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Chapter 15 - Let’s Just Hope The Masquerade Holds.

“Okay, the coast is clear,” Quinne announced to her brunch companion as soon as she received the text from Qianna. “Q2 is on her way to The Pitts. So far the plan seems to have worked. Pops was oblivious to the fact that he has the wrong daughter. Let’s just hope the masquerade holds until at least after the plane takes off.”

“She’ll do fine. You guys have been practicing for this for weeks,” Stella reassured her friend. “Hell, you even had ME confused who I was talking to half the time.”

“I hope you’re right, Stell.”

“The only question I still have,” Stella interjected as she pushed away her tray full of empty plates, “is what are you going to do when you finally get caught? Cuz you know this can’t last forever, right? Eventually you’ll either get made or you’ll have to just confess what you did in order to get back to your correct families. So what happens then?”

“Well . . . We really didn’t figure things out that far ahead, I’m afraid,” Quinne admitted. “I mean, a lot depends on what we find out about our mother and if we can dig up more info on why the dads separated in the first place. If we find out it was all a big mistake, maybe they’ll be open to fixing things and agree to let QiQi and I have at least have some kind of ongoing relationship.”

“And if you find out they split you two up intentionally and don’t want you to have anything to do with each other?”

“Then we’re screwed, I guess. At least until we turn eighteen and can do something about it on our own,” Quinne replied unhappily. “But I really HOPE that isn’t the case. I just can’t see my father doing something like that, Stella. I just CAN’T. There has to be SOME other explanation . . .”

“Some other explanation for what, Peanut?” Justin asked, having come up from behind the girls without either noticing.

Quinne was so startled she almost fell right out of her seat. She used the time it took her to settle herself again to cover while she mentally scrambled to come up with some way to answer Justin. She’d never been much good at lying, especially not when she was on the spot like she was now. Growing up with Brian Kinney as your father - a man who was unapologetically and sometimes bluntly honest - lying wouldn’t have been tolerated, so she really didn’t have much practice at it. The only way she was ever able to successfully lie was when she’d had lots of time to prepare and plan what she would say, neither of which applied here. So she panicked and fell back on her natural snark.

“There has to be some other explanation for why you’re letting Hairy Alex walk all over you about the wedding stuff,” she answered with all the Kinney frankness she had in her. “I mean, he can’t be THAT fucking good in the sack, can he?”

For a full sixty seconds silence descended on the corner of the cafeteria where they’d been sitting. Justin stood there, his mouth agape, staring at Quinne in shock as a red rage-filled flush started to creep up his neck from under the collar of his shirt. Quinne knew she’d screwed up badly. Really, really badly.

“Qianna Lea Taylor!” Justin erupted when he finally found the words of outrage he’d been looking for. “That kind of language is unacceptable! And I do NOT appreciate your attitude either, young lady. My love life is none of your business, thank you very much.” Quinne hadn’t expected someone as generally easy-going and affable as Justin to be able to muster such an imposing glare, but there was obviously steel underneath that sunshiney exterior and his rebuke caused her to shrink down in her seat. Then he took a deep breath and seemed to regather his equilibrium. “But, since this probably isn’t the best place to have this conversation, and since we have a plane to catch, I won't say anything more. How about we just go already? Where’s your stuff?”

“It’s all waiting in the lounge,” Quinne answered meekly.

“Alright. Let’s get going,” Justin replied, his tone thawing out a tiny bit.

“I’ll get your tray for you, Q,” Stella intervened, hoping to help divert the worst of the righteous fatherly anger. “That way you won’t hurt your wrist again.”

“Your wrist?” Justin asked, apparently noticing for the first time the sturdy, black nylon brace on Quinne’s right hand. “What did you do to your wrist?”

“It’s not a big deal,” Quinne answered, able to speak glibly because she’d rehearsed this lie. “I was goofing off last night with some of the other kids and I twisted it. Pooh Bear looked it over though and she thinks it’s only sprained. A few weeks in this brace and I should be good as new.”

“Goofing off? What the heck were you doing?” Justin demanded, a little of his pique still coming through as he gently lifted his daughter’s hand higher so he could look at it more closely.

“Handstands,” Quinne answered, feeling sheepish now.

“Unhhh,” Justin groaned histrionically. “Handstands? Seriously? Why the heck were you doing handstands? Were you drunk or something? Because I can assure you, handstands are pretty much NEVER a good idea, Qianna. Trust me, I know.”

“Of course I wasn’t drunk, Dad. I’m only in middle school, for fu . . . for crying out loud.” Luckily she’d caught herself at the last minute on that one.

“I don’t know, QiQi. I just don’t know about you right now . . . Right now I think I’d believe just about any trouble you got yourself into,” Justin replied, sounding disgusted with ‘his’ wayward daughter. “Let’s just go already before you get up to something even more stupid, okay?”

Quinne stood up, now feeling really anxious. Had she already blown things? She didn’t know what to do to make it better, though. Thankfully, Stella distracted her from her worries by coming around the table to give her a hug goodbye. Meanwhile, Justin left to go get the bags from where Quinne had stowed them in the other room.

“Bye, Q. Good luck,” Stella whispered in her ear.

“I think I’m going to need it at this rate,” Quinne whispered back.

“Just TRY and think like Qianna,” Stella chuckled softly as she let go of her friend. “And text me if you need anything. Or just to vent. I know this isn’t going to be easy, but we’re all pulling for you two.” Quinne shot her friend a thankful smile before squaring her shoulders to follow ‘her’ father towards the unknown.

“Thanks again for all your help, Stell. I’ll let you know how it all turns out, one way or the other.”

As she was walking out of the room, Quinne thought she heard her friend mumbling something about how ‘it would be a miracle if this thing worked’.

“Great start, Quinne, you idiot,” she whimpered under her breath.

Then she steeled her resolve and headed out, following Justin to the rental car for a long, silent, ride to the airport. Luckily, the rest of the trip to California went relatively smoothly. Things were a little cool between them, but that was better than Justin being outright angry at her. She spent most of her time playing games on Qianna’s phone and reading an ebook fanfic story she’d downloaded before the plane took off. By the time they’d transferred planes in Denver for the longer flight to San Jose, Justin had cooled off and begun to talk to her in a more normal way, asking about any plans she had to keep in touch with the friends she’d made over the summer, and about Chase in particular. Quinne was extra careful about staying in character and made sure all her responses would be Qianna Approved.

Things were looking up.

Until they landed at San Jose International Airport and Hairy Alex himself showed up to drive them home, that is.

Quinne could see right away why her sister hated the man. He was as pompous as a peacock, and strutted around like he owned the place. Now, while the daughter of Brian Kinney was accustomed to strutting men, at least her father could pull it off. Hairy Alex, on the other hand, was sorely lacking in whatever it was that men would strutt about. He was a little taller than Justin but still under six foot. From what Quinne could see, he didn’t have much of a body either; he was thick through the middle and hips - although not fat or anything - and not particularly muscular. And the hair . . . Sheesh, the hair. On top of the bushy beard and long curled mustache, there was plenty of hair everywhere else too. There was hair sprouting up from the gap where he’d failed to button the top two buttons of his ugly plaid shirt. There was hair on the backs of his wrists peeking out from below his rolled up sleeves. And while the hair on his head and his beard was all trimmed and waxed slickly back, you could tell that the rest of him was not nearly as well groomed.

But far more unattractive than the hairiness, was the man’s personality. Alex sauntered over to greet them, looking at Justin like he was put out by the tediousness of the chore. Instead of a smile for his fiance, he rolled his eyes when Justin pulled him in for a hug and a quick kiss; maybe Justin hadn’t seen it but Quinne sure did and was immediately incensed. Alex didn’t even bother to look in Quinne’s direction, though, treating the girl like nothing more than a baggage handler, not even offering to take one of her heavy cases. Luckily, Justin handed his bag off to Alex so he could take Quinne’s case in hand himself, leaving her with only her carry on. And then they were all off to the parking garage where Alex had left Justin’s Prius.

Once in the car, Alex started in by complaining about some friend of his who had apparently sent an early wedding gift that hadn’t come from their gift registry. He just went on and on about how tacky the gift was - Quinne actually missed hearing exactly what they had got, she was so bored with the conversation from the first word - and how bad a friend this other guy was. Justin spent the whole ride home trying to placate his fiance. There was not one single word said asking about their trip or Quinne’s summer experiences or anything other than Alex, Alex, Alex. ‘What a fucking narcissistic piece of shit’, she thought to herself at least a half dozen times over the course of the twenty minute drive.

Quinne was so relieved when they finally did reach their destination that she almost bolted out of the car as soon as the vehicle came to a stop in the driveway of a nice, suburban, two-story house with faux-Southwest details and a tile roof. It looked like a fairly nice place, even though it wasn’t anywhere near as fancy as she’d expected for someone who worked in the movie industry. Of course, from what she’d heard, real estate prices in the area were outlandish, so this place was probably worth a lot more than you’d suspect from just looking at it. She hoped she remembered the floor plan layout that Qianna had drawn for her well enough that she didn’t get tripped up trying to find her way to ‘her’ room.

They’d barely made it through the door between the garage and the kitchen before a small, grey, furry body was winding its way affectionately around Justin’s ankles and meowing piteously.

Justin reached down to scratch at the cat’s head, “Hey, Winston. It looks like you missed me, buddy. I was only gone one night though.” Then he looked over at the cat bowl sitting on a little mat in the corner and noted it was empty. “Didn’t you feed the cat, Alex?”

“Sorry. I guess I forgot,” Alex replied laconically as he walked over to the fridge, opened the door, and pulled out a beer for himself without asking anyone else if they wanted something.

Justin gave his fiance a bemused smile before bustling over to the plastic storage box next to Winston’s bowl and scooping out some food for the poor starving beast. It had taken all of 10 seconds to feed the cat; proof that Alex was either the most forgetful man on the planet or the laziest. Quinne frowned in his direction before walking over to give her sister’s cat the hug she’d promised Qianna.

Only, Winston was not amused by this stranger trying to hug him while he was eating. He turned around and hissed loudly at Quinne, holding up one clawed paw in a clear warning gesture. Quinne quickly backed away. Apparently, at least one member of the Taylor family saw through their switch right from the start.

“Winston! That’s not nice!” Justin admonished the cat, who’d already turned back to his food bowl. “Sorry, Honey. I guess you’ve just been away for so long that he’s forgotten you a bit. I’m sure he’ll warm up to you pretty quick once he’s filled his tummy a bit.”

“The damn cat probably just agrees with me how stupid that hat looks,” Alex criticized, smirking over the top of his beer bottle at Justin’s daughter.

“Yeah, well, at least my hat doesn’t make me look like a Yeti. I’m actually surprised you two don’t get along better - not every human can be as hairy all over as a cat, right Alex?” Quinne shot back.

“Qianna . . .” Justin warned, as he too went to the fridge and pulled out two bottles of water, one for himself and one for his daughter. “Be nice.”

“I will if he will.”

“Shit, what got your titties in a twist, girl?” Alex prodded as he started to walk past her to get out of the kitchen.

As Alex passed behind Quinne’s chair, though, he apparently couldn’t resist the impulse to reach out and slap the back of her head, ending by grabbing the top of her beanie hat and pulling it off as he went by. Which, of course, exposed her last secret. Quinne hadn’t been at all prepared for the juvenile trick so it was already too late when she reached up to grab at the hat - her unruly mop of auburn hair was already exposed for all to see.

“Shit, Qianna! What have you done to your hair?” Justin hollered, forgetting for a moment his own rules against cursing, as he reached over to tentatively touch a brunette strand.

“Surprise?” Quinne replied with what she hoped was a winning smile for her father. “I thought it went well with the pierced ears, don’t you?”

“But your hair . . .” was all Justin managed, clearly already in mourning for the loss of his beautiful blond daughter. Then he dropped into the chair next to Quinne, rubbing his hand over his face. “Damn, it finally happened.”

“What?”

“You turned into a fucking teenager,” he moaned despondently. “I never liked teenagers - not even when I was one myself. I don’t know how anyone puts up with them. And now it’s too late and you’ve turned into one too.”

“Well, to be precise, I’m still only twelve, so I’m not quite a teenager yet, Dad.”

“Close enough. You always were precocious and way ahead of your time,” Justin griped.

“Sheesh. It’s just a different color hair, Dad. It’s not like I went out and became a meth addict or something,” Quinne replied starting to get pissed off at the constant criticism.

“It’s not just the hair,” Justin replied sounding way too whiny for an adult. “It’s this whole new Qianna that just appeared out of the blue. It’s the hair and the earrings and the cursing and, most of all, the attitude. I don’t know what the hell got into you over the summer, but I’m not sure I like it much . . . I barely even recognize you, Qianna.” Justin shook his head sadly and then got to his feet, walking out of the room and leaving his daughter sitting there at the kitchen table wondering what the fuck she’d just done.

As soon as Justin was gone Alex, who was still looking on from the doorway, started laughing. It wasn’t a happy laughter though. It was nasty and spiteful and mean. “Looks like big-hearted Jus finally woke up to the fact that his sweet angelic little baby girl is really a big fucking brat like I always knew.”

“Fuck off, Hairy.” Quinne was done playing nice with this troll.

“It’s Alex, you moron.”

“Like I said, fuck off, Hairy,” Quinne repeated, getting up so she could leave the kitchen, intent on finding her room and hiding from the world for the rest of the night while she tried to readjust to the situation in which she now found herself.

“You know, you’re not going to keep getting away with this shit after the wedding. I’m not putting up with a fucking brat always taking my husband’s attention away from the two of us. And I don’t believe in such lax discipline,” Alex warned as she dragged her heavy suitcase past him. “Things are going to change around her, Missy.”

Quinne didn’t bother responding. It would only feed into the man’s narcissism. No wonder Qianna didn’t want to come back here after the summer was over. Quinne almost wished she hadn’t come either. What the fuck did a sweet man like Justin see in this horrible excuse for a human being? Something serious needed to be done to get rid of the man as soon as possible. No way was she going to let this wedding go through and leave her precious, sweet sister to come home to this creep. The only question was, what could she do to stop it?

She managed to find her way to Qianna’s bedroom without any trouble and was more than happy to shut herself away inside. She didn’t feel like putting away her clothing or, really, doing anything else. She already missed her sister and wished the other girl was there to help her fight against the Evil Yeti. Looking at the clock, though, it was clear that her twin was still somewhere at 10,000 feet over the midwest. But, on the off chance that she had wifi on the plane, Quinne sent out an SOS text using Qianna’s phone since her own was currently in her sister’s possession.

Qianna’s phone: I HATE (with all caps and several !!!) Hairy Alex. We HAVE to do something.

Quinne’s phone: Sounds like you had a great homecoming . . . NOT! Sorry. I tried to warn you about him.

Qianna’s phone: He basically threatened me that there will be ‘discipline’ after the wedding is through. And he also outed me about my hair. Your dad is definitely not happy with you right now. I may have cursed a little more than strictly needed. This is a lot harder than I thought it would be.

Quinne’s phone: Ouch. Don’t worry about Dad, though. He’ll get over it once he’s wrapped his head around all the changes. It’s Alex that scares me. I seriously wouldn’t put anything past him.

Qianna’s phone: After meeting him, me neither . . . So, how’s everything going with Pops? Any problems?

Quinne’s phone: Nope. Smooth sailing so far. He’s been busy doing something work-ish the whole flight so we haven’t really interacted much. I also think the new shoes he bought yesterday are a size too small and pinching his feet, cuz he took them off as soon as we got on the plane. I tried to tell him, but he insisted he HAD to have them even though they didn’t have that style in his real size. Poor guy.

Qianna’s phone: Well, at least one of us is amused and having a good time.

Quinne’s phone: I miss you already.

Qianna’s phone: Me too. Soooooooo much. I think you’re definitely getting the better end of this deal, Sis.

Quinne’s phone: Hang in there. I’ll call you tonight and you can vent to me all you want. And I love you tons and tons for doing this for me.

Qianna’s phone: You better! Okay, later.

Quinne’s phone: Later!

Quinne set the phone aside and stretched out on Qianna’s bed. She really hadn’t believed Qianna about how truly bad Alex was. Now she knew. He was definitely all wrong for Justin. And it was up to HER to fix things. So, how to stop a wedding that was scheduled to happen just a little more than two weeks away . . .

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“Another of your little friends from camp?” Brian broke into Qianna’s train of thought as she ended the text session with her twin. “You haven’t seen them for what - three hours - and you already can’t do without them? That must have been some bonding you guys did back there.”

“I do miss them. Especially my roommate,” Qianna admitted. “Apparently she and her dad’s fiance got into it pretty much the minute she got home. He’s a nasty piece of work, that one. I wish I was there to help her. We’re trying to figure out a way to stop the wedding.”

Instead of being angry or trying to dissuade his daughter, Brian just laughed at her pronouncement. “Knowing you, Spark, you’ll find a way. I wouldn’t try to stand in your way once you set that scary brain of yours to something. I almost feel bad for this troll. He has no idea what he’s up against.”

“Thanks, Pops. I think,” Qianna replied, joining in on the laughter.

“If you’re serious about stopping this guy’s wedding, though, you should enlist your Auntie Em,” Brian suggested helpfully. “He’s saved enough weddings from near disaster over the years that he’s probably got a good idea how to reverse the process.”

“Thanks, Pops! You’d make an excellent co-conspirator, you know?”

“Except for the fact that I don’t want to officially know whatever it is you’re doing,” Brian advised. “That way I have plausible deniability when I have to bail you out of jail or defend you in a civil suit or save you from whatever other mischief you get caught up in, Spark.”

“Got it! Good call, Pops. That way we’ll at least have an emergency back up plan if we get caught.”

“In the immortal words of Sergeant Schultz, ‘I know nuffink!’” Brian replied with the most atrocious German accent ever invented, causing them both to break out laughing all over again.

“You know, you’re not such a bad father when you’re not making me shop till my feet hurt,” Qianna volunteered when the laughter had finally bubbled down to the occasional, random chuckle. “In fact, you’re kinda hilarious.”

“I missed you too, Kiddo,” Brian offered, reaching across to playfully rub his daughter’s head, an affectionate gesture that was familiar from way back.

Only, this ‘daughter’ didn’t realize what he was intending. A startled Qianna leaned away from the raised hand. And because of the jerky counter motion, instead of just the light pat to her head that Brian had intended, something which wouldn’t have disturbed her hat much at all, his hand ended up dragging the beanie halfway off. She tried to grab for it, but several blonde locks had already escaped and slithered free across the breadth of her forehead. Of course Brian saw and immediately pulled the hat all the way off.

“Blonde? Seriously?” Brian asked with a dismissive twist of his lips. “Aren't you too smart to pull off the ditzy blond airhead look, Spark?”

Qianna just shrugged without comment.

“I mean, I figured I’d eventually have to deal with blue or purple or rainbow with sparkles . . . but blonde? Isn’t that a little unimaginative? Or were you going for the bleached-out escapee from the FoxNews white-supremacist-anchor-woman-line-up look?”

“You’re not seriously giving me shit for NOT coming home with purple hair, are you? Cuz, if so, you are undoubtedly the weirdest father I’ve ever met,” Qianna opined with amusement.

“Hey, there's a reason for the stereotyping that says blondes are just plain stupider than everyone else; I didn’t invent all of those dumb blonde jokes. Hell, I still remember when your Uncle Ted tried going blond back in his midlife crisis days. I swear to fuck his IQ dropped twenty-five points the second that bleach touched his scalp. If it weren’t for Blake finally saving him from himself, who knows what Ted would’ve tried next.” Brian chuckled quietly to himself for a moment, obviously lost in fun memories from the past for a couple seconds. “Honestly, I’ve only ever met one blond that was smart enough to break through the stereotype, and he was so smart he scared the fuck out of me. But everyone else . . . Well, I guess he was just the exception that proved the rule, as they say.”

“Then I guess you’ll just have to make a second exception for me, Pops, because the blond hair is staying for the time being,” Qianna declared stubbornly.

“Whatever,” Brian easily gave in with his typical live-and-let-live approach to life. “But, if I hear you’re quitting the STEM team and trying out for the cheerleading squad instead, I’m coming after you with a bottle of dye. Be warned.”

“Yeah, I don’t think you’ll have to be worrying about that anytime soon, Pops. And if anything like that does happen, you have my permission to take whatever steps are necessary to bring me back to sanity.”

“Good. Now, go do something smart or techy or mathy so I don’t worry so much.”

“I love you, Pops,” Qianna gushed as she leaned her head against the tall man’s shoulder.

“Ditto, Kiddo.”

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