by Liz Fichera
I finally sighed and said, “That’ll be fine.” For now. But the first thing I was going to do tomorrow was find a grocery store and make myself a nice, fresh omelet with tomatoes, cheddar cheese, green onions, a sprinkle of paprika and—
“Callie?” Max interrupted my food daydream. “Are you even listening to me?”
“Er…yeah. Sure I am. Heard every word,” I lied. I lifted the monstrous martini glass to my lips. The orange-reddish liquid tasted like cranberry and vodka. “Mmm…this isn’t bad.” I took another long sip. It wasn’t as good as Uncle Mario’s sangria but it was good.
“Do you want to dance or don’t you?” Max asked impatiently.
Silence.
“Maybe in a little while?” I scanned the dance floor.
A rainbow light display swept over several dancing couples who looked like possible contestants for Dancing with the Stars. Fortunately, the DJ continued to play New Agey, slow song renditions of 80’s songs, mixed in, oddly, with rap. Slow songs I could handle, even though I risked ankle injury. I was still getting used to Callie’s stilettos.
Sulking, Max removed his arm from the back of the booth. “What is wrong with you lately? Are you ever going to tell me?”
“Nothing’s wrong. I’m just…hungry.” My shoulders shrugged. “Can’t a girl get hungry?”
“Are you seeing someone else?” Max blurted. He cupped his drink with his hands and leaned forward. “It’s Craig, isn’t it?” His eyes demanded an answer.
Craig? Who’s Craig? I just shook my head. “No, it’s none of those things. You wouldn’t…” I paused. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me.”
“I’d rather not.”
His eyes widened another notch. Whether he was hurt or confused, I couldn’t tell. Probably a little of both.
Max’s nostrils flared, and he returned to staring at the long stem of his martini glass while I struggled to say something that made sense. I had to wonder what Callie and Max used to talk about when they came to cool places like this. Quite honestly, I wanted to ask him why he felt it was necessary to buy cocaine, but that would only stoke his confusion.
Just as Max was about to speak, Shelley returned with a porcelain bowl of lettuce the size of a baseball. It was adorned, thankfully, with two cherry tomatoes and a piece of sourdough bread no bigger than a cell phone. There wasn’t a drop of salad dressing in sight, not even a lemon wedge.
“Bon appétit,” Shelley chirped, leaving behind a red cloth napkin and a fork.
I wanted to slap her.
Speechless, I stared down at my salad. If I had ever served anything remotely resembling this salad at the Desert Java, it would have triggered a riot. The Chocolat salad was something that was flushed down a garbage disposal, not served to customers.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” Max said. “Dig in.”
Dig into what?
Slowly, I reached for the napkin and placed it on my lap. I lifted up the silver fork and sighed. I supposed it was far better than nothing.
As I was about to spear the cherry tomato, something sparkly caught the corner of my eye, almost blinding me. It was like someone flashing a pocket mirror in the desert. I slowly turned my head, my fork frozen over my salad bowl. I looked across the room toward the middle of the bar. Perched on a high-backed chair, alone, sat a blonde woman with sunken cheekbones wearing a dazzlingly bright, yellow cocktail dress. Wild-eyed, the skinny woman stared straight back at me.
It was Alexandra Summers and she looked as if she was getting ready to scream.
“I still can’t believe you were actually eating,” Alexandra moaned for the third time as she passed me a five-pound hand weight at Goldie’s Gym.
She hadn’t stopped bringing up the Salad Incident since she picked me up for our daily morning workout.
I was too busy thinking about Max. Last night, he claimed to have had an early morning appointment after I’d made another excuse about being tired and having a headache, which was only partly true. Oddly, when I told him, he seemed almost as relieved as I was. But how long could I expect him to wait, especially when he clearly was used to more frequent sex? Unfortunately, the old Callie obviously set the bar pretty high. I wasn’t sure if I could meet it. It would be easier to clear the high jump.
Baby steps, I reminded myself. I would sleep with Max Kramer or kill myself trying.
“At least tell me Jason didn’t put croutons on it…” Alexandra continued. “Croutons are loaded with fat, you know. The bad kind.”
“On what?” I raised the weight over my head, feeling the burn in my triceps. It was kind of refreshing not to be embarrassed to watch my reflection in the weight room mirrors. I loved having long skinny arms.
Seated on the bench next to me, Alexandra rolled her eyes. “The salad, Callie,” she said, still immersed in the food drama.
I smiled at her. “No croutons, Alexandra. Don’t blow a gasket.” My eyes scanned the rest of the gym behind us. I was kind of hoping to catch a glimpse of Carlos. Normally he’d have been wiping down the mirrors by now or hauling stacks of clean towels around the gym. He was also the only reason I agreed to come to the gym with Alexandra.
I sighed inwardly. I just wanted—needed—a glimpse.
When I didn’t see him, I looked for the treadmill, the one that for some inexplicable reason brought me to this place, to this perfect body, and away from all my problems.
It’s there, I noted, drawing in a grateful breath. It still looked new compared to the others, although someone was using it. A girl who looked the way I used to—a little on the curvier side, long T-shirt that covered most of her legs, ponytail, and an expression that said she’d rather be anywhere else than running on that damn treadmill.
“I’m going to have to add that salad to your caloric diary.” Alexandra shook her head at me, interrupting my daydream.
“Yeah, about that…” I bent over to drop the weight against the rubber mat.
Alexandra stopped in mid-press. “Yeah?”
I sniffed. Even now, even as Callie Collins, Alexandra still intimidated me. “Well, I was thinking…maybe you should let me handle my own weight diary from now on.”
“Caloric diary,” she corrected me.
I grimaced. “Yeah, whatever. But it’s kind of personal, you know. The whole weight thing, that is.” My shoulders shrugged. “I’ve never liked talking about it.” Kathryn never even knew my exact weight. It was bad enough that my doctor had to know.
“Since when?”
“Since now.”
“But, I’m your assistant. Your personal assistant. You asked me to keep it for you.”
“Yes, I know, and I appreciate that, really I do. I’m just now wondering if…”
“If what?” She stood and took a step closer, her chest puffed out.
“If maybe you wouldn’t want to do something more…meaningful?” I paused. “For me, of course. As a personal assistant, I mean.”
Alexandra had to blink several times before she could respond. “Oookay,” she said, finally. Dramatically. She lifted her palm. “You’re the boss. But just remember that the camera puts on…”
“Ten extra pounds—I know.”
“It was your idea in the first place.”
“I realize that, Alexandra.”
We were talking in circles.
If Alexandra only knew who she was really talking to, I thought to myself as I stared back at my reflection, reaching up absently to touch the side of my head. My hair shone almost golden under the fluorescent light. Dressed in a skin-tight, white tank top and tiny, black spandex shorts that could double as bikini bottoms, I easily had one of the best toned bodies in the entire gym—next to Alexandra’s, of course.
I could definitely get used to the new body. But the whole personal assistant thing? With Alexandra Summers following me around like an anorexic shadow?
That was going to take bucket-loads of patience. And quite possibly a few raspberry scones.
I stretched out my workout for as long as I could on the off-chance I’d see Carlos. Not that he would know me. I mean, he’d know me as Callie Collins, not Grace Mills, if he knew Callie Collins at all.
I wanted to see his face, though. Just a quick look.
“Good workout, Callie,” Alexandra said behind me. “Good thing, too.” She added, arching an eyebrow toward my flat stomach where the Chocolat salad had digested twelve hours ago.
“Anyway. We gotta get going. Got a big day today.”
“Really?” I swallowed, too afraid to ask for details. Another day in front of hot cameras was going to require a boost of confidence but, like everything else, the sooner I dealt with it the better.
I dabbed my forehead with a fresh towel handed to me from the Front Desk Guy. At least now I knew he answered to the name of Chad. He’d been smiling maniacally at me all morning every time I so much as glanced in the direction of the front door.
“Really,” Alexandra said, pulling her car keys from her gym bag. “You ready?”
“Yep.” I tried to match her enthusiasm as I took one final look across the gym for Carlos as we made our way to the front door.
“Bye, Callie,” Chad chirped from the front desk. “See ya tomorrow.”
“Bye, Chad.” I smiled at him. “And thanks again for the towel,” I added as I pushed open the door.
“Anytime, Cal!”
As I stepped outside into the sunlight with my hand pushed against the glass door, I stopped. Holding the door on the other side was Carlos, dressed in his usual baggy khaki pants and a white T-shirt. He filled the door, and I was almost as tall as he was in my perfect, new body.
His sunglasses covered his eyes and the flat line of his lips gave him an air of disinterest, maybe even a little bit of annoyance, as I pressed against the door. I’d never seen that look on Carlos. He looked at me like I was a complete stranger, which I guess I was.
When I stopped in the doorway, even as he held open the door, the set of his jaw hardened.
“Oh.” I stepped back, surprised, but still blocking the entrance.
Carlos said nothing.
My legs wobbled a little at the sight of him, or maybe it was just the twenty-five leg squats that Alexandra had forced me to do. “Hi, Carlos,” I managed finally.
Carlos nodded his forehead and seemed a little surprised that I knew his name. Still, he didn’t say a word, I think, because he wanted me out of the way.
I opened my mouth to say something more but stopped myself. Now was not the time—not with Alexandra at my heels—and Carlos would think I was more of a nut job than he apparently already thought I was. Although I had no idea why. Did he even know Callie Collins?
“Well, thanks,” I said. “For help with the door, I mean.” With my gym bag threaded over my shoulder, I proceeded to walk past the doorway, looking over my shoulder at him for any recognition whatsoever.
But then I realized that he wouldn’t have any recognition, any memory, because Grace Mills didn’t exist.
“You’re welcome,” he said, without even a glance in our direction. And then he stepped around the door and was gone.
“You know him?” Alexandra gasped behind me.
I slipped on the black sunglasses I found tucked away in my gym bag. They rested like a brick on the bridge of my nose. How I missed the vintage wire sunglasses I always wore. “Sort of,” I said vaguely.
“That Latin hard body got a name?”
My chin lifted while jealousy stabbed at my gut. “Yes.” I didn’t like how she referred to him.
Alexandra chuckled as we crossed the parking lot to her car. “Are you gonna make me beg?”
I drew back a breath, considering whether I should. But then I said, “I think his name is Carlos Flores.”
Alexandra lowered her head and looked straight at me over the top rim of her sunglasses. “Doesn’t matter what that boy’s called. He’s one hundred percent gorgeous. Is he available?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Carlos
Eddie stood behind Kathryn as she replayed the message on the answering machine. The call was placed when everyone was out hunting for Grace but, according to the timestamp, it was made just minutes before I returned to Kathryn and Eddie.
Uncle Mario, Elena and three of my cousins had met back at the Desert Java after driving around for an hour with no luck. We’d looked everywhere for Grace, even south Scottsdale and east Phoenix, but none of us found the slightest sign of her or her yellow car.
But the woman on the other end of the answering machine with the monotone voice told us we’d been looking in all the wrong places.
The first time Kathryn played the message, the woman’s voice sucked the oxygen from the room. Kathryn’s hands pressed against her throat, Eddie’s face went a shade paler, and my throat turned as dry as dust.
The second time the message played, the truth began to tighten its hold around all of us like a weed:
Hello, this is the Head Night Nurse at Tempe Hospital, Ellen Lannon. I’m trying to reach someone in the Grace Mills family. I’m sorry to have to leave this message in a voicemail but it’s urgent. Grace was brought to our emergency room by ambulance. There’s been an accident, and she’s suffered a head injury. The doctors are currently doing everything they can, but we need someone from the immediate family to come to the hospital right away. I hope that I’ve dialed the correct phone number. This is the number we found on Grace’s driver’s license. Please call or come to the hospital as soon as possible. Thank you.
The room turned so quiet that I could hear the thud of my temples against my skin. Every bruise on my body that I’d been ignoring suddenly decided to pulse and ache at the same time. It became impossible to keep my head from spinning.
Finally Kathryn spoke. Her voice sounded small in the kitchen. “If anything’s happened to Grace, I’ll never forgive myself.” She turned to Eddie, her eyes still bloodshot from crying. “I can’t lose my sister too. I just can’t.” Her whole body began to shake until Eddie wrapped both arms around her. She shivered against his chest.
Eddie didn’t say anything at first. But then he said the first coherent thing I’d heard all night. The alcohol, apparently, had worn off. “Maybe she just fell again at the gym.”
The gym?
No one had thought to look for Grace at Goldie’s, not even me. Frankly, it would have been the last place I’d checked. And I could have kicked my own ass for not even considering it.
I pulled out my truck keys and exhaled the breath that I’d been holding. “I’ll head over to the hospital.” I started for the door.
“We’re right behind you,” Eddie said.
“She’s got to be okay,” Kathryn said numbly. “She’s just got to. We never even said goodbye.”
I pulled up and turned to her, practically slamming into her chest. “Don’t say that.”
She looked up at me, pale.
“Don’t even let yourself think it,” I said.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Callie
Despite Alexandra’s protests, I insisted on driving alone to the television station after our workout—a first, apparently. For some strange reason, Alexandra liked ferrying me around everywhere like a taxicab. I presumed that it complemented her need to be in constant control of my life, maybe even made her feel useful somehow. Truthfully, I felt a little sorry for her for the first time in my two lives.
“I’ll probably make it to work before you will,” I told Alexandra.
“No you won’t.”
“Yes I will.”
“Wanna bet?”
“You’ve got to chill out.” I climbed out of her car and said through the window, “See you at work.” Then I made my way to the lobby. Telling Alexandra what to do was getting easier.
Kevin the doorman stood motionless as he held open the lobby door. The corners of his mouth turned up in a tiny smile. I assumed he was a lip-reader too, in addition to his other talents.<
br />
“Morning, Kevin.”
“Morning, Miss Collins.”
“Callie,” I corrected him. “Please call me Callie.”
He nodded before tipping his hat.
I couldn’t help but smile. I was pretty certain no one had ever tipped their hat to me before. It was like being a general in the military.
A quick shower later and I was walking around the gray parking garage attached to my condo building, looking for my car, which until today I had never seen before.
I walked the aisles, pressing my key fob, waiting for the headlights and taillights of one of the many expensive cars to light up. I passed BMWs, Range Rovers, a silver Jaguar, and a whole bunch of other cars that I could barely identify. They all looked sleek and expensive. No way my yellow bug would’ve felt at home inside this garage. It would have been like putting a mutt with a litter of prize-winning poodles.
In the middle of the third long row, I got lucky. A tiny, two-door car as shiny as a pearl lit up like a neon light. “This must be it,” I mumbled to myself as the doors unlocked from a single touch from my key fob. A 350Z Convertible. With a dark blue soft top. Not a single dent or ding anywhere. And all mine. I started to hyperventilate a little. Even the tires looked oily and brand-new and recently detailed.
I slid inside the driver’s door and onto a tan leather seat. The door shut snugly, with barely a sound. The interior smelled like baby powder and the dashboard glistened. My fingertips brushed over the dash. “And it’s an automatic.” I exhaled a relieved sigh. Dad had tried to teach me to drive a stick once, but I never mastered the whole press-clutch-shift-gear coordination thing.
So far, so good.
I turned on the radio and checked Callie’s presets—a jazz station, rock, classical, and some local talk radio. At least we shared some of the same musical tastes. I smiled as I turned up the volume on the jazz station, but then my smile faded when I caught my reflection in the rearview.
I’d left my condo without make-up and wet hair.
I pressed the button to release the convertible top and waited for it to open. With the top down, my hair would dry before I reached the station. Once I got there, I was going to need all the expert help that I could get.