I left soon after the sex because the bed was uncomfortable and I prefer to do my walks of shame in the evening, when it's not so bright.
We went out again a couple more times and got along pretty well. I even ended up sleeping over once-because I had one gin and juice too many. You may have noticed by now that I enjoy a plethora of different libations. I'm an egalitarian that way. I don't play favorites.
Our last night together, Mike and I went bowling, and I had one of my accidents. I picked a ball that was too small for my fingers and upon trying to release the ball into the lane-for what I fantasized to be a strike-the ball stayed on my hand and took me down with it. I did a complete somersault, rolling across the slippery wooden lane, ending up in the gutter. Every employee was at my service within seconds, for fear of a lawsuit. Mike and I laughed about it, but I could tell there was a part of him that was scared for me.
After that night together, things started to get a little awkward between us. I felt like I was growing to like him, that we were starting to feel like a couple. I left and didn't speak to him for a couple of days. I wanted to call him but resisted the urge. I didn't want to fall in love with a construction person/actor/Pinto driver.
I finally gave in and called him a week later. He got off the phone quickly and didn't call me back until the next day. Forget it, I thought. I wasn't interested in tracking someone down. I'd seen my friends survive relationships like that, and it looked so unappealing and time-consuming. That was quality time they could have spent drinking.
I had never mentioned to Mike that I worked part-time as a waitress, so you can imagine my surprise when, a few days later, I saw him walk into my restaurant with a gorgeous brunette who could easily guarantee my elimination in a swimsuit contest. Shit.
It was eleven-thirty in the morning and I was the last waitress left before the lunch girls came in. I could not believe Mike was sitting at a table that I was going to have to wait on. The only other option was to walk out, drive home, and never speak to another person from that restaurant again. Unless I could devise some scheme that involved a relative dying.
My mind raced as I considered my options. Even if a relative had died, there was no reason I couldn't physically wait on a table until someone showed up to relieve me. It was all too complicated. Also, the owner of the place had done me a huge favor by paying me under the table, so I couldn't possibly bail on her. I thought maybe I could have the busboy wait on Mike, or maybe the cook, but they all laughed at me when I asked. I didn't know if they were laughing because it was the first time they had seen me in a frenzy, or because they didn't speak English and thought I was telling a joke.
I had to think of something. Going over and introducing myself was not an option. I had to find another way.
Then I got an idea. It was simple. I would not be me. He didn't know that I worked here. I would just be someone who looked a lot like me. I would be my own twin sister. Yes! I could do this. I could pull this off. Why not? He didn't know anything about me. I could have a twin sister.
I walked over with a bounce in my step.
"Hi, guys," I said sweetly. "Can I get you a couple of drinks?"
The color immediately ran out of his face. Probably into mine.
"Hi," he said with terrified recognition. I kept repeating the same thought in my head. I do not know this guy. I do not. I have never seen him before in my life.
"Hi," I answered. "Can I get you any drinks?"
Silence. He was just staring at me. And now she was staring at me too.
I will not give up on my plan, I thought.
"Drinks?" I asked again. Come on, nut bag, play along! I was helping him out of an uncomfortable situation too.
"Um, yeah. I'll take a coffee and, honey, what would you like?" he asked his little muffinhead.
"I'll take a coffee too please," she replied.
"Okeydoke, I'll be right back," I said with the gayest smile ever. I had become a cute, bubbly waitress with a positive disposition. I had just used the word "okeydoke" in a sentence.
The rest of the meal went pretty much the same way-me acting insane but all the time reacting to Mike as if be was the insane one. Every time he looked at me, I just looked back at him with big, crazy eyes as if wondering why this weirdo kept staring at me. Judging by the pallid, green color of his face, he was starting to feel sick. It was nice taking on the role of a friendly do-gooder waitress. I had never been so pleasant to customers before. It almost felt gratifying. I would have to look into that more later.
And so it continued. When the bill finally came, Mike ended up leaving me a 25 percent tip. I wondered if that was a result of his guilt or because of my sunny disposition. He left with his girlfriend, who smiled and waved good-bye. She was nice. I felt bad that she was dating someone who was a complete liar.
About twenty minutes later I was counting my money, getting ready to close out, and thinking about the irony of having paid for this guy's dinner a couple weeks earlier. What an idiot I was. Then, suddenly, I heard his voice.
" Chelsea." Oh, shit. It was Mike. Alone. I spun around to answer before it hit me that I was no longer Chelsea. Panicking, I squinted my eyes to intimate confusion. "Are you speaking to me?" I said.
"I'm really sorry," he said.
"About what?" I asked, acting puzzled.
"About what just happened," he said. "I mean, yes, we're living together, but it's not-"
This is where it gets good.
"Okay," I said. "I need to stop you. I am not Chelsea. I know you've been looking at me very funny, but I'm not her. She's my twin sister. I don't know how you know her or what, but I have no idea who you are." Then I said ever so sweetly, "I'm really sorry."
Silence.
He stared for a bit. "Okay, this is really strange," he said. "You look exactly like her. I mean, exactly."
"Well, we're twins. That can happen with twins."
"So, what is your name?" he asked.
I hadn't prepared for that. What shall I name myself? I thought. All the names of people I'd been involved with started flooding my head. Unfortunately, none of them were girls.
"Kelsea," I blurted out.
"Chelsea and Kelsea?" he asked.
"You should meet our parents." I laughed. I quickly wondered if Chelsea had ever told him about our real parents. Then I reminded myself that I was Chelsea.
"This is unbelievable, you guys are identical!"
I nodded.
"But seriously, you look exactly alike."
Now he was getting on my nerves. Hadn't he ever seen twins before?
"Wait, why didn't she ever tell me she had a twin sister?" he said.
"I don't know, how do you know her?"
"We kind of um… well, we…"
I interjected. "Let me guess, you slept with her?"
"Oh." He felt stupid.
"Yeah, well, Chelsea pretty much sleeps with everyone."
"What?" He was appalled.
"Yeah, she's a real hoo-ha. This happens to me all the time. Men think I'm her."
"Does she do this all the time?"
I sighed. Hadn't I just said that? "Pretty much."
"You mean, she just sleeps with different guys all the time?"
"Afraid so. You should probably get tested."
Silence.
About five seconds passed before Mike sprinted out the door. He didn't even say good-bye, which I thought a bit rude.
"Should I tell her you stopped by?" I yelled after him.
"No."
He was gone.
About two years later I walked into my branch of Bank of America and saw his face plastered on their latest billboard for small business loans. It took me about ten good minutes to figure out how I knew this guy. I wondered if Bank of America would give me a small personal loan for having slept with their poster boy. I wondered if they would give me a small personal loan for sleeping with one of their tellers. I really needed a loan.