The Good Twin(6)

“So, what do you think?”

I suddenly realized Adam expected a response from me. I felt myself blush and shook my head slightly. “I’m sorry. I was lost in thought about something. What did you ask?”

“You seem like something’s bothering you. Want to talk about it?”

Did I? Should I just come out and say I’d seen my doppelganger? But the woman I saw through the window wasn’t a ghost. She was real. And before I told anyone what I’d seen, I needed to first find out more about her. I smiled sweetly. “Sorry. I’m all yours now.”

“I asked if you thought we should order a bottle of wine.”

“I’m probably good for two glasses.”

“Any particular likes?”

“You choose.”

Adam motioned for the tuxedo-clad waiter to approach, then ordered a bottle of Puligny-Montrachet. I knew from my waitressing jobs that the bottle retailed for around sixty dollars. That meant the restaurant was charging at least $300. The prix-fixe dinners were $154 each. Briefly, I wondered if Adam was trying to impress me with how much money he had, then thought no. He was single, with no family, and earned enough on Wall Street that he didn’t have to think about the cost of a meal out. I looked around the restaurant, fully taking it in for the first time. Each table was covered with a white linen tablecloth, and heavy mirrors hung on the walls. The room we were in, the main room, contained a profusion of flowers, each table with its own bouquet, and along the walls were tall vases with flowering branches reaching up to the ceiling. The lighting cast a golden glow over the patrons.

“Is this like a busman’s holiday for you?” Adam asked.

“Hardly. Being served in an elegant restaurant is a far cry from waiting on others.”

“Still, you’re in a restaurant five nights a week. Maybe next time we can go to a play.”

He’s thinking next time already. I reached over and placed my hand on his. “Adam, I enjoy spending time with you, but as a friend, that’s all,” I reminded him.

Adam leaned over the table. “I came to New York two years ago, after I finished my MBA. I work six days a week, often till midnight. Sometimes straight through the night. It hasn’t left me much time to make friends. If that’s all you’re looking for, then I’m grateful for that.” Adam looked up and saw the sommelier standing by the table, a bottle of wine in his hands.

“Your Puligny-Montrachet, monsieur.”

Adam nodded, and the sommelier poured a small amount into his wine goblet. Adam twirled it around in the glass, sniffed it, then took a sip. “Perfect,” he said.

The sommelier filled my glass, then filled Adam’s, and quietly retreated.

“There’s no one at your job? Someone there you like?”

“Stan. He’s been great.” He chuckled. “Not exactly my type, though.”

“How about one of the online dating sites?”

“I’ve tried. Met one or two that seemed promising, but then I’d keep breaking dates because something would come up at work, and they lost interest.”

“I’m sorry.”

Almost out of nowhere, a waiter appeared at our table. “Are you ready to order?”

Adam looked at me, and I nodded. “I’ll start with the Salade de Chèvre Chaud, Fondant de Poires épicée, and then the Sauté de Homard et coquilles Saint Jacques a la sauge.” I had studied French in high school, although by now I’d forgotten most of it. Still, I’d always been told my accent was perfect, so I ordered the warm goat-cheese salad and sautéed lobster and scallops in the language printed on the menu.

“And for dessert, mademoiselle?”

“Tarte Caramélisée à l’Ananas. Glace à la Noix de Coco au Rhum.” Caramelized pineapple tart with rum coconut ice cream.

The waiter turned to Adam, who told him, “I’ll have the mushroom and truffle soufflé, the Chateaubriand, and for dessert, the assortment of mini soufflés.”

“Very good.” The waiter gathered up the menus, then left.

Once again, I looked around the restaurant, each table filled with customers. They reeked of money, I thought, eyeing the ultrathin women who were all draped in expensive jewels, and dressed in silks and linens that looked like they’d come straight from a designer’s showroom. Although I looked forward to my meal, I preferred the warmth of Trattoria Ricciardi, where the diners looked like real people.

I turned back to Adam. “So, tell me about your family.”

As he spoke, I half listened. The other half of my brain kept returning to that gallery on Eleventh Avenue, and the woman inside who looked like my twin.





CHAPTER 5

Ben walked into Crown Fitness with just five minutes to spare. Every Tuesday he skipped lunch and played two rounds of racquetball with his oldest friend. He’d been best friends with Graham Deaver ever since they’d both lived in the Electchester housing development in South Flushing. Ben was three when they’d met; Graham, four. Electchester consisted of a group of low-rent apartments mostly occupied by members of the International Brotherhood of Electrical Workers union. Both of their families had moved to their own homes by the time Ben was seven, but they still had remained friends over the years.