Page 1 of My Dirty Father In Law
1
Juliette
“Wow, this place is amazing,” I murmur as the car pulls up to a huge mansion. The house is built from elegant gray stone, and looks to be about three stories tall with a porte-cochere in front, manicured gardens, and stone steps leading up to a magnificent red door.
“Yeah, and my dad lives here alone,” my boyfriend Harry says in a wry voice. “You’d think that as a long-time bachelor, he’d downsize to something more appropriate. But that’s Jordan for you,” Harry shrugs. “He’s very into tradition and upholding the values of our family.”
I open the door to the Accord before getting out.
“Family values like ‘Love, Live, and ‘Laughter,’ right?” I ask with a wink at my redheaded boyfriend. Harry’s cute, if you like them thin. He probably only weighs about a hundred and thirty pounds, despite being almost six one. Not only that, but he has the classic coloring of a redhead, with pale, freckled skin, green eyes, and a tendency to burn even on cloudy days. But he’s a nice guy, and we’re in a quote-unquote “romantic” relationship. I say that in quotes because actually, Harry’s gay. Everyone knows about his sexuality except for his dad, and for some reason, Harry has been hesitant about revealing the truth to his father. I remember asking the young man about it when we first became friends.
“But why don’t you just tell your dad that you’re gay? We’re not living in the eighteen hundreds anymore. Heck, everyone and their mother has a gay family member or friend now. It’s not a big deal.”
Harry sighed, his thin shoulders slumping.
“No, it is a big deal to someone like my dad,” he said in a quiet voice, looking down at his hands. “You don’t know Jordan. He’s really into alpha male stuff like torching calories at the gym, being the boss, and projecting masculinity. It would kill him.”
I shoot a look at the thin boy.
“That’s not true because a real alpha male would never be disappointed about having a gay son. If anything, your dad’s weak and backwards for judging you like that.”
Harry merely shook his head again.
“But my dad doesn’t know, so he’s never judged me. Jordan still thinks that I’m going to find a girl, get married, and then have kids to carry on the Lewis line,” he said with a rueful smile. “It’s my fault because I don’t have the guts to disappoint him.”
My heart went out to my new friend because his distress was obviously real. Besides, it wasn’t my place to judge his family, seeing that my relatives are also ridiculous. But as Harry and I grew closer over the next year or so, I met Jordan Lewis myself, and could see what my friend meant. Even crazier, Harry asked me to act as a beard during these outings, which was surprising to say the least.
“Please pretend to be my girlfriend,” my redheaded friend begged. “Just when you’re meeting my dad. It’ll help me out so much.”
I scrunched my nose.
“Really? Is it that important?”
Harry looked absolutely distraught while wringing his hands.
“I’ve never had a girlfriend before, and you’d be perfect for the role, Juliette,” he begged, clasping his hands together in a pleading gesture. “Just during lunch today. You don’t even have to say much to Jordan! Just pretend to like me, and besides, we hang out so much now that it’ll be easy to pull off. We can talk about school, classes, how you’re from France, really anything. Please, please, please, Juliette.”
I didn’t want to, but reluctantly, I went along with his charade. Just once, I promised myself. I’m only going to do this for Harry this one time, and then that’s it. He’s going to have to figure out this stuff on his own.
But the lunch with his dad went smoothly. Jordan Lewis was a dark, dangerous, and somewhat glowering figure, resplendent in a perfectly-cut grey suit that highlighted his towering frame. But the older man wasn’t mean or condescending, despite being the CEO of a wealth management firm. Instead, Jordan Lewis was perfectly polite and well-mannered. Yes, there was a gleam in those blue eyes that made me shiver, and there was a time when our fingers brushed when he handed me the menu, but I wrote it off as nothing. It was my imagination, and nothing else. After all, I’m a college co-ed from France, trying to get acclimated to life in the United States. Maybe I’m just lonely from being away from my family, and was imagining things that weren’t actually happening.
But after the meal, Harry was jubilant and elated.
“Thank you so much,” he said effusively, throwing his scrawny arms around me in a big hug. “My dad loved you!”
“Great,” I said with a smile, still remembering the older man’s broad chest and wide shoulders. “I think Jordan liked me. I hope he did, and that we pulled off a credible charade as a couple.”
“He did, he did!” Harry effused. “You’ll have to pretend to be my girlfriend again, Juliette. Please, please, please. Just a few more times over the summer.”
I said no. I put my foot down. I declined in every way possible, and yet my refusals fell on deaf ears. Harry begged, whined, and pleaded. He even cried once, with tears rolling down his cheeks, and my defenses crumbled. Blame it on my soft heart, but before I realized it, I’d accompanied him to a bunch of events as his “girlfriend.” It was terrible that we engaged in such a complex charade, but Harry was so grateful afterwards that I couldn’t help but pity him. What must it be like to be locked in the closet? Especially when faced with a domineering father who won’t accept your sexuality? It sounded like hell, and I was happy to assist my friend however I could.
But there was one big downside to it all, and that’s that I didn’t get a full-time offer at Excel after my summer internship ended. It’s because I was always helping Harry. Instead of showing up at happy hours and the like, I was helping my pretend boyfriend pull off his charade. In fact, I didn’t even know that the social events were a mandatory part of the internship. I thought that the after-work drinks, Friday night bowling, and hitting golf balls at the driving range were just fun afterthoughts. It wasn’t like we were being asked to type memos and do research at these soirees.
But in retrospect, I guess I should have known better because Americans spend so much time at work. In France, we have a thirty-five hour workweek, and that’s it. Then, you can go home and be with your family, and forget about your job entirely. But here, people see their work family as their real family, and even have “work husbands” and “work wives” because they’re so committed to their jobs. It’s a part of Corporate America that I didn’t anticipate, and as a result, I goofed. I didn’t go to the firm social events, and when it came time for offers in August, my name wasn’t on the list.
“Really?” my fellow intern Minnie asked with a confused expression. “Excel is dinging you because of that? But your work product is high quality, right?”
I smiled wryly.
