“She’s watching,” he tells her.
“Do you think she’s jealous of me?” she grunts.
“Yeah, baby.”
“Her panties must be soaking wet watching us fucking.”
“Yeah, baby.”
“Do you think she wishes you were fucking her up the ass while she sucks me off?”
“Yeah, baby.”
Yuck! More nasty and vile things come from her mouth as she bobs up and down on the man, but I tune out and stop hearing them. I let my mind wander off to that day three weeks ago, when in a rare moment of lucidity, my father opened his eyes and recognized me. I stroked his thin hand and he whispered that he loved me. I leaned in and listened to his hoarse murmurs. He thought Mom was still alive, and I pretended she was. He was happy that day.
A shrill scream pierces the bittersweet memory and I return with a jolt to the sight of Tamara Honeywell pulling herself off the man. His dick is thick and red and flops onto his belly like a wet fish. While she wraps herself in a silk gown, he leans over and takes a cigarette out of a silver box on the bedside table. He flicks open a lighter, lights it, and holds it out to her. She knots a tie in front of her gown and plucks the cigarette from him. Putting it to her lips, she takes a deep pull.
“Get out,” she tells him rudely, exhaling smoke from her mouth.
Without a word, he jackknifes off the bed and walks naked to the door. As he passes me, our glances touch briefly and he winks at me. I look away quickly. The door closes behind him with a soft click.
“So, who the fuck are you?” she slurs.
She’s drunk and I’m not good with drunk people. “I’m, uh, Cass. Cass Harper.”
“That doesn’t tell me anything. The question was why the fuck are you in my house?”
Jesus! Where the hell is Mrs. Moore? “I’m your body double. I’m supposed to go to Montana in your place,” I say slowly.
“Montana?” She scowls.
“One month on the ranch,” I remind.
She grimaces. “Oh, fuck, that.”
She starts walking in my direction, swaying drunkenly, and I feel like I’m staring at one of those appearance-warping mirrors. She is the version of me without errors. The Barbie version. Her hair is platinum blonde, her lips are two times plumper, her nose is perfect, her boobs are bigger, her waist is about a mile smaller, and her skin is a lovely Californian golden brown.
Standing in front of me with her head tilted to one side, she lets her glazed eyes rove my face then down my body. I’m wearing my best button-down white blouse and black skirt, but by the look in her eyes, I don’t come up to scratch.
“You’re too fat,” she spits spitefully. “And you look nothing like me.” She takes a long drag from her cigarette, her critical eyes locked on mine. “I can’t have people looking at you and thinking that you’re me.” She shakes her head decisively. “No. The agency must send someone else.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand. I can’t have come all the way here for her to send me back with nothing. “I’ll look more like you once they get the hair and the make-up going,” I say desperately.
She walks around me. “Great hair and make-up are not going to cover that enormous ass of yours.” She comes back to stand in front of me and peers into my face. She is so close I can smell the alcohol on her breath. “Is your nose deformed or something?”
I’m usually quite good at defending myself, but I need this job, so I resist the instinctive urge to say something equally nasty. “It’s just a nose.”
She looks scandalized. “Have you looked in a mirror? Fuck, if I had a nose like that, I’d fucking throw myself under a bus.” Her lips curve upwards maliciously. It is clear that she is thoroughly enjoying herself.
It’s a good thing I’ve never been self-conscious about my nose, or given it a second thought, because this woman is so wealthy, so beautiful, and so confident that she can totally rob someone of their self-esteem and make them question their own self-worth. I remember Maria asking me to appease her.
“You’re right. I’ll consider getting a nose job,” I say monotonously. If I agree with everything she says…
“Are you like a robot or something?” she screeches suddenly, her eyes flashing.
Whoa, she just flipped into fury mode without any warning whatsoever.
“Why are you agreeing with everything I say?”
I realize that I’ve tackled the situation the wrong way. Maria said make her feel superior. She cares about being better than me. To her, I’m a bit of gum at the bottom of her shoe and she wants me to act like that. “Because you’re right. I am very unhappy with my appearance.”
“You should be disgusted by your appearance.”
I put on a sad expression. “I know I have many flaws.”
“How dare you patronize me? You’re intolerable,” she shouts, shoving me backward.
I usually have good balance but I was not expecting the push, so I fall straight into the door and crash to the floor. My elbow and hip hurt. Her spitefulness toward a total stranger who has never done her any harm is shocking, and I clench my fists in anger but quickly release the tension. I must try my hardest to ignore it and concentrate on not saying anything else to piss her off. I can’t lose this opportunity, and that’s exactly what will happen if I get into a fight with Tamara Honeywell. I’m too poor to walk away, and I’m not too proud to beg. This round can go to Miss Honeywell.
I only have to survive until Ms. Moore comes.
“Miss Honeywell, I know that you are far more beautiful than me, but it won’t matter because I’m just going to be on a ranch. The only eyes looking at me will be workers and the animals,” I say from my position on the floor. I keep my voice low in the hope it will ease the tension swirling around the room.
It works. The fury drains out of her. She slouches, turns, and walks to a table where there is a bottle of champagne in an ice bucket. Idly, she picks up a glass and fills it. Bubbles overflow down her fingers.
Without bringing too much attention to myself, I pull myself to my feet and stand awkwardly. What exactly am I supposed to do? Stay? Go?
“Well,” Tamara says, sucking her fingers, “do you know what you’ll be doing in my place?”
“I’ll be working hard on a ranch.”
She whirls around and almost loses her balance. Righting herself clumsily, she raises her glass in a toast. “That’s right. You will be,” she makes air quotes with her fourth and fifth fingers, ‘learning responsibility’ as Daddy Dearest puts it. Cleaning up after dumb animals and working alongside a bunch of illiterate, filthy workers.”
I rack my brain to say something neutral that will not make her fly off into another rage. “I’m not a stranger to hard work.”
“And while you’re learning responsibility, I’ll be topping up my tan on a friend’s private island,” she announces gleefully.
“You deserve it,” I say quickly.
She frowns. “I know I do. The last few months have been so difficult. With all the stress of my new movie being released next month, I can’t believe Daddy would try to do this to me.”
She sounds like a caterwauling cat, and I cannot understand how this whining, self-pitying woman came to be so famous. She’s horrible. “I know. It must be so hard,” I commiserate.
She nods her head solemnly.
Thank God I am spared from spouting more insincere remarks about how difficult her situation is by a soft knock on the door.
“Come in,” Tamara shouts, and a beautifully preserved woman walks in. She has iron-gray hair swept away from a stern face, and she is dressed in a sophisticated, two-piece, black and white box suit. Her bright red shoes accent her outfit in an out-of-context, throw-on, totally glamorous way that all the money in the world cannot buy.
6
Cass
Tamara twists her head toward the woman. “Why did you pick her? What happened to the girl we usually use? What’s her name?” she demands. There is no long
er any aggression in her body or tone.
“Unfortunately, Miley was not available,” the woman says mildly.
“Why not?” Tamara’s voice has become petulant, like a spoiled brat that is being denied something it wants.
“Her sister is getting married on the seventeenth of this month and she’s the maid of honor.”
She flings her hand out in my direction. “I don’t like her. She was rude to me.”
I blink at the unfair accusation. What? When was I ever rude to her?
The woman does not even turn to look at me. “You won’t have to deal with her. I will.”
“Why can’t we get someone else?”
“There is no one else. It’s either her or you’ll have to go to Montana yourself,” the woman says patiently.
“But she looks nothing like me,” Tamara grumbles, glaring at me.
“Oh, I don’t know. I think she’ll do very well.”
Tamara gasps with outrage that anyone would dare think I look like her. “My nose does not look like that. Her eyes are the color of dirty dish water. And she’s at least twice my size.”
The woman smiles tightly. “We haven’t worked on her yet. Besides, she’s going to a place where no one knows you and she’ll be stuck inside a stable for most of that time. I don’t think it’s going to matter too much if her nose doesn’t look like yours or if she’s carrying a bit more weight than you.”
Tamara drains her glass and looks sulky. “If this goes wrong, you’re fired.”
“Nothing will go wrong. As long as you stay under the radar and don’t draw media attention to yourself during that time …”
“I’m not stupid,” Tamara scoffs before turning to me and jabbing her finger in my direction. “As for you. You better Skype me twice a week and keep me informed.”
I nod.
“And you better make sure your performance is believable. I hope that Carter woman told you that you have to finish your month. If you drop out halfway you don’t get paid, but don’t make the mistake of thinking if you do a bad job and you have to stay for another month that I’ll be coughing up for that extra month too. You won’t get a cent if you screw this up for me.”
“Understood,” I say quickly.
Her eyes glitter. “You’ll be wearing real jewels. My jewels. Don’t take that as an invitation for you to steal anything, because old Nora here keeps an inventory of every fucking thing I own in her head.” She picks up a black pearl necklace lying by the champagne bucket and holds it up. “How many pearls are in this necklace, Nora?” she asks while keeping her hostile eyes fixed on me.
“Thirty-six,” Nora says after a brief pause.
Tamara throws the necklace at me and I catch it mid-air.
“Count the pearls,” she orders.
My hands are shaking as I count the smooth orbs. I guess it’s the fear of thinking I nearly lost the job and outrage of being treated like a common thief. I finish counting and realize there are thirty-seven pearls. I look up. “Thirty-six.”
Tamara laughs triumphantly. “See. So, don’t get any bright ideas.”
“I won’t take anything that belongs to you,” I say quietly.
Tamara yawns.
“Would you like to have a little nap?” Nora asks.
“Yeah,” Tamara slurs as she walks toward the bed. “Will you come and cover me?” she asks sleepily. I watch the older woman cover her as if she is a child then walk toward me.
“Come on,” she says softly.
I follow her out and wait while she closes the door and turns toward me with a smile. “Hello, Cass. You’ve probably already gathered that I’m Nora Moore.”
I nod vigorously. “You cannot begin to imagine how glad I am to see you, Ms. Moore.”
She suppresses a smile. “I’m sure you are. I’m afraid you got off to a bad start with Miss Honeywell. It’s my fault. I’m sorry, I was late, but it couldn’t be avoided.” She grimaces. “She might not remember when she wakes up, but I suggest you stay out of her way for the rest of your stay here.”
“I’ll be happy to do that,” I say quickly.
“Now. Let’s take a good look at you,” she says and takes a step closer. She comes within a few inches of my face and looks at me carefully. Her vanilla scent is a nice change after being around Tamara’s alcohol-soaked breath.
I stare straight ahead.
“Hmm,” she says.
My eyes swivel to meet hers.
She steps back and smiles. “As much as Miss Honeywell hates to admit it, your features are remarkably similar to hers and you’ve actually got a better figure. All you need to be her is a bit of a makeover with some new clothes, a change of hairstyle, the right makeup, colored contact lenses, a tan, and some HA fillers.”
I stare at her. “HA fillers?”
She smiles reassuringly. “It’s a perfectly safe temporary lip filler. The beauty of it is it can be completely erased with an eraser enzyme injection if you don’t want big lips once your month is over, or you can leave it and let your body naturally metabolize it between four to six months.”
“Right,” I say, relief bubbling into my veins and making me feel almost dizzy. I’ve got this job and I’ll be able to pay off all my debts.
“Obviously, your accent is very different, but since you’re leaving for Montana tomorrow afternoon, nothing can be done about that. Fortunately, it won’t matter since you will not be around anyone who knows her. How are your acting skills?”
“Acting skills?”
She tilts her head toward the door we just came out of. “Can you imitate the behavior you just witnessed in there?”
I think of Tamara shamelessly jumping up and down on the beefy man’s dick and push it firmly out of my head. “You mean can I be rude to total strangers?”
A ghost of a smile appears on her stern face. “At least at the beginning you’ll have to act sarcastic and spoiled.”
“Sure, I can veto conventional manners for a few days.”
She nods. “Then you’ll do just fine.”
“Thank you, Ms. Moore. You don’t know how much I need this job.”
Her eyes flicker. “Hmmm…ready to start the makeover?”
“Sure. I’m ready when you are.”
“Good. I believe the hairstylist is already here, and Tamara’s makeup artist will come tomorrow morning after you’ve had your tanning session. She’ll teach you how to do your makeup the way she does Tamara’s for her.”
“We don’t even need to leave the house to make me look like her?”
Her lips twitch with amusement. “No.”
I decide I really like her. There’s something special about her and I’m glad I didn’t get her into trouble with the pearl necklace.
We make our way through a small corridor and go to the ground floor where we happen to see Maria coming from the opposite direction. It is a very different Maria that we pass though. Instead of the gossipy and warm woman I met, this one walks with her head down and her eyes locked on the ground. Taking her lead, I don’t say anything either. I guess she wants to draw attention away from herself, which is probably how she keeps her job in a treacherous place like this.
Down a short corridor to the left of the staircase, Ms. Moore leads me into a pure white room. The lighting is cleverly cast from different angles around the room, so not one part is darker than another. The air smells of perfume and the glass cases lining the walls are filled with expensive looking little pots of cosmetics. In one case, there are hundreds of bottles of nail polish.
The room is also equipped with two sleek hair washing stations and cream barber chairs facing full body mirrors. There are small carts beside each station stuffed to the brim with hair products, brushes, rollers, and straighteners.
“Selene,” Ms. Moore calls.
A redhead suddenly pops up from under a side counter. I furrow my brow. Had she been under there the whole time? She looks to be in her thirties.
“Hi, Nora,” she greets wi
th a friendly grin. “Oh, my,” she says, running her pale eyes down me. “What have we here?”
“This is Cass,” Ms. Moore introduces.
“I can see this is going to be a walk in the park for me. She’s gorgeous.” Selena turns toward me. “You will make a perfect Tamara.”
I nod, unsure of how to take the statement. I can’t be offended that I look like Tamara Honeywell. She is a beautiful woman, after all. I guess I just don’t like being compared to such a rude and disgusting person.
“Right, I’ll be off. Will you give me a call when you’re finished?” Ms. Moore says briskly.
“Yes. See you later.”
We watch Ms. Moore walk out the door before Selene turns to me and grins impishly.
I smile back. “Where do we start?” I ask, unsure of how this process works.
“We start with your hair. Take a seat in one of the chairs and I’ll get to work cutting it.”
I take slow steps toward the closest chair, hoping to prolong the process. My waist-long hair has always been a trademark feature of mine, and I’ve never changed its dark blond color either. I’d rather not mess with the color or the length, but if it means paying off the loan sharks and keeping Dad going, then it’s a very small price to pay.
“Honey, don’t be nervous. It will be a great style for you,” she states confidently.
“I hope so,” I whisper. My dad always loved my long hair. I try to remember that I’m doing this for him as well.
I lie back in the cold leather chair and Selene comes up behind me. “Do you need any last pictures? Last words to your hair?” she asks with a cheeky grin. I know she is just being nice, but Tamara has made me feel so paranoid, I almost feel like she’s mocking me.
“No,” I say firmly.
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