by Lorena May
Suddenly, Chloe jerks forward. “I have an idea!”
Grace’s eyes open slowly. Her sister is animated, green eyes glowing. “You could go as me!”
“Huh?”
“Next weekend! I told you about it at dinner. A conference for restaurateurs. But it’s really just a weekend of rest and relaxation. Spas, a few speakers, fabulous meals, socials. You’d love it!”
Grace feels her heart race. “Chloe I can’t. I don’t know anything about the restaurant business.”
Chloe’s on the edge of her chair now, chattering in a hushed, excited voice. “You don’t have to! You just go and enjoy yourself. You don’t have to speak at all if you don’t want to. I’ll give you the basics of my life, and that’s all you need to know! Oh, Gracie, it’d be wonderful for you. And I’m just really tired of being around people. Please say yes!”
“I – I can’t pass as you.”
Chloe inspects her closely. “You could! We’ll spend next Thursday shopping, getting your hair done, another massage. You’ll be amazed.” She grabs Grace’s hands in hers. “Then, Friday I’ll drive you to the conference in Banff. Please! You’d be doing me a great favor.”
I never could say no to her. Slowly, Grace nods.
Chapter 13
~ Chloe
Chloe glances at her watch. It’s almost midnight. She sighs, digging her knuckles into her eye-balls and rubbing. It’s been a long day. Reaching for her wine-glass, she takes a slow swallow and looks across at Mona who is sprawled, head back, in her chair. Steve sits, his furrowed brow propped in both hands, staring at a spot on the table.
Suddenly - crash! Banging and shouting pours through the closed door to the staff-room.
“What the fuck?” Mona jerks, spurting wine into her face.
Chloe thumps her glass on the bar. She marches toward the staff-room, followed by Steve then Mona.
They are met with a grisly scene. Broken glass – the remains of a lamp lie on the floor by the door. And blood. Tom, red-faced and screaming, is bent over, pummeling Gabe, who is curled on the floor. Ohmygod! Chloe grasps the back of a chair to hold herself up.
“Tom! NO!” Mona screams. He looks up, wild-eyed. Steve grabs him around the chest and, like a bull-rider, hangs on.
Finally, Steve wrestles Tom away from Gabe, who lies motionless. Wiping his face with his hand, Tom stands. Chloe watches silently as tears stream down his face. “I’ll kill the son-of-a-bitch,” he mutters.
“What happened?” Mona moves to wrap an arm around him, leading him to the couch at the end of the room. He shuffles meekly beside her, casting angry looks at the man on the floor.
Chloe kneels beside Gabe, pulling his matted hair from his face, gingerly touching his ruined nose, still dripping blood. She pinches the bridge and stares into his face. “Gabe! Are you okay? Should we call 9-1-1?”
Slowly Gabe opens his eyes, and grins his familiar, crooked smile. “Hey, baby,” he says. “I didn’t know you cared.” He chuckles feebly.
Chloe stands, quickly stepping away. She turns to Tom who sits on the edge of the sofa, his body tense, knuckles clenched. Steve and Mona stand over the young waiter, ready to seize him if need be. Chloe assumes her natural calm. “He’s okay. Steve, maybe you should take Tom home.”
Red-faced, spluttering, Tom looks at Gabe, still lying on the floor. “You’re a fucking asshole. You know that? You might own this place, but you don’t own us!” He looks at Steve. “I’m okay, Steve. I can get myself home. But you’ve gotta do something about this asshole.” He slams the door as he storms out.
Rising slowly, Gabe’s look is sheepish. “I don’t know what’s got him all riled up. Jealous, I guess. Just a little innocent fun.” His handsome face twists into a smirk.
Chloe’s eyes are on fire. “What did you do, Gabe? What happened here?”
Steve’s jaw is tight as he moves toward his partner. “What do you mean innocent fun? Did you touch Ana?”
Gabe flinches, and stares at the older man. “What? It was nothing.” He grins to himself, eyes half closed. “She wanted it.”
Steve charges toward Gabe. Mona and Chloe bound in, grabbing his arms.
Chloe’s voice is cold. “Get out, Gabe. Get out of our sight. Now.”
Gabe cocks his head, smirking. “Yes, my lady.” He bows, slightly, and swaggers toward the sink where he grabs a dish-towel and gingerly washes his bloodied face, fully aware of Chloe, Mona and Steve silently staring at him. Throwing the towel on the floor he turns to them, raising his middle finger. “Good night, Ladies and Gentlemen.” He saunters across the room and through the door, banging it behind him.
With a collective sigh, they sit. “I don’t know what to do,” Steve says. His eyes hold a haunted look. “When Stan died, leaving him his share of the company, I had my reservations. But . . .”
“What’s going on, Steve?” Mona asks.
Steve stares at the floor, silent. Chloe bolts upright. “What aren’t you telling me, Steve?”
He takes a deep breath. “It seems he’s badly in debt. He wants to sell to Cam Cooke.”
“What?” Her eyes bore into him.
Mona stands. “Okay, I know when to leave. Sayonara!” She fumbles in her pocket for a cigarette and waltzes out of the room.
Chloe barely acknowledges her exit. Her eyes shoot sparks. “What’s going on? Why didn’t you tell me?”
Steve shrugs. “I can’t be sure. There are inconsistences with the books that I’m just beginning to look into. He’s been borrowing money against the company. It seems he’s in a lot of debt.” He grinds his jaw, eyes distant. “And I’ve hardly seen you. I was going to let you know.”
She scoffs. “It wasn’t important enough to call me? Are you protecting your old buddy’s son?”
He avoids her gaze, gritting his teeth. “No. I can’t protect him. Too many managers: Vancouver, Calgary, Kelowna . . . He’s hiring and firing, won’t listen to them.” Steve looks up at his wife with eyes that beg for understanding. “I offered to buy him out. Says he’s working on a deal with Cam Cooke.”
“The guy who runs those gyp-joint Sierra Restaurants? Ohmygod!”
Steve shakes his head. “I won’t let that happen.”
Her eyes bore into him a moment, then she softens. She moves to kneel on the couch beside him, wrapping her arms around his neck, kissing his temple, brushing his hair with her hand. “It’s okay. We’ll work it out.”
His forehead puckers. “Somehow.”
Chloe shifts her legs, and sits back, rubbing his thigh with her foot. “I’m going to Edmonton tomorrow to help out there. I’ll be back Friday evening. Why don’t we go to the cottage? Take the weekend to refresh.”
His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but he’s appeased. “Have I ever told you how much I love you? How much I appreciate all you do?”
She chuckles, moving her foot upward, watching his excitement grow. “I never tire of hearing it.”
Chapter 14
~ Chloe and Grace
They step into the hotel room that Chloe’s booked, dropping their bags on the floor.
I could get used to this! Grace takes in the vastness and luxury of it. A wall of window looks out on the lights of the city where two plumped chairs sit by a table with crystal glasses and a bottle of wine chilling in a silver bucket. Satiny pillows on two king-sized beds, thick carpeting, soft lights, a fresh, clean smell . . .It’s a far cry from the hole she takes her johns to. Or her ratty apartment.
It’s been a crazy day. A day in the life of the rich! At 9:00 am Grace stood outside her apartment, anxiously awaiting her sister. And at exactly 9:05 she was delivered into a new life via Chloe in her shiny, silver BMW.
“We have appointments,” Chloe trilled. Bright eyes scanned her twin who awkwardly climbed in beside her. Smiling approvingly, she drifted seamlessly through traffic to the spa they had visited days before. Almost immediately, Grace was hurled through a whirl-wind of pleasures. Hydro-therapy, facial, waxi
ng, hair cut, pedicure, manicure . . . Now, as they step out of the spa and into the street she can’t stop staring at her hands and feet, looking in windows at her reflection, brushing her face with her fingers. With the help of a covert little hit in the bathroom before leaving, she is a new woman.
They lunch at what Chloe calls a bistro; fancy and delicious. The ‘new’ Grace pretends she belongs. “I feel like a movie star,” she giggles.
“See?” Chloe grins. “You were made for this life.”
After lunch they shop at ‘boutiques’ as Chloe calls them. Jackets, shirts, jeans, shoes . . . Chloe chooses, hands them to Grace, and when Grace can hold no more she is marched to a change-room where Chloe eyes each try-on with a practiced eye. “No, no that won’t do,” is her usual comment. Every so often it is, “Yes! That’s you! Or me! Same thing.” She laughs her throaty laugh.
In the end, Grace walks out with a full, very expensive, exquisite wardrobe.
In Chloe’s hotel room they shuck their shoes and clothing onto the big, lavish beds and wrap themselves in downy robes. Chloe pours the wine. “I haven’t had this much fun in years!”
It’s true. The bond is still there. Together they were born, loved, given away . . . partners in everything for nine years. Grace feels a kinship she hasn’t known since Lyn’s death.
Now they sit and toast. “To us,” Chloe says, clinking Grace’s glass, smiling her cat-like smile. “You know you can do it.”
“Mix with a bunch of realtors?” Grace is faltering.
Chloe leans in, pinning her sister with deliciously naughty eyes. “Just pretend you’re me.” She winks. “Remember? You do that well.”
Grace sips. “Like this?” She stands, head high, and struts, lifting her knees, swinging her hips, looking over her shoulder haughtily.
Chloe pours them each another glass of wine. “Pretend there’s an invisible string pulling you up,” she drawls wearing a reminiscent smile.
Grace swoops in to grab her glass and walks on her tip-toes. “Hello,” she says in an exaggerated throaty voice. “My name is Chloe”. She curtsies.
Chloe downs her wine. Pours them both a glass. “Maybe this suits you better?” She wiggles, thrusting out her pelvis, making a ‘come hither’ motion with her finger. Grace breaks into fits of laughter. Chloe retrieves another bottle of wine from the fridge.
“I’ve typed out some things for you to know. Little things.” She rifles through her bag, producing a paper-clipped package, and sets it on the table in front of her sister. “I’ve included info you don’t need to know, but can look up if you’re curious about the restaurant business Everyone will just assume you know it all.”
Grace reads. “You oversee the management of five restaurants?”
“We co-own them, and my husband is a softie. So, yes. I do.”
“So I’m to pretend to be a very rich, important lady.” Grace raises her eye-brows, a crooked grin on her face.
“Yes, and your husband is loved by all. Steve. Good guy. Act like you adore him.”
“The doting wife.”
“Yes.”
Grace pours the wine. “And do I travel a lot overseeing these restaurants?”
Chloe inclines her head, thinking. “You hate to leave your dear husband at home, and you trust the managers, so you only visit occasionally to support them.”
“I’m pretty fuckin’ wonderful, aren’t I?” They both guffaw.
“Let’s practice.” Hand in hand they walk, confidently. With poise. They stop at a full-length mirror and look, breaking into renewed laughter.
“You need a little more meat on those bones.” Chloe pinches Grace’s waist.
Grace juts her hip outward. “Maybe I’m just so stressed with all my overseeing. And over-exercised by my horny husband!”
They stare into the mirror. Same hair, same height, same face. One a shadow of the other. “You can definitely pass for me,” Chloe says. “My double.”
Chapter 15
~ Grace
At 8:00 their sleep is shattered by jarring music. Groggy and hung-over, they roll soundlessly from rumpled beds. Chloe pads into the bathroom. “Dibs on the shower! Want to pee first?” Grace does, relishing the luxury of the place. Posh and comfy. She emerges to the smell of coffee. Chloe thinks of everything. Shrugging her shoulders in the soft robe provided by the hotel, wriggling her feet in the plush carpeting, gazing through the window at elegant architecture, she pads over and rummages through her suitcase, pulling from it the outfit her sister suggested she wear. Expensive lingerie; comfortable and flattering. A silky yellow shirt, that flows through her fingers like water, khaki fly-pants, wedged sandals. She sets them aside, fingering the fabric. Heavenly! Then, she fixes her ever-hungry habit and lays back on the bed.
Chloe emerges from the steamy bathroom glowing. “Waking up drunk is nothing like going to sleep drunk,” she laughs, holding her head. “But that shower worked wonders. Your turn!”
The shower is roomy, brass and marble with hot water that never ends. After a long, luxurious indulgence Grace joins Chloe at the mirror in the bathroom. She opens the bag of toiletries that her sister has shoved in front of her.
“Okay, just watch and copy,” Chloe says, opening a crème.
Grace follows along, marveling at her own transformation. “Look at me all la-de-da!” Maybe I CAN pull this off.
IT’S FIVE HOURS TO Banff. Five hours of renewing old memories. Kibitzing. Learning about the good life.
As they near the park Grace stares out the window. She sees spiky trees silhouetted against the outline of mountains, dark blue against a dusky sky. Rolling hills become bigger and steeper, covered in poplar and spruce, shades of green. Suddenly there they are. The mountains; blue and purple and grey topped with masses of snow, carpets of green, layers of color. She’s never seen anything like this. A clear, turquoise lake by the highway reflects fluffy white clouds and majestic peaks, surrounded by evergreens and vivid pink fireweed. Horses graze, flicking their tails in a field. Rock filled with dips and crevices. What is it like to touch? To see up close?
It’s a massive, stunning landscape. Thousands of people from all over the world come to to experience the Canadian Rockies. I’ve lived nearby my whole life, and all I’ve ever known was the rough and dirty side of Alberta cities. A lump forms in her throat.
“What do you think?” Chloe asks, flashing an amused look at Grace who stares wide-eyed, her hands pressed to her cheeks.
“My life’s been so small.” Tears fill her eyes. “My dirty little life.”
Through the corner of her eye she sees Chloe’s jaw clench. “What happened after I left?” They stare straight ahead at the broad highway.
“Oh, you don’t wanna know all that.”
“I don’t. Not the details.” Chloe’s face is set.
Silence.
Chloe speaks hesitantly. “Just tell me generally.”
Fire burns in Grace’s chest. Her breath comes in small puffs. Finally, “I wet the bed a lot. I had snot all over my face most of the time. I cried for years.”
Chloe looks at her sister, moving her hand from the wheel to touch her arm. “Were you abused?”
“Whipped. Teased. Yelled at. Ignored. Fucked. Yeah.” She stares out the window, her face a deadened mask. When she speaks her voice is lifeless. “So at fifteen I ran away. Ended up on the streets. Saved by a man who was everything to me.”
“What happened to him?” Chloe asks, noting the tears streaming down her sister’s face.
Grace laughs. An eerie, edgy laugh. “He taught me everything I know. Sex. Drugs n’ Rock and Roll. Then he got three years for dealing and procuring. When he got out he decided his rich daddy’s business was the way to go. I never saw or heard from him again.”
“Oh, Gracie. I’m so sorry. I had no idea . . . Well . . . before I sent the detective to look for you.”
Grace scoffs. “And he told you your sister was an addicted prostitute.”
Chloe shrugs
, sadness clouding her features. “I want to help you.”
Grace’s face is hard; indiscernible. She stares out the window at the town of Banff; its streets bustling with tourists, funky buildings of cedar and rock bordered by mountains and trees. It looks European! (Though she’s certainly never been there.)
Chloe turns off the main street to a winding mountain road, and pulls up at a sign that says ‘Reception’. “This is it. The beautiful Banff Centre.”
Grace gapes. Cedar buildings with big, glassy windows, stand amongst grasses and forest. A deer grazes in the trees. She can hear a river rushing nearby. A rolling, fluttery feeling rises from her stomach to her throat. Her voice quavers. “This is where I’m staying? Can I do this?”
Chloe nods, looking her in the eye. “You can. I know how strong and smart you are. Remember the time we told that fancy store we were experienced child-models and they put us in a show? How you pulled it off without a hitch?” Her eyes flicker with excitement. “Or the time you were caught stealing lipstick and you gave them a story that had them falling all over you with remorse?”
“The lipstick you stole,” Grace snorts.
“You’re a natural, Gracie. Just believe you’re me this weekend. Have fun with it.”
Grace grins, grabs Chloe’s hand. “Hello. How are you? I’m Chloe, owner of seven posh restaurants, married to Steve, who I adore. I’m successful, respected, esteemed - and a bossy bitch!”
Chloe laughs, a real guffaw without even a hint of malice. She hands Grace a bundle of cash and her phone. “You’ve got it! Here’s some money for drinks, cabs, your uber to Calgary, your plane ticket to Edmonton. And here’s my phone. Post on Facebook and Instagram, tweet . . . Don’t text me. If Steve knows I’m skipping out on a conference he’ll be ‘disappointed’.” She affects an exaggerated sad-face. “He’s not on Facebook, so just post there. I wanna see it all.” She grabs a second phone from her purse, waving it aloft. “I’ll be waiting and watching.”