Double Take

by Laura Kennedy

  James was in the kitchen chopping onions for dinner when I tossed the key on the counter. His hair was wet, like he’d just gotten out of the shower.

  “Someone appears to be in a hurry,” he said, looking up from the chopping block. “Hot date?”

  If I only dared tell him why. “My mother told me to be home early,” I said. “She needs me to...chop onions.”

  James laughed. “Well, be sure to put a match in your mouth. Unlit, of course.”

  He looked at me, waiting for a laugh. Instead, I turned and ran.

  What’s going on? I wondered as I turned my convertible onto Spring Bayou Boulevard. Was Mercury in retrograde or what? First Tyler starts acting all weird about wanting to have sex, and then Anthony jumps all over me. Maybe having an apartment when you’re barely seventeen was dangerous. Well, I’d just have to be more careful. And even though Miss de France hadn’t made a rule about boys, I’d make one. No men or boys, or males of any sort allowed in The Patent Leather Room. Period. No exceptions. I didn’t care what sexual fantasies Tyler had.

  It was the following Wednesday afternoon and a milliminute away from my three o’clock acting lesson with Nick, when I pulled into Miss de France’s driveway. Nervous as my cat Erskine when he suspects he’s going to get a bath, I checked the driveway for Tyler’s beat up bike. That little horndog. If he’d just leave me alone, everything would be okay. But why should he? He knew I’d lied to my parents and that I was terrified they’d find out about my apartment. Tyler had me where he wanted me. I’d always thought he was such a good guy. Maybe you never really know a person.

  The thundering of music attacked me as I opened the French doors to the drawing room. Miss de France and Nick were seated at the grand piano, Miss D’s small hands on the keyboard. Surprised, I stood listening.

  “Rachmaninoff’s Prelude in C Sharp Minor,” she said, turning to me when she was through playing. “Amazing, wasn’t he?”

  I nodded. “It would be a killer ring for my cell.”

  Nick laughed.

  “Nick loves classical music, too, don’t you darling?” Nick was just about to open his yap to agree how wonderfully cultured he was, when my cell beeped.

  “Excuse me a sec,” I said, fumbling in my purse for my second favorite object next to my car. “I have a text.” I flipped open the cover and hit new messages.

  Brooke UR not going to B-leeve it but i messed up my knee skateboarding Saturday. Can’t climb stairs or do anything if u know what i mean. CU soon as i can. Tyler

  I let out a squeal. I knew exactly what he meant. When I looked up, Miss D and Nick were staring at me.

  Miss de France had the first question. “Well, tell us the wonderful news.”

  “Tyler hurt his knee skateboarding.”

  “Oh, that’s great,” Nick said. “Do you laugh when you read the obituaries, too?”

  “I’m too young to read the obituaries, and I didn’t mean to sound so happy, but it’s kind of complicated.”

  “I think I’d rather not know.” Nick got up from the grand piano and walked over to hand me a few sheets of paper. “On a saner note, here’s our new script. I want you to read these new scenes from 12-Mile Reef and we’ll do them next week. Today we’ll just go over some old exercises.”

  I looked down at the script, but my eyes were blurred with tears. I didn’t have to worry about Tyler jumping my bones anymore. At least, for now. Of course, his knee wouldn’t be messed up forever, but it would give me time to figure out how to keep him out of the carriage house.

  Feeling like I’d just been sprung from the Tower of London and a date with the executioner, I drove home in high spirits. It wasn’t long before the Green Lady and I pulled through the gates of Porpoise Drive. I love my house, I thought, looking at it with a new sense of appreciation. I love the humungous B on the gates and the orange and yellow hibiscus and the tile roof. I love the pool, and the gazebo and the loggia.

  I was still counting the things I loved when I walked into the kitchen. My mother was at the stove measuring rice into a pot. “Good, you’re home early,” she said, looking up. “You can help chop vegetables for stir fry.”

  “Okay.”

  “What? No excuses? Okay, tell me. What do you want?”

  “I don’t want anything. I just love Chinese food and I’m hungry, that’s all.”

  I barely slept that night, worrying about my dance lesson with Anthony the next day. I couldn’t face him again. I just couldn’t. There was only one thing to do. Call Miss de France and tell her I was sick.

  James answered the phone, sounding like a butler in an old movie. But then, he was a butler, and Miss de France was an old movie star.

  “I’ll convey the message to Madame,” he said after I’d recited my lie. “You did look a little peaked when you left yesterday. I hope it’s nothing contagious.”

  “No, no. I’m sure I’ll be fine by next...” I paused wondering how long a reprieve I should give myself. “Monday.”

  “Well, take care. Ask your mother to make you some chicken soup,” he advised and hung up.

  Chicken soup. I thought of Maria’s grandmother and how she’d made soup from thee cheeken for me when I’d pretended I was Maria so she could go to the Homecoming Dance with Anthony. God, had Anthony always been in my life mucking it up?

  Happy to be free of Anthony for another week, I drove to my job at Surf’s Up. I couldn’t avoid Mr. Sleezeball forever, but maybe he’d twist his ankle like he’d done before. Break it would be even better.

  Now, Brooke, that wasn’t a very nice thing to wish. It was my saner self butting in again. Well, maybe it wasn’t a very nice thing to wish, but Anthony wasn’t a very nice guy.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  The second I trotted into Miss de France’s drawing room the following Wednesday afternoon and spied Nick sitting on the chaise lounge looking very Coral Cove Country Club in white shorts, white T-shirt, and Docksiders sans socks, I felt better. Better because all I could think of was how much I wanted to kiss him. He looked away from Miss de France when he saw me.

  “Hi,” I said.

  “Hi yourself.”

  “All right, children, it’s show time.” Miss de France tapped her way across the tile with her cane, then plopped down in her red throne.

  “As you know, we’re at a crucial scene where Gwyneth suspects her erstwhile boyfriend Arnold has harmed Tony, and she’s rushing off to find him.”

  I moved to the center of the room where Nick was standing.

  “You’re not going to need those,” he said, “because, as an experiment, we’re going to do a little improv.”

  “So what do you want me to do?”

  “We’re making up our own scene. Instead of running off to Tony, you and Arnold have a fight on the front porch. Now remember, you’re terrified something has happened to the guy you love.”

  Nick turned away to prepare for his scene. When he turned back, instead of nice-guy Tony, he’d morphed into jerk-of-the-century Arnold.

  “Gwyneth, where are you going?” His voice was mean as I tried to brush by him.

  “To find Tony.”

  “Forget about him. He’s nothing but a greasy Greek.”

  “I won’t forget and you can’t make me. I know you’ve done something to him.”

  “Nothing that he didn’t deserve.” Nick grabbed my arm, trying to stop me. “I’m warning you, Gwyneth, don’t take another step.”

  Furiously, I broke away. “Leave me alone! You don’t own me. No one does.”

  My words were no longer pretend. And I wasn’t Gwyneth screaming at her boyfriend. I was Brooke screaming at Anthony and Tyler and Miss de France.

  Exhausted and crying, I finished the scene, the room strangely quiet except for the ringing of a single chime from the grandfather clock in the entry. The pitti-pat sound of Miss de France’s applause broke the silence.

  “Superb improvisation,” she cooed, struggling to her feet. “Absolutely superb.”r />
  Embarrassed by my tears, I looked down at the red and blue swirls in the Oriental rug.

  “Great job, Brooke,” Nick said. He lifted my chin to look at him. “I think you’re going to be a real actress yet.”

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  Snaillike, Miss de France oozed toward us. “All right, my darlings, until we meet again next week, au revoir.”

  “Au revoir,” I murmured, and snatching my purse, stumbled out of the room.

  Safely inside the carriage house, I bolted the door and collapsed on the bed.

  Leave me alone. You don’t own me. My words in Nick’s and my scene bounced back and forth in my head. Gwyneth and I were the same. We were tired of people trying to control us. But Gwyneth was make-believe, and it was easier to fix things in a make-believe world.

  I buried my head in my feather pillow and started round two of tears. What was I going to do? My life was so mish-mashed with Miss de France’s, I couldn’t even think.

  At first I didn’t hear the knock. I lifted my head from my pillow. Oh, God, I hope it’s not Anthony. Or maybe it’s Tyler ready to collect on his blackmailing scheme!

  I tiptoed to the window, pushing back the white lace curtain to peek out. Too big and dark haired to be Tyler, I had to look twice to realize the man standing at my door wasn’t Anthony, either. Unbelievable as it seemed, it was Nick.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  What was Nick doing here? And why had he decided to come to see me when I was in the middle of a meltdown? Red-eyed, I unlocked the carriage house door.

  “Cinderella,” he said, holding my cell phone in the air. “You dropped this when you ran out after our lesson. I guess the clock struck midnight, and you were afraid you’d turn into a pumpkin.”

  “Cinderella didn’t turn into a pumpkin, her coach did,” I sniffled.

  “I knew it was something like that.” His smile evaporated. “Brooke, are you okay? You were pretty intense back there.”

  “Yeah, I guess I was really getting into the improv thing. Would you like to see my apartment?”

  Nick stood in the center of the room and looked around. “Pretty cool. Miss D went all out with the patent leather wall and everything.”

  “You know Miss de France. She wants to give you nothing but the best, even if it kills you.”

  Without warning, I broke into a second round of tears.

  “Hey, what’s going on with you? Why are you so upset?”

  “It’s...just...because my life is so messed up,” I sobbed, “and I don’t know what to do and don’t have anyone to talk to.”

  “Hey, that’s not true.” He put his arm around my shaking shoulders. “Miss de France told me you have a lot of friends.”

  “But they’re no help, because they’re just kids like me. And I can’t tell my parents, because, well, because they’re adults.”

  “Then what about me?” He smiled. “I’m sort of in the middle, aren’t I? Now calm down and tell me what’s going on.”

  I sat down on the edge of the bed. Nick sat down beside me. “Well, I guess it all started when my car broke down in front of Miss de France’s house in the rain.”

  Gently Nick wiped away a tear with his finger. “Yes, and?”

  “Somehow, by the time I left her house, I’d promised to come to her Valentine’s Day party and to bring the Sisters.”

  “You have sisters?”

  “No, they’re my pretend sisters. Well, I really didn’t want to go, but I did. Not because I’m a good person or anything, but because I wanted to wear the Cleopatra dress to Paige Barton’s party.”

  “Cleopatra dress?”

  “One of the gowns Elizabeth Taylor wore when she made the movie Cleopatra. Miss de France knew her.”

  “Holy sh—”

  “I thought the same thing.”

  Nick looked confused. “So, what was so traumatic about all that?”

  “Well, at the party we watched Beneath the 12-mile Reef, and Miss de France started saying stuff about playing Gwyneth in the movie, and Tamara basically said she didn’t believe her, and Miss de France had a heart attack and fell down the stairs, and it was all my fault.”

  Having worked myself into a new spasm of tears, I collapsed on the bed.

  “Hey, stop it. It wasn’t your fault. No one blames you. Miss de France has a bad heart. All of the excitement from the party was too much for her, that’s all.”

  I looked up. “Do you really think so?”

  “Yeah. Now, do you feel better?”

  “Sort of, but...”

  “But what?”

  “It’s all so confusing, I just can’t tell you.” If I could only trust him. But how could I explain everything when I barely understood it myself?

  Nick put his arm around me. “I tell you what. Whenever you’re ready to talk some more, let me know, okay? You’re a good kid, Brooke.”

  “Do you really think so?”

  He nodded.

  I put my head on his shoulder. And then, without thinking, I kissed him.

  “What was that for?”

  “Just for listening.”

  His lips are so soft and warm. And he smells so good. A sexy-guy kind of good.

  I leaned forward and kissed him again, this time harder.

  “Brooke, I don’t think this is a good idea.”

  “I do,” I answered.

  Nick pulled me closer, kissing me on the neck, running his strong hands through my hair.

  “Oh, Brooke,” he said. It was a cross between a question and a prayer.

  Stretching out on the bed, he pulled me to him. This is what sex is like. This is what they all have been talking about.

  I lost all concept of time. Was it five minutes or an eternity I spent kissing Nick in my Hollywood bed? I didn’t know and didn’t care. I only knew I couldn’t stop.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  I wanted to go all the way. I would have let Nick do anything. I couldn’t help it. But instead of Nick taking off my clothes, he was taking off. I didn’t realize what was happening until he sat up on the side of my bed and began putting on his Docksiders.

  “Where are you going?” I asked, brushing a lock of hair out of my eyes.

  “Home.”

  I started to cry. “If you cared about me...” My voice trailed.

  “I do care about you. That’s why I’m leaving. Besides, you’re just a kid.”

  “No, I’m not.”

  “That’s not what the law says.”

  He stood up and tucked in his shirt. “I’m sorry, honey. I just can’t do this.”

  He kissed me on the forehead. “Be careful who you let in here.”

  I watched him as he walked to the door. My reflection looked back at me in my vanity mirror. Flushed, hair tousled. I looked different. I felt different. I was ready to love. It was terrifying and wonderful at the same time.

  I loved Nick more than ever. Because he was way more than I’d thought. Not only handsome and cool, he was honorable. Even though he’d slept with my mother, he was a decent person.

  I drove home in a daze. In less than two weeks two men had been in The Patent Leather Room. One I absolutely loathed who wanted me; the other I adored who didn’t want me. And of course, Tyler, somewhere in the wings on crutches just waiting to get what he could. And I always thought Tyler was so nice. Actually, Tyler was nice. His only problem was that he was a guy.

  Nick’s last words to me when he’d left replayed in my head. Be very careful who you let in.

  Did he suspect what Anthony had in mind? Probably. They were cousins. Maybe I should cancel my dance lesson. No, I couldn’t. I didn’t want Miss de France to get suspicious. I mean, if she knew there’d been two men rolling around in my bed in less than two weeks, she wouldn’t be happy.

  Or, would she?

  At my next dance lesson with Anthony, I was totally innocent and aloof. Sort of a cross between Grace Kelley and Doris Day, two 1950’s actresses Miss D and I had watched
in old movies.

  If Anthony felt anything, he didn’t show it. Instead of pinching my rear and blowing in my ear, he was all business, waltzing me around the room.

  June was evaporating and The Fourth of July loomed. Sparklers, fireworks, potato salad and more fun in my new apartment.

  Embarrassed. It was the only word to describe the way I felt during my acting lesson the following week. As for Nick, he was totally cool. Distant, but cool. Then again, he was an actor.

  Instead of doing anything the least bit romantic or emotional, we did some new enunciation exercises. Exercises to project my voice in case, through some freak accident, I were ever to act on stage.

  Tamara spent the night, and still my parents didn’t have a clue. But the more I lied, the worse I felt. How long was I going to be able to go on like this?

  As long as you want The Patent Leather Room. As long as you want to do whatever you want.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  It was Maria’s turn to spend the night in the carriage house. Since the Green Lady was running rough and was in Joe’s Garage, we’d had to ride our bikes. We met at the corner of Spring Bayou and Banana. The distinct smell of food wafted up from Maria’s basket.

  “Black beans and yellow rice?” I guessed.

  Maria nodded. “I think my mother was suspicious when I dished up all this stuff. She asked how your father’s construction business is doing.”

  Within a minute we were at the Victorian’s backdoor. When I knocked, Miss de France answered. “So, it’s Maria’s turn to spend the night,” she said, handing me the key to the carriage house. “Too much fun!”

  I frowned. “How can you possibly have too much fun, Miss de France?”

  “One thing I love about you, Brooke, is that you are so incredibly literal.”