At the end of the last call, she said, 'I don't know why my brother doesn't insist you bring Pearl home, where she belongs, but I think you should.'
How could I tell her that Paul couldn't ask me to bring home the child who wasn't his?
'Worry about yourself, Toby. It seems to me you have enough there to occupy you,' I snapped, and ended the conversation. I felt absolutely dreadful about it, and when I told Beau he nodded sadly.
'It's the way things have to be for now,' he offered, but that wasn't enough.
'Sometimes I feel like I've put myself into a spider's web, Beau. The more I twist and struggle, the more I entrap myself.'
'It will come to an end soon and we'll go on with our lives. You'll see,' he assured me; however, I didn't have his confidence. Life had clearly shown me that it could take twists and turns when we least expected it.
Two days later one of those twists occurred. I had been doing well in my role as my sister mainly because I had driven away her friends and her boyfriends and stayed away from her usual haunts. Few, if any, were astute enough to see the differences. None expected such a switch of identities, of course. In their hearts they probably thought, who would want to be Gisselle?
My hope was that after a time, I would transform my sister's personality until it resembled my own, and Beau and I would even move to another location, perhaps another city, and start our lives over with far less deceit.
I was in my studio just dabbling with a picture when Aubrey knocked on my door to tell me I had a visitor. Before I could ask who it was, Bruce Bristow appeared behind him. My stepmother's husband looked like he had aged decades since I had last set eyes on him. His dark brown hair was flecked with gray, the temples all gray, and their were dark sacks under his eyes. He had lost considerable weight, too, his face gaunt, those flirtatious eyes now dim orbs. He slouched a bit and wore a creased jacket and slacks, the tie stained and his shirt open at the frayed collar. There was a scuff mark of some sort on his left cheekbone. He smiled coyly and entered. The moment he did, the stench of gin invaded the air.
'What are you doin' in here, tryin' to be your sista?' He laughed. Now that he was closer, I saw how bloodshot his eyes were and understood why he was slurring his words.
'You're drunk, Bruce. Get out of here, this instant,' I ordered.
'Not sooo fass,' he said. He closed and opened his eyes, swaying for a moment. 'You and your hushbun might think you're smoothies, but you better hear me out before you make a decision you'll regret.'
'Getting you out of our lives can't be a decision I'd ever regret,' I said, and because I meant it, I was able to be as vicious about it as Gisselle would have been.
He snapped his head back, but he smiled again. 'Sooo, what are you doin' in here?' He gazed at the canvas. 'You can't draw or paint. You're the sista without talent, remember?' He laughed sharply and steadied himself by taking hold of the back of a chair.
'I remember how much I despised you,' I said. 'You were like a leech, swimming in here when my father died and attaching yourself to the family to suck whatever you could out of it. But that's all over now, and nothing you say, no matter how outrageous it might seem, will get you back. Now, go before Beau returns.'
His smile widened and some drool leaked out of the corners of his mouth. 'You weren't always so eager to send me away,' he said, moving closer. I stepped to the side, the paintbrush still in my hand. I was holding it like a sword between us. He stared at me a moment, his eyes opening and closing with his attempts to focus sharply. And then he looked at the canvas again.
'You don't sheem too upset 'bout your sista bein' in a bad way,' he said.
'Why should I? Would she be upset if it was me in the hospital?'
'You know she would,' he replied softly, and closed his eyes for a moment. Then he snapped them open as if a thought had just made its way into his clogged brain. 'Ya don't sound like yourself either.' He looked at the canvas again. 'Thass too good for you ta have done. Was it here before?'
“Yes.'
'I thawt show. I mean, I thought so.' He smiled again and then he grew as serious as he could, trying to straighten his tie as he corrected his posture. 'I want you ta help me convince Beau he should be a little more reasonable about this family fortune. I know some of the shady tax schemes Daphne did and I'm willing ta go to the government and expose them,' he threatened.
'So go. You didn't have your hands clean either, did you? You'd only be exposing yourself for what you were and what you probably still are.'
He smiled with confidence and more sobriety. 'Yeah, but you know how it is when someone turns state's evidence. He gets leniency. I can see to it that this estate gets some terrific fines. How would you and your high- society husband do then, huh?'
'We'll be all right. Get out, Bruce, before I have Aubrey call the police.'
He raked his eyes over me scornfully. 'What if I told your husband about the time I came to see you while you were taking your bubble bath? Remember how I washed your back and gave you that massage and then—'
'I've already told him,' I blurted.
He stared at me a moment. 'I don't believe you.'
'So don't. I don't care. Just get out.'
My determination and lack of fear annoyed and confused him. 'I took some papers out of here. I'm warning you two. I can prove my accusations.'
'Then go prove them.'
'You're crazy. Both of you are crazy.' He stared at me a moment longer and then looked at the canvas again. One of his eyebrows jerked up quizzically. My resistance had sobered him quickly and gotten him thinking.
'That's not an old picture. The paint's still wet. How did you do that? You can't do that.' His eyes narrowed into slits that reminded me of snake's eyes. 'Something's not right here.' His words had the impact of bullets.
