She slept in as long as she could, hoping to avoid her slightly happier twin. She knew Aggie was unhappy about the money. Her twin was worried that she wouldn’t see Jimmy again after tonight. Angela could read a man’s eyes fairly accurately and she knew Jimmy wouldn’t let her sister disappear from his life. She wasn’t sure what kind of offer he would make, but knew it would be generous. And Aggie had the daily satisfaction of great sex with a man she adored. Angela knew her discontent was indefensible, but whenever she saw Aggie the green worm turned in her stomach.
After Aggie left Angela couldn’t stand to sit alone in the quiet hotel room. She pulled on jeans and a bulky black sweater, encased her feet in heavy boots and her hands in warm mittens. Feeling like a real Canadian, she crammed a Vancouver Canucks toque her father had bought her onto her head and walked out into the night. She had no conscious destination. She walked along the waterfront in the opposite direction from Jimmy’s apartment, past the deserted sandy beach and through a grassy park. She ended up below a bridge and decided to turn and follow the road it carried back into downtown.
Angela saw by the first street sign that she was on Burrard, a major thoroughfare. The weather didn’t seem to intimidate Vancouverites. Even on a chilly damp Saturday night, the streets were clogged with cars and the sidewalks with pedestrians. Angela felt safe and anonymous as she huddled into her coat and walked slowly uphill toward the center of downtown.
Small white Christmas lights glittered like stars in the dozens of trees around the Vancouver Art Gallery and down to the courthouse. Angela smiled thinking that the city would always have a white Christmas. Late shoppers hurried along laden with post-Christmas bargains. A men in a business suit talked on a cell phone as he strode past. Two women clutching briefcases hovered on a street corner, waiting impatiently for a green light. The work week never ended for some.
Angela acknowledged her unconscious destination about a block before the building loomed into view. The massive green roof was gray in the near gloom of urban night, but she recognized the gaping tunnel that was the taxi entrance to the Vancouver Hotel. She walked across the entrance road and around the corner to the front of the building. Though her body was toasty warm, her face was cold. She decided to treat herself to tea in the most elegant dining room the hotel offered. She hoped they wouldn’t turn her lumberjack persona away.
She pushed her way through the heavy glass double doored entry. The interior of the vast lobby was softly lit and warmly inviting, dotted with conversation groups of richly upholstered sofas and chairs. She didn’t notice the tall businessman seated across the room until he rose and began to walk toward her. It was Richard. Angela thought for an instant that he hadn’t recognized her, that his approach was random, that an encounter would be unwelcome and awkward. Her eyes darted for an escape route.
As if sensing her impulse to flee Richard quickened his pace, and Angela knew he wanted to meet her, to talk to her. Relief flooded into her bones and her face flushed from alabaster to peach. She snatched the stocking cap off her head and ran her fingers through her tousled hair. She must look a disaster.
“Hi.” Richard’s approach was simple and direct.
“Hi, Richard.” Angela held out her hand. “I’m Angela.”
“I know.”
He hesitated for one second and Angela pulled her hand behind her back just as he lifted his. He stood waiting with his hand outstretched and eventually Angela swung her sweating palm into his. He squeezed tight and held on a fraction too long. He took a deep breath.
“Can I buy you a cup of coffee?” he offered.
“I was going to have tea.”
“I can buy tea too,” Richard smiled.
He must have taken her comment for assent, because he placed his hand on the small of her back and guided her through the lobby and into the coffee shop. The name was a misnomer, for the room was more elegant than most three star restaurants. Richard asked for a table by a window and they sat facing each other across a narrow expanse of crisp white linen.
“How have you been?” Richard asked.
“Fine,” Angela lied. Then she realized, it was time to stop lying. She began again. “No, I haven’t been fine.”
Richard waited.
“I don’t know why you’re even willing to talk to me,” Angela said defiantly, staring into his eyes.
The waiter interrupted them and Richard ordered tea and a sandwich tray. It seemed the order was for them both, for the waiter bowed and left silently. He seemed to take her defiance with him.
“How much do you know?” she asked with a sigh.
“I think I know everything,” Richard responded.
She wished he would at least smile, give her some indication where they stood.
“You know I was a prostitute in New York?” she asked.
“Yes.”
“And…?”
Now it was Angela’s turn to wait. Richard sat silently looking at her for several moments. The waiter brought a pot of tea and two fragile china cups and saucers. He poured them each a cup.
“I’ll bring your sandwiches as soon as they are ready, sir.” He almost bowed and then disappeared, leaving silence behind him at the table.
“It’s hard to believe, seeing you looking like a relic from the northern territories,” Richard finally spoke.
If he wanted her to make excuses, to deny, he would be disappointed.
“It’s true,” Angela said flatly. Can you deal with it? The challenge was unspoken but clearly understood.
“My mind keeps picturing,” Richard explained without finishing his sentence.
“Don’t.” Angela reached across the table and patted his hand. She was being unfair. No man should be asked to accept that the woman he wanted had been a prostitute. “Let’s just enjoy our tea and then I’ll leave. I know the whole situation is impossible for you.”
Richard looked both relieved and anguished. He took a gulp of tea and must have burned his mouth. He choked and grabbed his water glass.
“Sorry,” he sputtered at last. The word held a multitude of meanings.
“Did you spend a pleasant Christmas?” Angela turned the subject into neutral territory.
“No.” Richard didn’t follow her lead. “Angela, I…”
She waited for him to continue but he stared instead at the teacup as though it held the wisdom of the universe.
“What is it, Richard?” she prompted.
“I’ve done worse than you’ve ever contemplated,” Richard blurted.
“What?”
“I’m not the upstanding citizen you think, Angela.”
“What could you possibly have done?” Angela was incredulous.
“When I was in my final year of law school, I got drunk and drove. I hit a lamppost; my girlfriend was almost killed.”
“My God,” Angela breathed. She reached across the table for Richard’s hand.
“She rejected me. I wanted to take care of her, but she wouldn’t let me near her.”
“Has she ever forgiven you?”
“She has; her family hasn’t.”
“Have you forgiven yourself?” Angela asked the more important question.
Richard’s smile was thin; his answer, silence. Angela rubbed his knuckles.
“I can never practice law,” he continued, his hand a clenched fist in hers.
“Jimmy calls you his lawyer.”
“He rescued me. Hired me to be his assistant.”
“What happened to the woman?”
“She’s in a wheelchair. Jimmy hired her too. She manages a data processing division in Kamloops. She’s married now, with two kids.”