Twelve Nights Read Online Free PDF Page A

tomorrow, Aggie. This is getting to
me, Boo. I gotta go.”
    Angel heard her sister’s sob as she hung up the phone. She
wondered whether she would be able to carry out her plan, but what was the
alternative? On October twenty-eighth, Angel had written a letter to the box
number on the classified ad. The odds were one in a lot, but still better than
a lottery, she hoped. The ad said over thirty; she was twenty-eight. The ad
said normal. Hah. Who was normal, anyway? The ad said no prostitutes, so Angel
borrowed her twin’s persona, right down to name, occupation and social security
number. And photograph.
    Angel hadn’t gone back to work. She had enough money to last
a few weeks and she needed time to think, time for the bruises and the memories
to fade. But by February she’d be out on the street with no rent money. Either
this guy came through or she’d be back to work on her back.
    A week later Angel had gotten an express delivery to the
post office box she rented. The form letter requested further information
regarding her application. Annoyed and sure now that the ad was a scam, Angel
had scrawled ‘Thanks anyway’ across the questions, and sent the pages by return
mail to the box number of the ad.
    Two days later a dozen red roses had arrived at her
doorstep. The card said only, ‘Sorry for the inquisition.’ Angel’s address was
private; her phone unlisted. The arrival of the roses made her think that maybe
some guy did have a hundred twenty thousand dollars to throw around. And that
maybe he was a little scary. The next day when the phone rang, Angel hesitated
before picking up the handset.
    “Hello.” She used her Aggie-voice just in case.
    “Is this Agnes Trout?” The voice was a young man’s.
    “Yes. Who is this?”
    “You remember the personal ad?”
    “You placed the ad?” Angel asked. The voice was too young
and innocent.
    “No,” he responded. “My brother did.”
    “Is this on the level?” Angel asked. “How did you get my
phone number? It’s unlisted.”
    “I liked your letter, Agnes.” The man ignored Angel’s
question.
    “Call me Aggie,” Angel answered automatically. “Did you send
the flowers?”
    “Did you like them?”
    “They’re beautiful. Why did you send them?”
    “He shouldn’t have sent the letter.”
    “Who?”
    The young man again ignored her question. “He was
suspicious. You gave a New York box number but you work in Cincinnati.”
    “I explained that. I’m visiting my cousin.”
    “Not your sister?”
    “I don’t have a sister,” Angel lied. “Why are you calling
me?”
    “I can’t talk him into interviewing you.”
    “Your brother?”
    “My brother’s lawyer.”
    “Lawyer?”
    “There’s a contract. So you can’t sue.”
    “Look,” Angel searched for words. “What’s your name?”
    “Danny.”
    “Look, Danny. This is too complicated for me. Lawyers and
contracts.”
    “A hundred twenty thousand dollars, Aggie.”
    It was a lot of money. Enough to move her out of New York.
Enough to buy her out of prostitution. Angel swallowed her protest.
    “You’re right,” she agreed. “Look, who is your brother?”
    “I can’t tell you.”
    “Would I recognize his name?”
    “Probably not.”
    “Is he in the mob or something? I don’t want anything…”
    “No,” the young man interrupted. “He’s smart-rich, not
crooked-rich. Anyway, we’re Canadian.”
    Maybe Canada wasn’t as mob-infested as the United States.
Still Angel couldn’t picture a rich legit guy putting an ad like that in the
paper. But then, would a legit woman answer it?
    “Okay, Danny. I’ll answer the questionnaire.”
    “It’s too late. The lawyer got angry and threw away your
letter.”
    “Then how did you find me?”
    “I remember things. Be in Vancouver on December 15 th .
That’s a Monday.”
    “A Monday,” Angel repeated.
    “I’ll send you a ticket. Take a cab from the airport to the
Vancouver Hotel. Check into the Queen Anne suite. I’ll