Point Break
A small admission, if I may?
I may have screwed Geri over in regard to her relationship with Kassel.
While he and I were at that brunch, the more we spoke, the more I was struck by how little common ground he and I shared. My intention was to Cyrano de Bergerac him—let him know the real me while I was in my Geri suit, assuming he’d be more about the personality than the package, eventually revealing that it was me he really loved.
Not so much.
As our date dragged on, he insisted on quoting all these stupid movies I never heard of (who is Pauly Shore?) and then we had a stultifying conversation about some ex–Notre Dame football player with an imaginary dead girlfriend who turned out to be a live dude.
What does that even mean?
The lack of commonality wasn’t the worst part. Handsome is the great equalizer. Give me broad shoulders and a square jaw and I can overlook terrible taste in entertainment.
Because I’m apparently a masochist, I brought up the subject of my sister Reagan. I dropped a trial balloon on how I thought they might have chemistry.
And do you know what that SOB said?
He told me, “Your sister’s way too tightly wound. Too intense. I can’t deal with perfectionists. Not my jam.”
“What about how you two banter?” I asked. Surely that was significant? I mean, Boyd and I could have based a lifetime on our bantering alone.
He made a face as though he’d smelled something sour. “That whole angry-banter thing? Only works for Spencer Tracy. In real life, it’s just bickering and it gets old fast. Exhausting, actually. Give me laid-back any day. See, I’ve been down the high-maintenance-woman route before and it didn’t end well.”
Then he had the nerve to shudder.
The notion of dating me merited a full-body shudder?
I was so angry, thinking how number one, I’m not high maintenance and number two, I’m not tightly wound and number three, and then I couldn’t think of a number three because I was still seething about numbers one and two.
So after pushing my blanketed piggies around the plate for a while, I told him I was feeling ill and I must take my leave.
Okay, that’s a lie.
I told him I was afraid I might shart myself and I needed to get home, and thought, There, is that laid-back enough for you, Kassel?
I suspect he was so turned off by the whole date that any nascent feelings he might have had for Geri are gone. Again, in the moment I was all, Well, too bad, Geri. You lose the game that you should have never played in the first place. Then I may or may not have called him an “effing creeper” when he kept texting afterward. And this time I didn’t use “effing.” I was furious with her, and, by extension, him. But now that I’ve literally walked a mile in her shoes, I can’t say I feel the same way.
Now? I’m kind of a fan of Geri.
I sort of get why everyone’s so into her.
I’ll be honest. I’m having a lot more fun being Geri than I ever had as Reagan. Her friends are immensely entertaining and I love how nice they are to me. How great is it to walk into a room and have people excited to see me? I appreciate how her job makes everyone happy. Clients come in, all split-ended and unstyled, and bam! Forty-five minutes later, they’re goddesses. Plus, singing in front of the audience at Brando’s was a rush I’ll always remember. Who knew she was talented?
(Okay, probably everyone but me.)
The best part is I’m connecting with Mary Mac and her kids in a way I never realized was possible . . . largely because I upped Geri’s dosage.
I know, I know. This is so wrong.
And yet I feel like I’m onto something here and I’m not quite ready to inhabit my own life again. I’ve worked out the specifics in such a way that I’m able to feed/exercise/maintain my own body and life while Geri’s physical self is asleep, so, really, I’m not doing anything unhealthy, per se, save for a possible tiny Thanwell addiction Plus, since we’re on hiatus, Reagan’s not exactly missed anywhere.
“Geri” is supposed to be “staying at Reagan’s” out of convenience, but I keep being drawn back to the south side to hang out with Mary Mac’s family. Yes, her kids are a little loud and a bit pushy, but they’re also freaking hysterical. Teagan does an impersonation of me that had me rolling. (I think it was the day she kept calling herself “Doctor.”)
When I’m not there, Mary Mac and I chat multiple times a day, while she ferries her brood to their practices and activities. I’m a little in awe of how organized she is. I found out her Christmas shopping was completed in October. October. That still blows my mind. Maybe her house is messy, but she’s so on the ball in regard to all other aspects of her life, from her children to her volunteering to her marriage, that it doesn’t matter. Sure, she always seems exhausted, but it’s only because she puts in such effort.
I remember the amount of posturing and social climbing it took for me to rub shoulders with Wendy Winsberg’s crowd. At no point had it occurred to me that some of the best people I’d ever meet are in my own family.
However, I hadn’t yet realized any of the above when I was making my way up Clark after the Kassel brunch. The day had become decidedly cold since I’d headed to the restaurant, and I wasn’t wearing enough layers. I must have been walking hunched over for warmth, so I didn’t realize I’d body-slammed anyone until he helped me up.
And when I realized the kindly stranger was Sebastian, I truly did almost shart myself.
He looked great and he was so happy to see me that I couldn’t help but reconsider the idea of us maybe, possibly reconnecting. That is, until he called me Geri and I realized I wasn’t who he thought I was.
Long story short, that’s how I found myself agreeing to dinner tonight at Frances’ Deli.
Sebastian’s already seated at a table by the window, wearing pressed gray flannel slacks and a shirt with French cuffs, which seems a bit formal for a relaxed deli-type meal. In fact, Frances’ is so casual that it’s one of the few places on the north side that’s acceptable to my parents. On the rare occasions they’ve been in my neighborhood at lunch, this is where they insist on going. Dad’s a fan of the Douglas Boulevard sandwich, which includes corned beef and chopped liver, whereas I’m normally a fan of ordering hot tea and swapping the Lipton’s for a bag of the organic stuff I brought from home. Everything about this place is old school, from the pressed tin ceiling to the vintage wood paneling to the original marble-topped bar. To me, the space is dark and depressing, but there must be some appeal as they’ve been operating successfully since the 1930s.
“Glad you could come!” Sebastian says. He rises to kiss my/our cheek. Did he used to stand when I walked in the room? Can’t recall.
Last week when Sebastian requested that we get together sometime to talk, I was a little curious about what he had to say to Geri, but not so much that I thought the conversation merited a meal.
Since then, though, I’ve made peace with all things Geri. I see now that any unpalatable behavior she exhibited stemmed directly from my actions. (Pretty sure I’d tell someone to go eff themselves, too, if they had a single thing to say about my weight.)
I’m learning that Geri’s perpetually there for people, ready to listen, willing to help, all without a judgmental internal monologue. Maybe she’s not a saint, but she’s not the sinner I’d previously suspected, either.
Over the past few days, I’ve been trying to help her. I figure my inhabiting her is kind of like sending her to a day spa. I bought her some new, tasteful clothing, and I’m feeding her healthy foods and taking her on long walks. (I need to help compensate for the mass amounts of Mary Mac’s cooking I’ve been eating, which, OMFG, that woman does unspeakable things with spareribs.)
I’ve also been working on a business plan for her potential salon. I found notes in her laptop, and Geri’s ideas are perfectly solid, but she needs to present them in a professional prospectus if she wants to turn this into a viable venture. I’m in the process of doing that for her.
The thing is, I’m not entirely sure that getting over my incessant sibling rivalry is going to fix what’s wrong with me. Having experienced being laid-back, friendly, and fun, not to mention relaxed about dietary constraints, I learned that I am uptight, I am dour, and I am kind of a pain in the ass about my diet. I’m also narrow-minded and my positive affirmations are nothing less than straight-up, overcompensating narcissism.
I’m neither victim nor martyr, so it’s time I stopped acting like I am. No wonder I alienate others. No wonder I have virtually no friends. I’ve been allowing my anger and various proclivities to keep others at arm’s length. I don’t have close connections in my life, and at the end of the day, my job doesn’t kiss me good night.
Speaking of employment, in all my time practicing and with all my training, I never closed out the day feeling exhilarated about what I do for a living. Sure, I’ve always reveled in the various benefits, like being recognized at Whole Foods and having George Stephanopoulos flirt with me, but the actual act of patiently listening to others’ problems? Not really into it, if I’m being honest with myself.
I’m certainly not going to chuck it all for cosmetology school, but I do need to figure out what’s next for me, and I suspect it’s neither being a psychologist on television nor being a television psychologist.
Where does that leave me? I’m not yet sure.
But before I can figure out what’s next in my life, I need some measure of closure, so last night I Facebooked Sebastian and suggested we meet after all. And here we are.
Sebastian grins at me. “You’re radiant this evening.”
I say, “No, I’m just windburned.” I’ve been running by the lake this week and I’ve already shaved two minutes off of Geri’s newfound ability to jog a mile. I’m very proud of her/us!
He scoots his chair closer to mine. “Don’t sell yourself short, kid. Reagan didn’t get all the looks in your family.”
Oh, God, did he just wink?
I try to steer away from the subject of Geri. “Perhaps we should order.”
“Nothing on the menu will be as delicious as you.” He abruptly juts his chin in an effort to toss his hair out of his eyes. For some reason, he wears the front of his hair long, like he’s starring in some 1990s Keanu Reeves surfing flick. Sir, I know surfers. Surfers have been friends of mine. You, sir, are no surfer.
The hair flip is his prelude-to-seduction move and it’s only now occurring to me that it’s comical. What’s with the full-court-flirting press, anyway? Was Sebastian always smarmy? I feel like I’d have noticed if he was smarmy. I realize that Geri and I were never the best of friends, but we’re sisters. Surely there’s some code of ethics that prevents guys from hitting on their ex’s sisters?
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?”