This story is dedicated to the women of Montreal and Quebec City. In keeping with their heritage they are truly cultured, stylish, and beautiful.
I have never understood why Anita can sometimes be such a complete bitch and sometimes such an angel.
She is intelligent, educated, and extremely beautiful, just as I am. But that is totally predictable. After all we are identical twins. Our mother is French Canadian, and our father is English.
Most of the time Anita is an amiable, vivacious, and likeable human being. She is extroverted and extremely popular with both women and especially men. She is sophisticated and well dressed in keeping with her job in banking.
I, on the other hand, work as an archivist and am quiet and introverted and have few friends. I dress more simply than my sister, and my mother once told me that I am dowdy. I’m sure that she was not trying to be cruel but nonetheless her comment was very hurtful. I am not good with men, and I get tongue tied if I am asked to interact with them socially.
When what I am going to describe happened I was 27 years old and a virgin, and I was very keen to get laid before I was a year older. I just didn’t know how to do it.
1
My sister and I shared a house in Québec City. It was in Vieux-Québec (Old-Québec) and belonged to our parents. I felt so privileged to live there.
Québec City is one of the oldest European cities in North America. It is the only fortified city north of Mexico that still has walls and is a UNESCO World Heritage Site. It is characterised by its narrow cobbled streets, stone buildings, and French Canadian culture.
Most of the population speak fluent French and only around forty percent speak reasonable English. Our French, Québécoise French, is a dialect of European French.
The day it started was a July Saturday in the late afternoon-early evening, and we were riding on The Old Québec Funicular railway (Funiculaire du Vieux-Québec) to the Lower Town (Basse-Ville) when I saw him looking at us.
I thought that he was the most attractive man I had ever seen. He was tall and slim, and well dressed in a casual sort of way. He had peppery brown hair and piercing, intelligent, blue eyes. Those eyes alighted first on me, probably because he saw me looking at him, and then moved appraisingly backwards and forwards between the two of us before looking away.
My sister was fully made up and wearing a blue designer dress whilst I was in blue jeans and a white tee shirt. I wore very little make up. We were a very incongruous pair of identical twins, but both tall dark-haired and beautiful in our different ways.
And then I saw him studying us again. This time he was a little more brazen than before and as I looked away in embarrassment Anita finally noticed him and gave him a smile.
In that moment, my heart dropped. I knew with absolute certainty that if he was available and Anita wanted him I would not get a look in. I consoled myself with two thoughts. One was that he was looking at Anita and not me, and if I had been alone he wouldn’t have been interested. Another was that with or without Anita I wouldn’t know where to start getting to know him.
A little later we were walking down the Rue de Petit-Champlain when we saw him again. We were walking towards The Boulevard Champlain at the south end, and he was on the other side of the narrow street. He crossed toward us as my heart started to skip beats and my mouth go dry. I just didn’t understand my response at the time, but it was ” love at first sight” or more properly “second” sight.
In French “un coup de foudre” or a thunderbolt.
“Excuse me do you speak English.”
His voice was mellow, and his accent was a nondescript English one.
As I stood there trying to compose an answer, Anita replied.
“Yes we do.”
“Do you know of a decent mid-price restaurant near here?”
Anita took her opportunity,
“We were just about to eat ourselves. If you aren’t with somebody there’s a good place nearby we’re on the way to. You are welcome to join us if you like.”
And just like that he was hooked.
We sat in the restaurant, ate fish, and drank white wine. As usual Anita talked and I listened, and so did Matthew; that was his name. To be fair to her, she is witty and a good conversationalist. The only problem was that I had heard many of her stories before, and she didn’t need to sell herself to me, although she was turning the charm on for him.
During the course of the meal we learned that Matthew was a 35 year old British metallurgist who was employed in the aerospace industry in Montreal. He had been In Canada for 6 months and was taking the opportunity of a week’s holiday to visit Québec City. He was single and had been advised that the girls of this city were the prettiest in North America because they had the fresh looks of North American women but the style and dress sense of the French.
And he smiled when he said this, and my heart fluttered. And then I looked down at my blue jeans and up at my sisters dress but when I looked at him he seemed to be looking at me.
Eventually we drank our coffee and settled the bill equitably and Matthew announced that he needed to go back to his hotel and pack and then get an early night because he was getting an early morning flight back to Montreal. So we said our goodbyes and left the restaurant with James hurrying away in a different direction.
He got about twenty yards down the road when Anita called after him, and when he stopped she ran up to him and they had a brief discussion and exchanged notes. Then she leant upward and pecked him on the cheek and smiled at him before he walked away.
“What was that,” I said.
“Phone numbers.”
And inwardly I grimaced.
When I got home we watched a little television and then since I was tired I decided to have a reasonably early night and showered and went to bed.
I was woken in the wee small hours by the sounds of the bed in my sisters room and it was soon apparent from the moans and groans that there was somebody with her, and that somebody was fucking her. And I was absolutely sure that I knew who that somebody was.
As I lay in the dark listening to the sounds from her room the thoughts in my head went around and around.
Why was I so shy and stupid?
Why hadn’t I indicated to James I liked him?
Why didn’t’ I dress more like Anita? But if I did what difference would it make if I sat like a lemon and did nothing?
And then.
Hadn’t Anita seen I liked him?
And I felt hurt and betrayed, and with tears in my eyes I covered my ears with the pillow and finally fell asleep.
2
The next morning, despite the fact that it was a Sunday, I woke early. I dressed and went into the kitchen where I tidied, laid the table for our customary late breakfast, and prepared for our Sunday evening meal. A little time later Anita appeared dishevelled and bleary eyed.
“Busy night?,” I inquisitively asked.
She smiled and disappeared back into the bathroom, and I heard the shower running. Half an hour later she was sitting at the kitchen table drinking coffee and nibbling on a piece of toast.