Just Like Me, Only Better (14 page)

The first hour of extensions was downright entertaining, as Stefano told me about coming out as a gay man in upstate New York. (“If you think the NRA is a queer-free zone, you are sorely mistaken. Talk about the ultimate phallic symbol . . .”)

I longed to hear more about Haley, but we both understood that it was bad form to gossip about her in her own house. Besides, our voices might travel through the vents.

“You have any good celebrity stories?” I asked him.

“Thousands,” he said. “But, tragically, respect for their privacy and my career—but mostly my career—prevents me from repeating them.”

By the second hour, we were both kind of worn-out. Normally, Stefano told me, he’d have an assistant helping him, but given the “confidential nature” of the assignment, he was on his own.

By the third hour, it was downright painful.

“My butt hurts,” I said. My scalp wasn’t feeling so great, either.

“Your butt?” Stefano shot back. “How do you think my fingers feel? And my back?”

“My neck is stiff,” I whined.

“So you’re saying I’m a pain in the ass
and
a pain in the neck?”

We had a good laugh.

He rubbed my shoulders. “Bear with me, pumpkin. I’m almost done.”

That’s when Haley chose to make her entrance. “Steeeee-ven?”

“Sugarplum!” He chucked a chunk of hair and the plier thingy on the counter. He might as well have chucked me there, too; that’s how invisible I felt. He gathered Haley in his arms, actually lifting her a few inches off the ground.

“Nobody told me you were here,” Haley mumbled into his shoulder. In place of a velour track suit, she wore black leggings and two layered tank tops, one pink, one mint green. It was not a good look. And I disagreed with Simone’s assessment that Haley was two sizes smaller than me. One, maybe.

Stefano—or was it Steven, after all?—stroked her tangled hair, which was just a few snarls away from being classified as dreadlocks. “You were sleeping, princess. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“I’ve been awake for, like, two hours. Esperanza brought me breakfast. And then I was just lying there. If I’d known you were here . . .”

“Don’t you worry, sunshine, we’ll get you going right now.” They moved toward “the throne” and stopped dead when they noticed that somebody was sitting in it. She looked vaguely familiar. Who was she again?

“Hi, Haley.” I tried to smile.

“Oh,” she said.

“Do you want me to, um . . .” I looked at Stefano. “Do you want to finish the extensions later?”

“If you wouldn’t mind.” He gave me a big, grateful smile that suddenly seemed very fake.

“No problem.”
I’m being paid by the hour. That’s all that matters.
“I’m getting kind of hungry, anyway. I’ll just, you know. Be in the kitchen.”

I was a few steps out the door when I heard Haley say, “I don’t really get why she’s here.”

Stefano laughed—louder than he had with me. “You’re one of a kind, sweet cheeks. One of a kind.”

As I examined the contents of Haley’s pantry (multigrain bread, soybean butter, sunflower seeds, herbal tea, protein powder, dried Shitake mushrooms) the urge to call Nina almost overwhelmed me. The only bad part of my new job was the effect it was having on our friendship. Since I couldn’t imagine spending a lot of time with Nina without spilling the details of my shadow life, I was basically avoiding her.

The day I’d gone to school with my new blond hair, she’d done a double take in front of the boys’ classroom.

“Oh. My. God. Britney Spears!” She came over, mouth and eyes wide, and touched my hair.

I looked at the ground. “It was—you know. I thought—maybe a change . . .”

“I like it!”

“Really?”

“Maybe not forever, but it’s sexy. Strong. The new you. Not that there was anything wrong with the old you.”

“Hank liked it.”

She scowled. “Tell me you’re not doing this for Hank.”

“Of course not!”

“For Ken?”

“No!”

“Because I heard that the two of you were pretty chummy at the Cub Scout thing.”

“Who told you that? Terri?”

She shook her head. “Holly Wert. You don’t know her.”

“How does she know who I am?”

She shrugged. “She knows Hank, and you’re Hank’s ex-wife.”

“Oh.” That made me uncomfortable. “Ken and I are just friends. Seriously.”

“If you say so. But the blond hair’s hot. I mean it.”

“Thanks.”

“You want to do something this weekend? I feel like I haven’t talked to you in forever. I still owe you a dinner. Maybe we could check out that new Mexican place on Harbor?”

“I can’t,” I said quickly. “I have . . . there are things I need to get done.”

“Oh.” Her whole body tightened. “Maybe some other time, then.”

“Sure.” I forced a smile. “That sounds fun.”

 

 

Haley’s refrigerator offered a better selection than her pantry: baby greens, bottled peppers, barbecued chicken, smoked salmon, a drawer full of cheeses. I toasted a couple of slices of multigrain bread and made myself a chicken sandwich.

I was sitting at the counter when Jay came through the garage.

He blinked at me. “Veronica,” he said finally.

“Did you think I was Haley?” I put my half-eaten sandwich on the plate.

He shook his head and then tilted it to one side. “No. I was just trying to figure out why your hair looks uneven.”

“Because it’s not finished.” I touched a long bit. “Haley came down while Stefano was working on my extensions, so it just seemed, like, well, she wanted to get her hair done, and Stefano . . .”

“Gotcha.” He peered at my plate. “Esperanza make that?”

I shook my head. “She’s not here. You want me to make you one?”

“No!” he said, appalled by the thought of food that hadn’t been produced in a commercial kitchen or by a domestic worker. “So Haley’s . . .?”

“In the guest bathroom.”

He nodded and crossed the kitchen. At the door, he turned and said, “Are you doing anything tomorrow?”

For a moment, I thought he was asking me out. “No,” I said, surprised to realize that I kinda, sorta liked the idea.

“Because I’d love to get you and Brady together. For breakfast or coffee—something casual.”

“Brady Ellis?” Was he serious?

“Nothing romantic,” he elaborated. “Just a photo op to show that Haley’s over him. That they’re friends.”

“Brady Ellis,” I repeated.

“Yeah. You know—Haley’s boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever. He’s my client, too, and I’m pretty sure he’d be happy to help Haley out. I just need to talk to him first, get him up to speed.”

“Breakfast with Brady Ellis,” I said, as if the words could make it real.

“Or maybe just coffee. That okay with you?”

I grinned. “Anything to help Haley.”

 

 

It didn’t even occur to me to wonder how Haley would feel about my “date” with Brady until she caught me going through her closet.

“Oh, sorry,” I said. “I hope you don’t mind that I’m, uh—I like your hair.”

It really looked good: long and gold and sleek.

She rolled her eyes up toward her layers and shrugged. “Yeah, Steven’s awesome.” It wasn’t modesty she conveyed so much as recognition that the hair wasn’t really hers.

“So, I guess he’s ready for me then?” I asked.

“He said to tell you to give him fifteen. Esperanza just got back. I think she’s making him something to eat.”

“Okay. Thanks.” I started to back out of the closet.

“Did you need something to wear?”

“Well, yeah. Just . . . Jay wants me to go out tomorrow. So I need something casual. But cute. I mean, so
you
look cute in case anyone takes pictures.”

She bit her lip and squinted at the mass of clothing.

“It’s with Brady,” I blurted. “Just breakfast or coffee—something really platonic.” My cheeks burned. Haley’s face was a complete blank.

I turned my attention back to the overstuffed racks. “Most of these probably won’t fit me,” I said. “But maybe if you’ve got some more of your fat clothes?”

That got a reaction. “Simone is such a bitch. Here.” She pulled a simple denim sheath off a hanger.

The fit wasn’t perfect (my butt was bigger than Haley’s), but it was close enough, and Haley dug out a pair of pink cowboy boots that I fell in love with immediately. They hardly hurt at all, at least as long as I didn’t try to walk in them. She let me dig through her drawer of costume jewelry. I picked out a silver lariat necklace, dangling earrings, and a chunky pink bracelet.

Haley offered a final touch. “Take Pookie.” Pookie was a fuzzy pink koala backpack.

“You think?” I said, reluctantly reaching out.

“Oh, definitely. It’s totally me—just sort of fun and goofy, not all boring and grown-up.”

“Right,” I said. “Sure.” Even the girls in Ben’s first grade class would think Pookie too juvenile, but what did they know.

 

 

Stefano (Steven? I wanted to ask but didn’t dare) took about an hour to finish up my extensions, and then he gave me the rundown on their care. I could wash and style them like my regular hair, as long as I was careful. In a few months, they’d have to be readjusted for hair growth. Would I still be pretending to be Haley in a few months? Well—why not?

Stefano acted the same as always: glib, giggling, and adoring. But for me, things had changed. After hearing him gossip about Haley and then seeing the way he fawned over her, I couldn’t help but wonder what he really thought.

Was that how Haley felt about everyone?

 

 

 

W
hen I climbed into Rodrigo’s little car Saturday morning, he said, “It’s early—you want me to find you a Starbucks?”

“Thanks, but I had coffee at home.”

He moved his sunglasses from the back of his head to the front and pulled into traffic. “That’s so excellent that you get to meet Brady.”

“Yeah, it is. Though I’m kind of, um—” I stopped myself before I could say “freaked out.”

Rodrigo caught my blush. “There’s nothing to be nervous about. Brady’s a genuine person. It’s too bad he and Haley couldn’t make the relationship work.”

“Why’d they break up?” I asked.

He shook his head. “She won’t talk about it. I’d actually be really curious to hear his side of the story. Love your hair, by the way. I’m not sure I told you yesterday.”

I touched my head. “It feels weird—all these little clumps where the extensions are attached. I got my comb stuck in one this morning.”

“Ouch.” He turned the radio to an R&B station and hummed along.

Had Rodrigo been stealing some of Haley’s happy pills?

I adjusted my trucker hat and slipped on the aviator shades. They’d gotten scratched since the last time I’d worn them, making everything out of my left eye the slightest bit warped.

And then I remembered. “How did your meeting go yesterday? Weren’t you talking to somebody about your script?”

He sighed with pleasure. “It was phenomenal. Finally, someone gets me.”

“That’s wonderful!” It just went to show: if you work hard and you hold on to your dreams, anything can happen.

Eyes on the road, Rodrigo said, “You know, I haven’t told anyone this, but I was thinking of just quitting the whole Hollywood scene and going home. That’s how bad everyone had made me feel about myself.”

“Well, thank goodness you didn’t! Does this mean someone bought one of your screenplays?”

He tilted his head this way and that. “We haven’t signed anything yet. Which does cause me some anxiety. But they really, really liked the second screenplay. They just want me to modify it a little bit, kind of play up some of the minor characters.”

“I’m happy for you,” I said.

He looked away from the road three times to check my face for sincerity. “Thanks,” he said finally.

As long as we were such good friends, I asked him about something that had been puzzling me. “Why does Jay dress like such a slob?”

“It’s his way of showing people that he’s too important to bother with a little thing like personal grooming. Usually it’s the writers who dress that way—I never will—but Jay identifies with the creatives.”

“Is he really that important?” I asked.

Rodrigo snorted. “Jay’s only important for as long as he has Haley.”

 

 

I thought I’d have a good hour to get dressed at Haley’s house before heading out for my hot date—oops, I mean “brief platonic encounter”—but when I walked in the front door, Jay looked up from his laptop and said, “The spray people just called. They should be here in five minutes.”

“The spray people?”

“Yeah. So you should probably get changed. There’s a bikini waiting for you in the guest bathroom.”