I Got Invited to a Networking Brunch and Spent the Entire Time Pretending I Was a Former Soap Opera Star in Witness Protection

No one questioned this. I think they believed me. I might be in too deep.

I want to make it absolutely clear that I did not plan to lie to a room full of professionals while eating overpriced avocado toast. That part just happened organically like mold on bread you forgot about in the back of your fridge.

It started when my neighbor Mia invited me to what she called a "casual networking brunch" which is already a suspicious combination of words. Networking and casual go together about as well as peanut butter and tuna fish. Technically you could combine them but anyone who does is probably not to be trusted.

I hate networking events with the burning passion of a thousand dying suns. The name tags, the awkward small talk, the way everyone is scanning the room over your shoulder looking for someone more important to talk to. It's basically speed dating except instead of love you're searching for career opportunities and validation.

But Mia promised mimosas and said I could leave after an hour so I agreed. She also said "wear something nice" which for me meant the one pair of brown pants I own that doesn't have either coffee stains or mysterious marks from leaning against dirty walls.

The brunch was at one of those places with Edison bulbs hanging from the ceiling and plants growing on the walls. You know, the type where they serve water in mason jars and charge you $24 for eggs. The kind of place that makes you feel simultaneously fancy and poor.

I walked in fifteen minutes late because punctuality is for people who haven't spent twenty minutes in their car fighting their will to live. Mia waved me over to a table where five people were already deep in conversation about something called "market disruption" which sounded vaguely apocalyptic.

She introduced me to everyone but their names evaporated from my brain immediately like water on hot pavement. There was Suit Guy and Startup Woman and Finance Bro and Tech Girl and someone who I think was a lawyer but might have been a high-end cult leader based on his extremely intense eye contact.

"What do you do?" Finance Bro asked me after approximately seven seconds of being in my general vicinity.

And that's when it happened.

I opened my mouth to say "I work in customer service" which is both true and boring enough that people usually move on quickly. But what came out instead was:

"I used to star in a soap opera but now I'm in witness protection so I’m not supposed to talk about it."

The table went silent. Every eye turned to me. My brain caught up with my mouth and started screaming internally at a pitch only dogs and anxiety disorders can hear.

But then something magical happened.

They nodded. They actually nodded. Like I had said "I work at Bank of America" or some other totally reasonable thing that doesn't involve the federal government hiding you from murderous criminals.

"That must be difficult," Tech Girl said sympathetically.

"Which soap opera?" asked Startup Woman and then immediately held up her hand. "Sorry—you probably can't say. I understand."

"Do they let you keep in touch with anyone from your old life?" Suit Guy asked in a hushed tone like we were discussing nuclear launch codes instead of my completely fabricated past.

And instead of coming clean I doubled down because my fight or flight response has a third option called "make things worse."

"Only my cat," I said solemnly. "They relocated him too. Gave him a new name and everything."

Finance Bro nodded like this was a completely normal thing to do for a cat.

"What was his old name?" asked the Lawyer Cult Leader.

"Sebastian," I said because apparently my lying brain defaults to the most soap-opera name possible. "Now he's just... Bob." I added with a dramatic pause.

"Bob," repeated Tech Girl with tears in her eyes. Actual tears. "That's so sad."

At this point I was in way too deep. There was no graceful way to say "Just kidding I actually write copy for a dog food company's newsletter" without looking like a complete sociopath. So I committed to the bit with the dedication of a method actor preparing for an Oscar.

For the next hour and a half I crafted an elaborate backstory about my life as "Viviana St. Claire" on a fictional soap called "Passions of the Heart" where I played a twin who was possessed by the ghost of her dead aunt. I explained that I had witnessed a crime on set involving "people very high up in the industry" and that's why I had to disappear.

Nobody questioned a single detail. Not when I said my character had been married eight times. Not when I explained that I once did a scene where I gave birth while escaping from kidnappers on a speedboat. Not even when I mentioned that in my final episode before going into witness protection I dramatically fell off a cliff but they never found the body.

Instead they shared their own surprisingly dark secrets. Startup Woman was considering leaving her husband. Finance Bro secretly wrote poetry. Tech Girl admitted she'd been faking knowledge of coding for years and just Googled everything. The Lawyer Cult Leader cried about his mother.

Somehow my absurd lie had created a safe space for honesty. By being the person with the most outrageous story in the room I'd made everyone else feel normal in comparison.

By the time brunch ended I had exchanged contact information with everyone at the table. Finance Bro wanted to send me his poetry. Tech Girl invited me to her book club. Startup Woman asked if I could talk to her about "finding courage to start over."

As we were leaving the Lawyer Cult Leader put his hand on my shoulder and said very seriously "Your secret is safe with us, Viviana."

I got into my car and sat there for a full ten minutes staring at the business cards in my hand trying to process what had just happened.

On one hand I'd made more connections at this brunch than at any networking event in my entire life. On the other hand they all thought I was a soap star in hiding from dangerous criminals.

Now Mia keeps texting asking if I want to come to more events and I don't know what to do. Part of me wants to come clean but another part of me thinks maybe witness protection Viviana is more interesting than the real me.

Maybe we all just want to believe that beneath our ordinary lives there's something extraordinary waiting to be discovered. Or maybe we all just want an excuse to avoid talking about our actual jobs at brunch.

Either way I now have to decide if I'm going to tell the truth or commit to being Viviana St. Claire for the rest of my life.

Bob the cat would want me to follow my heart.