The Good Twin(2)

Even if the money had been there for college—and it wasn’t, not even close—I couldn’t leave my mother. Not then.

The morning passed quickly, too quickly. I suddenly realized if I didn’t rush, I’d be late for work. I hurriedly changed into a black skirt and white blouse, then put on my comfortable shoes, the ones I could tolerate standing in for ten hours. Dressed, I threw on my coat and ran to the bus stop. I arrived at Trattoria Ricciardi with one minute to spare.

“Cutting it close,” Gus said as I walked in the door. Gus Richards owned the restaurant, and I knew he was fond of me. Even if I’d missed the bus and walked in late, he would have forgiven me. I headed to the kitchen in the back of the restaurant, grabbed my order pad, then returned to Gus. “Today’s specials?”

He handed me a sheet. I glanced at it, then tucked it behind my pad. I was familiar with each of the items. “Anyone of note coming in today?”

Despite the restaurant being in Astoria, it had a 4.6 Zagat rating for food, 4.8 for service and, with its white brick walls, rich burgundy tablecloths, and a small candle on each table, a 4.3 for decor. In addition to the neighborhood regulars, customers from surrounding areas traveled to it. And occasionally, actors working at the Kaufman Astoria Studios came by.

“Not so far,” Gus said. “But there’s a group of eighteen from Steinway coming in at one. A birthday party. I’m giving it to you.” The famous Steinway & Sons piano factory was nearby, and its executives often ate at the restaurant. Getting a party to handle was always desirable—a 20 percent tip was automatically added to the bill.

I leaned over and gave Gus a kiss on his cheek. “Thanks. I appreciate it.”

The lunch crowd started to dribble in, and I got busy. I chatted with the regulars and worked quickly and efficiently. None of my customers ever needed to ask for their water to be refilled, or more bread for the table. I always watched over them to anticipate their needs. At a few minutes before one, the Steinway party began to enter. Most of them I’d waited on before, but there were a couple of men I didn’t recognize. Once they were all seated, menus in hand, I came over to take their drink orders and tell them the specials. As I walked around the table, writing down the drinks, I felt the eyes of one of the new men staring at me with a laser-beam focus. When I finally got to him, he looked up and whispered, “Charly, what are you doing here?”

“Excuse me?”

“Why are you waitressing? Is this some kind of joke?”

I kept the smile pasted on my face. “I think you have me confused with someone else. My name is Mallory.”

The man shook his head. “Come on, Charly, I know it’s you.”

“What would you like to drink, sir?”

The man hesitated, a confused look on his face. “I’ll have a glass of the house cabernet.”

I wrote it down, then continued around the table. When I finished, I handed in the order, then refilled the water glasses at another table. I walked over to the bar and waited while the bartender, Freddy, readied the drinks for the Steinway group. Suddenly, I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned around to find the man who had confused me with someone else.

“I’m sorry. I think I embarrassed you.” His eyes looked me over. “It’s just—you look so much like my friend. Your hair is a little darker than hers. She’s more of a golden blonde. But your eyes . . . I’ve never seen anyone else with eyes that color. Like sapphires. And not just the eyes—everything else is so similar. Your mouth, your nose—the same. Charly’s slimmer than you, I think. At least she was back at college. I haven’t seen her since we graduated. I live in LA. I’m just here on a business trip, and they invited me to this party.”

“Mr. . . . ?”

“Findly. Matt Findly.”

“Don’t worry about it. They say everyone has a double somewhere. We probably look somewhat alike. But I’m not your friend.”

Findly chuckled nervously. “Apparently not.” He started to leave, then turned back. “Her name is Charlotte Jensen. Or now it’s Gordon. She married Ben Gordon. He went to school with us, too. I’ve heard she owns an art gallery, somewhere in Chelsea, called Jensen Galleries. You should stop in sometime and see what I’m talking about.”

“Sure.”

Findly nodded and returned to his table. I promptly forgot about him as I went about my work, smiling at my customers, pocketing their tips.





CHAPTER 2

Ben Gordon checked his gold Rolex watch, saw it was past seven, and stood up to leave the office of Jensen Capital Management. As he waited by the elevator, Rick Jensen passed by, stopped, and glanced at his own watch.

“Leaving already?” Rick said.

Gordon bristled. Naturally, his father-in-law would catch his early departure. “Nothing pressing with my clients. Thought I’d meet some friends for a drink.”

“Oh? Charlotte joining you?”

His father-in-law never used Charly’s nickname. Probably thought it wasn’t sophisticated enough. “She’s flying back from an art fair in Toronto. She won’t get in until later.”

Jensen nodded, then walked away without another word.

Bastard, Gordon thought. He knew Jensen didn’t like him, hadn’t wanted him to marry Charly. Given his middle-class upbringing in Queens—his father was an electrician and his mother was a teacher—Jensen didn’t think Ben had the right pedigree. Charly was expected to marry someone like her—a spoiled rich kid raised by nannies and educated in private schools. The only reason Ben was given a job at this hedge fund company was to ensure Charly continued to live in comfort without taking money directly from her father. It didn’t matter that Ben had sailed through Princeton with straight As. His major was politics, not economics, so it didn’t count in Jensen’s eyes. It didn’t matter that Ben had been accepted to Harvard Law School and turned it down so he and Charly could marry. “You’ll be so good at this,” Charly had assured him when she’d urged him to turn down law school and work for her father. “You’re so smart.” Instead, he felt stupid. Stupid for rushing into marriage. Stupid for thinking that making money as an end in itself would satisfy him. Stupid for not walking away from both his marriage and his job.