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The twins watch themselves hesitate in the reflection of their mirror. An accordion lays across their collars as they pamper themselves for the stage. The lightbulbs’ shine comes and goes, revealing itself with every flicker on their pasty faces. The room is nowhere beautifully lit and welcoming, having been trashed by a presumably less than callous fan the night before.
Lynn begins to write. Her sister turns to her side, stopping her short. A smile unfurls on her face.
“Now is not the time, Evelyn. We can finish it later.”
At that, Lynn lets the pen fall on the table. She doesn't want to do it either, she wants to say, but the owner pays us well. They never stopped being free from danger, and last night proved that. They grew steadily tired of having their name evoked at every turn, every dark bar, every gig hired for, but this arrangement seemed to have promised better. Lynn lets out a small sigh and clasps her hand with Eva's, a tiny nod of reassurance for what's about to come.
The lights are blinding and despite how harsh it was, the twins never felt as loving as they would walk on stage and the curtains would depart by their presence. The infernal punishment defeats its purpose before they even get to their favourite part – the stage lights move about everywhere like a skittish animal than stay on them. It's either part of the play, or the men working backstage know zilch about what they're doing , Evelyn would say bluntly, making Evelyn laugh. The looks are intricate and doting as their vocal cords strict at every chorus, smothering with sympathy and adoration, and words fly off their lips with the synch of every key.
The twins stand and work, putting on a smile as they hold up their hands proudly – an indicated end. The joyous applause that follows could almost tap them of every scrutiny they've ever felt. Evelyn cradles the accordion lovingly while Evelyn thanks them. The twin sisters follow close as they stride down the backstage, their legs tired and their faces flushed, but nothing short of glee. Evelyn begins to tap her feet as they sit, and usually Evelyn would find it embarrassing, of no class, but this calls for a sending evening, so she joins her.
After a nice rundown on their belongings, finding everything proper and where it should be, the twin sisters get to look forward to spending every bit of money they've spared for this evening. This bar is reckoned to be friendly with the sisters despite the poor management, but other than that it seemed to be fine; the twin sisters had grown accustomed to keeping eyes on the back of their heads.
The chair between them screeches as Eva and Lynn stand in coordination and count the money in their coin purse out of precaution, then take a look at the mirror, a special dress for a special occasion with two V necklines (embodied with frills just the way they like it) customised by a very nice seamstress once acquainted with Mr. Lubavitch.
Despite their curiosity, the twins have not dared to leave their drinks, remaining seated among the drunken couples and dubstep music ringing in Lynn's ears. Most stools around them are empty, and Eva had to console her that the bar shares the space with a small but booming restaurant, and that it's no wonder many don't come here just for a quiet chat. Workers swoop the glasses from patrons that come and go; Eva notes the new faces who made a conscious effort to not approach them. Only the bartender is looking out for them over her shoulder every now and then.
Had she not known better, Eva would've thought of her sister's voice nothing more than an ambient noise, and as she looks over to Lynn, she hears her call out to her again.
“I don't like it here, Evelyn. I want to go back to our room, we need to finish our next song.”
“Don't be silly, Evelyn,” Eva replies with a sarcastic smile (the same doubts clouding her mind that she decides against), “we waited for this kind of evening for months, remember? And besides, we need to make an effort to stand out in public, that's what our agent told us to do.”
Lynn pouts. “Mr. Lowell is a sleazebag who only cares about our money, Evelyn. I don't want to listen to what he says.”
Lynn must look soreheaded, because her sister doesn't put effort to continue. She fiddles with her glass of Long Island she still hasn't touched, turned down and the little ice cubes long melted in the cocktail. Lost in thought, Eva doesn't notice it when a figure approaches them unexpectedly close, and Lynn is startled as they shamble on the stool right next to her.
“Miss, I'm afraid you can't smoke in here.” the bartender suddenly appears around, and both sisters now focused on the short interaction next to them, peer over to her.
The woman in question doesn't reply right away. Instead her eyes flick over to the pack of cigarettes in hand, and shakes it as if to toss out a bug.
“Oh, this? Not planning to use them, thank you very much.” she whips her head to the twins, her expression is hard to read as her reddish hair obscures almost half of her face, which is fixed on them for far too long for their comfort.
“I was right. I can't believe it,” she finally exclaims, just loud enough for them to hear. “Eva, Lynn? Is that you?”
The twins turn pale, deathly quiet staring at the unknown woman before them who somehow knew both of their names, pronouncing them as clear as day. To the sisters’ understanding, they never disclosed any personal information to anything that tied back to them, but that also could've been changed, and the shock of it continued to envelop on both of their faces. The woman seems to notice this, and places her hand on Lynn's, needlessly gentle.
“Girls, it – it's me,” she prolongs, “it's me, Sandy. If you don't remember me, that's alright. I can't blame you.”
What could they say to that? Of course they remember, the idea of it only doesn't sound real. It never not relieved bad memories just by thinking about it during sleepless nights, or days spent under the lights in the circus tent – having charged words thrown at them when they weren't any older than the night they escaped.
Eva and Lynn navigate wordlessly with Sandy to a secluded table, still finding it difficult to make sense of what is happening. Eva held her drink so tight that her sister wretched it away; her eyes only stayed on the wispy beam of red resuming her seat in one of the booths.
“You've changed so much!” Sandy quips,“well, of course you did… it's been awhile after all. But look at you now! Jeez, I want to know everything.”
Sandy lounges on her row across them. Her hair frizzes in the air before tucking it behind her shoulders. The twins follow suit; Eva brushes the hem of their dress, ushered to courtesy.
“How would you say? I'm sure you don't want to dwell on the past, so let's talk about today. How you been? I've gone through some inane shit. None of it helpful, sadly. But imagine my surprise when I heard about you! Playing! Here of all places! I mean, it's not everyday you see people such as yourselves. You two are truly special.”
She smiles, her eyes forming half-moons beaming with light like they never left.
“You know… I'm just glad you're okay. You have it going well, yeah? And doing music no doubt! What's that like? C'mon lovelies, talk to me.”
The twins watch as Sandy plays with the box of cigarettes still in her hands. They carefully vow what to say while she lingers in their silence, with anticipation least from judgemental, making out her lined jacket that's been clearly worn out, her silver rings adoring her hands, but most importantly her hair. To their surprise, it is nothing like they remember it to be.
“Most likely, I won't stay for long in this part of town,” Sandy continues, “can't I mean… too expensive to afford it.”
“That's a shame.” Eva says.
Sandy turns her eyes to the table in thought. “Hm, not really. It sucks here anyway. Only two stores around, neither close to come by. There's more to it sure, but that's my main predicament.”
The twins have to agree. Doing groceries has been hard for them ever since they moved out of the Don't Tell Motel. Being almost penniless didn't help.
“What's the name of that song you played back there?”
“Huh?”
“The one you performed on stage. Never heard of it before – oh! You wrote it yourselves, didn't you?”
Lynn gives an affirmative ‘mhm’ . “It's called ‘Goodnight Evelyn’, Eva replies, “we've been meaning to change it, though.”
“Well I think it sounds lovely.”
“No, no we haven't.” Lynn interjects, “It's good as it is.”
Sandy raises an eyebrow. A look of betrayal spreads across Eva's face. “It doesn't even make any sense, Evelyn. No ‘good’ or any ‘night’ is in the song. How are we meant to be taken seriously if the name doesn't flow with the words?”
“It sends a message!”
“Girls, girls. No need to get so wrought up about it.” Sandy's voice fluctuates between careless concern and nosiness. “Why just not change a word or two that fit both to your wishes?”
“It's not as easy as it sounds.” Lynn says, turning back on her sister within a second. “And we are not doing it.”
Sandy doesn't press anything further, but her silence says it all as she takes an amusement to their very clearly serious misfortunes unveiling in front of her. Lynn mentally notes that. Eva grabs her glass of Long Island and takes a sip of the stale drink as an item of gratitude for this evening; enough is enough.
“Anything on your mind tonight, girls?” a woman in a red apron approaches them in seconds. Eva and Lynn recognise her. She clearly works here, and it catches them off guard when she swiftly takes out her tablet and pen again. Haven't they talked to her already?
“Just iced coffee please.” Sandy says.
Lynn looks up at Sandy and then Eva before nervously answering, “I still don't think I want anything.”
The woman clicks her pen. “That's fine. Come by the bar if you're thirsty, sweetness.” she turns away from their booth. Sandy's eyes focus on her as she leaves, prompting to wait until she's out of the earshot.
“The staff here seem overly friendly, don't you think?”
“They've always been like this.” Lynn answers, “we used to play for them often when we first started, and they've been nothing but kind to us.”
“You seem to forget what happened yesterday, Evelyn. They're clearly trying to make it up to us for their incompetence, serving us pity drinks now.” Eva says, not looking up from the table.
Sandy perks up at Eva's words. “Wait, what's going on? Did someone hurt you?”
“There… uhm, there was an accident the night before.” Lynn replies, “but we're fine! We weren't even there. It was just a couple of things that got stolen.”
“Oh dear, you're already getting me worried about you.”
Sandy lets out a chuckle. An unsure one, already burdening herself with their problems, Eva thinks, isn't she?
“I swore to myself I'd never get you two lost.” Sandy starts, “that maybe you being never found, a tiniest bit of hope would rain on me knowing maybe all is well. But it never did.”
“Oh…”
Sandy sighs. Something like a small sign of relief spreads in her chest. “Not until now. I still don't know how to feel about it.”
“I thought we weren't going to speak about the past.”
“Lynn!”
Sandy's head snaps back up from the table. She smirks in fond amusement before she laughs.
“A small lapse of judgement on my part. I apologise, girls.”
She runs her finger through the table almost unserious.
“I'm thinking we move outside once my order arrives. This little corner is no good for our lungs." She removes herself from the booth, already on the move, “do you wanna show me around maybe? Give me a small run of the place?”
The twins look over to each other before rising up at her cue with no less time than they've spent sitting here. Sandy meets them next to her.
“By the way, call me Charlotte.”