Being yourself is easy.
Being a lie takes work.
— Daisy Fuckit
Her new name was Claire.
She went by Amber on the street, though I don't know how long she'd been doing that, and I didn't want to ask. When I found her, I got the feeling she was new to selling herself, and she wasn't good at it.
She said, "My parents died when I was little. Grew up in foster care. Aged out with nowhere to go when I hit 18, so, yeah. There was a guy. It was bad. I fucking hate men. I do odd jobs, but it's not enough. I only do... that... when things get really bad. Only when I run out of options."
I know it sounds cold, but that's why Ambeclaire was perfect for this.
She needed it.
I needed it too, so it was time to get to work.
"We need to settle on some basics before we get too deep into this, ok?"
Remembering what to call her was already getting confusing, so I needed to set her straight.
"There's no more Amber. From here on out, you're Clarissa. Claire for short. We'll find out your last name when your new ID is ready. It takes a little longer to get a good one.
"Even when it's just you and me, you're Claire. It's easier to always get it right when you never get it wrong by juggling the old and the new. Cool?"
"Yeah."
"What's your name?"
"You just told me."
"Say it."
"I'm... I'm Claire."
"Who are you?!?"
"I'm Claire. Sorry."
"Don't be sorry. We're gonna work on it. You're a new You. I'm gonna ask you basic stuff, again and again, until it becomes second nature. You're Claire. I'm Shay. We're gonna work on your backstory too. Where you're from and what you do, just so you know what to say when a guy asks."
"We're not telling anybody what we do, right?"
"I'm talking about your story. What you tell people. You're Claire. What kind of woman is Claire? Is she in real estate? No. It's gotta be something less specific. Catering? Are you an artist? OH! HA! This is great! You do urban outreach. You're an urban outreach... and assessment... analyst."
"What the FUCK is THAT???"
"You help get working girls off the street."
"So, I'm YOU!"
"You wish!"
Wow. That was a really kind thing to say, even if she didn't mean it.
"But, seriously," I said. "You're an urban outreach and assessment analyst. You don't do the outreach. You oversee the motherfuckers who do the whatever. I don't know! You're a white collar taxpayer money wasted on bullshit analyst... assessment... overseer... person."
"And what do YOU do?"
"I'm a fucking thief. Nobody meets me. That's why I got you."
Shit. Ouch. I didn't mean to say it like that.
"OK" she said, "but Sebastian knows you. What does HE think you do?"
"He thinks I pay in cash and tip well. He also thinks I'm Phoebe, remember? And he thinks you're Amber, so that's a lie to keep track of. It's gonna be one of many, but I picked you because you're smart," I lied. "So, let's take it from the top. Ready? What's your name?"
"I'm... Claire."
"Nope. You're lyin'. If you hesitate to think about it, even just a little, a guy's gonna know something's up. You're Claire from Clermont."
"Where the hell is that?"
"It's over by Indy. Or pick another city if you want. Small towns are great. Places where nobody goes. Or just outside huge cities where nobody knows anybody. It's all lies anyway, so have fun with it. Make up your own story."
Being yourself is easy. You know the answer to any questions because you lived it. Being a lie takes work. You need a backstory, and you need to know it like the back of your hand, because you need answers to questions before you know what the questions are.
Being Daisy Fultzer from Daytona fucking Beach taught me that. Falzner? Falkner? Fuckit.
Bro said, "I grew up in Daytona! What part?" I said, "The part where the gun in my purse says 'Shut the fuck up.'" That didn't go well, but it taught me to always have a backstory. I'd rather have a talking gun. Oh, who am I kidding? I wouldn't trust me with a gun. That's why I don't have one. Probably the same reason I don't have a guy.
"Let's do it again," I said. "Ready?"
"Go."
"What's your name?"
"I'm Claire."
"Where ya from?"
"Clermont."
"And where the hell is that?"
"I don't know! It's..."
Come on, girl.
"It's by Indy, in the burbs. Here's a trick. Learn to give rambling vague answers, like 'It's nowhere. I mean, it's not, but...' Learn to talk without saying anything. We'll turn it into a game where one of us asks a question, and the other answers with a huge word salad that says nothing at all. Ask me a question. I'll show you."
"OK," she said, "Where'd you go to school?"
"Me? Oh, God, everywhere. My mom wanted to homeschool me, so we did that, off and on, plus my dad was in urban design, but more on the oversight and planning side, y'know? Building new communities. Well, he oversaw the planning, usually on site, so, we moved around a lot. I mean, not a lot, but more than most."
"Wow, really?"
"Fuck no. Remember, to any of these guys, you're a date. When he asks a question you don't want to answer, hit him with a long train of words. Just ramble till his eyes glaze over and he doesn't care anymore."
"Really though, where'd you go to school?"
"Jefferson high. It's in Cleveland." Such an obvious lie. Every city has a Jefferson, or a Washington.
"New topic," I said. "We need to get you glasses."
"What? Why? I have perfect vision."
"That's not the point. 'Claire' wears glasses. It's part of helping you become her, whoever you decide she is. When you put on Claire's glasses, you become Claire. It's like a costume, and it's as much about convincing you that you're her as it is about convincing anyone else."
"I get it. Try me again. From the top."
"K. What's your name?"
"I'm Clarissa. Claire for short."
Out with the old. In with the new.
Fake it til you make it true.