Twisted Sisters

by Jen Lancaster

  I challenge him. “What about your girlfriend?”

  “What girlfriend is that?”

  “The Hooters waitress?”

  “Nonexistent. Pretty sure Reagan’s still spying on my profile, so I made her up and posted on my Facebook so it’d get back to her.” He reaches for my hand across the table, but I quickly busy myself with my napkin to hide my shock.

  Now, that’s patently unfair! I haven’t been to his Facebook page in months, save for making our date last night, and that wasn’t even as me.

  I ask him, “To what end? Why make up a girlfriend?”

  Sebastian flips his bangs out of his eyes again. Did I like his ridiculous hair when we were together? Because now I kind of think Morrissey called and wants his look back.

  “Eh, I wanted to make sure she’d leave me alone. Figured if she thought there was someone new, particularly someone who was her intellectual inferior, she’d stop trying to compete and finally move on.”

  A waitress approaches and she peers down at me. “I’m sorry, do I know you?”

  Are you freaking kidding me? Here? Now?

  She says, “You were at the Original Pancake House a couple of weekends ago. I’m Brandi, remember?”

  I have a newfound appreciation for people who are friendly, so I enthusiastically reply, “Oh, right, you’re the actress!”

  Brandi laughs. “Mostly I’m the waitress. I have a handful of shit jobs and I work nights and weekends so I can have my days free for auditions. You do what you gotta do, right? Anyway, you ready to order?”

  I’ve barely said, “Seb, you go ahead. I’m not that hungry,” when Geri’s stomach lets out an audible growl.

  “Don’t go all Reagan on me,” Sebastian insists. “Give her a Zookie the Bookie sandwich and a matzo-ball soup. I’ll have the same.”

  “Be back with your balls,” Brandi replies, spinning on her heel toward the kitchen.

  I hope she’s a better actress than she is a waitress, and I mean that in the nicest possible sense.

  “It’s so refreshing to be with you. Reagan would have never done that,” he says. I notice he keeps checking out his reflection in the window glass. Definitely Smarmy, coming close enough to Cheesy’s border that its prime minister has issued orders to shoot on sight.

  “What, have a sandwich with roast beef?” Because I eat roast beef all the time now. Mary Mac makes this homemade horseradish sauce that is slap-and-go-naked good. Yes, she gives her kids Chomp-tastic on occasion, but only as a supplement on the days she’s too busy to pack seven lunches with a toddler on her hip.

  He snorts. “More like speak to the waitress as though she were an equal. Actually treat her like a human being. That’s what I find so appealing about you, Geri. You don’t bring all the baggage. You know how hard it was to extricate myself from that crazy bitch’s life?”

  Okay, that was harsh.

  “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?”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  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.