Read Online Two of a Kind by Yona Zeldis McDonough - Free Book Online Page B

what she judged to be her house. At his side stood a woman and a child. Both wore scarlet saris; Christina assumed they were mother and daughter. And yes, they were all standing directly in front of her house. Why? But before she could ask, they saw her and, appearing startled, retreated. The man ushered the woman and child into a black Mercedes that had been double-parked by the curb, and the driver took off, driving much too quickly down the street. She did not see the plates on the car, only two heads—hers sleek and dark, his swathed in its nimbus of white—as the car sped away.
    The sound of a door opening attracted her attention and she turned to see one of her next-door neighbors, Charlotte Bickford, standing on the stoop with a sour expression on her face. Had she noticed the Indian family too? But Christina would not ask; she thought Charlotte—who never cleaned up after her wretched little dog and whose loud, drunken shouting matches with her husband were often audible—was a detestable person and she kept her distance.
    Christina wondered about the Indians as she let herself inside. Yes, Park Slope had become a much more moneyed enclave in recent years. Still, this block and certainly her house were hardly the most outstanding examples of what the neighborhood had to offer. Why were those people looking at it? And why had they sped off when they saw her? They had seemed almost . . . guilty. But of what?

SIX
    T he sun was just coming up as Christina drove across the Brooklyn Bridge the following Saturday. There was scarcely any traffic and the white Saab sped merrily along, its windows rolled down to admit the breeze. The illuminated green numbers on the dashboard read 5:26; she’d be at Andy Stern’s apartment by 6:15. She slid a CD—
South Pacific
—into the car’s player and sang the words to “Happy Talk” right out loud along with the recording. She’d never,
ever
sing if anyone else was in earshot, but the warm June morning, with its pink-gold sky and fleecy clouds, was hers alone and she could indulge. Besides, she was in a good mood. Mimi had called to say Phoebe Haverstick had really liked her vision for the house and, while the job was not yet hers, she was in serious contention. And surprisingly, the job with Andy Stern had not been nearly as bad as she had anticipated.
    She was over the bridge in a matter of minutes, and followed the signs for the FDR Drive. Now she could see the East River on her right, its rippling surface turned dull pewter in the morning light. Andy’s apartment had views of this river, and he did love them; appalling as Christina found the building, she found they seduced her too.
    The FDR was as scantily trafficked as the bridge, and she decided to get off at the Sixty-first Street exit, park the car—an urban miracle—and duck into a café on First Avenue. She bought a latte and a scone; she enjoyed both while sitting in the parked Saab across from Andy’s building on East Sixty-ninth Street. She would have bought Andy a latte and a scone too, but she’d already been exposed to his tedious views on eating and didn’t think he’d permit himself either.
    At exactly six fifteen, he emerged from the building’s doorway. He wore pressed khakis and one of those shirts with an alligator appliqué sewn on the front of it. The shirt was more revealing than the usual button-downs and blazers she’d seen him wearing and she had to admit that he was certainly in great shape, very lean and muscled. Slung across a shoulder was a backpack with the linked initials
RL
stitched all over its surface. Did he wear
anything
that didn’t double as an advertising platform? Well, yes—the logoless baseball cap that was on his head.
    â€œYou’re right on time,” Andy said as he opened the door and slid into the passenger seat. The backpack came off and was stowed by his feet.
    â€œThere