I try the door and find it is locked. I knock softly and Tamara opens it instantly. Glaring at me, she yanks me in and closes the door. She is dressed exactly like me and her hair is done up like mine too. The only differences are her breasts are bigger and her waist is smaller. Selena told me that she had had a rib taken out to achieve that look. The only way Lars won’t notice is if she gets him really drunk. Or maybe he won’t care. Maybe he will prefer her narrower body and bigger breasts.
“What took you so long?” she whispers fiercely. “I’ve been stuck in this smelly toilet for nearly an hour.”
“Ms. Moore called me less than three minutes ago,” I say.
“Whatever,” she huffs. “So, where is he?”
“By the pillar on the left-hand side of the main room.”
“What’s he wearing?”
“A white shirt, black tux, black pants, and a black mask.”
She wriggles her shoulders and pushes her chest out. “How do I look?”
“Great.”
“Better than you, anyway,” she says nastily and fits her mask over her face. She giggles. “This is such fun.”
I don’t say anything.
“Is he good in bed?”
I look at her coldly and refuse to answer.
“Never mind, I’ll find out myself tonight. I might send you a little video of us doing it.”
“Why would you want to do that?” I ask her.
“Because I want you to watch the man you love fuck me.”
“Why would you do this to me?” I ask.
“It’s hard to find entertainment in show business,” she says with a shrug.
I know she is lying. “That’s not why you’re doing it, is it?”
Her eyes flash with temper. “Because even though you brown nose me all the time, I know you think you’re somehow better than me.” She jabs me in the chest. “Well, Miss Holier Than Thou, you’re not. You’re nothing but dirt at the bottom of my shoe. And I can take your man any time I want. I’ll take him, I’ll suck him dry, then I’ll kick him to the curb.”
I stare at her in astonishment. She is horribly jealous of me. I have no money, or fame, or celebrity status. I don’t get to experience the high life the way she does. Why would she be jealous of me?
“You hurt your leg. Which one?” she asks, suddenly changing the subject.
“Right ankle.”
“What did you do? Sprain it?”
For a second, I don’t answer. Then my mouth opens and out it comes, the lie that I hope trips her up and gets her into trouble. “I fractured it,” I say.
Her brow furrows. “Is that like a break?”
“Exactly. I’ve broken my leg. Make sure you hobble up to him and complain a lot about the pain.”
“Hobble?”
“Uh…huh. Like this,” I say, making an exaggerated hobbling movement in the confined space.
She doesn’t look happy about it. I’ve earned this small satisfaction. This is my pathetic little revenge for all the times she has woken me up in the early morning hours for no reason at all, for when she pushed me to the ground, and for taking the man I love and rubbing it in my face. As many times as I have cursed her, let me give her a reason to curse me instead.
“Oh, and I guess I might as well give you my bandage too. Otherwise, he’ll see that your leg is not swollen.”
“Hurry up,” she urges impatiently.
I quickly remove my bandage and give it to her.
She lifts her skirt. “Put it on me,” she orders.
I crouch down next to the toilet and quickly wrap her ankle. “It’s done,”
“There’s the window. Now get through it.”
I look at the small window, my eyes widening. “You want me to go through that window?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t think I’ll fit.”
“Of course you will. If you get stuck, I’ll give you a shove from this end.”
“Why can’t I just walk out. Nobody will notice.”
She puts her hand on her hip. “And if someone does?”
I look again at the window. Maybe I can squeeze through it. “Where do I go once I get out?”
“There a car waiting for you outside.”
“A car?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, go already.”
I take a deep breath. The sooner I get out of her presence the better for me. I slip my shoes off, put my good foot on the toilet seat, and climb on to it. The window is not locked, so I push it open and put my head through. The ground is not too far away, it is grassy, and there is nobody around.
“Watch that your fat ass doesn’t get stuck,” Tamara chides.
I get the first half of me through easily, but the skirt of the dress is big and I struggle to free my hip. I give a good tug and hear a loud tearing sound, but my hips are through.
“Hurry up,” Tamara says impatiently.
I drop to the ground and feel a sharp pain in my ankle. I stand up. The skirt of my dress has been ripped away and is still caught in the window. Only the tulle underneath is still attached to the bodice of the dress. Tamara throws the torn skirt after me.
“Pass me my shoes,” I whisper, holding my hands up to the window. Instead of giving them to me, she flings them out. What a bitch! I find one but can’t find the other, and my ankle has started to throb with pain. I see a long black limo waiting by the curb. Someone opens the back door from the inside. My carriage awaits.
Fifteen minutes ago, I was the princess in a fairytale. It is clear now that there is no happily ever after to my story.
Oh, what the hell, I don’t need that shoe anyway. Holding my one shoe and my torn skirt clutched against my body, I limp toward the car. I duck my head and look through the open door.
Ms. Moore is in the car. I get in, and close the door.
“Well done. You just earned yourself $30,000.00,” she says.
Chapter 50
Cass
One Week Later
Nothing ever hurt as bad as leaving Lars at that Town Hall with Tamara Honeywell. Obviously, my lame attempt to get her in trouble had no bearing on anything. I guess I kept a secret hope in my heart that he would realize she is not me. It cuts me to think he never even realized that I wasn’t her.
Even if he had an identical twin, I’m certain I would be able to tell the difference between him any anyone else. I’d know by his taste, his smell, his touch, his smile, the little nuances about him that make him uniquely him. My mind always goes into a tailspin thinking of him doing to her all the things he did to me, and it makes me sick to my stomach.
Even though I know now that he couldn’t even tell the difference between me and that repulsive witch, my heart aches for him and my body craves his touch. I wake up at night, restless, my soul longing, hurting. It’s dangerous, but I get into my sweats and go out running until all my muscles are screaming.
My heart is broken and I don’t know if I’ll ever be whole again, but I don’t regret Lars. Yes, it hurts badly, but I wouldn’t change one second of it. It was the time I felt most alive.
Also, how can I regret something that has paved the opportunity for me to have a new life? I was drowning in debt and indescribably desperate. I didn’t know which way to turn. Now, I’ve paid Dad’s hospital bills and put the rest of the money (a sizable chunk) into an account for anything else he may need.
I thought hard about paying Lars back, but doing that would have revealed that I’m not Tamara and opened up a whole can of worms. I’ve decided to return it to him anonymously bit by bit when the dust settles down a little.
I need to make big changes to my life, but I will wait for a while more. I intend to keep my job stocking shelves while my father is still alive.
Once he is gone, I will leave Chicago. I have decided to learn to be a horse trainer. I know now, that I belong on a ranch. I want to look up at the night sky and hear my soul sing. There has not been one night that has passed when I have not longed for the
big sky of Montana. Just remembering those nights I sat alone watching the stars shine brings a new wave of sadness to my heart.
A sigh escapes me.
I look at my watch. It’s nearly five. Emma Jean will be starting dinner about now. I pray that Tamara was not rude to her before she left. She doesn’t deserve that. She is one of those special people.
I lift my head and look at my father, his chest rising and falling gently. He is sleeping, but sometimes he seems so still, I panic and have to hold my hand next to his nostrils to make sure he is still breathing. I lay my hand on his wasted arm and he shows no reaction. He is so near and yet so far away. In my heart, I am aware it is nearly time. My father is all but gone. His moments of lucidity are fewer and fewer, and they are always accompanied by pain and with no recognition of me or his surroundings.
Quietly, I stand and walk to the window. The evening sun is bright, and on the well-maintained grounds, patients are being pushed about slowly in wheelchairs. There is something very depressing in the sight and I turn away from it and rest my eyes on my father’s pale, shrunken face. Pain has hollowed out his cheeks and eyes. His eyelids are a network of fine blue and purple veins, and his thin lips are shiny with the lip balm I applied.
My phone starts vibrating in my pocket and I take it out and look at the screen. To my surprise, it is not Jesse, but Mrs. Carter. I haven’t heard from her since she wired the money into my account. I slip out of my father’s room and go into the corridor.
“Hello, Mrs. Carter.”
As usual, she skips the pleasantries. “You must have done a wonderful job last time because Tamara Honeywell wants to rehire you for another gig.”
“What?”
“It’s very late notice, I know, because you’ll have to ship out tomorrow,” she says, and before I can get a word in edgewise, rushes ahead, “but it’s a very exciting one this time. You’re being sent to New York! It’s just a single day, but you can stay on for another day and get your shopping fix. You’ll have to take comfortable shoes, but old, throwaway ones. The streets of New York are filthy. And here’s the best part of all. You won’t have to muck dirt or fall off a horse this time. You’ll get a thousand dollars just for cutting a ribbon at the opening of a new wing at a center for children with cancer or something like that.”
“It sounds like a wonderful job, but I’m not interested, Mrs. Carter.”
“Why not?” she shoots back in a surprised voice.
“My dad is very ill. I can’t leave him.”
“Oh! Well, uh, it’s just for one day. You don’t even have to stay for the shopping if you don’t want to.”
“No, maybe you can offer the job to the girl who usually impersonates Tamara.”
She pauses. I can imagine her frowning. “Is it the money? Because I’m sure I could get them to pay a bit more.”
“No, it’s not the money.”
“How about if I arrange it so that you are back on the same day?”
I groan under my breath. Might as well just come out with it. “Look, I’m sorry, but I really don’t ever want to impersonate Tamara again. It’s just not for me.”
There is a moment of silence. “You do know you won’t have to meet her this time.”
“Yeah, I gathered that. I just don’t want to have anything to do with her, that’s all. Sorry.”
“Hmm…yes, that is rather a shame. Well, goodbye, Cass.” She sounds very disappointed and it makes me feel bad to let her down, but even the thought of pretending to be Tamara again makes my skin crawl.
“Bye, Mrs. Carter.”
I put my phone back into my pocket and return to Dad’s room. He is lying in the same position I left him in. I kiss his forehead. His skin feels cold.
“I love you, Dad,” I whisper before I leave him. As I walk down the corridor, my phone buzzes again. I look at the caller ID and come to a dead stop.
“Hello, Ms. Moore.”
“Cass. How are you dear?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
“Mrs. Carter tells me you don’t want the job.”
“That’s right. I don’t ever want to impersonate Tamara again.”
The line goes silent for a few seconds. “Would you please do it as a favor to me? Just this once. I’ve messed up badly and booked this engagement when I knew she wouldn’t be finished with the reality TV thing she signed up for. I’d really, really appreciate it if you could do this one thing for me.”
“Oh, Ms. Moore. I really don’t want to pretend to be her again.”
“It’ll just be for an hour or so. I’ll double the fee.”
“It’s not the money,” I almost wail. I hate saying no to Ms. Moore.
“Please,” she begs. “I would never ask if it wasn’t important.”
Ms. Moore has always been kind to me, and it makes me feel horribly ungrateful and churlish that I cannot return the kindness when it sounds like such a short and easy gig to do. What harm can it do to help her out once? “All right. I’ll do it this once, but please don’t ever ask me again.”
“Thank you, Cass. Thank you, very much. I promise you, you won’t regret it. It’ll be the easiest grand you’ll ever earn. You’ll be picked up and flown by private plane. A chauffeur will take you to the ceremony. Once you get there, someone will be there to hold your hand and make sure that everything goes well. Afterwards, you can decide if you want to stay for a few days, or I can arrange for you to be returned back to Chicago on the same day.”
“I’d like to return on the same day, please.”
“Of course.”
“What time will I be picked up tomorrow?” I ask.
“Nine-thirty in the morning, your time.”
“Fine.”
After a week of trying to heal myself, I’m being forced to stick a bandage over a gunshot wound and crawl back to pretend to be the woman who destroyed me.
Chapter 51
Cass
I’m in Carrie Bradshaw’s New York and dressed in something she would wear, right down to a pair of blue and white striped Manolo Blahnik shoes. As the limo crawls through the streets, I crane my neck to look at the cityscape and the crowds of people, much better dressed than in Chicago, hurry along the streets.
Despite myself, I get caught up in the ceaseless energy and excitement that is New York. It’s crazy, but the graffiti, trash, and dirt contribute to the distinct character of the city. It is almost cinematic. One day, I promise myself, when my Dad is no longer here, I’ll come back here to visit, shop, and take in a show on Broadway.
The building is a glass and chrome high-rise in lower Manhattan. As soon as we arrive, an Asian woman with very shiny, shoulder-length black hair comes out and opens the door.
“Hello, Miss Honeywell. I’m Simran,” she says. “It’s so great that you could make it. Did you have a good flight?”
“Yeah, it was great, thanks,” I say, stepping onto the sidewalk. Even the air smells different.
She looks at my dress wistfully. “Love your dress. It’s gorgeous.”
“Oh, thank you.”
“Well, my job is to take you somewhere you can freshen up. Somebody there will also give you a rundown of your itinerary.”
“Sure,” I say and follow her into the building.
She ushers me quickly past the security guards and into one of the gleaming elevators. I stand in the elevator alongside her as she inserts a key. I’m amazed as we continue gaining floors all the way up to the penthouse. As soon as the elevator doors open, she turns to me. “This is you. Susan will take care of you from now on.”
“Thank you,” I say politely. I’m not doing that rude thing to random strangers anymore. I’m done with all that. If Tamara doesn’t like it, she can kiss my fat ass.
“Goodbye,” she says and I enter a reception area with black marble floors. It has a nest of pristine cream leather couches and a desk, behind which, a woman is sitting. She stands and comes forward. She is immaculately coiffured and dressed in a formal g
ray pant suit.
“Welcome to New York, Miss. Honeywell. I’m Susan Baxter. I’ll show you into Mr. Redmond’s office. He wants a quick word first.”
“Er…who is Mr. Redmond?”
She looks at me strangely. “The owner of Trans Corp”
I have no idea what Trans Corp is. Thanks, Ms. Moore, for dropping me into another weird situation. Well, I’ll just wing it as I go along. “Thank you,” I say, wiping my sweaty palms down my dress. For some weird reason, I’ve started to feel a bit nervous.
She leads me to a set of tall mahogany doors. With a smile, she opens one of the doors and holds it open for me. I walk through and hear her close it behind me. I am standing in a massive room with a lofty ceiling and floor-to-ceiling glass windows. From every angle, all you see is the blue sky, the tops of all the skyscrapers, and the glittering city below.
From where I am standing, the view is mesmerizing, but my attention is riveted to the big black desk across the room and the black, leather swivel chair behind it. The chair is turned away from the door and all I can see is the top of a man’s head.
I bite my bottom lip and clear my throat.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” a man’s voice says.
My heart stops in my chest before restarting and beating at triple the speed it had been going at before he speaks. My metaphorical gunshot wound tears wide open and my knees turn to JELL-O. I stumble forward and sink into one of the two chairs in front of the desk.
The black leather chair turns around slowly and I blink and stare at him stupidly. He’s not wearing a cowboy hat. And he’s dressed in a suit. One that looks incredibly expensive. And he looks amazing. “You?” I gasp.
He smiles long and slow. “Hello, beautiful.”
“What’s going on, Lars? What are you doing here?” I whisper.
“You left something behind, Cass,” he says and pushes a box toward me.
My hands shake as I lift the lid of the box. It’s the shoe I lost outside the Town Hall. Dazed and blind-sided, I look up at him without any real comprehension. My brain feels like mush. He stands from his chair and reaches my sitting figure in a few confident strides. I shake my head in disbelief. He looks so different. So polished and unreachable.
The CEO & I Page 36