Page 2 of My Dirty Father In Law
“Yeah, but they don’t care about work product. Here in America, they care about “fitting in” and “being part of the team.” I swear, it’s different in France because employers don’t make demands on your personal time away from work. I guess I just goofed.”
Minnie nodded sympathetically. We’d spent most of the summer together, with our desks right next to each other, and she’s a cool girl. The young woman is gorgeous, with long blonde hair, winsome blue eyes, and a curvy figure to die for. Even crazier, she hadn’t attended too many of the social events at Excel either because she was actually hooking up with the CEO at our company. Yes, our boss’s boss’s boss was dicking down an intern, and I think by the end of the summer, Minnie might even have been living with Brad Landry.
“Well, I definitely don’t deserve a job offer either,” Minnie said in a rueful tone. “God knows, I skipped so many social functions.”
I shot her a look.
“Min, you were at all of the events. It’s just that you and Mr. CEO would “mysteriously disappear” mid-way, only to reappear with your make-up smeared and your hair messy.”
“No!” Minnie cried, her hands automatically going up to pat at her blonde strands. “Oh my god, really?”
“I’m kidding,” I say with a wicked wink. “I think you and Brad only disappeared once, and you looked fine when you returned. It’s okay. No one cares.”
My friend looked relieved, and the truth is that it doesn’t matter because now, Minnie’s pregnant by Brad. Yes, the CEO got his wish, and succeeded in knocking up his pretty intern. Not only that, but Minnie’s put college on hold for the meantime, so she doesn’t care about job offers and such. My guess is that my friend will never finish her degree, seeing that her boyfriend is absolutely loaded.
But still, not having a job is a huge problem for me because the only way I can stay in the United States is if I get a work permit. Right now, I have a student visa, but once I graduate, I’m kaput. Sure, there’s a 60-day grace period for me to find a position, but if I don’t, then I’m on the next flight to Paris.
It makes me sad because the truth is that Minnesota has grown on me. Every foreign student thinks they’re going to land in New York, Chicago, or Los Angeles, and plunge into the hustle and bustle of a sexy city that you only see in movies. But my scholarship was from Evergreen College in the Minneapolis suburbs, and that’s where I’ve spent the last four years. I like it here, too. My city has a small-town feel, and I don’t want to go back to the burbs of Paris. France is wonderful, don’t get me wrong, and my family misses me. But America is better, and I want to stay. It’s just a question of how.
Fortunately, Harry offered a solution.
“I know you didn’t get a position at Excel because of me,” he said in a slow voice. “I’m really sorry about that, Juliette. You were pretending to be my girlfriend at so many events that you didn’t have time to attend the social functions at your company.”
I put a small hand on his forearm. Harry is so fragile and bird-like that I’m afraid I might bruise his arm, but human contact is necessary to make my point.
“No, it’s okay, Harry,” I say in a steady voice. “I made my own choices, and it’s fine. I’m glad I helped you. It’s difficult to be a closeted gay man, and you needed me to play a role. Now, I just need to find a job,” I say in a wry tone. “Some place that will sponsor me for a work visa, otherwise I’m going to be kicked out of the Land of the Free.”
Harry bit his lip and nodded, looking a bit tentative.
“Well...” he hummed.
“What is it?” I asked. “Is something wrong?”
“I have an idea,” he began in a slow tone. “You’ve done so much for me, Juliette, and I want to help you too.”
“Okay, but how?” I asked. “Immigration is crazy strict these days, and you know I only have sixty days to figure it out. Otherwise, I’m back to France,” I say with a jerk of my thumb over my shoulder.
“Immigration is strict,” Harry agrees, “but I’m willing to take a chance. Would you like to get married, Juliette? To me, I mean? That way you’d qualify for a spousal green card, and you could stay.”
I stare at him, astonished.
“No, it’s too much,” I respond. “It’s one thing to play charades and to pretend that I’m your girlfriend at lunches, dinners, and parties, but messing with ICE is different. I don’t want to get you in trouble, Harry. You could go to jail.”
“You can’t get me in trouble,” he responded in a wry tone. “I mean, if they found out that I’m gay, what are they going to do? Deport me? But I’m an American citizen. You’re the one who would be deported immediately if they found out about our green card marriage.”
“Actually, the administration’s deporting citizens these days,” I said in a dark tone. “I wouldn’t joke about that.”
“I know,” Harry says in a conciliatory voice while taking my hand in his own. “But think about it, Jules. We’ve already been ‘dating’ to everyone around us, and we have tons of photos and social media evidence about our so-called relationship. It’s perfect. ICE won’t know, and you’ll get a little bit of breathing room to find a new job. I mean, I hate to say it, but landing a job in sixty days in this economy? That’s tough. And aren’t you in PR? That’s even trickier because public relations is one of the first departments to go when times are difficult. Corporate decides to tighten the belt, and bam! The ladies in PR are shown the door.”
I know Harry’s right. I’m working with a strict deadline, and the probability of finding a new employer who will agree to sponsor a work visa in such a short timespan is almost nil. Still, I don’t want to put Harry in a bad position.
“I just don’t want to hurt you, Harry,” I say. “You’re already in the closet, and getting engaged and then married to a woman will really mess things up. It’s like putting a deadbolt on the closet door.”
“No, it’s not,” Harry said firmly. “This is just a friend helping a friend, the way you helped me. There are no locks or deadbolts in play. It’s fine, Jules. I want to help. I want to be of use to you, the same way you’ve done for me. Say yes, and let’s become an engaged couple.”
Reluctantly, I agreed and now, Harry’s not just my fake boyfriend. He’s my fake fiancé. As we make our way to his dad’s mansion to break the news, I shoot him one last glance.
“We can still call this off,” I say to my redheaded friend. “It’s not a big deal, Harry. It’s not like I’ll be deported to a third world country ravaged by war and famine. I’d just go home to Paris, which is beautiful this time of year,” I say with a sideways smile.
