Saturday, 21 October 2006

• Scary Story 2006

      It has been almost a year since my half-sister's death, and the police are not one step closer to finding her killer.  My stepmother is convinced that the police quit looking even before Carla's funeral.  I think they quit looking when they realized that the killer couldn't be caught.  A shadow is difficult to try and convict.                     

      Carla and I had shared our townhouse in the city for about three months before she died.  After my mom died giving birth to me, my father remarried and two years later Carla was born.  I was her "little mother"--serious, responsible, hardworking.  She was my sweet baby sister who grew up to be dynamic, beautiful and talented.  She graduated from Cornell with a degree in textiles just as I was getting ready to take the bar.  Because I was working for a law firm in the city, I invited her to live with me and try her luck getting a job for one of the big department stores or fashion houses.  She moved in six weeks after I did, and we had fun exploring all the nooks and crannies our neighborhood had to offer.  She lived the typical life of a young, vibrant woman who had the world by the tail.  Within a month she had a job offer from a very  prestigious company--a job paying well above the usual starting salary. She was invited to openings, charity balls, gallery showings, and all the hot new clubs.  Her dates were frequent and interchangeable--gorgeous thirty-something stockbrokers, investment bankers, publishing mavens, or network executives.  Men on the fast-track to money and power.  Men who were as good-looking and vibrant as Carla was. 

      Carla and I didn't travel in the same social circles.  I was the staid, matronly, bookish sister--the sister that stood in the wings while Carla grabbed the spotlight.  My nights were spent eating at a neighborhood diner or at home, renting a movie, doing paperwork for the firm.  My friends were not on the fast-track; they were writers, paralegals, teachers, and the chronically underemployed.  No heads turned when we walked into a room.  Until Bradford.

       Brad and I met at the small legal firm where I was a brand-new attorney. He had been at the firm for two years and was on his way to making partner. Brilliant mind, drop-dead gorgeous smile, he was tall, broad-shouldered and impeccably groomed, except for his hair.  His dark brown curls seemed to have a life of their own, trailing over his collar and taking odd paths over his ears and forehead.  I was assigned to do some research for him, and he and I hit it off, finding in common a love of baseball and Stephen King novels.  We had a working lunch once a week, and one day, buoyed by great weather and a new haircut, I invited him to meet my closest friends and me for dinner at a local Thai restaurant.  I was shocked when he said yes.

     I wasn't sure how the dinner would go, but I needn't have worried.  Brad fit easily in with my friends--talking, laughing, joking with all of them as if we had been friends for years.  He was, literally, the life of our party.  And it wasn't long before he became a "regular."  Even though I knew it was not how he usually spent his evenings, he seemed to enjoy hanging out at the corner pub or grabbing a pizza.  When it was turn for me to host dinner and a movie at the townhouse, I never thought twice about asking him.

      It was during that evening that I realized that my feelings for Brad had changed.  While I still enjoyed his easygoing friendship, I was privately hoping that it could become something more.  I felt happier and more confident when he was around.  There was no way to know if he felt the same way about me, but it didn't matter.  As long as we could be friends, there was a flicker of hope.  We continued to work together at the firm and got together with friends once a week.  About a month after the dinner at my townhouse, he asked me to go to a gallery opening with him.  His cousin was a photographer and he wanted to be supportive.  My heart flipped in my chest and I agreed to go.

      That evening marked a turning point in our relationship.  Instead of a group of jovial friends in a neighborhood bar, it was just the two of us in a quiet Italian bistro.  We talked--not about work or movies or friends--but about our families and goals and dreams.  As we walked the two blocks to the gallery, he grabbed my hand to pull me across the street, but didn't let go once we were at the other side.  He made the rounds at the gallery, introducing me to his cousin and their mutual friends.  I was introduced to his aunt and uncle, who were very nice.  We spent forty-five minutes touring the gallery and saying hello to nearly everyone, when he leaned over and whispered "Let's get out of here.  I'd like to go somewhere and talk to you.  Just you."

      We walked the length of the gallery, towards the front door, hand-in-hand once again.  I stepped aside as he pulled the heavy door open and came face-to-face with Carla and her date.  

      Carla, as usual, looked stunning.  Her long blonde hair was draped over one shoulder and her black satin dress showed off her beautiful long legs.  She was with one of the handsome, serious, successful men that so frequently dropped her off at the townhouse in the wee hours of the morning, or took her to the Hamptons for the weekend. "Carla," I said, kissing her cheek.  "I didn't know you would be here."

    "What are you doing here?" she asked, a puzzled look on her face.  "You didn't say anything about going out tonight."  She looked at Brad and smiled.

     Brad responded.  "She didn't know she would be spending this evening at a gallery opening.  I didn't ask her until this morning.  I'm Brad."  He offered his hand for Carla to shake.

     "It's nice to meet you, Brad."  Carla continued smiling her 100-watt smile.  I glanced at Brad, who was looking at Carla.  He didn't move towards the door, so I did.  I waved at Carla, nodded at her date, and pulled Brad out the door and onto the sidewalk.

      At the bar where we had our glass of wine, Brad began asking questions about Carla.  He pretended to be indifferent, but I could tell he was interested in my half-sister.  I tried to deflect some of the questions...to talk about work or something else, but the questions continued to wend their way back to Carla.  And I really didn't want to talk about her.  After fifteen minutes, I was ready to go home.  I told Brad I would see him in the morning, hailed a cab, and went home.

      To my surprise, Carla was waiting for me there.  She said she had left the gallery opening early because she was tired and had to be at work early the next day, but I was reluctant to believe her.  After four or five minutes of small talk, the truth came out.

      "Why didn't Brad bring you home?" she asked.

      "Well, he lives in the other direction, so I just caught a cab."  I didn't want to tell her that I was annoyed that he had been asking questions about her.

       "Oh.  How do you know him?  Work?"

       "Yeah...and he also hangs out with us once in awhile."

       "Really?  He doesn't seem..."

        I knew what she was going to say.  That someone as gorgeous and charismatic as Brad would obviously not want to hang out with a group of losers like us.

       "Yeah. Well.  I'm going to bed."

       For the next few days, I felt as though I was the middle man.  Fielding questions Carla had about Brad, and keeping Brad from asking about Carla.  After both of them figured out that I wasn't talking about either of them, the questions stopped.  I started enjoying working with Brad again, and my half-sister and I were once again friendly ships who passed in the night--seeing each other a few minutes each day as she lived her glamorous life and I lived my workaday one.  Brad continued to be part of our social group, and we also had dinners for two on occassion.  We enjoyed each other's company, but had yet to take the next step.  As silly as it seemed, I couldn't help but think it had something to do with Carla.

       I ignored my feelings and decided that if my relationship with Brad was going to go anywhere, I had to make the first move.  So the next time we had dinner, just the two of us, I kissed him.  It occurred almost by accident.  Brad was dropping me off at my apartment and had turned to reenter the cab when I was overcome with a need to kiss him.  Just a little kiss on the cheek.  But as I kissed him, he turned his face to say something and we kissed.  It wasn't like anything I had ever experienced--warm and sweet and spicy like a wine punch.  Brad put his arms around me, kissed me again, and got back into the cab.  I floated into the townhouse and fell into bed.

      The following week, it was my turn to host my friends in the townhouse, and I wanted to be sure it was something that would impress Brad.  I picked up a wonderful lasagne and made garlic bread.  I had three bottles of excellent wine and two six-packs of Brad's favorite beer.  Even though I would have a townhouse full of people, I wanted it to feel warm and intimate.  I wanted it to be a night to remember.

     And it was.

      Brad was the first to arrive, and he kissed me as soon as the door closed behind him.  As my friends showed up, we laughed and joked, Brad with his arm around my shoulder or  leaning down to kiss my cheek.  We ate, drank, and talked into the evening, my friends finally saying goodbye, leaving Brad and I alone.  Then Carla came in.

      Her eyes lit up as soon as she saw Brad on our sofa.  "Brad!  Great to see you again!  How are you?"

       He responded, not only with his voice, but with his eyes.  "OK, Carla.  How about you?"  He grinned.

       They began a conversation, nearly forgetting I was there.  The two of them talked as easily as if they had been friends for years, instead of barely acquaintances.  I sat, watching and listening, as they bantered and flirted.  Carla was on stage again, basking in the glow of Brad's interest.   Brad couldn't take his eyes off  her. As the minutes turned into an hour, I could see where this was leading.  And I became sad.

      I stood up.  "Well, I certainly don't want to interrupt whatever it is that's going on here.  I can see that three's a crowd."  I began to walk out of the living room to my bedroom.

      "What?" Brad asked.

      Carla laughed.  "You're so silly," she said as I continued walking.  "There isn't anything going on here.  We're just talking."

      I turned and stared at her.  "Sure.  See you in the morning."

       Brad stood.  "Where are you going?"

       I hesitated.  "Obviously, you're having a nice conversation and I'm just in the way.  You go ahead.  I'll see you."

       "Carla's right.  You're being silly."

       "Silly?" I replied.  "I'm not blind.  I can see what's going on here."

       "Yeah.  Here's what's going on," Brad said. "I'm going home."  He walked to the door, opened it and stood there.

        Carla turned to look at me.  "I don't know what your problem is," she said, "but you act this way every time you meet someone.  You act as though I want to steal your boyfriends.  Your behaviour is ridiculous."

       I stared at her.  "Oh yeah, right.  Ben, in high school.  Sam my junior year in college. Oh, wait...I think David was in there someplace.  And Franklin.  In law school.  I had been dating him for two years!  We were talking about getting married!  But the moment he laid eyes on you.....  And you know what the sad part is?  That you aren't really interested in them.  That you just want to prove that you can steal them from me and then you drop them like hot potatoes.  It's so unfair.  Why do you do this?"

      Brad continued to stand at the doorway, transfixed. 

       "Well, if they end up liking me better...why not?  I'm not really hurting anyone," Carla responded.

       Tears welled in my eyes.  "No one but me."  I ran to the front door, pushed Brad out of the way and ran outside.  I could hear feet behind me, running to catch up.  Brad grabbed my arm.

      "Hey," he said softly.  He pulled me close to him and rested his chin on the top of my head.  He held me, gently rocking from side to side.  I started to cry louder, years of anguish finally surfacing.  "It's okay, it's okay," Brad said, as he held me still tighter.

      Brad and I talked long into the night.  I told him my history with Carla; how I loved her but didn't love how she used and hurt people.  I told him that growing up the plain, serious, studious sister was something that would shape me forever. I told him that I had always felt inferior because Carla had a mom and I did not--that my mom was dead. I told him that I wanted a relationship,  but didn't know what to do about it.  And soon I realized that I had to go home and talk to Carla.  To get it all out in the open and work to make it right.  On some level, she was still my sweet baby sister.  Brad walked me home.

      I could tell something was wrong the minute I turned the key in the door.  A chilly breeze passed over me and I smelled something burning.  I called to Carla, but there was no reply.  Smoke curled into the hallway from the direction of the kitchen.  Brad ran into the kitchen while I continued to call for Carla.  I walked down the hallway towards the bedrooms.

      I could tell in a glance that Carla wasn't in my room.  As I turned to head into Carla's room, Brad caught up with me.  "Damndest thing," he said.  "Grilled cheese on the stove.  Burned to a crisp.  Like someone put it on to cook and then forgot about it.  Does that sound like Carla?" 

      "Not really," I replied.  "She doesn't cook very often, but when she does she usually stands right there at the stove.  She is always afraid the food will burn if she doesn't watch it."  This felt all wrong.

      We both turned to walk into Carla's room.  It looked the same as always...bed a little crumpled, clothes draped over the furniture.  Carla was not the world's neatest person.  Then, I saw the shoe.  With a trembling finger, I pointed to where I saw Carla's red leather pump on the other side of the bed.  Brad walked over to investigate.  "Jesus!" I heard him exclaim.  "Stay over there."

      I knew then.  What had happened.  What had to happen, so I wouldn't spend the rest of my life in Carla's shadow.  So I could have a life of my own with someone who dreamed of me, not of my half-sister.

       Thanks, mom.

   

   

   

     

   

   

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