by Lorena May
When Grace finally raises her head to look at her sister she murmurs, “I remember.”
Tentatively, Chloe touches Grace’s roughened hand. “I’ve missed you.” Her eyes fill with tears.
Chapter 9
~ Chloe
Chloe looks across the lawn at the setting sun. Gold, pink and purple streaks drift across the sky. Deep-orange clouds billow like giant deities. Glowering. Condemning. A shiver runs up her arms. She’ll finish her wine and go inside. Chewing her lip, she stares vacantly at the black silhouette of bushes guarding the property, and she ponders.
Things would not be as easy as she’d hoped. Grace would take some work. What did she know about drug addiction anyway? When Lance Fox – was that his real name? –brought her the information she’d sought, accompanied by a bill that made her eyes pop, she’d figured the rest would be a piece of cake. Grace Hanson, who still went by her real name, lived in a walk-up in Edmonton’s seedy stroll, associating mostly with other hookers and drug dealers. Grace could, when necessary the report said, take only the heroine needed to keep her from becoming sick, and appeared able to function normally. Just last year she had managed a six-month stint supervising students during the lunch-hour at a nearby school. Eventually, however, she was let go for missing shifts. Grace, the report said, appeared not to have a pimp protecting her, and was regularly abused and beaten. Before coming to Edmonton, Grace was reported to have lived in Calgary, the city she had run to as a young teen. No one knows for how long she lived on the streets before finally securing herself a cheap apartment in Edmonton.
Chloe swallows a long swill of wine, and closes her eyes, thinking back to that wretched little apartment and her sad, pathetic sister. The childhood picture she’d so carefully saved had helped, but it hadn’t had the heart-melting, renewing effect she’d hoped for. She and Grace had talked in faltering, short phrases. Memories of Lyn. Little reminiscences about kids they’d known at school. Once she’d managed to get a giggle from Grace as she imitated their fuddy-duddy social worker, his waddle, his harrumph, his jowls . . . . Finally, after disappearing into her bathroom for what seemed an eternity, Grace had emerged looking more human. She wore black leggings, high boots and a bulky mustard-yellow top that almost hid her scrawny body. Her thick, curly hair was combed, at least, and she’d managed a tasteful bit of make-up. They walked to a nearby Thai restaurant where they’d shared a glass of wine, eaten pho and Banh Xeo and chatted almost amiably. Grace had gradually become more relaxed, but there was a guardedness to her. A wall that Chloe could not break through.
Chloe shivers. Ah, but for the grace of God . . . Through the window she glances at Ana, busily clearing tables, her lithe body bending and stretching provocatively as she and leans and reaches. Pretending she doesn’t see Tom, watching her with a puppy-dog look as he works nearby. Chloe watches through narrowed eyes.
Gabe leans back on the bar, his arms crossed across his chest, a smirk on his handsome face, staring unabashedly at the young girl. Chloe smirks. This girl knows what she’s doing. No one’s that naïve.
She gulps the last of her wine and rises, aware, now, that all eyes are on her. Casually, she crosses the patio and enters the warmth of the restaurant, a bright smile pasted on her face. “Lookin’ good, guys,” she chirps.
Ana looks up, smiling. “It was another busy night,” she says. “We must be doing something right.”
Chloe adjusts the silverware ever so slightly on the table Ana is busy setting. “Are you happy here, Ana? Everyone treating you well?” She lets her eyes slide toward the bar, where Gabe, chawing away on gum, as always, cocks his head, eyes twinkling.
Ana’s eyes flit to the bar a second. She flushes, and says, “Yes. Very well. Thank you.”
Chloe eyes her carefully, and touches her shoulder. “We’re very happy to have you here, Ana. Don’t be afraid to come to me if ever there’s a problem.”
“Thanks, Chloe.” Ana nods, giving her a Mona Lisa smile.
Chloe heads toward the bar where Gabe stands grinning. He moves to whisper in her ear as she hikes herself onto a bar stool. “You’re looking extra hot tonight, Babe.”
She raises a brow, lifting her chin toward him. “Isn’t it time you went home to Mama?”
He shrugs, melodramatically shivers, “Man, it’s cold in here all of a sudden!” and, chuckling, walks out of the restaurant.
“Good-night, Honey!” Mona struts in as he leaves, pouring two glasses of red wine, and shoving one across the counter toward Chloe. “Hey, Grumpy-face, smile!”
Chloe smiles a brittle smile. “It’s been a long day.”
“What time did you get back from Edmonton?”
“Around 9:30.”
“Everything okay there?”
“Yeah, it’s all good. The manager’s sick – nothing major - so I did a bunch of running around. I’ll go back in a couple of days. How was everything here?”
Mona smirks. “Well, poor Tom’s been falling all over himself trying to wait tables and watch Ana at the same time.” She plays with her hair, thinking. “But you know, I think she likes him. I think they’ve got something going.”
Chloe perks with interest. “Oh? What makes you think that?”
“Well, they looked pretty cozy a couple of times. Hankering to touch, I’d say. And they’ve been arriving and leaving in his car.”
“So you don’t think she and Gabe . . .”
“Well, she’s got to be tempted. Flattered, I’m thinking.” Mona chortles. “Shit. I’d park my shoes under his bed if I didn’t think it’d fuck up my career.” She eyes Chloe’s lopsided smile. “But, no. I think Gabe is just being Gabe.”
“He’ll be the ruin of us.” Chloe runs her finger along the rim of her glass.
“His dad must be turning over in his grave,” Mona concurs.
“Steve’s beside himself. Wants to buy him out, but he won’t budge.”
Mona nods gravely. “So . . .
“I don’t know what’s going on.” Chloe clamps her mouth shut, raises her eyebrows, lifts her shoulders and sighs.
Chapter 10
~ Grace
Rain falls, reflecting head-lights beaming onto the dark street. Drivers slow to leer at the girls hawking their wares along the curb. Grace’s new high black leather boots pinch her feet as she shuffles uncomfortably. She’s been standing here for over an hour, slowly becoming sodden and sore. She shifts, and fixes what she hopes is an inviting smile on her face, attempting to show interest in the constant parade of vehicles that pass this square of sidewalk she’s claimed for herself. A white Camaro, its base reverberating through the open windows, whizzes by, packed with raucous, whooping youths. A voice hollers, “Fucking whore!” and a torrent of useless pennies assails her, jabbing at her face and bare midriff, pinging on the cement. Loud laughter follows and they roar away. She lifts her middle finger at the retreating vehicle, and turns to face whatever may come next.
Leaning against a lamp-post, she lets her mind stray. “This too will pass,” Lyn once told her. “Everything does.” It has become her mantra. What she’s repeated from one foster home to the next. Molested, battered tormented, spat upon . . . Year after year. Finally, one night nine years ago, as she lay dreading the familiar foot-steps, the creaking open of her bedroom door, she grabbed clothes from flimsy dresser drawers, stuffed her diary, a worn photo, a hunk of blanket that had once been a comfort and the little money she’d managed to systematically steal from her foster-mother’s purse into a back-pack. Stealthily, she tip-toed to the window, raising it as she’d done many times before. Throwing her pack to the ground, she lifted one leg, then another through the window, and eased her body to the ground. Throwing her meagre possessions over her back, hunching behind shrubs, she sprinted across the yard, down the alley and into the street where she hopped on a bus that took her down-town. Peering out the window at the dark, empty avenues, her eyes scoured the landscape searching for a suitable hiding place. She could not go back to tha
t home. Any home. It was amongst the tall buildings, dense and sheltering, that she chose to jump off the bus. She had no real plan. No place to go. Only the determination to go it alone from now on. Foster care had betrayed her too many times.
That night, as she huddled in the doorway of a high-rise office building, lost and shivering, she met Gabriel.
He wasn’t much older than her, and he squatted before her, his electric-blue eyes filled with compassion. He had a harmless, innocent look to him. His thick brows were furrowed, and a lock of hair fell across his forehead. “Are you okay?” His voice was husky; appealing.
As he pulled her up, one-handed, from the pavement, giving her a winning smile, he said, “I know what you need.” Gently, kindly, he helped her into his car, guiding her to warmth and shelter. To her ultimate ruin. A surge of fury presses against her ribs when she thinks of him now. Gabriel, her angel. Her saviour. Her inevitable doom. And here she is.
Grace tries to flex her toes in her too-tight boots, and glances again at passing possibilities. One car after another.
She inhales deeply. Are there possibilities? A way out of this life? Chloe wants to help her. Grace smiles wistfully. After her initial shock, she enjoyed visiting with her long-lost sister. Most surprising, she found she could still carry on a conversation with a ‘normal’ person. Was there a chance? Chloe said she’d be back Friday.
A black mustang roars up, and the driver waves her over. She complies, leaning into the car, looking into the dark eyes of a middle-aged Latino man wearing a black leather jacket
“Wanna date?” she asks.
“How much?”
She recites her litany of costs and services, unable to keep the boredom from her voice. He gestures for her to join him. She hops in and directs him to the run-down hotel where she takes her tricks.
Chapter 11
~ Grace
Grace stands on the pavement, her insides jigging. The small fix hasn’t cured her edginess. She’s watching for one particular car now; a silver BMW roadster. Glancing at her watch, she heaves a little sigh of relief. She’s early, but it wouldn’t do for Chloe to have to wait around this part of town. And she’d rather her sister didn’t take too close a look.
Flicking a bit of poplar fuzz from her new jean-jacket, Grace inspects herself once again. As if I haven’t spun around in front of a mirror for the last half hour! Her gathered black skirt and striped t-shirt cloak her thinness. Of course, she won’t match Chloe’s style. Still, she feels trendy and happy, for once, with the way she looks.
When Chloe’s sporty new car pulls up to the curb, a surge of trepidation jolts Grace back a moment. She takes a deep breath, reminding herself that she looks great. I can do this. With a wave of her hand, she strides to the car, and opens the door. With a cheery, “Hi!” she gets in. The shakiness she feels inside is invisible.
Chloe’s smile is warm and reassuring. “Grace, you look fantastic. I’ve been so looking forward to this.” She touches her sister lightly on the shoulder before turning to check for traffic and easing onto the street. “I’ve picked a nice, cozy restaurant where we can visit. Do you like Italian?”
“Love it!” Am I being too enthusiastic? Too gushy? Chloe is the one person who knows her inside out – or did. But her need to impress her sister is vital. Is she grasping at straws?
Feeling awkward and gawky, Grace stares straight ahead. She marvels at how Chloe weaves in and out of traffic so easily. Glancing side-long at her sister, Grace is overcome with shame. We’re twins for God’s sake! We started in the same place. Now here’s Chloe with a fancy car that she drives with complete confidence. Grace has never owned a car. Chloe casually wears expensive tight-fitting ripped jeans and a pale yellow shirt that drapes fetchingly over her perfect body. Her long, red hair is stylishly layered, jewelry tasteful and genuine-looking, her make-up flawless. Her soft hands with pearly-pink extension nails gracefully grip the wheel. Everything about her shouts class. She wears it like a silken glove.
“I haven’t had Italian in a while,” Chloe continues, her voice melodious and cheerful. She knows better than to ask how Grace has been doing. What she’s been up to. How she’s feeling.
Heat flushes through Grace’s body. Yes, she’s fucked up. Yes, she’s a junkie and a low-life street whore. Yes, she’s made her own decisions. But it’s so unfair! She was as smart as Chloe. As cute. As inventive and fun-loving. She was just shyer; less charming. Why couldn’t those people have taken her too? She grits her teeth, her fists clenching. She wants to scream. Don’t screw up. She takes slow, deep breaths, and closes her eyes. Focus on now.
Chloe pulls into a small parking lot in the back of an old mansion, and parks. She turns to Grace, a soft smile on her lips. “I know it’s disloyal of me, but I just love this place.”
Grace gathers herself together. “Disloyal?”
Chloe shakes her head dismissively, her soft hair swinging around her face. “Oh, we own the Ritz here in town, but I wanted to bring you here.”
Grace vaguely remembers hearing of the Ritz. A high-end restaurant down-town. She’s never been there. “It looks very nice,” she nods. Excessively.
Chloe leads the way, head high, slightly tilted – elegant. Grace feels herself klutzing along behind her sister. They enter a dimly lit hall and are greeted by a friendly young woman dressed in black and white. Grace is vaguely aware of lush floral carpeting and a shining mahogany bannister as they are led up the stairs to a foyer with a massive crystal chandelier. Chloe and the maître d murmur softly to one another, and they are led to a table in a corner, graced by a paned window and a candle shedding soft light onto a checkered table-cloth. The smiling young woman pulls a cushioned chair out, beckoning Grace to sit. She plops down and watches as Chloe is seated, graciously thanking the hostess and turning her attention to her sister.
“Grace, I’ve missed you. It’s so good to see you sitting there across from me.” She smiles warmly.
“Same-same but different,” Grace blurts and giggles. Where did that come from?
Chloe breaks into delighted laughter. “Aaaah. Cuc said that all the time! Remember Cuc?”
“That funny little Vietnamese spit-fire. Oh, how she tormented us. Teased us . . .” Grace head falls back onto the puffy chair she sits in. Her eyes are glossy.
“We were little devils. And she loved us to bits,” Chloe grins. “But oh, she had our number.”
They while time away, reminiscing about the months spent with Cuc, the wonderful times with Lyn, their days at school together, their pranks, their pratfalls and their small triumphs.
“Remember the time you got whipped because Cuc saw me riding my bike down the forbidden busy street?” Chloe’s squints guiltily a moment.
“Or the time you were running down the hall and slid right into the principal so you told him you were me?” Grace smiles a crooked grin.
“When we were tied for the academic award, and they just put both our names on it?” Chloe remembers fondly.
They sip red wine, and dine on Pappardelle Mimmo. Grace happily orders what Chloe suggests. She can’t remember ever tasting anything so delicious. They talk about everything under the sun, forgetting, for now, the elephant in the room. The times after Chloe was adopted. The very different lives they lead now.
“Remember the times we pretended to be each other? I got pretty good at answering to Grace,” Chloe remembers with a sentimental smile.
“Sure couldn’t get away with that now.” Grace’s voice is flat.
Chloe tilts her head back, examining her sister with a probing look. She toys with a lock of her hair. “I don’t know. I bet we could.”
Chapter 12
~ Grace
“Shhhhh . . . It’s okay. Everything’s good. Relax. Take deep breaths.” The voice of the massage therapist is gentle; soothing. Grace feels strong, warm hands on her shoulder-blades. She breathes deeply, letting her breath out in little threads.
“In your mind go to your favorite pla
ce,” the peaceful voice tells her.
That’s a hard one. Her mind flutters around, finally settling on Lyn’s lap, being rocked, Lyn’s chair squeaking softly.
What just happened? She’s never had a massage before. The deep kneading on her muscles was glorious. She lay on the crisp, comfy sheets reveling in the pleasure of it. Then, suddenly, like ocean waves, sensations of anger, sadness, fear, despair, shame . . . crashed and rippled throughout her head and body. She could hear herself, as if from somewhere else, moaning, and crying.
Now the therapist works gently, murmuring words of comfort. Grace inhales the scent of fresh lavender. Lyrical music, birds twittering, bubbling water. It’s a heavenly place, and she’s lulled back to serenity.
“Go with it,” the soft voice tells her. “Relax and let yourself go.”
She does. Breathing in, relishing the pressing and rubbing on her body. After the masseuse leaves, telling her, “Lie here as long as you like”, she lays in the dark, her body slack, inhaling the spicy scent, listening to harps and flutes and violins, warm and cozy, drifting serenely.
Then the familiar edginess overtakes her, and she rises from the table, lifts her purse from the floor in the corner of the room, and shuffles into the washroom, pulling out her lighter, tin foil and the precious cap wrapped in it. Just a little to get me through.
When she emerges she is greeted by Chloe wrapped in a fluffy robe, laying back languidly in the softly-lit waiting room, sipping on lemon water. “How was it?”
Grace pours herself water and slips into the chair beside her sister. “Glorious,” she says. “Thank you! I’ve never had anything like it.”
Chloe touches her arm, looking into her eyes. “It’ll be the first of many.”
“Mmmmm.” Grace leans back, eyes closed.