Carole Remy - Twelve Nights

“Andrew and I are still together.”

“How old is he? Twenty-one?”

“Andrew is twenty-five and he’s brilliant.”

“But can he fuck? No, forget I said that.”

Silence on the line.

“Boo, I’m sorry,” Angel tried. “I bet he’s a great fuck.”

Aggie laughed. “No, he isn’t, but he’s sweet. I won’t ask you about your love life.”

Angel had told her sister that she had gotten a job as a secretary in a big Manhattan firm. She hadn’t added that the firm was a call girl operation and that she had rapidly moved from the phone to the bedroom. Aggie thought her sister was too busy, and too cold, for a boyfriend. In a way, she was right.

“Nil,” Angel answered. For love life, it was true. Fucking was an entirely different matter.

“When are you flying into Atlanta? Can we meet at the airport and drive to Auburn?”

“It’s all set,” Angel admitted. “I already bought the tickets and rented the car.”

“What if I’d said no?”

“I would have been out a few dollars. No biggie.”

“It’s a biggie to me,” Aggie bristled. “Just because you’re ten minutes older…”

“Don’t start,” Angel laughed. “Mea culpa. The big sister sins again. So I bought you a plane ticket. Are you going to divorce me?”

“I love you, Angela.” Aggie’s voice broke on the last word. “I’ve missed you so much.”

“We’ll catch up on the weekend, Boo,” Angel promised, her voice steady. She couldn’t afford to get sentimental. Not now. “I’ll Fed Ex the tickets to you.”

“Use my work address at the library.”

“Will do.”

“Don’t hang up yet, Boo,” Aggie pleaded. “I’m scared I’m imagining this.”

“You’ll get the ticket tomorrow, Aggie. This is getting to me, Boo. I gotta go.”

Angel heard her sister’s sob as she hung up the phone. She wondered whether she would be able to carry out her plan, but what was the alternative? On October twenty-eighth, Angel had written a letter to the box number on the classified ad. The odds were one in a lot, but still better than a lottery, she hoped. The ad said over thirty; she was twenty-eight. The ad said normal. Hah. Who was normal, anyway? The ad said no prostitutes, so Angel borrowed her twin’s persona, right down to name, occupation and social security number. And photograph.

Angel hadn’t gone back to work. She had enough money to last a few weeks and she needed time to think, time for the bruises and the memories to fade. But by February she’d be out on the street with no rent money. Either this guy came through or she’d be back to work on her back.

A week later Angel had gotten an express delivery to the post office box she rented. The form letter requested further information regarding her application. Annoyed and sure now that the ad was a scam, Angel had scrawled ‘Thanks anyway’ across the questions, and sent the pages by return mail to the box number of the ad.

Two days later a dozen red roses had arrived at her doorstep. The card said only, ‘Sorry for the inquisition.’ Angel’s address was private; her phone unlisted. The arrival of the roses made her think that maybe some guy did have a hundred twenty thousand dollars to throw around. And that maybe he was a little scary. The next day when the phone rang, Angel hesitated before picking up the handset.

“Hello.” She used her Aggie-voice just in case.

“Is this Agnes Trout?” The voice was a young man’s.

“Yes. Who is this?”

“You remember the personal ad?”

“You placed the ad?” Angel asked. The voice was too young and innocent.

“No,” he responded. “My brother did.”

“Is this on the level?” Angel asked. “How did you get my phone number? It’s unlisted.”

“I liked your letter, Agnes.” The man ignored Angel’s question.

“Call me Aggie,” Angel answered automatically. “Did you send the flowers?”

“Did you like them?”

“They’re beautiful. Why did you send them?”

“He shouldn’t have sent the letter.”

“Who?”

The young man again ignored her question. “He was suspicious. You gave a New York box number but you work in Cincinnati.”

“I explained that. I’m visiting my cousin.”

“Not your sister?”

“I don’t have a sister,” Angel lied. “Why are you calling me?”

“I can’t talk him into interviewing you.”

“Your brother?”

“My brother’s lawyer.”

“Lawyer?”

“There’s a contract. So you can’t sue.”

“Look,” Angel searched for words. “What’s your name?”

“Danny.”

“Look, Danny. This is too complicated for me. Lawyers and contracts.”

“A hundred twenty thousand dollars, Aggie.”

It was a lot of money. Enough to move her out of New York. Enough to buy her out of prostitution. Angel swallowed her protest.

“You’re right,” she agreed. “Look, who is your brother?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Would I recognize his name?”

“Probably not.”

“Is he in the mob or something? I don’t want anything…”

“No,” the young man interrupted. “He’s smart-rich, not crooked-rich. Anyway, we’re Canadian.”

Maybe Canada wasn’t as mob-infested as the United States. Still Angel couldn’t picture a rich legit guy putting an ad like that in the paper. But then, would a legit woman answer it?

“Okay, Danny. I’ll answer the questionnaire.”

“It’s too late. The lawyer got angry and threw away your letter.”

“Then how did you find me?”

“I remember things. Be in Vancouver on December 15 th. That’s a Monday.”

“A Monday,” Angel repeated.

“I’ll send you a ticket. Take a cab from the airport to the Vancouver Hotel. Check into the Queen Anne suite. I’ll leave a message at the desk for you.”

“What are you going to do? Smuggle me in for an interview?”

“Probably,” the young man answered seriously. “I haven’t worked it out yet.”

“What if you can’t get me in?”

“You’re still in Vancouver,” he offered. “It’s a pretty city.”

“Send me the ticket for Saturday the thirteenth, then,” Angel said, playing along. Nothing would come of it anyway. She doubted a ticket would arrive. “May as well make a holiday of it.”

“Sure,” the young man agreed. “Bring the other one too.”

“What?” Angel asked as the phone clicked. She was only too aware who the other one had to be, but how could Danny know?

And now all she had to do was go to Auburn for Thanksgiving, make peace with her twin and persuade her to go to Vancouver for an impromptu December vacation. Angel knew she could fool the john once she got into bed with him. Sweet and innocent was one of her better gigs. But the lawyer? She might need her sister for the interview.

Sure.

There weren’t two hopes in hell that the ticket would arrive, that the interview was real, that some rich loony would give her the money to quit turning tricks. But what the heck. She wasn’t working anyway and like the man said, Vancouver was a pretty city.

Aggie arrived in Atlanta two hours ahead of her sister. She went through the paperwork to pick up the rental car Angela had reserved. Then she went to Waterston’s, her favorite airport bookstore, and bought a recent paperback bestseller. She found an empty row near her sister’s arrival gate and settled in to wait. Aggie hadn’t seen or heard from Angela in almost a year. Anticipation and the CNN broadcast made it hard to concentrate on her book and soon she tossed the machinations of the San Diego district attorney into her bag.

Pacing the hallway beside the gate, Aggie chewed one fingernail absently. She checked her watch and the arrivals board every few minutes, certain that something would go wrong. Eventually the first passengers began to trickle out the corridor from the plane. Aggie had a clear view over the heads of most of the waiting greeters and she saw Angela as soon as she came through the door. Every hair in place. Impeccably tailored suit. Aggie’s shoulders sagged as she looked at her still perfect twin. Her sister’s head was turned back in conversation with the proverbial tall, dark, handsome man. Trust Angela to pick up the one good prospect on the plane.