Dead Ringers (3 page)

They had shared the best of times, and Tess had been with Lili through the worst of times as well, after Lili had woken up in a pile of dirty laundry in the basement of a frat house with her pants around her ankles and her underwear lost forever. Lili had shown up at Tess's dorm room that morning, numb with rage, and they had gone to the infirmary together. When Lili had reported the assault, the university's investigation had concluded that since Lili could not identify her attackers or provide any evidence to support the idea that someone from the fraternity was responsible for whatever drugs had been in her drink, no punishment would be forthcoming. The administration had seemed relieved to have a rationale that allowed them to avoid pursuing it any further.

In the years since they had rarely spoken of it, but Tess knew they both still shared a simmering rage at the injustice. It had taught them to rely on each other, that maybe they could rely
only
on each other. Tess had always admired Lili's resilience. Years later, after the accident, the pain, the kiss, and finally her divorce, it was Lili's example that made it easier for Tess to cope. They'd both had their lives torn apart and found a way to put them back together again.

And they went on helping each other heal as only the best of friends ever could. Their work brought them together occasionally, as with the dig at the Clough House, a documentary about abandoned subway stations, and the bodies discovered in the renovation of the Otis Harrison House. And, of course, they kept visiting the Playwright Tavern, which they'd discovered in their college days.

A block from the Charles Playhouse in the theater district, the Playwright was like a low-rent Sardi's, the walls hung with photos of the famous and semi-famous and no-longer-famous people who'd come into the bar over the years, along with
Playbill
s that stretched back into Boston theater antiquity. They'd seen Mandy Patinkin having dinner the first time they'd gone into the Playwright and waited until he'd been walking out before stopping him to say hello. By silent agreement—that almost telepathic connection they shared—they didn't ask for a photo or autograph, just for hugs. Mandy obliged, held them each by the hand for a moment, as kind and warm as your favorite uncle, and then went on his way.

From that point on, the Playwright had become their favorite hangout. The quality of the food had improved, then fallen off steeply, and then improved again as the theater scene in Boston had undergone a resurgence, but for the most part, they went for the ambience and the memory. As time passed—and especially once Tess became a wife and then a mother—it had been more expedient and sometimes more desirable for them to meet at other bars or restaurants or cafés, but at least a couple of times a year, they found their way back to the Playwright.

Tonight Tess arrived early, about a quarter after six, and sat down at the corner of the bar, putting her thin, green fall jacket on the next stool to save it for Lili. She didn't recognize the bartender, which saddened her, reminding her how infrequently they made a point of visiting their old stomping grounds. Then she pictured Maddie's smiling face and suddenly nostalgia faded. Instead she felt the twinge of guilt that struck her every time she did anything that required an evening babysitter. Her world revolved around her daughter, Madeline, who had her mother's coffee-brown skin and her father's blue eyes.

“What can I get you?” the bartender asked, barely paying attention as he wiped his hands on a small towel and put a coaster on the mahogany bar in front of her.

“That depends,” she said.

He glanced up, really looking at her for the first time, and broke out into a smile. The wattage turned down an instant later, as if he'd suddenly become self-conscious, but she'd seen his reaction and it delighted her. Between her work for the Bostonian Society and being a mom, she'd nearly forgotten what it felt like to share a moment with someone, that mutual frisson that had an electricity all its own. His dark, smooth skin and broad shoulders didn't hurt, but it had been more than just finding him attractive.

“Sorry. I was preoccupied,” he said after a moment. “‘Depends' on what?”

“Whether you still have Newcastle on tap.”

“Ah, so you're the one.”

“Sorry?”

“The one who drinks it.”

Tess smiled and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear, then chided herself for such trite body language. Her shoulder throbbed and she sat up straighter, not to draw attention to her breasts but to ease the burden on the pins in her spine.

“So, you're telling me it's been sitting there for months,” she said, “which means it's gone stale by now.”

The bartender grabbed a glass and then reached for the tap. “Nah. People drink it, but I always tell the owner there are a hundred beers we could have on tap that would sell better. Maybe he thinks it gives the place a certain verisimilitude.”

He poured a perfect pint, paused to make sure, and then returned to the end of the bar and set it on the coaster in front of her. Tess touched the glass and found it cool but not cold, perfect for Newcastle.

“Thanks so much,” she said.

“My pleasure. I'm Alonso, by the way.”

He'd spoken while she had the beer glass halfway to her lips, so she took a sip before setting it down again, and then she put out her hand.

“Tess,” she said. “Well met, Alonso.”

He chuckled softly at her archaic choice of words and then shook her hand. “Well met, Tess. Waiting for someone?”

She glanced at the stool where she'd placed her jacket. “I'm meeting a friend. But if you guys still do that hummus appetizer, I'd love that while I'm waiting for her.”

“Coming up,” he replied. “And two menus.”

Alonso went off to order her hummus and pita chips. Tess wondered if she was imagining the relief she'd seen in his eyes when she'd identified her dinner partner as female.
What are you doing flirting with a bartender?
she thought.

Yet as she waited for Lili, eating hummus on pita chips, she couldn't help wondering what else Alonso might be. What did he do when he wasn't tending bar? Did he have other jobs? Passions? She couldn't hold on to any real interest in a guy with no passions. Really, she knew nothing about this guy except that he could pour a perfect pint and he had just about the most beautiful skin she had ever seen—skin that made her want to touch him. But there had been that moment when they'd first locked eyes, that instant recognition that said,
hey, you don't know me, but I see something in you,
like some invisible thread connected them.

Tess regretted the hummus. Every time the bartender spoke to her in the half hour she spent waiting for Lili to show up, she could think of nothing but garlic breath so strong she feared it would melt his face off.
Hummus,
she thought.
Idiot
.

Alonso was such a pleasant distraction, in fact, that by the time Lili arrived, harried and flushed and looking in total disarray—as she always did—Tess had stopped thinking about her ex-husband's double almost entirely. The pain in her shoulder had subsided and the ache in her spine felt distant, as if it belonged to someone else. She chalked that up to the Newcastle more than to the handsome man serving it.

“Hello, sweetheart,” Lili said, slipping off her rust-colored peacoat. “Sorry I'm late.”

“You're not, really. I was early.” Tess retrieved her jacket and folded it across her knees as Lili sat down.

“Of course you were.” She picked up the menu, glanced at it for several seconds, and then set it down. “They still have that black bean burger. I nearly broke off my romance with it after the last time, but I'll give it the benefit of the doubt. Everyone has an off night.”

Her thick black hair was a mad, shoulder-length tangle, her bone-white blouse wrinkled, and her muted, dark teal skirt twisted slightly around, as if she'd come from a torrid sexual encounter or a very long, fully-clothed nap. With Lili, either was possible but the latter more likely.

The bartender glided over. “Well, hello—” he began.

“Hello yourself,” Lili said pleasantly. “You're new.”

“Lili, this is Alonso,” Tess said.

“He certainly is,” Lili observed.

Tess shot her a look that said,
What the hell are you talking about?
Lili replied with an amused glance and a shrug, as she always did.

“I'm Lilandra,” she went on. “Lovely to meet you. I'll have a black bean burger and a pint of Newcastle.”

Alonso shook his head. “I see. So there are two of you.”

Lili arched a curious eyebrow.

“Apparently nobody drinks the Newcastle but us,” Tess explained.

“Not nobody,” Alonso corrected. “But I'm starting to think the boss only keeps it on tap to bring the pretty girls in.”

“Well,” Lili said, batting her eyelashes ironically, “it's clearly working.”

Alonso arched an amused eyebrow at Tess. “Okay, one black bean burger, and you?”

“Anything but more hummus,” she replied. “Though I'm thinking the blackened mahimahi sounds good.”

Alonso vanished into the kitchen to put in their order and by the time he emerged a trio of scruffy college guys had roosted at the end of the bar, summoning him with a wave. Tess took a sip of beer and glanced over to find Lili studying her.

“What?”

“He likes you.”

“The bartender?”

“Alonnnsssso,” Lili said, leaning over to bump Tess with a shoulder. “Is my Tess finally gonna get back on the horse that threw her?”

A shiver went up Tess's aching spine. “Nick.”

Lili put her pinky into the hummus and licked it off. “Not Nick. Ew. You should never get on
that
horse again. I mean romance, dummy.”

“It's just flirting, Lilandra.”

“Well, that's a start anyway,” Lili said. “Now what were you so excited about when you called me earlier?”

The noise in the Playwright had been a familiar tapestry of sound until that moment. Abruptly it seemed too loud, the laughter and clinking of glasses rising to envelop them so completely that Tess felt almost claustrophobic. She took another long sip of her Newcastle, then finished what was left at the bottom of the glass and immediately wished for another.

Lili touched her forearm. “Hey. What's going on?”

Tess took her hand and squeezed. The noise in the bar receded again and she felt the tension in her shoulders relax. Even after the accident, she had never had a full-on anxiety attack, but she had felt herself on the verge a hundred times.

“It's a freaky thing,” she said.

Lili smiled. “My favorite things are freaky things.”

Tess saw Alonso watching her and lifted her empty pint glass. He nodded to acknowledge her as he served a couple who'd come in together, gave a little wave to let her know he'd be along momentarily.

“I saw Nick earlier.”

“Define ‘saw,'” Lili replied.

“Funny you should say that, but no, I did not engage in ex sex. Thing is, Nick's up in North Conway with his girlfriend, whose name always seems to flee my mind the moment he reminds me.”

Lili had moved her glass and taken to shredding the damp cardboard coaster that had been under it. Now she looked up sharply. “What were you doing in North Conway? Tell me you're not stalking him or something. I thought you were—”

“Fine. I'm fine. Remember, I'm the one who wanted out of the marriage and I feel zero temptation to go back.” A cold little stone formed in her gut. She'd told herself everyone had a doppelgänger somewhere, that most people looked like
someone
else, and that this guy maybe hadn't looked as exactly like Nick as she'd imagined. But now she felt a little frisson of uneasiness that made the skin prickle at the back of her neck. “And I wasn't in North Conway.”

“I'm confused,” Lili said.

Alonso approached along the bar, smiling pleasantly, drying his hands on his bar towel again. The spark that had been jumping between them had apparently been extinguished, because suddenly she didn't want him to stand so near. Conversation about Nick and especially about today's weirdness needed to stay far away from the life of the Tess who flirted with handsome bartenders and worried about her garlic breath. Two worlds, with a wall between them.

“Another Newcastle?” he asked.

“Please.”

Alonso must have sensed that their conversation was not meant to be shared, because the moment he set the Newcastle down, he moved quickly down the bar.

“You want to start over?” Lili asked.

Tess turned on the stool to face her directly. “I was outside International Place today and I saw this guy.… I saw Nick. Only it wasn't Nick. I mean, okay, Nick in a really nice suit but he looked so much like Nick that I went up to talk to him and got totally pissed off when he ignored me and then acted like he didn't know me—”

“Oh, my God,” Lili said. “That's embarrassing.”

“It was. But I was so angry that I called Nick's cell and at first I didn't really believe that he was in New Hampshire because—”

“Because you'd just seen him.”

“Yes!” Talking about it made the little ball of ice inside her start to melt. Tess exhaled and found herself laughing. Her face flushed a bit, both from the beer and the embarrassing memory. “The guy must've thought I was a total wackjob.”

“Crazy,” Lili said.

But there was something in her tone that brought Tess up short, an airy quality that seemed like something more than just commentary on the run-in with Nick.

“You've got that look on your face,” Tess said.

“What look?”

“I know all your looks. This is the I-just-remembered-something-I'd-rather-forget look.”

Alonso interrupted them again, this time with their dinner. He warned Tess that her plate was hot and again seemed to realize it was best to leave them to their conversation.