by Priya Grey
“Thanks.”
He crosses the street and enters the station. Todd lives with his boyfriend outside the city.
As I watch him walk away, I realize I’m lucky to have Todd as my boss. I’ve heard horror stories about other pastry chefs. Todd isn’t temperamental like Rodrigo. He has a good heart, and there’s a lot I can learn from him.
When the light changes, I cross the street and walk the several blocks to my subway stop. But for some reason, I don’t want to go home just yet. My mind is still spinning with worry. I wish there was a way I could make some fast money to help my parents. Maybe I could pick up some catering gigs when I’m not working at The Blue Rose?
I realize my mind is just going to keep spinning all night, trying to find a solution to my money problems. So, I decide to walk a few more blocks to see if I can tire myself out before heading home. Fortunately, at this late hour, there are still several people out on the streets, so I feel relatively safe.
I continue walking from block to block, in somewhat of a daze.
As I rack my brain, trying to come up with more side hustles, I accidentally bump into someone.
“I’m so sorry,” I say looking up. That’s when I see the most gorgeous man staring at me. He’s got dark hair and mysterious dark eyes. Then I slowly realize that I’ve seen this handsome man before. I recognize his stare – those deep, penetrating eyes. It’s that weirdo from the bar!
I quickly walk past him.
But then I feel his presence. He’s following me!
“Would you like to have a drink with me?” he asks.
“No, thanks,” I say, turning back to him and shaking my head. I hurry toward my subway station, a few blocks away.
But he’s still on my heels.
“Listen. I’m sorry I was so awkward at the bar the other night,” he says to me. “I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
“It’s okay,” I tell him, trying to put some distance between us, but he’s still close behind.
Then, much to my annoyance, I hit a busy intersection. I have to wait for the light to change before I can cross the street.
He comes up beside me.
“Just one drink,” he pleads.
“I really don’t think it’s a good idea,” I tell him. “I’m having the day from hell.”
“What a coincidence, so am I,” he replies. “Even more reason to have a drink with me. And I promise you, I won’t be so weird.”
I look at him and I notice a strange look in his eyes. It’s not that same dark, intense stare from the bar. It’s the look of someone who could really use some company, someone to talk to.
“Don’t they say ‘misery likes company’?” he adds with a suppressed, and somewhat sad smile.
As I stare at him, I realize I don’t sense anything dangerous about him. If anything, he just seems lonely.
“I promise, I won’t be weird,” he says again. “In fact, if I could, I’d love the opportunity to make a whole new first impression.”
He really is incredibly attractive. And I’m not picking up that weird vibe from our previous meeting.
“I know a nice little bar one block away,” he says, pointing down a street which is populated with pedestrians.
I look at him again. Damn, he is hot.
“You have to admit,” he says, still trying to persuade me. “It’s really coincidental that you and I bumped into each other in the wee hours of the morning, after we both had the day from hell.”
He does have a point. It is a coincidence. Or maybe, as Kristi likes to say because of all the new age books she reads, It’s a sign!
I give him another look and notice the unreserved expression in his eyes. I start to wonder if a drink with this handsome stranger might just be what I need to calm my worried mind.
“What the hell,” I finally concede. Maybe this guy is right. Maybe we ran into each other for a reason.
Chapter Thirteen
Jackson
I’m so grateful she accepted my offer for a drink. I take her to a quiet bar in the area and find us a table in the corner so we can have some privacy.
“I owe you an apology,” I tell her after the waitress drops off our drinks – mine a whiskey on the rocks, hers a cranberry and vodka. “I probably really freaked you out the last time we met.”
She shrugs her shoulders. “No worries. It sounds like I really reminded you of someone.”
I nod. “My wife,” I tell her. “You look a lot like her.” I reach for my cellphone and find a picture of Ashley. “See, except for your hair color. You’re practically identical.”
I notice her shocked expression as she stares at Ashley’s picture. “That’s crazy. We even have the same eyes,” she says, looking at me.
“I know,” I reply. “Ashley passed away nine months ago. I’ve been a little bit of a nutcase ever since. When I saw you in the bar, it freaked me out because you look just like her.”
She’s still surprised by how much she resembles Ashley. She hands me back my phone and says, “I’m sorry for your loss.” I then catch her glancing at the TV hanging above the bar. It’s showing some news footage of damage from a hurricane. There’s a concerned look on her face.
“Is everything all right?” I ask her.
She looks away from the television and back at me. She sighs and then motions with her finger back to the TV. “That hurricane hit my hometown, where my parents live. They lost everything. I’m not sure what they’re going to do. How they’ll survive.” She looks down at her glass of cranberry and vodka. “I wish I could help them somehow. But I’m barely making ends meet working at my restaurant.”
“Won’t insurance cover a lot of the damage?” I venture.
She looks at me and I see sorrow filling her eyes. “My dad says it doesn’t look like it will cover much. I just wish I made more money so I could help them.”
She grows quiet. I can sense the regret filling her body. It’s clear as day that she loves her parents very much and would do anything to help them.
That’s when the craziest idea I’ve ever had enters my mind.
As I witness her sorrow, I slowly realize she might be able to alleviate my own. It’s bizarre how my mind was concocting a way to kill myself only a short while ago and is now formulating a plan for my salvation.
“What if I could help?” I blurt.
She glances away from the coverage of the hurricane and back at me.
“How?”
I take a deep breath and tell her what I’m thinking.
“What if I gave you $200,000?”
Shock doesn’t begin to describe the look on her face. Then, I notice suspicion creep into her eyes.
“People don’t usually go around offering strangers $200,000 for nothing in exchange.”
“That’s true,” I respond with a nod. “There are strings attached.”
She raises an eyebrow. “Such as?”
I take another deep breath. I realize how insane and disturbed my idea will sound the second I say it out loud.
“I want to hire you to play my dead wife.”
The words hang in the air. Her face is frozen, expressionless.
“Excuse me?” she finally says, completely confused.
Now that I’ve vocalized my idea, I lean forward across the table, more comfortable. “I know it’s crazy. But you see, I’m a painter. A very successful one. Ashley was my muse. Since she died, I can’t paint. I hardly want to eat, not to mention sleep. Before I ran into you, I almost killed myself by jumping off a bridge.”
“Mister,” she says getting up from her chair. “You need some serious psychiatric help.”
Before she can walk away, I blurt, “What about your parents? Don’t you want to help them?”
She stops and slowly turns around, still looking at me with trepidation.
“I know it sounds crazy,” I admit with a shrug. “But I think it might work. Except for your hair, you look exactly like her. I’ll pay you $200,000 dollars if yo
u pretend to be my wife for five weeks.”
“Why five weeks?” she asks.
“Because I have a gallery showing in five weeks and still have to deliver a bunch of paintings. I just can’t seem to do anything since Ashley died. I’m hoping if you agree to my proposal, I’ll start painting again.” Then I realize something else. “This might also help me get the closure I need to move forward. I never got a chance to say a proper goodbye.”
I can tell she’s still unsettled by my offer.
“Look at it this way,” I tell her. “This will give your parents the money they need to rebuild their lives, and you’ll also be helping me rebuild mine. This is a one-time offer. I never expected to see you again after that night in the bar. It’s sort of crazy how we bumped into each other again – especially when we’re both in such dire need of help. Maybe we’ve been brought together so we can help each other.”
She thinks about what I said in silence. I sense the conflict brewing inside her. What I suggested is beyond strange. But I can tell that the love she has for her parents is making her at least consider my proposal.
“When you say ‘pretend to be’ your wife, what exactly do you mean?”
I motion to the empty chair across from me. She sighs and walks back to our table and takes a seat.
I lean forward and tell her exactly what I’m thinking. “Ashley and I created a lot of wonderful memories together. Memories that I cherish now more than ever. I want to relive those moments. I want to go back in time and feel alive again… in love again. I’ll give you a sketch of those memories, sort of like a script, and we’ll meet and re-enact them.”
She shakes her head. “But I’m not an actress. You should probably be talking to my roommate Kristi. She’s a really great actress. She was sitting with me at the bar when you came over and talked to me.”
“No. It has to be you,” I insist with a quick shake of my head. “You look exactly like her.”
There’s a long moment of silence as she looks down at the table, then at the television showing the hurricane damage.
She finally turns and looks at me. “These memories, what do they involve exactly?”
I know what she’s really asking by the look in her eyes. I slowly nod. “Ashley and I had a very passionate relationship. Some of them involve sex.”
She shakes her head. “I’m not a whore,” she whispers back to me.
“I never said you were. But if we do this, and I’m going to pay you $200,000 for five weeks, then part of the deal has to include sex. It played a very important part in my relationship with Ashley.”
There’s another long pause. I can tell there’s a battle raging inside her mind and soul. She’s debating what to do.
I give her all the time in the world. I realize how tough a decision it is. I’m asking her to embark on a crazy experiment with me. There’s no telling where it might go.
“Can I get half the money upfront?” she suddenly asks.
I look up from my glass of whiskey and stare into her eyes – the same beautiful sapphire–blue as Ashley’s. I slowly nod.
“Then I guess we have a deal,” she says without any hint of a smile.
Chapter Fourteen
Rebecca
“I’m almost done,” says Kristi as she finishes washing out the dye from my hair.
With my head hanging over our bathroom sink, I answer nervously, “I hope it doesn’t look too bad.”
“I don’t think you have anything to worry about,” she assures me. “I always thought you’d look great as a blonde.”
Kristi finishes towel-drying my hair, then starts to blow dry it. When she’s done, I look at the results in the bathroom mirror.
“Talk about sizzle!” she exclaims with a grin.
I stare at my reflection in disbelief. My chestnut-brown hair is now a bright, shimmering champagne blonde.
“You’re sure it looks okay?” I ask nervously.
“Are you kidding me?” Kristi replies. “You look hot!” She shoots me a playful smirk as she stands behind me, grabbing my shoulders. “And you know what they say Becca: blondes have more fun.”
I roll my eyes. “Of course, you would say that,” I answer back. Kristi has been a natural blonde her entire life.
Kristi then drags me out of the bathroom. “Okay. Now onto phase two. We have to try on her clothes.”
“I still can’t believe I’m doing this,” I fret as we walk into my bedroom.
“I think it’s exciting,” Kristi proclaims. She plops down on my bed and holds up the purple cardigan and t-shirt that Jackson sent over for me to wear on our first “date.”
I point to the ensemble. “You don’t think there’s anything creepy about me wearing a dead woman’s clothes and pretending to be her for her grieving husband?”
Kristi looks at the clothes and shrugs. “There are worse ways of earning two hundred thousand dollars in five weeks.”
I mumble, “I guess.” I get undressed and try on the clothes.
Besides looking like Ashley, I also have her exact build. Her clothes fit perfectly. It’s really bizarre.
As I stare anxiously at my reflection in the full-length mirror that hangs from my closet door, Kristi mentions how we better go over my lines. I will be acting in my first “memory” for Jackson tomorrow at the museum.
“What are you doing for lunch today?” asks Kristi, reading from the script that Jackson sent over.
I stare at my reflection and try to recall my response. “Nothing?” I reply, completely forgetting my lines.
Kristi shakes her head. “You reply: ‘I haven’t given it much thought. To be honest with you, I wandered into this museum because I just found out I didn’t get a part in this film that I really wanted. I don’t think I would be very good company during lunch. I’m sort of in a sad mood’.”
My shoulders slump in defeat. “How am I going to remember all that?” I whine.
“By going over it again and again and again, until it becomes second nature,” lectures Kristi. “Let’s keep going. Jackson looks at you, and with his sexy and devastatingly handsome good looks, says: ‘Then even more reason for me to treat you to lunch.’”
Kristi looks up from the script, waiting for me to deliver my line.
I rack my brain. Then I look at her sheepishly and say, “You really haven’t done this before?”
Kristi smiles and nods. “Very good, Becca. Then Jackson, who grows even more handsome with each passing second that you look at him, says, ‘What?’”
I turn to Kristi and place my hand on my hip, the next line coming to me easily. “Approached sad, lonely girls in museums who are admiring your artwork and then ask them out for lunch.”
Kristi nods with approval. “Jackson then looks deep into your eyes, and all you can think about is how you desperately want to kiss his delicious, lush lips. He says softly, as your heart beats with anticipation, ‘You’re the first.’”
I roll my eyes. “Kristi, the script doesn’t say any of that. You’ve been narrating too many romance books.”
Kristi shrugs her shoulders. “Maybe.” She stares at me with envy. “I’m so jealous. You’re going to have so much fun! Especially when you get to his studio.”
I’m not convinced. “Maybe this would be less terrifying if I were an actress, like you,” I point out. “But this whole acting thing is as foreign to me as baking is to you. I don’t know if I can pull this off.”
Kristi puts down the script and gets up from the bed. She joins me by the mirror and gently grabs my shoulders. We both stare at my reflection.
“Becca, you got this. You just got to keep telling yourself how the money is going to help your mom and dad get back on their feet.”
“You’re right,” I reply, slowly nodding. Then I confess to her what is really giving me anxiety. “I just don’t know how I’m going to handle what happens in his studio, when he paints me. I’ve never done anything like that before.”
Kristi stares at my r
eflection with a sexy smirk. “I know. That’s going to be hot. I’m so jealous.”
“You’re jealous,” I gripe. “Meanwhile, I’m a nervous wreck just thinking about it.”
Chapter Fifteen
Jackson
“What are you thinking?” I ask her as she sits naked before me.
“About your cock,” she answers seductively. “I hope we get to meet sometime soon.”
Standing behind the canvass, I add another stroke of red paint, then shoot her a smirk. “You will, Ashley. You will.”
But I have to paint her first. Now that Ashley is back in my life, I need to capture her beauty and essence on my canvas. Even though every part of me wants to make love to her, I force myself to stay focused.
My eyes savor her perfect, beautiful face and body, as my paint brush dances across my canvas, sprinkling it with color and life. As I paint her, I feel my very spirit being uplifted. My inner voice – which has been silent these last several months – is starting to speak again. It’s getting louder and louder with each passing moment in Ashley’s presence.
I thank the universe for bringing her back into my life. I’ve been lost without her.
Working feverishly with my brush, I stay focused on my duty. I was placed on this earth to capture the strength, the frailty, the suffering, and the beauty I see all around me. But it was only when I met Ashley that I truly felt a rush of inspiration flood my entire being. I continue to glance at her and then back at my canvas. I’m trying to capture the fear and desire I see reflected in her eyes. I notice a sexual confidence mixed with insecurity that has always intrigued me.
Then – for a split second – I’m reminded that it’s not actually Ashley sitting naked in front of me. It’s a woman named Rebecca. I realize the day we spent in the museum and at lunch, before coming to my studio, was an illusion. I orchestrated the whole thing to relive a beautiful memory about the woman I love.
But reality only penetrates my illusion for a few seconds, because I force it quickly away. Reality has no place here. I feel alive lost in my illusion. Even though it’s Rebecca sitting naked in front of me, all my heart and mind sees is Ashley.