"A message? From who?" If it was from the director of Les Miz, telling him he'd gotten the part after all, he was going to have to kill himself.
"Well, that's the funny thing," said his mom. "It's from your Mr. Burton."
Chapter 12
Ryan very nearly dropped the Starship Enterprise. "A message from Burton? "What … what did he say?"
"I'm sorry."
"What?"
"That's the message. He said, 'Tell Ryan I'm sorry.' Well, no, actually, he said 'Tell Allen I'm sorry,' and I said, 'Allen?' and he said—"
"Okay, okay, I get the picture. That's all he said?"
"That's all. No, wait, he said to tell you he'd be in touch. But why on earth would he call you Allen?"
"Because … because that's my character's name in the show."
"It is? You said you were playing the Artful Dodger."
"I am. That's his real name—Allen." He said it so quickly, it almost sounded plausible.
"Oh. But why would Burton leave you a message? Isn't he there with you?"
"No. He had to … to fly to Vancouver for a couple of days."
"Well, that seems awfully irresponsible. Is somebody there looking after you?"
"Oh, sure. I'm fine. They're a great bunch of people. We're almost like family already."
"Good. That's good." On the last word, her voice got sort of choked up, and Ryan thought he heard her sniffle.
"Mom? Are you okay?"
"Uh-huh. I was just … I was thinking how you've never had a chance to be part of a real family."
"Hey, I've got you," he said lamely.
"Some family. A crippled lush. You need a father."
Ryan saw a chance to lighten things up, and took it. "You're right. Let's hold auditions for one when I get back, okay?"
It coaxed a laugh out of her. "Oh, Ryan."
There was a soft rap on the door of his room. "Listen," he whispered into the engine pod, "I've got to go. I'll call you. Bye." Clumsily, he docked the Enterprise and took a deep breath. "Who is it?"
"It's me—Kelley. Are you decent?"
Ryan was so disoriented that he had to look to make sure. "Yeah. Come on in."
She poked her head in the doorway. "I was going for a glass of juice and I saw your light on."
"Yeah, I couldn't sleep."
"If you feel like reading, there's a ton of books in the library." She moved hesitantly into the room. In her baggy Batman pajamas, she looked far younger, and far more comfortable, than she had in the lacy dress. "I don't know about you, but if I don't get to read for an hour or so before bed, I always feel like there's something missing."
Ryan still felt slightly off balance, the way he did when the curtain fell on a performance and he had to shift gears, back to real life. He almost slipped up and told the truth—that he didn't really read all that much—but he remembered in time that he was now Allen. "Yes, I know what you mean. On the whole, I prefer books to people."
Kelley laughed. "They're easier to get along with, that's for sure. At least, most of them. I had a little trouble with Silas Marner. Did they make you read that?"
He shook his head. "Our school gave up trying to teach the classics. Everybody just read the Coles Notes, anyway," he said scornfully. Personally, he preferred Masterplots.
"Oh, well, I go to private school, and they still do things the way they did fifty years ago. Can you believe we even wear uniforms?" She gave a long-suffering sigh.
"What grade are you in?"
"Eight. Mother insisted on them skipping me a year." That meant she was probably only twelve—even younger than he'd thought. "You're grade eleven, right?" she said.
Finally, a question he was prepared to answer. "Right."
"I thought so. I kept track."
He gave her a puzzled look. "What do you mean?"
"Whenever Daddy found out where you'd been living, he'd get in touch with your old school and talk to your teachers."
"No kidding." So that was how they knew so much about him. "Why would he go to all that trouble?"
It was Kelley's turn to look puzzled. "Why wouldn't he? You're his son."
Ryan couldn't say what he was thinking—that his real father had never bothered to check up on him.
"Come on," said Kelley. "I'll show you where the library is." As they walked down the dark hallway, she said, "I hope you weren't too upset about me knocking over the chess set."
"Heck, no. I was getting stomped. My mind just wasn't in chess mode, I guess."
"I could tell. That's why I did it."
"You mean … you knocked it over on purpose?"
"Sure."
Ryan didn't know what to say. Most of the people he knew were so busy thinking about themselves, they didn't usually do much for anybody else. "Thanks," he tried.
She shrugged. "Hey, that's what sisters are for, right?"
"Right," he said, though, of course, he knew nothing about it.
When she'd said library, he'd pictured a couple of bookshelves. Given the scope of the rest of the house, he should have known better. It was, in fact, even bigger than the bedroom and furnished with a table and chairs and an Oriental rug. Every foot of wall space was packed with books, audiotapes, videotapes, and cds, all of them arranged by subject.
Ryan spotted Ghostbusters and Back to the Future, but he restrained himself; those were probably not on Allen's list of all-time favorites. If the dope watched movies at all, he probably leaned toward foreign films or documentaries or something equally boring. Well, actually, of course, he couldn't watch much of anything, considering he was dead. Unless Burton had lied about that as well.
Ryan kept staring at the videos, but his mind wasn't on them. Up until now, he'd been more concerned with how he should portray Allen than with what Allen might really be like. Now that he'd started thinking about it, he wished he hadn't. There was something slightly creepy about the whole concept, like one of those movies where a dead person's spirit takes over somebody's body.
He realized that Kelley was saying something, and he hadn't caught a word of it. "I'm sorry, what?"
"I said you can watch a movie if you'd rather."
"No, no, I was just looking. I'm not very fond of film. In my opinion, it's a dangerous medium, because it gives the illusion of reality. The audience thinks that, because they're seeing things happen before their eyes, they must be true." He silently thanked the pompous director who had provided him with that bit of wisdom.
Kelley gazed at him as if awed by this display of erudition. "You see, I knew you were smart."
Ryan laughed. "I've got a good memory, that's all."
"Don't be modest. Daddy says you get all A's in school."
Fat chance. If he brought home a B, it was cause for celebration. This Allen must have been some kind of brain. Ryan winced. The spirit of Allen was trying to take possession of him again. He steered the conversation in another direction. "I'll bet you do all right in school, too."
"I do okay. It's not like it's challenging or anything. Like you said, all you need is a good memory."
"What's your favorite subject?"
"English. Not the grammar part, the literature part. I love books." She ran one hand over the expensive bindings in front of her.
"Maybe you'll be a writer," said Ryan. It was just an offhand remark, something to say, but Kelley blushed deeply and stared at him, her brown eyes wide.
"How did you know that?" she asked breathlessly.
"Know what?"
"That I wanted to be a writer."
Ryan shrugged and laughed weakly. "Just a lucky guess. I didn't mean to embarrass you."
"It's not like it's a big secret or anything. I just never told anybody." She absently traced the gold letters on the spine of Moby Dick with one much-chewed fingernail. "Not even Daddy. I didn't think … I didn't think they'd understand."
"Why'd you tell me, then?"
"I didn't. You guessed. But I … I think maybe I would have told you, anywa
y." She gave him a fleeting, shy smile. "That's what brothers are for, right?"
"I'm not exactly a brother. I mean, not really."
"Well, I'm not going to call you my half-brother. That sounds dorky, like you're only half there, like in that book Half Magic. Besides, you're the closest thing to it I'll ever have. Half a brother is better than none."
Without thinking, Ryan started singing the chorus of Half a Sixpence. Kelley gave him a startled look. "Sorry," he said.
"No, it was nice. You've got a good voice. Your teacher never told us about that."
"Yeah, well. Listen, I don't mean to sound stupid, but … well, Mr. Kurz—I mean, Dad … he's your father, too, right?"
She laughed nervously. "Of course, silly. What did you think?"
"I don't know. I just … didn't know."
"Are you … are you glad?"
"Sure. I mean, there's nobody I'd rather have for a sister."
"And you don't think it's dumb, me wanting to write books?"
"Hey, somebody's got to do it."
She laughed again and squeezed his arm. "I knew you'd understand. I'd better let you alone, now, so you can pick out a book. Good night." As she tiptoed barefoot from the room, she added over her shoulder, "Brother."
When she was gone, Ryan turned to the videos and took down Raiders of the Lost Ark. Then he stood juggling it uncertainly, struck by an unfamiliar, uncomfortable feeling he couldn't quite identify. Was he reluctant to choose a movie instead of a book because it might look out of character? Or because it would mean that somehow he was betraying Kelley? Or was it Allen's restless spirit bugging him again?
Maybe he just wasn't in the mood. He stuck the video back in its place and surveyed the mass of books. Well, if he wanted something to put him to sleep, he'd come to the right place. One whole shelf was filled with books about sports and games. He took down Winning Chess Strategies and opened it. It looked pretty basic—and pretty dull—but it might keep him from looking so stupid when Mr. Kurz challenged him again, as he was sure to.
What he really needed was a book called Winning at Impersonation, something that would help him get through the next couple of days, or however long he had to wing it before Burton got in touch again. If it was more than a couple of days, he wasn't sure he'd survive.
Actually, this game he was playing was a lot like a chess match, except that the stakes were a lot higher. Plus, he wasn't pitted against just one opponent; there were three. Well, maybe it wasn't fair to Kelley to label her an opponent. The truth was, she seemed to be on his side. But she wouldn't be for long, not if she found out the truth about him.
Sighing wearily, Ryan tucked the chess book under his arm and headed back to his room, where he dragged the pillow and comforter off the nauseating waterbed and sacked out on the plush throw rug.
Chapter 13
It seemed like he'd barely drifted off when a knock at the door woke him. "What?" he called groggily, petulantly.
The door opened a crack and Kelley's voice said, "Are you up?"
"No."
"Oops. I thought you might want to go riding with me."
"In the middle of the night?"
She laughed. "It's eight o'clock in the morning, sleepyhead."
Ryan yawned and peered through slitted eyes at his window. Sunlight was forcing its way in around the heavy drapes. "Oh. You're right."
"So, do you want to come?"
What he really wanted was to go back to sleep. Why was she doing this to him, anyway? He'd made it perfectly clear that he wasn't the horse-riding type.
"Allen?"
Well, he did owe her one for getting him out of that chess game. "Yeah, okay. It'll take me a couple of minutes to get ready."
"No problem. I'll wait."
He found her in the kitchen, drinking something that looked like an orange milkshake. "Want some?" she said.
"What is it?"
"Bananas, orange juice, protein powder, and Vitamin C."
It sounded like something Allen would go for. "Sure," he said, with as much enthusiasm as he could muster. Actually, the stuff tasted less obnoxious than it sounded, and he had to admit that it sat better on his stomach than his usual breakfast of coffee and toaster pastries.
Kelley took two apples from the bowl of fruit on the counter and tossed one to him. "Here you go."
Ryan fumbled it. "An apple? For breakfast?"
"They're for the horses."
"Oh, yeah. The horses."
She frowned slightly, as if trying to catch the subtext behind his words. "Hey, we don't have to ride if you don't want to."
"No, no, I'm fine. It's just that I'm not the world's greatest horseman." Actually, the last time he'd ridden a horse he'd done all right. Of course, he'd been five years old, and the horse had been more in the way of a pony, and there had been an old guy from the Lions Club leading it by the harness.
"That's all right. Tigger's really gentle."
"Tigger? Why do you call him that?"
"He's a she. And it's because she bounces."
Ryan forced down the rest of the shake and followed her out of the kitchen. "Where is everybody, anyway?"
"Mother's still asleep. She never gets up before nine. Daddy's outside." Mr. Kurz was, in fact, helping Sandy repair a section of the white board fence, and he seemed to be enjoying it a lot—certainly more than Sandy was. "Daddy!" Kelley said reproachfully. "What are you doing?"
"Some real work for a change. A man wasn't meant to sit on his duff all day, talking to his stockbroker."
"I wouldn't mind tryin' it for a while," said Sandy, pounding ineffectually at a nail.
Mr. Kurz laughed. "You'd probably be better at it than I am. I know I can pound a nail better than that."
"Just don't let Mother catch you," Kelley said.
"She won't. She hardly ever sets a foot outside anymore." He perched on the board they had just nailed into place. Though the morning air was cool, he wiped sweat from his forehead with a handkerchief. "Morning, champ. Did you sleep well?"
"Fine. Not a single bedbug."
Kelley gave him a curious look, but Mr. Kurz grinned. "Good." He gestured toward the tennis court. "How about a couple of sets, to get warmed up?"
"Tennis, you mean?"
"Of course. One of your schools said you were on the varsity team."
"Oh. Well, we really weren't very good. Besides, that's been a while. I'm rusty." A more accurate adjective would have been putrid. He'd played tennis probably half a dozen times in gym class; it was one of the reasons he'd gotten a C in the class. It occurred to him that maybe he'd been underestimating Allen. Anybody who could make straight A's and also play a varsity sport couldn't be a total loser.
Kelley took his arm. "I've got first dibs on him, Daddy. He promised to go riding with me."
Ryan half-expected Mr. Kurz to say, Oh, that's right, Allen was on the varsity equestrian team, wasn't he? But it didn't happen. Thank heavens there were some limits to what was expected of him. Mr. Kurz merely shrugged and said, "Okay, okay. You won't have many more chances, I guess, so you can have him for now." He gave Ryan's arm a swat. "How does it feel to be so much in demand, champ?"
Ryan flashed the smile he'd practiced in countless dressing room mirrors. "Great."
As he helped Kelley saddle the horses—his help was limited mainly to handing her blankets and halters—Ryan said quietly, "Why does he keep wanting me to play games?"
Kelley glanced at him, then pulled the cinch tight on Tigger's saddle. "I guess it's his way of trying to get to know you."
"Couldn't we just sit and talk, instead?"
"I don't know. Maybe … maybe he's afraid to."
"Afraid? Of what?" If anyone ought to be afraid of having a long, revealing talk, it was not Mr. Kurz, it was Ryan.
"Maybe he's afraid you'll ask about your other sister."
Ryan didn't often find himself at a loss for words. It was not a pleasant sensation. All of a sudden, he had a second sister no one h
ad bothered to tell him about? This was getting out of hand. He was definitely going to have to have a very serious talk with Burton—and very soon.
Kelley volunteered nothing more on the subject. She handed him Tigger's reins. "Okay, now, you do know how to mount a horse, right?"
"Sure. First you shoot him, then you skin him and stuff him."
Kelley looked momentarily startled, then let out a laugh. "Oh, Allen, that's terrible!"
"Sorry. It was kind of dumb, I guess."
"But funny." She gazed at him with her head tilted slightly, as if studying him from a new angle. "I never expected you to be funny."
"What did you expect?"
"I don't know, exactly. Just somebody more—"
"More nerdy?"
She laughed again. "No! Well … yes. But you're not." She turned away and stroked her horse's spotted flank. "What about you? What did you expect?"
He was tempted to give her a smart aleck answer, one that would elicit another laugh. But for some reason—Allen's spirit, maybe—he didn't. "I didn't even know I had a sister. Now that I do, I'm glad. I've always sort of wanted to have one." To his surprise, everything he'd said was true. It was about all the honesty he could stand. "I've always wanted to ride a horse, too," he lied. "Let's do it." He'd seen enough Westerns to know how to get aboard. He swung into the saddle like a short version of Clint Eastwood.
"Want to go down to the river?" Kelley asked.
"Fine with me."
They guided their mounts through the gate and down the driveway. For a long time, they didn't talk. Kelley seemed to feel no need to keep up a conversation, and Ryan was concentrating too hard on staying in the saddle to say much. If Tigger had been a car, he'd have taken her in for a new set of shock absorbers. Ryan couldn't imagine what he'd do if she broke into a trot or, heaven forbid, a gallop.
By the time they reached the river, he was starting to feel a bit more relaxed—about the riding, that is. He'd been feeling relaxed around Kelley for quite a while now. She and a couple of hundred others just like her would have made the ideal theater audience; she was so willing to suspend her disbelief. She didn't seem bent on tripping him up, or on making up for all those missing years in a single day. Apparently, she just wanted to be friends.
The Imposter Page 7
