Twisted Sisters

by Jen Lancaster

  “I assume he didn’t flatten a cat?” I ask.

  As soon as I say this, I realize I’m not quite bringing my A game to the flirting area.

  Truth be told, I’m not even sure how to flirt. What does flirting entail? Teasing? Enticing? Wearing off-the-shoulder shirts? The tossing of one’s hair? Telling men, I’m soooo drunk? This merits further research.

  I decide to try batting my eyelashes, having witnessed its efficacy when inhabiting Tabitha.

  Kassel frowns at me. “Something in your eye, Peace Corps?”

  I immediately want to die but instead mutter something about a piece of fluff from Faye’s knitting, which causes her to bristle.

  Can anyone explain why dumb girls make flirting look so easy?

  In terms of propagating the species, it would seem to me that men would be most attracted to the kind of woman who was more adept at math and science than mascara application. Who wants to breed with gals who consider watching TMZ tantamount to reading the paper? It’s simple eugenics, people!

  Sebastian always said he was attracted to my brilliant mind. Except we’re clearly no longer together and Geri mentioned his current lady friend is a Hooters waitress, which . . . really, Seb? I’m sure all the Hooters patrons are ogling this woman over platters of wings, saying, Check out the cerebral cortex on that one!

  So disheartening.

  Kassel stands at the head of the conference table. “Push’s loss is Tabitha’s gain. Well, we still have a job to do, and life goes on. So I’d like you all to meet the newest member of Team Push.” He looks over to the open door and calls, “Come on in! Everyone? Meet Geri Bishop!”

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Bad Dreams Are Made of This

  This is a bad dream.

  Clearly.

  The Thanwell has obviously stayed in my body and I’m having detailed hallucinations, all of which involve me having to deal with Geri in production meetings this week.

  For example, in this chapter of my ongoing nightmare, here we are in Georgette’s makeover session, ready to start dyeing or ombre-ing or feathering or whatever it is that’s Geri’s claim to fame.

  I’m so glad all of this is a figment of my imagination because otherwise I’d be furious over how quickly the rest of the team has taken to her. Jimbo and Gary the second cameraman have been arguing all week about whether Geri reminds them more of Jessica Rabbit or Christina Hendricks.

  Can I vote?

  Because I pick neither.

  The ladies are sucking up as well. Mindy happily and promptly delivers Geri’s proper coffee order (a lardy mocha with extra whip) and Ruby’s been all over her, gabbing about the bar scene in Bridgeport, as her place is on the south side. And Faye? Faye thought the fisherman’s sweater she was knitting would be divine with Geri’s coloring, so she gave it to her when she finished. Just like that! No thought, no deliberation, no consideration for other members of the team who are really lean and could use the added warmth of a fisherman’s sweater.

  Et tu, Faye? Et tu?

  It’s like the ham sandwich all over again.

  And please don’t even start me on the chemistry between Geri and Kassel. Every time I see them chatting, I can feel the bile rise in the back of my throat.

  Nightmare.

  Absolutely no other explanation.

  I’d seek Deva’s counsel, but she had to rush off for an emergency with a private client—something about a youth serum?—and she’s currently en route to the Philippines to extract the pollen created by bats drinking ultrarare jade-vine nectar. We’re about to wrap production until after the holidays, so she’s not needed here, except by me. Fortunately, she left the amulets. It’ll be tricky to do the swap without her today, but not impossible.

  I tried to run my thoughts about Geri’s being hired past a couple of my friends, but apparently I’m not interesting to Bethany, Caroline, or Rhonda when I’m not spilling Hollywood secrets.

  Fair-weather bitches.

  In a moment of weakness, I even turned to Bryce and Trevor, but they kept pestering me about when “G-spot” would be back in my “hizzouse.” From the way those two carry on about her, you’d think she was their long-lost best friend and not just some girl they met for ten minutes on my front stoop that one time she stopped over to gloat after the Sox beat the Cubs in the Crosstown Classic.

  Serves me right for even trying with those two.

  For now, I’m journaling all my feelings. At some point I plan to pen a memoir about the show, so taking notes helps me remember the specifics. Granted, I meant to fill my Moleskine with tales of my successes, but most of what I’ve written is more along the lines of Die, Geri, die.

  I’m sure everyone’s opinion on Geri will change today when I give my soliloquy about living at home as an adult via the Georgette swap. If what I say embarrasses Geri? Then perhaps she shouldn’t be involved in such shameful basement business in the first place.

  Gary’s in here to film the whole haircut/color process, even though it’s not necessary. We don’t need him capturing footage until the big reveal and confrontation later, but he’s been buzzing around Geri like a fly to manure.

  Technically, I’m not required to be in here, either, but I suspect every minute I’m not with Geri, she’s gossiping about me, so I’m staying close. I’m ninety-nine percent sure I heard her and Mindy saying something about Dr. Stick-Up-the-Ass, and my guess is they weren’t comparing notes on a proctologist.

  Georgette enters the room with Ruby. In my time with Georgette this week, I found her to be articulate and intelligent, albeit reticent. In some respects, she resembles me, with her long, straight, dark hair and ivory skin. I can’t imagine that Geri’s going to improve on her look. I did my best to boost her confidence about speaking with her family, but she’s so stuck that it would take dozens of sessions to break through to her. Fortunately, I have my magic bullets in my pockets, so all will be well upon the post-makeover conversation with her sisters.

  “Hey, girl,” Geri calls. “C’mere! We’re going to have so much fun today! Sit! Sit! Please! Your chariot awaits!” Geri gestures to the adjustable hairdressing chair here in the makeup room and gives it a spin.

  Fake! Fake, fake, fake!

  Geri begins to muss Georgette’s thick locks. “So, sweetie, what are you thinking? I have a few ideas in mind, but I want to hear what’d make you happy.”

  Georgette bites her lip and gazes at herself in the mirror. “I need a change, but . . .”

  “But change is superscary, amirite?”

  Georgette cracks a smile. “Right.”

  Geri fastens a cape at the nape of Georgette’s neck and then rubs her shoulders. “Don’t worry, kiddo, we’re not doing anything that makes you uncomfortable. Today’ll be hard enough without having to fret about your ’do, right?” Georgette nods. “So when you envision your life after the show’s over, how do you see yourself? Where are you? What’re you doing?”

  Georgette’s voice catches. “I’m . . . not sure.”

  “Even a little bit?”

  “No.”

  Ha! See? Massage her shoulders all you want, Geri; it’s not so easy to wrestle insight out of this one.

  “Tell me about the last time you remember being, like, joyful.”

  Georgette appraises herself in the mirror for a moment before she finally says, “It’s been a while. I guess . . . I was out with my colleagues in Changchun—it’s a city in Jilin Province—and they were having a going-away party for me at Three Monkeys because I was returning to the States. It was brutally hot and my friends and I were sitting outside. So there I was in the middle of China, at a table with Aussies and Afrikaners and Brits, watching locals dance to Latin music, eating kebabs, and drinking Irish stout.”

  Geri keeps pawing Georgette’s hair. “How’d that make y
ou feel?”

  I shift in my seat. Oh, come on! That’s a bullshit Psych 101 question and everyone knows it!

  Georgette replies, “I remember how surreal it all was, thinking every culture in the entire universe had peacefully converged in this one spot. And then, almost like a blessing from God, I could feel a coil of air on the back of my neck. In August? In Changchun? There’s no wind; there’s no relief. The air’s as thick as soup, but for this one moment, there was a breeze. I thought, ‘Magic truly exists.’”

  Geri nods, acting like she’s all in tune with Georgette. Trust me, I’ve spoken with Georgette at length and she didn’t offer up any of this neck-wind information. Mostly it was all blah, blah, blah, my sisters are mean.

  Been there, done that, bought the T-shirt, lady.

  “You’ve been growing out your hair ever since then?” Geri asks.

  “I guess so, yes.”

  “Kind of a metaphor for your world at the moment, isn’t it? All of this stuff is holding you down.” Geri holds up a handful of silky locks and lets them spill down. “Life was better when you felt a breeze on your neck.”

  Ooh, thanks for that powerful allegorical insight, Professor Geri. When you’re done narrating The Rime of the Ancient Ponytail, I look forward to attending your lecture on the History of the Hair Dryer.

  An odd expression crosses Georgette’s patrician features. “My goodness, I never considered that. But you’re spot-on.”

  Geri shrugs. “I can re-create that style in two snips, if that’s what you want. Doesn’t solve any of your other problems, but it’s a start, right? You know, my ma used to read me this old Irish prayer for travelers that had a line in it about always having the wind to your back and the sun on your face. So I was thinking, maybe if you’re sitting on the studio’s couches with your sisters and you can feel a breeze on your neck, you’ll be all, I’m ready to reclaim what’s mine, bitches.”

  Argh, lies, lies, lies!

  Geri hated books! And the only thing Ma ever read was Royko’s old columns!

  What is Geri getting at? What’s she trying to prove? There’s an end game here, of that I’m sure.

  Georgette makes a grab for Geri’s scissors. “Do it. Now. Before I change my mind.”

  Geri gingerly takes the shears from her. “You sure, hon?”

  “No. But please do it anyway.”

  “Ready?”

  Georgette nods. Geri gathers Georgette’s hair in a low pony and snips off a solid foot, which leaves me feeling like somehow I’ve been kicked in the stomach. How does that work?

  Geri hands Georgette the bundle and she turns the tail over and over in her hands. “The good news is that this is long enough to donate to Locks of Love. You’ve just changed a life! You’re a hero!”

  Why is she laying all of this on so thick?

  “How’s it feel back there?” asks Geri, ruffling what’s left of her hair.

  Georgette lets out a huge breath. “Like a weight off my shoulders, literally and figuratively.”

  I glance around the room to monitor if anyone else is rolling their eyes.

  Just me then?

  “Awesome! I’m really proud of you. Now I’ll do your cut next, unless . . .” Geri trails off.

  “Unless?”

  “Unless you’re in the mood for a little color.”

  “Color’s kind of not my thing.”

  “That’s absolutely cool, G.” Geri adjusts Georgette’s cape and begins to rearrange items on the counter in front of the mirror. It’s a haircut, not an operating table—get to it!

  Geri strokes her own hair. “But maybe you hear me out on this? It’s kind of a cray-cray idea, and you’re totally free to say no. You won’t hurt my feelings.” Geri leans in, all conspiratorially. “Let me just tell you this from personal experience: anyone who says blondes have more fun has clearly never been a redhead.” Then she does this little shake that is absolutely mortifying to behold.

  Gary inadvertently lets out a wolf whistle, Georgette beams, and I have a small coughing fit. By way of apology, I murmur, “Must be the dry December air. I bet some green tea would help.”

  Geri asks Georgette, “You game?”

  Gary zooms around to pan in on Geri’s mug. Why are we bothering with this nonsense? Why film someone having her hair colored? That is literally (and figuratively) one step beyond watching paint dry.

  “I’ve always admired Debra Messing’s color,” Georgette timidly admits.

  “Then that’s what we’ll do! One Grace Adler, coming up!” Geri confirms with a little clap.

  After mixing up some potions, Geri returns and begins to slap various bits of gel on Georgette’s head with a pastry brush. Scintillating. Yet from the crowd gathered around, you’d imagine she was splitting the atom.

  I wave Mindy over to me. “I’d like a green tea.”

  “Now?” she replies.

  “No, next week.”

  “Cool.” She begins to shuffle back to her seat.

  “Of course I mean now!” I snap.

  She gives me the whale eye and then makes a big show of taking everyone else’s order before she leaves. Perhaps she can tell Daddy all about how bossy Dr. Reagan is when the two of them are sparking up a doobie at the dinner table on the North Shore.

  “What’s the plan with the fam?” Geri prods.

  Don’t you worry about the plan, Geri. The plan is handled.

  Georgette begins to pick at her cuticles. “I wish I knew. I’m so angry that I’m in this position. I mean, Mom and Dad are okay. They’re not as sharp as they were and they need some assistance, but I’m really struggling with my siblings forcing me to take on the whole burden. Two of them live within five miles, and the rest are within a half hour’s drive. I want to do my part, certainly, yet there are six of us! Shouldn’t I only be responsible for a sixth of the care? It’s not fair and it’s been nonstop for three years! Do you know what it’s like living at home as an adult? It’s not an aphrodisiac, that’s for darned sure.”

  “Preaching to the choir, sweetie,” Geri says. Of course she’s going to try to ingratiate herself. Like she’s not toasting marshmallows and singing campfire songs with Ma and Dad every night.

  Geri continues, “My roommate got married last year and I couldn’t afford our apartment on my own. So I was stuck going back home. Even though it was my choice, it’s still weird sometimes. Sure, I’m saving tons of money for when I open my own salon—”

  I’m sorry, your what? And since when do you have an ounce of business acumen? You know that sea monkeys aren’t a solid investment, right, Geri?

  “But it really puts a crimp in the ol’ dating life, right? Like, if I were seeing someone? I’d have no place to bring a guy back to if we were to become serious. What, I’d be all, Hey, Ma and Dad, you mind if I have hot animal sex down here in my basement? Awkward.”

  “I miss sex,” Georgette says. “Haven’t so much as had a drink with a man since I moved back home.”

  “That’s been three years?”

  “Three long, dry years.”

  Oh, please. Don’t give me your three-years business. Some of us were twenty-five-year-old grad students before ever doing it the first time. And we turned out just fine.

  Geri begins running a squeeze tube full of barbecue-sauce-colored goo in little rows across Georgette’s scalp. “For what it’s worth, you’re pretty much going to be sex on a stick when I’m done with you.”

  “I’m not even sure I remember how to be social around a man at this point, let alone seduce him.”

  “I have faith in you. It’s like riding a bike—the minute you try again, it’s like second nature.”

  Yes, Geri, but what if you never learned to ride a bike in the first place? What then?

  Georgette tak
es a delicate sip from the water bottle she’s been clutching. “What’s funny is it’s not even the whole physical act that I miss so much, although that’s part of it. I miss . . . waking up with someone else. I miss lazy Sundays reading the paper together. I miss all the little intimacies that come from sharing space with a significant other. I miss seeing my guy all curled up on my girly sofa, surrounded by my pastel pillows and scented candles. Heck, I miss my furniture. It’s all been in storage ever since I went to China in the first place.”

  Gary focuses his camera on Georgette.

  “Sounds like you’re dealing with a lot of losses,” Geri affirms.

  “Never considered it that way, but you’re right. I miss having a bathroom free from my mother’s knee-highs drying on the shower curtain rod. I miss throwing dinner parties. I miss quiet and privacy. I adore my folks, don’t get me wrong, but I miss . . . having the opportunity to miss them. They won’t be around forever, and I hate that I resent their constant presence in my life.”

  Geri begins removing the little foils, letting each one drop on the floor as she works from the top of Georgette’s forehead to the back of her skull. Yeah, sure, just put those foils anywhere, Pigpen.

  “I guess I don’t understand what’s keeping you at home. Is it the financial thing, like me? Maybe you can get a loan or something.”

  Georgette blinks away a tear. “Actually, money isn’t my problem. My problem is I can’t handle everyone being angry with me for leaving. I’m trapped and I can’t seem to find the words to express how trapped I feel.”

  Geri spins Georgette around to look her in the eye. “So what you’re telling me is you’re willing to subjugate your own happiness because if you don’t it’ll make your sisters mad?”

  Where/when did Geri pick up the word “subjugate”?

  Georgette says nothing. A couple of more tears escape and Geri hands her a Kleenex. “Sweetie, you’re better than that. You deserve more than that. When you look back on your life you’re not going to be all, I wish I’d made my sisters happier. They have their lives, and they’re bitches—lazy bitches—for not allowing you to have one yourself. Don’t let them take advantage of your generous nature. I guarantee your folks would rather hire a home assistant or a visiting nurse than live with the notion that you gave up your youth to babysit them just to satisfy a pack of bitches. Guaran-damn-tee.”