The Secret Sister

a car accident. It wasn’t so far from the truth anyway since my mother had faded away into a tragic death. And Dennis and Birdie might as well be dead for all I knew. So I claimed no sisters, no brothers, no baggage. It was easier that way. Starting with a fresh, blank page made it easier to steer the conversation towards the details of his life instead.
Besides, all those years in foster homes had left me damaged by profound grief and burdened me with a chronic sense of loss never acknowledged by anyone in charge. I was a troublesome weed to be ripped from the ground at a moment’s notice, my identity wiped out with every new placement – every new start. My childhood was dominated by a series of hasty, careless decisions that left me feeling so uncertain and so insignificant I withdrew into a state of cold impassiveness. I trusted no one. Except Birdie.
Impermanence had been the guiding factor in my life and always would be, as far as I could see at the time.
Guy and I went to the theater on our third date. The grand old Orpheum Theater in all its red and gold glory. I loved musicals, but usually couldn’t justify dropping a hundred bucks or more on a night’s entertainment. Especially when every spare penny was going towards keeping my credit cards afloat.
With Guy there was no question about whether we’d go or not. He simply chose the best seats and booked them. This new experience of taking what I wanted without asking how much was a heady one that gave me a rush so intense it felt sexual. Voluptuous. With Guy I could reinvent myself. Live from one hedonistic moment to the next. Indulge like a glutton in everything I craved. The pre-theater gourmet dinner, cocktails at intermission, a nightcap at a plush nightclub, all concluding in a comfy ride to his place, cradled in the soft leather upholstery of his black BMW. I’d seen my share of bachelor pads but Guy’s was a male boudoir. A sandalwood-scented corner penthouse with a wall of floor-to-ceiling windows that revealed a glittering panorama of city lights spread out below. The space exuded masculinity with its cinnamon and gray painted walls, gleaming walnut woodwork and king-sized bed piled high with embossed silk pillows. Nudity felt natural among all that sumptuousness, so I slipped off my dress and fell naked across the gray silk sheets. Thoughts of rent and bills and microwave dinners slipped away as Guy fed me glass after glass of fizzy champagne from a fragile crystal flute, then turned me over to kiss my back from head to toe. We made love and fell asleep in a state of alcoholic bliss.
“Move in with me,” a voice whispered in my ear sometime during the night. “I can’t get enough of you.”
In that half-sleep, curled under silky sheets, I peered at the eggshell gray of the morning sky and a city I now looked down on from above. I knew I could never leave this place. This kind of world had always been beyond my reach, but Guy would be my passport to a new and lavish lifestyle.
I wrapped my legs around his lean body, stroked the smooth skin of his back and said yes.
Next morning I woke with only a vague memory of making a life-changing commitment. Guy was propped up against his pillows watching me rub my eyes and come to.
“You look like a kitten,” he said. His eyes, large and vulnerable without the protection of glasses, searched my face. “Did you mean it?”
“Mean what?” I rolled over and buried my face in the pillow. “I have a sick hangover.”
“You know what I’m talking about.”
“And I have to be in class in less than an hour.”
“Forget class. I’ll pay you to stay away today.”
Propping myself up on one elbow I traced a finger down the feathery hair of his chest. “Are you soliciting favors, Mr. Franzen?”
“Can’t you see I’m trying to become your exclusive customer.”
“I’m a teacher, not a hooker.”
He flipped himself on top of me and smoothed my hair back from my forehead. “Stay, Anna. You won’t regret it.”
“I’m very expensive.”
“Money no object.”
“In that case, pay up,” I whispered.
He reached over to the bedside table and opened the top drawer. When he turned round, he was holding a wad of twenties.
“Enough?” he said, grinning.
I lay back, spread-eagled. “Shower me.”
The bills floated down onto my skin. Twenties, fifties. At least a thousand dollars. I was so turned on I could barely get the words out when I called in sick. We spent the rest of the day in bed.
Since I was already in arrears with the rent, the landlord was only too happy to get rid of me. Even forgave half the outstanding rent when he rested his greedy little eyes on the wad of bills I offered him. He lined up a new tenant in a matter of days.
Guy offered to rent a van to move my stuff but I told him not to bother. Years in the foster system had taught me the art of the hasty move. Back then all my belongings were stowed in one garbage bag. Toys, clothes, treasures and all. Now I could barely get it all into a couple of suitcases.
So I purged. I wanted to leave all the cheap stuff behind. That junk had no place in Guy’s upmarket condo. I went through every closet, drawer and cupboard to empty the place and felt no regret when I bagged about three quarters of the discount clothes, in preparation for the shopping frenzy I had planned. Since I’d be living rent free with very few expenses, I’d have a whole lot more spending money. I’d finally hit the big one.
It didn’t seem to matter that we’d only known each other little more than a week. I was an old hand at impromptu new beginnings and this new home looked way more promising than some of