The Pretty One: A Novel About Sisters (13 page)

“Well, for the past few years, I’ve been a family law attorney for a nonprofit foundation,” she told him. “I also teach at a law school.”

“Impressive,” he said, nodding as he turned his lips inside out and scratched at an imaginary beard. “Now, Gus, I have one more question for you. What do you make of my brother’s outward spread in the six months since we’ve seen each other?” He grabbed a chunk of flesh from Mike’s waist.

“Fuck you, man!” cried Mike, now sounding genuinely pissed as he pummeled his brother on the shoulder.

“I think I’ll stay out of this one, too,” said Gus, laughing again.

“Another wise move,” said Jeff.

“Hey, I’ve had experience. I was always busting my ex-girlfriend about having a big butt. She dumped me at the beginning of the year.” Why had she just told him that? Why couldn’t she ever keep her private life private?!

“I’m sorry to hear that,” he said.

“It’s okay, I’m over it,” said Gus.

“So you’re single.”

“I guess you could say that.”

Jeff got a glinty look in his eye. “Would you like to go out for a beer tonight after dinner?”

“Jesus, Jeff!” cried Mike.

“What?”

“I’m getting out of here.” Mike shook his head as he turned his back.

“Thanks, but I’m busy,” said Gus, still unsure if the guy was joking or not.

“What if I wear a dress?” asked Jeff.

How dare he mock her sexual orientation! “What if I punch you in the face?” she said, temper flaring.

“I might enjoy it.”

“You’re sick.”

“Maybe you like sick,” said Jeff, still smiling.

Gus couldn’t believe the cheesy and vile way he was talking to her—a near relative, no less! And she had every intention of giving him the finger and following Mike out the door. But something kept her legs motionless. Was it possible that she was somehow attracted to the guy? Or was she mistaking anger for passion? She felt heat on her cheeks and on her collarbone. “This is just a game for you,” she said. “Isn’t it?”

“Maybe, but maybe not,” he replied.

“You want to see if you can pick up a lesbian. Is that it?”

“What was that, Johnny Appleseed?”

Gus suddenly recalled the satchel of McIntosh apples still in her grip. Glancing south, she burst into involuntary laughter. The week before, Perri had made a dig at Gus regarding the frequency with which she’d been dining in Larchmont. Stung by the accusation, Gus had been attempting a gesture that would counteract the impression that she was freeloading. She set the satchel down on the island and sighed in defeat.

At which point Jefferson Sims threaded his fingers through hers. “Admit that was a good one,” he said, grinning.

Gus felt as if her heart were an inmate who had gone berserk in solitary confinement. “I admit nothing,” she said meekly.

Just then, Perri walked in, causing Gus to jump three feet backward—straight into Perri’s marble countertop.

“Hey!” said Perri, eyes popping at Gus. “I didn’t even know you’d arrived.” She looked from one to the other of them.

Gus had never felt so humiliated in front of her oldest sister—not even when Andy Lyons came over for the first time, and said, “Perri, you never told me you had a little brother.” She’d told him, “I’m female, you fuckhead,” an oft-repeated line in the Hellinger household in the years that followed—years during which Gus was expected to laugh at her own alliterative “genius,” even as she failed to find the encounter funny and, in fact, still felt vaguely humiliated by it. “Well, here I am,” she mumbled while biting her lip and rubbing her side. Who knew marble was so hard?

“I was actually showing Gus one of the relaxation techniques I learned in my therapeutic massage class last summer,” said Jeff.

“You went to massage school last summer?” Perri asked skeptically.

“Well, not technically. But I have a close friend who works in the field. Did you know the pressure point between the thumb and forefinger holds the key to most common headaches?”

“I didn’t know that. Or maybe I did. It’s hard to say what I know right now.”

“Anyway,” said Gus, desperate to restore normalcy. “I brought some apples. I know the kids like them.” She lifted the satchel and held it toward her sister.

“Oh, thanks, that was nice of you,” said Perri, still eyeing Gus suspiciously as she removed the bag from her grip.

All through dinner, Gus continued to make a fool of herself. She couldn’t help it. Jeff was staring at her, and she at him, while a dead weight lodged itself at the bottom of her stomach and refused to lift. Perri’s homemade meatloaf, which Gus usually devoured, sat uneaten on her plate. She could barely even follow the conversation. Mike was going on about the real estate market in Larchmont and how it was “holding up pretty well under the circumstances”—unlike Gus, who didn’t know if she’d make it through the meal, didn’t understand what she was feeling either…

“Excuse me, Gus,” Jeff was saying. “Would you mind passing the butter?”

“Of course,” she said, swallowing unnecessarily as she reached for the dish.

As the transfer was made, her fingers brushed his, sending pins and needles up and down the length of Gus’s arm. Against all explanation, she longed for the guy to lay her down on the carpet and crush her into oblivion.

That night, Gus couldn’t sleep for hours. If she was attracted to this man, did it mean she wasn’t really a lesbian? And what if she’d
never
been a lesbian? What if it had all been a pose, as paper-thin as a fashion magazine spread, albeit without the makeup and pretty clothes? And what if her sexual orientation all went back to some desperate need to define herself apart from her sisters, who, early on, had monopolized the good girl and femme fatale roles, respectively? That is, what if lesbianism’s
main draw had been that it was the ultimate noncompete clause?

Even more pathetically, what if her lust for other women had been born of some secret need to replicate in her love life the intense relationships she’d had with her domineering older siblings? One could make the argument that the women to whom Gus had been attracted, beginning with Penny Showalter in high school, and continuing with her first real girlfriend, Jen French at Wesleyan, had managed to combine Perri’s bossiness with Olympia’s haughtiness. It was also true that, in the years just after Gus had come out at the age of eighteen, being a lesbian had sometimes felt like a series of stylistic gestures that she was trying on for size. She remembered worrying that her hair wasn’t sufficiently “dykey,” her walk not tough enough—and making a mental note to improve these things about herself.

Or was she not giving her heart the credit it was due? From a very early age—as early as eleven or twelve—Gus had also been aware that she was different from other girls in her class. She would hear them describe the fluttery excitement they felt in the presence of their boy crushes. Gus had never felt that way. It was her girl friends themselves who occasionally elicited flutters, some of them so painful and exciting and overwhelming that the friendships would become impossible to maintain, and Gus would have to preemptively ax them with one or another concocted fight.

Yet at some indistinct point in her late twenties the performance had become her, especially as her career began to mirror her personal proclivities. Eventually, lesbianism became more than a sexual identity for her; it became an entire way of
being
in the world—not just a lifestyle but a cause and a rallying
point that needed no explanation. She was committed to women, not only as lovers and partners but as legal subjects whose interests needed defending. And what if her attraction to Jeff was simply a matter of curiosity in the same vein as eating psychedelic mushrooms or flying a single-engine plane? What if she wanted to try it only once? And if that were the case, would it be so terrible to indulge the impulse while she was between partners? Or would she be betraying the things she stood for, even betraying herself?

The problem was—Gus suspected that the answer was yes. It would have been one thing if Jefferson Sims were some self-effacing New Man who shared a common interest in social justice. But by all accounts, he was a cocky, womanizing ski bum.

8

O
LYMPIA AND
L
OLA WERE
on their way home from Happy Kids when Olympia’s phone rang. Her left hand on the stroller, she dug her right hand into her bag and began to fish. How was it possible that she could grasp every object inside it, from her keys to her wallet to her emergency tampon (which had naturally escaped its paper wrapping) without locating her phone until its last ring? Finally, her hand made contact with the familiar expanse of smooth plastic, and she lifted it into the open. Perri’s name flashed across the screen, just as it did most every evening of Olympia’s life. Not in the mood to talk, Olympia considered not answering, then decided it would be a greater hardship to have to call her back. “Hey, what’s up?” she said.

Perri sounded indignant as she relayed the gossip of the evening—how Mike’s brother, Jeff, had flirted with Gus at dinner. With the honking horns, Lola’s incessant chatter, and her own exhaustion, Olympia had trouble following the story, which sounded unlikely, if not downright apocryphal. It wouldn’t be the first time that Perri had concocted a cockamamie fantasy
based on flimsy evidence, Olympia thought. Her sister had always been a fabulist of the tallest order. Or maybe the better word was “alarmist.” If you lost two pounds, she thought you were dying of a wasting disease. “That definitely sounds weird,” she said. “Are you sure?” Then she turned to Lola, and said, “I’m talking to Aunt Perri!… Wait, what happened at school?… Gossamer had an allergic reaction to bread?!… Sorry, Perri, hold on one more second…. What? No, I’m
not
buying you your own iPhone on the way home…. No, not next year either. Try ten years!… Sorry, Perri, what were you saying?”

“I don’t think you’re grasping the enormity of this,” Perri went on, clearly irritated. “Mike’s brother, who literally arrived in New York ten minutes ago, is making the moves on our younger sister, Gus, who supposedly doesn’t like men. I found them in the kitchen holding hands!”

“Are you sure they weren’t just
shaking
hands?” asked Olympia.

“They were not
shaking
hands! They looked like they were about to kiss.”

“Well, the man definitely moves fast,” said Olympia, turning up her block, past a bedraggled figure slumped on the sidewalk, wearing a sandwich board that read,
HELP ME.

“The man is a snake!” cried Perri.

“Why is that man sitting on the sidewalk?” Lola asked at the same time.

“He’s homeless,” said Olympia.

“Hardly,” scoffed Perri. “Guess who got a quote, unquote
ride
back to the city with Gus?”

“Sorry—I was talking to Lola. We just walked by a homeless guy.”

Perri’s voice changed. “Oh,
god.
Where are you?”

“On my block.”

“Yikes. I didn’t know you had homeless people in your neighborhood!”

Sometimes, Olympia suspected that her older sister was acting willfully ignorant and reactionary to irk her. “Anyway, if it’s for real, maybe it will help Gus get over Debbie,” she said, refusing the bait.

“She’s already over Debbie,” snapped Perri.

“Well, then, the timing is perfect.”

“She’s gay, Olympia!”

“If your story pans out, I’d have to say ‘bi.’ ”

“The guy isn’t a toxic bachelor. He’s a one-man Superfund site.”

“Ouch,” said Olympia, wondering at the violence of Perri’s reaction. Assuming the story was even true—Olympia had her doubts—was her older sister just being protective? Or was it possible that Perri was jealous of Gus? Olympia hadn’t seen Jefferson Sims in years, but he was famously handsome. Twenty years later, it was probably also safe to assume that Mike and Perri’s sex life wasn’t what it used to be. Not that Perri would ever talk about sex. She’d always been prudish that way.

“I’m sorry, it’s true!” Perri said defiantly. “We need to get Gus away from him, and fast.”

“She’s thirty-six years old, Perri,” Olympia told her. “I think she can take care of herself.”

“She’s also in a fragile state emotionally. And the guy has women coming out of his ears. What do you think he was doing in Breckenridge all year?”

“Skiing?”

“Please,” said Perri.

“Nailing half-pipes in the terrain park?”

“Very funny.”

“Anyway, we’re just walking in the door,” said Olympia. “Let me call you later.”

“Thanks for your help—not!” said Perri.

“What can I do?!” cried Olympia, turning the key in the front door. “Gus has no interest in anything I say, anyway. You’re the only one she listens to.”

“Mommy, you talk too much,” said Lola. “Get off the phone
now!
”

“Listen, Lola’s freaking out. I really have to go,” said Olympia, happy for once to have her daughter make demands on her time.

“Fine,” said Perri, as if it weren’t.

“I’ll talk to you later.”

“Bye.”

Olympia opened the door to her apartment and flicked on the lights. At the sight of her and Lola, Clive stood up on his hind legs and let out a noise that fell somewhere between a squeak and a purr. “Hello there, bunny rabby,” said Olympia.

“He made a silly noise!” cried Lola.

As Olympia walked over to where Clive now lay and began to stroke his luscious fur, it occurred to her that he was the only male in her life on whose love she could count. Then again, she held him in captivity. By all accounts, rabbits had extremely small brains. She’d also had him castrated. Clive’s nose twitched, but for the rest of the evening he was quiet.

9

P
ERRI HUNG UP FEELING ANGRY
. Here she’d called her middle sister seeking commiseration. In return, Olympia had offered nothing but mockery! For Olympia, sex was nothing but a joke, Perri thought. Well, it wasn’t a joke to Perri, who had slept with only two men in her entire life, or, okay, maybe three. She sometimes worried about what kind of mother Olympia would make to Lola, especially when Lola hit adolescence. Would she be one of those awful “my best friend is my daughter” types who outfitted their kids with birth control prescriptions before they even reached puberty? To Olympia’s credit, she was very affectionate with the child—when not shipping her off to some filthy childcare center all day, every day. Perri tried not to judge working women and, in particular, other working mothers. But how could her sister justify exposing her own flesh and blood at such a tender age to that many germs?! As Perri resumed cleaning the kitchen, her mind boggled.