to Andrew, it felt like a weight had been lifted. A nacho-and-lap-dance-loving, Lamborghini-faking weight.

  Around the Prime Strip part of the story, Andrew and I had taken up residence on a bench in Cottontail Park, where, sadly, I had never seen a single cotton-tailed friend.

  “Holy shit,” Andrew uttered. It was the first thing he’d said, having been silent the entirety of my recollection except for a few reactionary noises here and there.

  “You can say that again.”

  “Holy shit.” He paused. “First, I’m so sorry. That is just, well, fucking appalling. I can’t think of a word that summarizes it well enough, and I can’t even fathom what it must’ve been like for you. I’m sorry.”

  We sat quietly for a moment as the horror sank into his face, then morphed into confusion. Probably because there were things that didn’t add up.

  “Why is Hongbo so supportive of this?” he asked.

  “I’ve thought about this. A lot. Too much.” It keeps me up at night, in fact. “Hongbo doesn’t want me, but I suspect he wants the life and inheritance that comes with following his parents’ commands.”

  “Fuck.”

  I nodded. “Fuck me for being the apple of his parents’ goddamn eyes.”

  “And for the grossest of reasons.”

  “Well…” A light bulb slowly brightened in my head. “Maybe we can use that. Take my reputation down a notch.”

  “You shouldn’t have to do that.”

  “I’m not talking about anything disastrous. We’ll have fun with it. Like, ‘Hey, Kuo Ǎyí, did you know I’ve smoked a cigarette before?’ ”

  “A marijuana cigarette,” Andrew added, and we both laughed. “Not the easiest to bring up in conversation, though.”

  I shrugged. “If it’s awkward, it’s awkward.”

  “It still bothers me that you’re the one suffering for the sake of others. And you’re the only one who hasn’t done anything wrong.”

  “I lied to my parents.”

  He sighed. “For a good reason, unlike everyone else.”

  “You don’t have to protect me,” I said, when in reality I craved it. I was tired of standing my ground on my own.

  “I know,” he said, and I could tell he was thinking, But I want to, which only made it hurt more.

  “Well, maybe the best plan is to just show everyone how in love we are,” I said. “Convince the community we’re a solid item so the Kuos back off.” Maybe my original plan was the best strategy after all.

  Andrew nodded. “That’s what I’m trained for. Get ready for some impromptu slow dancing, lots of hand grazes, maybe even some finger-food feeding if we’re feeling really cheesy.” A mischievous glint appeared in the corner of his eye. “We’ll take it into the desert.”

  “Huh?”

  The right side of his mouth quirked up. “You know, your joke. We’ll take it so far off the deep end we’ll be out of the pool, into the car, and miles inland where there’s no water in sight.”

  I burst out laughing.

  “For the record, I liked that line,” he said. He nudged my shoulder with his. I flinched when we made contact, and he scooted away an inch. “I’m sorry.”

  Not as sorry as I was.

  I put my hand out, palm down. “One, two, three—fuck you, Hongbo!” I chanted. And even though we were far from a foolproof plan, Andrew put his palm on mine and we pressed down, then threw our hands and worries into the air.

  Drew CHAPTER 31

  SHARKY SEA

  I was as ready as I could be for the Christmas Eve party to end all parties: freshly showered, deodorized, shaved, and suited up (just a regular suit, not a superhero suit, unfortunately). Most importantly, I had also received an all clear from corporate about the party. As soon as Jing-Jing and I had returned from our walk, I’d sent Rent for Your ’Rents an a
lert with the party details, and they had combed through their database and the internet for potential conflicts with any previous clients of mine. The chances were already low because, before I had even been assigned to her, Jing-Jing had listed her communities and family friends and contacts for the algorithm to take into consideration. But I liked to take every precaution, meaning, if the all clear hadn’t come through, Rent for Your ’Rents would have tried to contact the other client, or I would have found a way out of the party.

  I was sitting on the couch, fighting my urge to twiddle my thumbs, when Jing-Jing descended the stairs in a flowy, scarlet, knee-length cocktail dress. Three pink peonies were splashed across the top half, above where the skirt flared out, and two adorable Chinese knot closures joined the two sides of the slanted collar. And, this had never happened before, I promise (and I’d never wanted it to happen), but it felt like she was coming toward me in slow motion.

  I had somehow stood as she came downstairs, but I didn’t remember moving any muscles.

  “Wow.” I cleared my throat. “I mean, wow,” I said in exactly the same hoarse, embarrassing way.

  Everything sped up again and she smiled at me as she approached.

  “You clean up nice,” she said, gesturing to my maroon button-up shirt, navy suit, and forest-green pocket square. (Maroon was a UChicago color and, with the forest green, also checked the Christmas-colors box.)

  Then she leaned over and whispered, “Good performance.”

  Performance? Right. Jing-Jing subtly tilted her head toward her mother, whom I now saw for the first time, peeking at us from around the corner, her eyes wide and lit up like that time at Thanksgiving when I’d complimented how strong and independent Jing-Jing was.

  But the light in Mrs. Wang’s eyes didn’t last long. When we arrived at the obscene mansion by the man-made lake (there were fucking columns out front and two spewing fountains), we were engulfed by other guests as soon as we entered. And suddenly I didn’t exist, to the point where Mrs. Wang did everything she could to create physical distance between me and the rest of them.