Secret Sister (10 page)

I touched his face. “You’re very, very good at this. Thank you.”

He kissed my hand and his smile was boyishly proud and unguarded. “Don’t get me wrong. We’ve always been hot in the sack, but this, this was amazing.” A shadow passed across his eyes and he squinted. “You seem different, somehow. Like you’ve changed, babe.”

Which of course brought me right back to my question of an hour ago. “Yeah. Okay, so talk to me. Tell me about Roxanne.”

Michael rolled onto his back. “Roxanne is a hundred percent prime cut. The most gorgeous girl in the room, any room. And Roxanne is smart. Maybe not book smart like Cathy Chance, but savvy.”

Was I imagining it, or was there an edge to Michael’s voice when he said Cathy’s name?

“Cathy was book smart, huh?”

“Yeah. Phi krappa yahoo everything, so I always heard.  Nose in a book all the time. And loved those snooty movies with foreign languages in them.”

I thought of a foreign movie, something with Catherine Deneuve and black rain. I couldn’t recall the title. “Were you friends with Cathy?”

“Me? Yeah, sure. I mean, we talked. Hung out. I like her husband. Nick’s a good guy. Not as much fun since he stopped drinking, but that’s cool.” He stared off into the dark. “He’s not doing so good, I hear.”

My skin itched. I didn’t want to talk about Nick with Michael. “Did you go to her memorial service?”

“Yeah. They had good food and wine at their place after. But I felt out of place.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “I don’t know. You weren’t with me, for one thing. And to tell the truth, I don’t think your friend Cathy liked me much. I kept thinking about her. And you. I was thankful to God that you didn’t die, too.”

His words, while tender, chilled me. I grasped his arm. Michael misunderstood my touch and kissed my shoulder. “To tell the truth, I never could figure that chick out.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t know. She never seemed to know what she wanted, if you ask me. ‘Co-flicted,’ I think they call it. Like she had something to say, but had decided not to say it.”

“Conflicted, you mean? Like she was unsure about something?”

He shrugged. “Yeah. I guess.”

I didn’t want to hear any more about Cathy or Nick from Michael, even though I had asked him to tell me. It felt disloyal, talking about her with someone who didn’t like her much. “Okay. So I’m not smart?”

Hadn’t Betty said I had helped Cathy get through school?
I filed that discrepancy away.

“Hey, hey. I never said you’re not smart. You did okay in school, but you didn’t care much if you got good grades. You know people, know what they want. You should be in sales, instead of teaching. I always said you should come to work for me and my brother. With your looks, you’d make a fortune.”

“What do you and your brother do?”

Michael frowned. “Right. The memory thing. My family owns three car dealerships. I manage Cimino Jaguar. Hey, and by the way, you’re going need a new car now. Come in tomorrow and my brother Tommy and I will fix you up.”

“With a Jag?” There was six hundred dollars in the checkbook I balanced yesterday. “I think that’s a little rich for a second-grade teacher.”

“You’ll get a deal. A good deal.” Michael flashed a smile. “I’ll take care of you.” His hand caressed my right nipple, sending a sweep of heat across my chest.

I covered his hand with mine. I was done and didn’t want anything more from Michael in the physical sense. But I still wanted information.

“Look, I’m curious about the depression thing. Has that been going on the whole time you’ve known me? Do you know if this was a long-term problem?”

“I think it’s a sickness you’ve dealt with since you were a kid. Brain chemistry, right? You don’t like to talk about it, though. So, I can’t help too much there. I think you take a couple of drugs.”

“Paxil. And Xanax. Roxanne has bottles of them in the bedroom.”

“Roxanne? I got to tell you, it’s a little freaky how you talk like Roxanne is someone else.”

I met Michael’s stare. He was grinning, but his eyes were wary. I wondered what the doctors had said to him, or what Betty Haverty had told him, about my mental health issues.

“You’re right. But I can’t help thinking of Roxanne Ruiz in the third person. She’s still separate from me.  Another person. Does that bother you?”

“No. Not really.” He ran his hand across my stomach.  “It’s like you’re a new girl. Kind of exciting, in a kinky kind of way.”

He moved closer and I felt him responding, developing a new need. I sat up quickly, now self-conscious about the naked body he was caressing. “Let me throw some clothes back on. It’s cold in here.”

“I can warm you up again.” Michael’s hand tightened on my arm. “Come on, baby, you know you want some more.” He moved his hand between my legs.

A jolt of adrenaline coursed through me. The image I had previously accepted as part of a memory of coupling with Michael filled my mind again.

It was a summer night. Were we hiding from someone?

I shook my head to rattle the memory into focus, not sure if it was sexual imagination or reality. “You better go now, Michael. I need to get some rest.” I stood up.

He stayed put. After a moment he said, “You’ve got the sweetest tits in the world.”

I covered them with my hands. “You better get dressed.”

“Okay.” He acted disappointed but didn’t push the issue.

I threw my clothes back on and cleared the dishes off the table; snapped on more lights. It was almost eleven and I could barely keep my eyes open. I grasped the counter and took a breath.

“You okay?” Michael said from the kitchen doorway. “Roxanne?”

“Yeah, I’m just tired. Really. I’m fine. Thanks again for bringing the ice cream, and, and everything.”

“Anytime, baby.” Michael kissed my neck, his tongue leaving a cool trail on my skin. “I’ll call you tomorrow. Remember what I said about getting you a car, okay?”

“Thanks.” I walked him to the door, gave him a brief goodnight kiss and locked up.

“Would you buy a used car from this guy?” My question echoed in the empty apartment and it felt like I was tottering on the edge of hysteria. Something was happening in my brain. I needed to concentrate, but first I needed to sleep. I fell into the tangle of blankets and sheets and was out cold, probably before Michael reached the parking lot.

Chapter 10

Wednesday, July 27, 7 p.m.

Roxanne’s Apartment

As I waited nervously for Bradley Chandler to take me to dinner, I thought about Nick Chance. I wanted to leave another message for him but after last night’s encounter with Michael, I hesitated. My evening with Michael reinforced how tricky it was dealing with people when you did not know the dynamics of the relationship. All I could do was react and hope I wouldn’t make a misstep, like an acrobat without a net.

I didn’t want to damage things any further with Nick. Hopefully, Bradley would fill me in on what Cathy’s husband thought of me, at least before the accident. I was counting on his memories of the three of us to help me make some real progress toward re-establishing my life.

I glanced again at the phone table. There were three messages on the answering machine from Betty. Her voice sounded strained in the last message. “The insurance settlement meeting with Nick was a disaster.”

I didn’t know what that meant, but figured it could wait until tomorrow. Living up to Betty’s so far unstated, but obviously held opinion that Roxanne was selfish, could be taxing. The woman sounded needy, but in my current state of haziness I was certain I couldn’t say anything to make her feel better. I prayed it would be easier with Bradley.

I reached for my right ear and put in silver hoops for tonight. At the last minute I added the dangling turquoise earring I had been given at the hospital. I hadn’t found its match in Roxanne’s strictly ordered jewelry box. It must have been lost in the accident. I shook my head and the delicate filigree work brushed against my hair, which I’d pulled off my neck into a bun.

My image in the mirror reflected back a print summer dress, strappy sandals and lovely face. Except for my chunky feet and hands, there wasn’t much to complain about. I squinted, as if I could see some other detail that would help me understand more about this woman in the mirror.

I yearned to alter my appearance somehow that would make me more comfortable in my skin. It was difficult having everyone stare at me all the time. And I’d have liked to be taller.

Anyone have a rack they can stretch me on?

“Mirror, mirror on the wall, who’s the most self-involved of all?” I frowned at the reflection and stuck out my tongue. Then the doorbell rang and freed me from dwelling on my least favorite subject—my looks—for the next few minutes.

Bradley Chandler was as funny and charming and as kind in person as he had sounded on the phone. He seemed genuinely glad to see me but declined my offer of wine and hustled me out to his car. We chatted and giggled during the short time it took to go the four blocks to Simone’s,
the café he had mentioned on the phone. At last, I relaxed. Bradley held the car door open for me after we parked, and winked as I stepped out into the warm summer night.

“Are you hungry?” he teased. “Wednesday is crepe night. I could kill for chicken and mushroom crepes.”

“I’m famished.”

“Yeah? Gee, that’s good to hear. You never used to eat much. Which has always annoyed me since I enjoy three-course meals complete with two wines and at least one dessert.”

“I like dessert.” I thought of last night’s ice cream.  Which of course made me think of Michael. Which led me to think of that incredible round of sexual activity. I fanned my blushing cheeks. “In fact, I’m doing so much eating, I think I’ve gained weight since the accident. My clothes all seem tight.”

Bradley looked at me, his eyes pointedly scanning my rear end. “I think you look the same, Rox. You always wear your clothes snug.”

He saw my chagrin. “Hey, I like that in a girl. Got it, flaunt it. But all I meant is that you aren’t one to hide your assets. You look fabulous in your little summer dress. But where’d you get the high heels? That’s new for you.”

Which explained why the shoe box was hidden in the back of the closet. “I’ve been feeling short.”

“Yeah? You always said you hate wearing any kind of heels. But whatever, you look fabulous, and I always thought you could use a little weight, if you want to know the truth.” He cocked his head sideways. “And I love your hair pulled off your face. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you wear it that way.”

“No? Well, you’re getting Roxanne, ‘version 2.0.’ Who has no idea how to look like ‘1.0.’”

“Both versions are spectacular. Okay, let’s go get you some dinner.”

Simone’s was in an old house at the corner of a residential community and Arroyo Boulevard, the main drag running through Sierra Monte. Three banks of beveled-glass windows looked out at the San Gabriel Mountains. Inside it smelled of fresh bread and roses. Intoxicating. My spirits lifted. “This is a wonderful place.”

“Roxanne! Bradley! How are you both?” A gorgeous woman, somewhere around thirty, greeted us. Her closely-cropped hair followed the delicate shape of her head. The soft light gleamed off her diamond stud earrings.

“Jen, darling, how are you?” Bradley replied.

“Good. Good. And look who you’ve brought with you.” Jen embraced me warmly, then looked me over head to foot. “Beautiful Roxanne. But how are you feeling, love? I called and spoke to you briefly in the hospital and you sounded pretty rough.”

“I remember your call. Thank you for that. I’m doing better.” My voice dropped as another couple came in the door behind me. “I still can’t remember the accident, or anything else, though.”

Jen squeezed my hand. “It will come. It will come. Don’t worry. When you are strong enough, you will remember. God is taking care of you.” She turned to Bradley. “But where have you been? I haven’t seen you since, when?”

“Cathy and I were here a few weeks ago, but I haven’t felt much like eating out since then. Until tonight, that is.” He linked his arm through mine and pulled me next to him.

Jen nodded. “Of course. So, tonight we’ll celebrate a little. Because my friends are here. It’s only the two of you, right?”

“Yes, just us.”

“I’ve got a great table for you.” Jen gestured for us to follow her into the central dining area.

It was lovely, lit by candlelight alone. A fireplace crackled with a real fire, and despite it being the middle of summer, the temperature felt perfect in the thick-walled room. Jen seated us at a corner table near the windows where we had a view of the mountains.

“Crepes tonight, Jen?” Bradley asked.

“Of course. Chicken and mushroom, chicken and avocado with caramelized onions, or chicken and raspberries.” Jen turned to me. “To refresh your memory, my chef, Bruno, has been with me forever, and he’s very set in his ways. Monday, catch of the day with wild rice, Tuesday, roast sirloin with au gratin potatoes, Wednesday, three kinds of chicken crepes. And so on. If I suggest we vary things a little, he sulks.” Jen shrugged her elegant shoulders. “It is not good having a sulking chef.”

“But this is one of the things we love most about Simone’s,” Bradley said. “Nothing makes one feel more secure than constancy. Right, Roxanne?”

“I’m sure everything is great. It smells wonderful.”

“Thank you,” Jen said. “I’ll send some wine right over, Bradley. Bogle? Or the Firestone? I also have some Australian Chardonnay that is very nice.”

“Bite your tongue,” Bradley replied. “Australia does golfers and sea captains, both very nicely, but with wine, they are still beginners. Send something from the Firestone vineyard, an ‘05, or ‘06
sauvignon blanc
, maybe?”

“It will be right out.” Jen smiled. “It is so good to have you back here, Roxanne.”

My eyes burned as I took a sip of water. While I could not say I remembered Simone’s, the dark wood and silver bowls of flowers, and wonderful still life above the mantle were so welcoming, I felt safe. As if I could be myself. I giggled.

“What’s funny?”

“I was thinking that I felt like I could be myself here. Whoever that is.”

“You’re still you, kiddo. The accident didn’t change that.” Bradley leaned closer. “Do you remember it at all?”

“Everything seems
familiar
, but no, I don’t remember being here before. Did we come here often?”

“Once a month, at least. And for everyone’s birthday.  Cathy insisted on that.” He stared at me. “You’re sure you can handle it when I bring Cathy up?”

“Of course.” I patted his hand. “I just wish I could remember her.”

“Be patient. You’ll get her back. You called each other your ‘secret sister,' did you know that? That’s how close you were.”

A pop of energy lit up in my brain, like a sparkler on a summer night. I looked away, recalling one of the photographs Betty had in her album, of Cathy and Roxanne, teenagers in short skirts. And sporting too much lipstick and matching gold necklaces with the initials “SS.” I had wondered when I noticed the jewelry what club or rock group or boyfriend “SS” might signify, and now I knew.

Secret sisters. A club for two. Lupey loo.

Those strange words pinged around inside my head again. Did they also have something to do with Roxanne and Cathy? For the moment, I didn’t trust my emotions enough to ask Bradley.

He busied himself with the wine steward. While the men chatted and went through a tasting ritual, I regained control of my tenuous emotions and took in the ambiance of the place. The floor was polished wood, worn in spots from years of footsteps. From my vantage point I saw a hallway leading back into what I surmised was a kitchen. A smaller, private dining room was across the foyer where Jen greeted more guests. A gleaming black piano sat the wall, and in my mind I heard it being played. I imagined the birthday parties Bradley mentioned.

“So, have you seen Michael yet?” Bradley asked.

I met my friend’s blue eyes and took a gulp of wine.  It was cool and smooth and did nothing to calm my fluttering nerves. “Yes, he came by the house last night.  I saw him several times at the hospital, too.”

“And?”

“He’s nice. A little freaked, maybe. He’s having trouble with the amnesia. You know, he’s worried I don’t remember him.”

“I doubt that. If I were him, I’d worry more about what will happen when you
do
remember him.”

I set the wineglass down carefully. “Why’s that?”

“Why?” Bradley laced his fingers together. “How much do you want me to tell you about you and Michael?”

“How much do you know?”

“A lot. Most of it from you. Some from,” he paused, as if weighing his words, “from others. Did your mom or anyone fill you in on where your current relationship was with Michael before the accident?”

“A little. I know we went out for a long time, but had recently broken up. Betty told me that, though she said she didn’t have the specifics of why the break-up occurred, although she knew it wasn’t the first time it had happened, and she didn’t think it had been permanent.”

“Interesting.” Bradley’s voice seemed shaded by a hundred unspoken opinions.

“So, Michael and Roxanne are a pretty volatile pair?”

“That’s true.”

“Did I love him?” I asked. I didn’t ask if Michael loved me. After last night, I knew he didn’t, not the Roxanne before the accident. Not the Roxanne he provided such skillful sexual services to last night.

While not exactly a mercy fuck, last night’s fun and games weren’t about love. They were, however, all about reassuring Michael Cimino about something. I just had no idea what that ‘something’ was.

My question had surprised Bradley. He took a long drink of wine. “Yes. I think you did love him. Do love him. To paraphrase the always less than chivalrous Prince Charles a couple of decades ago, ‘love, whatever that is.’ You stayed with Michael for several years, and seemed very content, the most content I’d ever seen you, when things were going well.”

“Have you and I known each other for a long time, Bradley?”

“Forever. Since acne.” Bradley grinned. “Not that you ever actually had it. Cathy claimed you had two zits during the entire run of puberty, while the rest of us looked like pizza ads.”

We shared a laugh. My face felt tight. “So, back to me.  I’m not usually ‘content?’”

Bradley searched my face. “You do know about your battles with depression over the years? And about the . . .”

Several beats of time passed. “
The
? The what?”

Bradley blinked. “You tried to commit suicide once. With pills. In college. ”

A hum built up inside my head. “Oh? No one’s mentioned that.”

“God, I’m sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have.”

“No, I’m glad you did. I’m glad to know about this.” I would ask Betty. It certainly added to Dr. Patel’s credibility about worrying about a suicide attempt. The fact I might still have to talk with the police came back to me. They hadn’t shown up or called yet.

I hoped this meant they never would.

Bradley was staring at me. I reached across the table and gripped his hand, then nodded toward the wineglass. “Drink up. But I don’t want you passing out. I’m not sure I can carry you out of here.”

He laughed and followed orders.

Once another bottle of wine was delivered, I asked, “Bradley, is the depression a major thing? Did it keep me from working? Was I moody sometimes, maybe acted like a pain in the ass because of it?”

“Oh, no. You always went to work, no matter how you felt. You love the kids at school, the routine. The summers off.” He grinned big. “You never let your illness interfere with that. You’re always ready for adventure. Cathy said you’re the fire in our engines, you’re what will keep us all from becoming old fogies. Depression was one of the things you dealt with, and your friends dealt with, just like you dealt with all our foibles.”

“You have foibles?” I asked with a smile. “What are they?”

“Besides having a big mouth, you mean?”

“Stop. Tell me something bad about yourself. Are you with anyone special now?”

“Me? I’m never with anyone long enough for them to be special. Not since Mitch died.” He met my eyes. “He was my lover. He died of AIDS five years ago. But let’s not get too serious tonight. Besides, we’re not talking about me, cupcake. We don’t have enough time tonight to tour that hellhole.”