Doppelgangers

I was sitting in the poker room, thawing out–it’s the warmest room in the club with the most comfortable chairs, I think to encourage customers to stay there indefinitely and gamble,though some people don’t even need to be in the room to pour hundreds of dollars into those stupid machines, but that’s a different story and I digress–and the doll-faced new redhead walked in.

She sat down and smiled at me. I smiled back and kept scrolling through tumblr, trolling for good book blogs. “My feet are killing me,” she said. “What a slow night. Sitting near you is like sitting near a mirror.” Before I could think of anything to say to that, or even smile again, she continued, “I think I have diarrhea.”

I turned a bark of laughter into a cough as the one customer in the room twitched but pretended he hadn’t heard. She kept going. “I think it was something I ate.”

“I think I’m up next!” I rose, smiled apologetically at her, ran.

Later she found me again.

“Can I take a picture of you?” Without waiting she raised her phone. “My friend is just so mad that there’s another redhead! And you have the name I wanted! He’s like, ‘Who is this other Red?’ and I was all, ‘No she’s pretty’ and now he wants to see you!”

I ducked behind my book. “Um, I really don’t want to–”

“Aw come on!” She kept pointing the phone at me as I cringed behind my not-nearly-big-enough book. “Got you!” I flinched. She displayed the screen proudly and I saw a red blob next to a blurry The Ladies: Female Patronage and Restoration Drama. She looked at the picture and frowned. “Can I get your face, it’s not really in the picture.”

Horrified. “Um, no.”

She pouted, but finally left.

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