Twisted Sisters (25 page)

“Hey, that’s my
sister
you’re talking about.”

“Do you deny that she’s a pretentious head case?”

I cross my arms over my chest. “I wasn’t aware that options traders were also mental
health diagnosticians.”

He taps a couple of sugar packets into his iced tea and tosses the empties into the
window well. “Look, she was always bossy and controlling and self-important, but she
went full-on stalker after we broke up. She kept running past my house and calling
and texting. I felt sorry for her. I was embarrassed for her. Clearly she couldn’t
get over me.”

I’m trying hard to maintain Geri’s happy-go-lucky facade, so I force a laugh. “Heh,
yeah. But I’m curious—what was up with the booty calls? Like, why would you
sleep
with her if you didn’t want to
be
with her?”

He flexes his pathetic chest muscles under his dress shirt. “I have needs.”

My smile doesn’t reach my eyes, but I’m determined to appear chipper because I’m finally,
after all these months, homing in on the truth. “Do you have any idea what kind of
mixed message your behavior sent? Why didn’t
you
leave
her
alone? She’d be to the point where she was almost over you and then you’d call and
say you missed her. You’d hook up and she’d think you were reconciling. She may have
been”—I hesitate to say this—“a tad high maintenance before the breakup, but you shoulder
plenty of blame after the fact. Plenty.”

Sebastian folds his napkin and places it on the table. “Geri, why do you care? She’s
always been entitled. Since when does
Dr.
Reagan Bishop appreciate a single thing anyone’s ever done for her? Remember when
your dad found her house before it went on the market and then lent her the cash for
the down payment? She never even thanked him, even after he gutted three bathrooms
and a kitchen in his off time.”

I swallow hard. I thanked him. Of course I thanked him.

I couldn’t not have thanked him, because that would make me a monster.

Shit.

I immediately make a mental note to buy my father the best Christmas present ever.
Do sixtysomething men like ponies?

But that’s not the end of cut-rate Keanu’s diatribe. “My aunt used to work with your
mom in the mayor’s office. Did you know Maggie pulled all those strings to get Reagan
into Taylor Park? And that’s not all. Then your mom used her influence to funnel clients
Reagan’s way when she opened her practice. Ten bucks says Reagan never knew she had
help. Twenty bucks says Reagan definitely never thanked your mom for anything.”

No, I was admitted to Taylor Park because of my grades . . . wasn’t I? I was a terrific
student. Granted, there were ten thousand applicants for a hundred openings, but I
surely earned my spot myself. I guess it didn’t hurt that Ma was employed by the mayor,
but she’d never take advantage of a situation like that.

Or did I have a perpetual leg up and I didn’t even realize it?

Shit, again!

A cruise. That’s it. I’ll send Ma and Dad on a cruise. I have tons of savings, so
I can totally do this for them. A nice one, too, Mediterranean, maybe, and not on
the line that’s perpetually losing power and ruining everyone’s vacation with sewage
running through the halls.

“Reagan is not a decent person. At all. That’s why I don’t care how things shook out
with us. And you, most of all? Jesus, Geri, you just take her abuse. You let her pile
it on. She’s never had your best interests in mind, so I don’t understand why you’re
always defending her.”

Geri was always defending me? I had an inkling, but this is confirmation.

He tosses his hair again. What was wrong with me? Was I so desperate to not be alone
that this was somehow attractive to me? Also, his obsession with volleyball? Since
when did I care about volleyball? Boyd conquered the mighty Pacific with sheer beauty,
grace, and athleticism, whereas Sebastian batted around a puffy white ball like an
enormous LOLcat. So not the same thing. Why was I willing to subjugate what I liked
to accommodate him?

“You always put her first. Remember when I met you guys at that party for the mayor?
I was interested in you but you insisted Reagan and I would be better suited. You
said she’d been on her own for a while and you wanted to see her with a nice guy.
You made us dance together and you’re the one who put her contact info in my phone
when I specifically requested yours. When I called? Thought I was reaching you.”

This is certainly news to me. Numbly, I nod.

“I initially went out with her to get closer to you. When that didn’t work out, I
rolled with it. Didn’t have anything better to do. Figured I’d take our relationship
to its logical conclusion and then I’d circle back to you. Oh, thanks, babe.” Sebastian
glances up through his bangs at Brandi as she serves us our soup.

She raises an eyebrow at me, clearly disappointed that I’m dining with this joker
rather than Kassel and his goofy quotes. Sebastian takes a rather slurpy sip, and
it’s all I can do to not jam the spoon into his trachea. “I’m psyched you’re here,
though. Those times I asked you out and you were all, ‘We can only ever be friends.’
Knew you’d come around, babe. They always do.”

My rage begins to percolate. “Can I ask you something, Sebastian?”

He takes another slurp. “Sure, babe.”

“Why are we here?”

“Existentially?”

“No, why
this
restaurant? Of all the dining establishments in this city, why’d you take me here
to this deli? You’re always Facebooking selfies at beautiful-people places like Carnivale
and Japonais and MK. Why’d you bring me here and seat us by the freezing-cold window?”

I’m pretty sure of the answer, but I won’t have the closure I require until I hear
him say it.

He flips his hair again. “Reagan goes to the gym up the street. Figured it’d serve
her right if she walked by and spotted us out together.”

Suddenly, I’m very glad to have ordered the soup.

Because it gives me something to dump on him.

•   •   •

When I get home, I’m still stinging from Sebastian’s admissions, but seeing him stunned
and humbled, soup dripping from every strand of smarmy hair on his smarmy head with
Brandi slow-clapping in the background, I finally feel that chapter in my life is
over.

Perhaps I didn’t handle our breakup well, but he definitely exacerbated the situation.
I wasn’t aware he was capable of such treachery and I’m relieved to know I wasn’t
crazy to think he was toying with my emotions.

In retrospect, I understand that Geri was genuine in her support and she wasn’t just
singing my praises to elevate her own profile. Here she had the perfect opportunity
to screw me over with Sebastian and she continued to conduct herself entirely aboveboard.
Were our positions reversed, I’d have never returned the favor, and that is my failing.

Sure, she used to tease me about the
Battle of the Network Stars
, and she’d occasionally bite back at me, but I’m realizing her good-natured ribbing
came from a place of love, not scorn.

In this past week and a half, I’ve worked to give Geri the push that she needs to
live a more successful life, yet the changes I’ve made have been on my terms, not
hers. And I’ve screwed up the one thing that would make her happy, and now it’s incumbent
on me to fix it.

But before I can make a plan, there’s a knock at my door. Earlier, I heard Trevor
and Bryce coming in and out, so it’s probably them. They’re going to be thrilled to
find (me inhabiting) Geri, so I put on my brightest smile and I open the door. Only
it’s not the boys—it’s Deva.

She takes one look at me and says, “Sweet Goddess, Reagan Bishop, what have you done?”

That’s Just Nuts

“What do you mean? I’m Geri, of course,” I say, trying to play it off. I lean against
the doorjamb as though to block her entry. She’s clad in head-to-toe Eskimo gear.
Her coat consists of a number of skins crudely pieced together, and I’m almost positive
I smell whale blubber. I’m half tempted to check the street to see if she’s substituted
a dogsled for her Lambo.

Deva’s not buying it and she’s as mad as I’ve ever seen her. Considering I’ve never
actually witnessed her getting angry, this is significant. She shakes a large index
finger at me and points at the amulet around my neck. “Don’t get precious with me,
Reagan Bishop. I’d recognize your aura anywhere. Explain yourself.”

“How was Thailand?” I hedge.

“The
Philippines
were lovely and I see what you’re trying to do. Stop it, Reagan Bishop. Now, let
me in and tell me what fraud you’re perpetrating.”

I step aside and she marches in. She pushes past me and goes straight to my bedroom,
throwing open the door to expose Geri resting comfortably inside my shell. “Aha!”

“Shh! Don’t wake her! She’s going to come to soon enough and I don’t want to have
to explain this.”

“Do you know how many laws you’re breaking right now, Reagan Bishop?” Deva fumes.

That stumps me because I actually did some research and there are no laws, per se,
dealing with inhabiting another person’s corporeal shell. “Actually, no, I checked.
Technically, I’m not violating any laws.”

“Then you’re breaking every karmic law! Body swapping just so you can torture your
sister is unacceptable and—”

I interrupt, “But I’m
not
torturing her. I’m actually trying to improve her life. Please, sit down with me;
I promise I’ll enlighten you about everything.”

Deva and I head to the kitchen, where I explain the whole sordid tale while I begin
to brew some decaf.

“You’ve accomplished quite a lot in the past few weeks, and I applaud your attempts
at personal growth,” Deva grudgingly admits. “The eating thing was starting to be
a problem—I’m not going to lie and say it wasn’t annoying. And that’s coming from
someone who has a spirulina smoothie for breakfast. I’m curious as to how you’re going
to explain the big gaps in Geri’s memory.”

“I’ll tell her she had a weird Asian flu followed by a bad reaction to a Thanwell.”

Deva is incredulous. “You expect her to believe she lost almost two weeks of memory,
despite having lived her regular life every day, Reagan Bishop? Would she not then
consult a physician about this mythological flu? Or have testing done in regard to
the Thanwell?”

“My plan was not without flaws,” I admit.

“This is what happens when you use the amulets for evil, even if you did eventually
come around. Perhaps it’s time that you leave the metaphysics to me, Reagan Bishop.”

“I don’t disagree.” The kettle whistles and I take it off the stove. Then I measure
freshly ground beans into the French press and add the boiling water. “This needs
to sit for two minutes,” I explain.

I place the carafe on a tray along with a couple of mugs, spoons, some napkins, and
a small pitcher of milk. “Do you want sweetener? I may have some maple sugar here
somewhere,” I say, scanning my cabinet.

“I come prepared,” she replies, rooting around in her enormous carpetbag for a couple
of squeeze tubes of agave. “This is not my first rodeo at your house, Reagan Bishop.”

When the coffee’s ready, I push down on the plunger and then pour us both a cup. Deva
swirls in her sweetener while I add a splash of milk.

“How do you anticipate righting the Kassel situation?” Deva asks. “What if you’ve
cost her her position on the show?”

“I repeat, my plan was not without flaws,” I say. “But I’m going to fix this. All
I need to do is see Kassel in person. He doesn’t go to LA for Christmas for another
day. I’ll show up, I’ll tell him about the bizarro behavior-influencing Asian flu,
and all will be well. He liked her enough in the beginning to overlook one unfortunate
brunch. Trust me, he’s into her. All she needs to do is apologize for hurting his
feelings with the creeper comment. I’ll say she had terrible PMS.”

Deva simply raises an eyebrow at me in response.

“Fine, I won’t say
that
. But I’ll take care of the situation tomorrow, then I’ll hop back in my own body,
and when Geri wakes up tomorrow night, I’ll explain how we discussed all the stuff
about her business plan while she was under Thanwell’s influence. It’ll all be fine.
Trust me.” I blow on my coffee and take a sip. Perfect!

“What you’re claiming is that there will be no lasting costs, Reagan Bishop?” she
asks with furrowed brows.

I scratch my arm and neck. Note to self: Buy new lotion. What works on me may not
be moisturizing enough for her. “Why are you so skeptical? Believe me, I’m on this.
All is well. I learned my lesson and it’s no harm, no foul.”

My throat tickles a little, so I take another sip of my coffee.

“It’s my experience that my powers can have unintended consequences when not used
for good.”

My coffee must be too hot because suddenly my lips are tingling. I rub them vigorously.
Plus, the dry winter air must be getting to me because my whole back itches right
now.

Deva explains, “Last year, I assisted an old classmate with righting some karmic wrongs
via bending the time/space continuum and—are you okay, Reagan Bishop? Your face looks
a bit full.”

I’m about to crack a joke about Geri’s face always being full, but then I remember
that I vowed not to say anything else hurtful about her, even in jest.

See?

New leaf, totally.

“Have you any allergies, Reagan Bishop?” Deva asks, narrowing her eyes. “Is there
a problem with coffee or are you sensitive to milk?”

I try to reply and I find that I’m struggling to draw a breath. How could this be
an allergy?
I’m
not allergic to anything.

I take another deep breath and I feel like I’m trying to suck air through a cocktail
straw. The room begins to spin and my heart races.

I glance wildly around the room, my gaze falling on the carton of almond milk still
on the counter. The last thought to pass my mind before I black out is, “I guess it
really was her ham sandwich.”

•   •   •

“You tried to murder me.”

“No, definitely not, I would never do that, Geri. Truly, I have a whole new appreciation
for you.”

I’m sitting in the stiff plastic chair next to Geri’s bed, resting a comforting hand
on her knee. Thanks to Deva’s quick thinking (and amulet removal) (and carpetbag containing
an EpiPen), the visit to the emergency room has been more of a caution and less of
a necessity. They’re keeping her overnight for observation, though. Apparently you
do not just treat and release Maggie Bishop’s kid, no matter how long ago she retired
from city government.

Geri bats my hand away. “Do you have any idea how effed up it is to wake up in the
hospital and find out some psycho has been working me like a life-sized puppet for
almost two weeks? Have you any clue how
wrong
that is?”

“Hey, how come you didn’t swear just then?” I asked.

“What?”

“You said
eff
instead of dropping your usual f-bomb. I was curious as to why.”

Geri is livid and there are spots of high color on her cheeks. Although that could
be the adrenaline.

“What is wrong with you, Reagan? Like, what is your damage? You almost frigging kill
me and then you’re concerned about my
word choice
? So typical. You take a situation that is entirely your fault and find a way to use
it to criticize me. It’s frigging ridiculous.”

“There, you did it again with the
frigging
. That doesn’t discount my actions, and make no mistake, I owe you, yet I’m truly
curious as to your sudden curse aversion. My God, you were like a stevedore before
with all the graphic profanity.”

Geri uses the remote control to raise the back of her bed so she’s in a sitting position.
“What does this have to do with fighting bulls?”

“I believe you’re confusing that term with
matador
. A stevedore is a longshoreman. A dockworker.”

Geri fumes, “This? Right here? Is why no one likes you.”

I nod. “I know, right? And
you
were the one who taught me that. I owe you a tremendous debt of gratitude. If I hadn’t
stepped into your life, I’d have never discovered what was wrong with mine.”

Geri flashes me a look of contempt. “I’m so glad I could be of service. Not. Look
at you—you’re still so smug. God. You almost kill me and you act like you’ve somehow
done
me
a favor by turning it into being about you. Again. As always. Well, guess what? I
don’t
need
your help. I was doing fine on my own. You want to do me a favor? Then just get away
from me, Reagan. Exit my life. Go live your miserable existence and leave me alone.”
She turns her back to me.

“I’m sorry, Geri. You likely don’t believe me and I don’t blame you. I haven’t been
terribly kind to you in the past. You deserved two big sisters who were interested
and invested in your life. Instead, I fought you constantly and I took delight in
showing you up. I tried to steal your limelight at every opportunity. That’s shitty
and I apologize. But in living as you, I’ve discovered how amazing you are. You’re
a wonderful aunt and the best sister Mary Mac could ask for. You’re fantastic to Ma
and Dad. Your clients love you and your styles are second to none. And your voice?
OMG, you sing like an angel. Well, maybe an angel after a booze and smoke bender,
and I mean that in the best possible sense.”

Geri says nothing in response, so I continue. “I wasn’t a good person, but maybe if
I’m allowed to be your big sister now, I could figure out how to be better going forward.
I’m sorry and I love you.”

She remains silent.

Finally, I rise and start to take my leave. “Okay, I’m going. But don’t worry about
the Kassel stuff. I’m heading to his place because I want to come clean in person.
He needs to know because I imagine he’ll want to see you before he leaves for LA.
So . . . I’ll see you later?”

I’m to the door when I hear her say, “Kylie was picking up some bad language. I wanted
to swear less because of her.”

“Kylie’s a little sponge when it comes to words and information, isn’t she? And she’s
absolutely lethal when it comes to playing Candy Land. Of course, Kacey Irelyn hates
Candy Land but she’ll play Barbies like no one’s business. If your plotline is compelling
enough—especially if there are teenaged vampires—Teagan will faux-reluctantly join
in as well.”

Geri turns back around to face me. “Hey . . . did you really help me lose six pounds?”

“I’m sorry about that. I was wrong to try to change you. You’re perfect the way you
are.”

Geri lets out a ragged exhale. “I might possibly be okay with a few less pounds of
perfection.”

“I’d have lost more if it weren’t for Mary Mac’s spareribs.”

“The best, right?” We smile at each other. “I’m still furious with you, though. Maybe
slightly less so. You’re going to have to make amends to me, Gip. Like a penance.”

This is progress.

“Tell me when and where.”

•   •   •

“I’m not sure whether I should fire you or give you your own show.”

Kassel was highly confused when I showed up at his condo and even more so when I began
my convoluted explanation. But he was so delighted to hear he hadn’t blown it with
Geri that he was willing to listen to everything I had to say.

“How about I resign? My contract is up for renewal; how about I just don’t sign it?
I feel like I’ve gotten so far away from the practice of mental health that I feel
like the world’s biggest fraud and I can’t keep perpetrating the lies.”

Maybe this is my penance.

To give up this job.

I won’t be famous and I won’t be rich.

But maybe I’ll be happier, and that’s a fine place to start.

“I still don’t understand why you would go to such lengths with the guests,” Kassel
says.

“Are you kidding? ‘Big, big, I need it big! I need flattened cats! I need bingeing
and purging!’
I felt like I had no choice,” I explain.

“So you’re saying it’s
my
fault?”

“No, ultimately these were my decisions based on my unequivocal need to succeed at
everything I do. I should have just failed and moved on.”

Kassel considers what I’ve said. “Maybe your resignation is fortuitous, because we’re
making some changes to the show.”

“Like what?”

Kassel opens the briefcase sitting on the coffee table and begins to rifle through
a stack of papers. “Looks like test audiences are tiring of the big, emotional climaxes.
They don’t want flattened cats; now they want more of a game-show element. More slime
pits. They seem to connect with people being bashed with large, foam-covered reticulating
arms. I’m meeting with the network while I’m out there with Walt to determine exactly
what happens next.
I Need a Push
may end up a literal statement.”

“You’re going to make guests eat bugs, aren’t you?”

He gestures toward the mantel. “My six Emmys point to yes.”

“What do you suggest I do with the guests like the equestrian and the guy who was
afraid to fly? Do I contact them? Do I offer my services free of charge?”

Kassel shrugs. “Listen, Peace Corps, they understood that what we were doing was for
entertainment purposes. Haven’t you ever read the fine print in the credits? They
received both personal and home makeovers, quite a bit of compensation, and in some
cases, Ford F-150s. Plus, DBS is paying for follow-up therapy to anyone who wants
it.
I Need a Push
was never about mental health; it was about putting on a show. Mission accomplished.”

“Then why do I feel like this is such a loose thread?”