Carole Remy - Twelve Nights

“Bye, Angel.” The man handed her sister a carry-on bag. His voice oozed seduction. He leaned forward and kissed her on the cheek, then watched longingly as she walked away.

“Angel?” Aggie asked as her sister approached.

“I go by that in New York,” Angel explained.

“Do you want me to call you Angel now?”

“No. Angela’s fine.” She opened her arms. “Inside I’m still Boo.”

Aggie burst into tears and pulled her twin into a fierce hug. Her first emotion spent, she raised her fist and pounded Angela’s shoulder.

“You!” Aggie gulped. “Boo, you’re awful. You don’t call for a year and then you walk off the plane with the most handsome man I’ve seen since you left. Where do you find them?”

Angela laughed and Aggie tightened her grip. Her sister squeezed back then put her hands on Aggie’s shoulders and held her away.

“Look at you, Boo,” she whispered. “Still the same Aggie.”

“We’re the Boo-Boo twins,” Aggie said, wiping her eyes. “Let’s go. I filled out the papers for the car. We just need to give them your driver’s license number and we can go. Do you have any more luggage?”

Angela shook her head and the two women started down the long corridor toward the car rental booth. Angela linked her arm in Aggie’s and seemed oblivious to the glances that Aggie felt boring into her skin.

“You need a haircut, Boo!”

Aggie reach up a hand and tousled her shag. “Do I?”

“Yes,” Angela insisted. “We’ll stop and get you done on the way home to Dad’s.”

“Time to make over the ugly twin, Angela?” Aggie asked.

“No, silly. You’re gorgeous, of course. ’Cause if you weren’t, how could I be?”

“I might have known.”

“Aggie, do you remember what we used to do, when we fooled people about who was who?”

“Sure, back when we were ten or so.”

“Let’s do it again.” Angela’s voice sounded suspiciously eager.

“Why?” Aggie asked bluntly.

Her sister shrugged. “Just for fun. My treat.”

“Boo,” Aggie blurted, “I don’t really want to look like you.”

Angela stopped in the middle of the corridor and hurrying passengers split around them like a wave. She dropped her bag and grabbed Aggie’s shoulders with both hands.

“Aggie,” Angela shook her sister gently. “Maybe I want to look like you this time.”

Aggie’s eyes teared. “Don’t, Angela. Don’t mess with my head.”

Angela released Aggie and picked up her bag.

“I’m not messing with you,” she protested, her voice gruff. “I want a new look, okay?”

When they got to the car, Angela insisted that Aggie drive. She explained that she hadn’t been behind the wheel since she moved to New York. Even the straight highway to Auburn made her nervous. As they headed out of Atlanta, Angela made her sister stop at Old National Square Shopping Center.

“One hour,” she commanded. “Indulge me for one hour.”

“Okay,” Aggie agreed as she pulled into the parking lot maze.

“Gayfer’s,” Angela directed, and Aggie pulled into a spot near the upscale store. First stop was a hair salon next to the mall entrance to the store.

“Get your hair however you like,” Angela offered.

“I intend to.” Aggie lifted an eyebrow and frowned. What was wrong with her sister?

“I’m paying.” Angela added.

“Go right ahead.”

Once Aggie was seated in a salon chair and halfway to a fresh cut, Angela dropped into the seat next to hers.

“Do my hair exactly the same,” she told her stylist. “Exactly.”

The two stylists looked at each other and at the twins.

“You’re models, right?” the woman behind asked. “You’re in Atlanta for a photo shoot or something.”

“No,” Aggie began.

“Yes,” Angela interrupted. “Watch for the ads in Vogue in about five months.”

Aggie looked at her sister’s hand and sure enough her baby finger was crooked up in a C, their childhood symbol of complicity. A sense memory of Angela’s fun stole over her and she relaxed back into the seat with a smile. Aggie watched as the stylist lopped off Angela’s careful curls. Her own shag shortened to a pixie cut of chin length. She liked it better on Angela than she did on herself, but looking at them both in the mirror she had to admit that in reality they were identical.

If the young women had been glanced at before in the airport, now the looks became stares. A little girl stopped in front of them and cried, “Look, Mommy! Big twins!” Angela laughed and patted the child on the head. Aggie turned her head and hurried past.

“I don’t like this attention,” she whispered fiercely to her sister.

“We deserve it, Boo,” Angela lifted her chin. “Stand up straight and smile.”

In the department store, two clerks rushed to help them when they entered women’s clothing.

“Are you going to tell me to pick whatever I like?” Aggie taunted.

“Maybe,” Angela laughed, seemingly immune to sarcasm. “Show me what you would choose.”

“I don’t see why we need identical outfits.”

“For fun!” Angela explained. “I want to see if we can still fool Dad.”

“You’re not planning to do something mean to Mary, are you?”

“No,” Angela insisted. “Just pick.”

They walked out of the store thirty minutes later with armloads of bags. Two pairs of size eight dark gray wool pants, two long light gray sweaters with knitted flowers across the shoulders and black pumps with a compromise one and a half inch heel. Angela insisted on buying everything the same, right down to the underwear, again a compromise, blacker and lacier than Aggie’s initial choice.

As she drove out of the remnants of Atlanta traffic and headed west on I-85, Aggie wondered again what her sister was up to. She knew Angela must have a plan, but she couldn’t imagine what it would be. Still the outfit was nice. She’d take Andrew to a movie and dazzle him when she got home.

“Dad!” Angela screamed out the window as the car pulled into the driveway.

Their father was picking up magnolia buds from the front lawn. He stood up and dropped the kitchen tongs that protected his fingers from the sticky cones.

“Blossom!” he called out his old nickname for the slightly older twin. He hurried to the passenger side of the car and pulled open the door. Angela jumped into his arms and they danced around the front yard in an ecstatic hug.

“I’m here too, Dad,” Aggie reminded them.

Still holding Angela’s hand, Gordon Trout turned to his other daughter.

“Peach Fuzz!” He opened his arms. Aggie stepped stiffly into the embrace, then melted as her father’s free hand rubbed up and down her back.

“I can’t believe you’re both here,” he crowed. “Let’s go inside. I’ll get you a drink.”

At sixty-three, their father was still in excellent physical condition, his back straight and his hair a thick silver thatch. Aggie looked at him proudly as he turned to lead them up the stairs to the front porch. Then he stumbled and she glanced at her sister, who shook her head. He righted himself and held onto the railing as he climbed the rest of the stairs.

“Damn things,” he muttered, glaring at the stairs and smiling at his daughters at the same time. “Always trip me up.”

Inside, the house was immaculate and untidy at the same time, spotless wherever their father hadn’t managed to drop something since Mary had cleaned.

“What can I get you girls?”

“I’ll make a pot of coffee, Dad,” Aggie offered.

Angela nodded. “I just want coffee.”

“I’ll call Mary, then. I know she’ll want to come right over and see you. She’s cooking a turkey.”