The Many (2 page)

3

Karl was working on his second cup of coffee when his sister walked in, waving her cell phone triumphantly. Like she’d found a winning lottery ticket.

Karl scowled back at her, unable to share her enthusiasm. He was in a shitty mood, having spent the afternoon trying and failing to get meetings with recruiters. They’d been blunt: without experience, he wasn't worth their time. Then to cap off a depressing day, Karl was kept waiting in an indie coffee house full of asshole grad students. He’d grown to loathe college kids recently, especially the rich-looking ones. The recession meant nothing to them – if the economy was still in the shitter when they graduated, they'd probably just prance around Europe for a year or two. No wonder they all looked so goddamn smug.

The strong coffee wasn't helping things, either. He was feeling edgy; impatient.

"Why the sour face?" Stacey said, sitting down and loosening her scarf.

“You’re forty minutes late,” he said. “I expect at least ten, but this is really pushing it.”

She checked her watch. “Oh God, I’m sorry. I didn’t realize the time. You should’ve called.”

“I didn’t realize you had your phone back,” Karl said tightly. “Nice of the thief to return it.”

“Actually, it wasn’t stolen after all. I’d left it on the charger at work

“Is that right?” Karl said. She was lying to him now. She wouldn’t have left the office without her phone, no more than she would’ve left the house without shoes. He asked, “So, has the doctor called you today?”

She looked at him curiously “No. Why do you ask?”

“I dunno,” he shrugged. “Sounds like you hit it off last night and I was wondering if he might be a keeper.”

“It was one date, Karl.” She paused to catch the attention of a passing waitress, ordering a mineral water with lemon. Turning back to Karl, she said, “Sorry, what were you talking about?”

“The doctor you went out with last night. I was wondering if you planned on seeing him again.”

“Oh, I doubt it. Don’t look so surprised – you’ve seen me churn and burn before.”

“Yeah, but I haven’t seen you come home at noon with a weird smile on your face and some bogus story about having your phone stolen. You were acting funny then and you’re acting funny now.”

“Funny? How do you mean?”

“Just little things. Like eating chili on toast. Ignoring Jasper when he wants a cuddle. Or saying things like churn and burn.” Karl shook his head, realizing how petty it all sounded. “Even the way you’re looking at me now. Only showing me the front of your eyes. Like you’re hiding something.”

“You realize how utterly insane that sounds?”

“Yeah, I do. But if I’m wrong, you won’t mind telling me what happened last night.”

She rolled her eyes and sighed. “Oh, so that’s what this is about. Jesus, you think I was date raped last night?”

He cringed. “No!” he said, although that was one of the darker thoughts in his head. “I just know you came home in a weird mood. Like something happened last night. Call it brotherly instinct.”

She gazed around the coffee house, shaking her head in exasperation, as if it were Karl who had the problem. But he knew his sister. He knew she was playing for time; thinking up excuses.

“You want to hear about last night?” she challenged. “Fine. I met Doctor Reynolds, or Adam as he likes to be called, at a wine bar on Broadway. We had a couple of drinks, then headed across the street to Vivace, a cozy Italian restaurant with candlelit tables and photos of Sinatra on the wall. I had the parmesan chicken salad and he had the clam linguine. We drank a bottle of white wine and then he drove me back to his place in the West Hills. He drives a beautiful new Jag, by the way. I think he’s filthy rich, but he doesn’t like talking about it.”

She paused, her face clouding for a second. Then she leaned back; apparently done talking. Karl lifted his eyebrows. “And?”

“You really want to know?”

He nodded.

“He fucked me,” she said with a smirk. “He fucked me like a whore all night, and then twice again in the morning. And I was so exhausted I slept until eleven.”

Karl studied her. “I don’t believe you.”

She laughed, her green eyes hardening. “More like you don’t
want
to believe me. It’s not a very nice picture – your sister on all fours with her ass in the air, begging to be rammed harder...”

“…Enough, Stacey,” he cut in. “Jesus, listen to yourself. This isn’t you.”

“No, it
is
me. I like sex, Karl. Always have.”

“That’s not what’s bothering me. It’s the way you’re talking. Like some nasty, cold-hearted bitch.”

She glared at him, and Karl fought to keep his eyes from flicking away. “Maybe you’re right,” she said evenly. “Maybe you’re not bothered by my sexual exploits. Actually, maybe the opposite is true.”

Karl didn’t like where this was heading. “What do you mean?”

“I mean, you’ve always been obsessed with my sex life. Remember in high school when you used to hassle me about sleeping around. Well, I think you secretly liked it. You got off on hearing dirty stories about your sister.”

“
What?
That’s fucked up, Stacey. You’re losing it.”

“Do you like to picture me in the shower?” she went on. “Soaping up my tits. Sliding a wet finger between my legs?”

Karl winced in revulsion. “I’m going to pretend you never said that.”

“Naturally you’re in denial,” she sneered. “Let me rephrase – have you ever fucked a girl because she looks like me? Of course you have. Kylie Myers – you went out with her for a while. She had the same eyes, same hair color. Smaller tits, though.”

Karl was too shocked to speak.
What had happened to his sister?

Stacey calmly checked her watch, unmoved by Karl’s reaction. “Listen, I really didn’t want to get into this tonight, but in a way, it might help you understand what I’m about to say. You need to move out of the apartment. I’ve been as patient as I can possibly be, but four weeks is my limit. I want my privacy back, and now that these urges of yours seem to have returned, I think it’s best for both of us if you move out.”

“What the hell are you talking about?” Karl fumed, rediscovering his voice. “I don’t have any urges where you’re concerned. I mean, if you wanted me to move out, you should’ve just said so. But now, Jesus…..”

He stared down at his coffee, wondering how he could ever feel comfortable around his sister again. Even if she wasn’t acting herself, the accusation had to have come from somewhere. And he’d think about it every time they were in the same room together, for years and years to come….             

“I’ll collect my things,” he said, pushing back his chair.

A hipster couple at a nearby table watched him leave. Karl figured they’d been eavesdropping. The guy – black-rimmed glasses, dark facial fuzz – had a faint smile on his lips.

Karl knocked his prissy espresso cup to the floor as he passed. It wasn’t nearly as satisfying as he’d imagined.

4

Karl didn't speak to Stacey for six weeks. He worried about her constantly, but he was afraid of running into the doppelganger from the coffee house again, the girl who looked a lot like his sister except for the cold eyes and dirty smirk. Instead, he kept track of her through Mom, who they were both in regular contact with. Karl said he hardly got to see his sister since he moved across town and Mom was more than happy to fill him in, reporting that she was doing just fine – hitting her sales targets at work, meeting lots of interesting “city” people, and saving for a shopping expedition to New York in February. Karl was careful not to mention their recent falling out and judging by his mother's light-hearted chatter, Stacey hadn't said anything, either.

The end of the year hadn't been so kind to Karl. After Stacey's abrupt eviction notice he’d found a cheap bed at a hostel in South East Portland, right next to the train station. He was sharing a room with a minor-league drug dealer and a recently unemployed furniture salesman whose life had crumbled around him so quickly that even breathing the same air as him was depressing.

During the day, Karl roamed the drizzly, cloud-darkened industrial zones, looking for work. He soon discovered that it wasn't just the building and construction industry on its knees. Portland’s entire blue-collar economy was struggling, and nobody was willing to take on a new employee until business picked up.

When the "only 15 shopping days till Xmas" signs began appearing in store windows, Karl realized he'd spent six weeks without one stinking interview. And now that his bank account had dipped below $200, he had a tough decision to make: Either head back to Cave Creek and live rent-free with his mom for a while, praying for better luck in 2011, or bite the bullet and lower his expectations another notch.

He really didn’t want to go home, not even for a short while. Most of his football buddies were still there, either working for their old man’s hardware stores or developing serious drinking problems. A couple of them were already married. He didn’t want that life. A shitty, small town life that eventually turned you into an asshole.

Faced with the prospect of running home with his tail between his legs, it was amazing how quickly Karl accepted the idea of flipping burgers or mopping floors for a few months. As long as he was in the city, he still had a chance.

However, even minimum wage jobs were hard to find. Karl spent three days door-knocking his way around Portland before he finally found a job stacking shelves at a grocery store, paying $12 an hour. The manager, a grinning, thickly mustachioed Indian named Ravi, was amused that Karl was a high school football star and got a huge kick out of singing Bruce Springsteen's
Glory Days
whenever they crossed paths in the aisles.

Ravi ran a tight, understaffed ship, and Karl was completely exhausted at the end of a twelve-hour day, unable to enjoy a social life even if he could've afforded one. But at least he was still in Portland, he reminded himself. Ready to pounce when the economy picked up and the building industry began hiring again. It was just this wet, miserable winter he had to get though. A few more months of cheerless slog and then everything would look better in the spring.  He was only nineteen – he had time on his side. The glory days
hadn’t
passed him by, goddamnit.

On Christmas Eve, Karl caught a Greyhound home, stuffing everything he owned into a large vinyl backpack, figuring not even his socks and pants would be safe in the hostel over the holidays. He was pretty sure this was the low point – alone and broke, sitting on a bus full of crying babies and people sniffling with flu, trying hard to be polite to the sweet old lady next to him.

To make things worse, Karl was nervous about seeing his sister again. Afraid of what she might say. He only hoped she'd watch her mouth in front of Mom.             

The bus didn't roll into Cave Creek until after ten o'clock, the last arrival of the night. His mother had promised to pick him up but it was Stacey who stepped forward from the shadows of the depot, giving Karl’s heart a tremor. He'd wanted to avoid being alone with her as much as possible.

"Baby brother!" she greeted warmly, pulling Karl and his bulging backpack toward her. He accepted her embrace reluctantly, leaving his arms dangling by his side.

"Why the long face?" she teased, clutching his shoulders.

Karl squinted, taking in her new appearance. She'd restyled her hair, the layered bangs and highlighted tips gone in favor of a messy ponytail. And she'd given up the self-tanner, allowing the Northwest winter to pale her skin. The natural look suited her, and her friendly greeting made Karl wonder if he'd read too much into their last meeting.

"I'm just tired," he said. "It's been a long day."

"Yeah, Mum said you've been working crazy hours at the grocery store. Do you enjoy it though?"

"Are you kidding? I fucking hate it.”

She laughed. "All the more reason to be grateful it's Christmas. C'mon sourpuss, let's get you home and tucked into bed before Santa arrives."             

It was a short drive to the Morgan family home, a craftsman-style bungalow in a barren street near the park. It used to be an okay neighborhood but the closure of the paper mill four years ago saw a lot of working families move out and a lot of pensioners and welfare families move in. Karl and Stacey had encouraged their mom to move to a nicer street, or a nicer town altogether, but she was too stuck in her ways. And it wasn’t like the area was dangerous. Just depressing.

Mom was up and waving from the front window when they pulled into the driveway, the curtains parted to show off the winking Christmas tree behind her. The familiar sight reminded Karl that this would only be their second Christmas without Dad. “How’s Mom doing?” he asked before leaving the car.

“She’s fine,” Stacey said simply.
Too
simply, like she hadn’t caught the meaning behind the question. But she was out of the car before Karl had a chance to ask again.

At the front door, Mrs. Morgan pulled them inside like there was a tornado approaching. “Quick, before you let the cold air in,” she said, shutting the door tightly behind them.

She’d always been a frail, small-boned woman, needing children’s sizes to fit her tiny frame, and her urgent tugs had felt like a cat nipping at Karl’s sleeve. She seemed in good spirits though, a far cry from last year when she’d drifted through Christmas like a ghost, forgetting to buy presents or even put up the tree. Karl felt himself relaxing a bit.

They stayed up for hot chocolate in the living room, laughing about Karl’s uncomfortable bus journey, the dismal weather, and the terrible time some families must be having in the midst of the economic gloom. Pauses in conversation were filled with admiring glances at the tree. Then they declared themselves completely exhausted and in need of a good night’s sleep before their big day tomorrow. In other words, it was just like old times.

But not quite. Lying in his childhood bed, his patchwork comforter pulled up around his chin, Karl couldn't stop thinking about his sister in the next room. She still wasn't herself, despite the bright and breezy act. The way she'd shrugged off Karl's question about their mother's wellbeing, like he was asking about the weather. Had she forgotten the countless hours they'd spent talking on the phone, agonizing over the best way to help Mom through her grief? The weekend visits and the terrible silent evenings when their mother was too depressed to speak?

Stacey was messed up. Either she'd turned into a cold-hearted bitch overnight, or there was something else on her mind. Something she was hiding not only from Karl, but also from herself.

In his dream, he was sixteen again. It was late and he was slumped on the sofa in his parent's living room, stealing mouthfuls of his Dad's bourbon. Watching a grainy, black-and-white film on TV – an old fashioned detective story that bizarrely featured young Hollywood stars. He'd probably been out on a date and hadn't felt like going straight to bed. He often had trouble unwinding after a night out.

Then he heard footsteps coming up the path and the front door pushing over the hallway carpet. It was his sister, arriving home from God know where. Karl felt relief that she was safe; then a hot flush of shame. Had he been waiting up for her? No wonder she thought he was weird. It wasn't healthy – to be so worried about your older sister.

When Stacey appeared in the doorway, she was wearing fearsome red pumps, a denim mini skirt, and a thin mesh top over a black bra. Dressed like a small town hooker. A glazed expression on her painted face. She hadn't noticed Karl; her eyes lost in a dark corner of the living room. The television had switched itself off but a gray afterglow still bled from the screen.

Karl whispered to her, asking if she was okay, but Stacey continued to stare at nothing, hovering at the edge of the room. Then he heard the ceiling creak; his parents shifting in the bedroom above. Perhaps woken by the front door. Karl reached over the arm of the sofa, ready to hide his Dad's bourbon, but the space beside him was empty, his fingers unable to find anything solid.

When he straightened, Stacey was sitting next to him. She leaned closer but he didn't want to turn his head, afraid of looking at her the wrong way. He could smell her face cream, like fresh apricots, and her breath was like a cool breeze on his cheek. She was whispering to him; too faint to make out the words. Then she leaned closer still, so her lips brushed against his ear as they moved.

"...and everyone has gone home except a tall man in a dark coat who walks towards me and his face is hidden behind his collars but I let him take my hand and he leads me through rows of tents and caravans and cages with nothing in them and I know he's taking me to the big black tent in the distance and I really don't want to go there but I don't even try to escape I just keep walking like I don't trust my legs to work without the tall man pulling me along and when we reach the black tent I suddenly don't want him to leave but he pushes me through the flap and inside its enormous and dark except for a pale light in the corner and I try to avert my eyes because I don't want to see but it's too late I've already looked and now I can't stop walking towards it and..."

Karl's eyes popped open in fright. He was lying in bed, drenched in sweat, and still the whispering continued. "...as I get closer I know what they have in store for me but there's nothing I can do to stop..."

He sat bolt upright. Stacey was kneeling beside his bed, staring blankly at the pillow where his head had just been. "What the fuck are you doing?" he hissed.

She slowly twisted her neck to face him. Her features were blurred in the dark but he could see the whites of her eyes and a slither of teeth.

"Are you awake?" he asked, his heart beating rapidly. "Stacey, do you know where you are?"

After a long silence she stood up, turning her back to him. Then she glided towards the open bedroom door, her head tilted at an odd angle. Like she was cradling a phone to her ear. Karl reached for her arm but when he felt her cold flesh beneath the sleeve of her cotton pajamas, he withdrew his hand in horror. She left the room without a word. Holding his breath, Karl listened to her footsteps trail down the hall. Only when he heard her bedsprings creak did he scramble out of bed to close and bolt the door.