“We left the restaurant, took a walk down Fifth Avenue, past all the fine shops that Mummy had always loved. We walked in silence for several blocks and then he told me about Shirlee. That she’d never died, had been comatose when Daddy pulled her out of the pool, remained that way- damaged, with minimal cerebral functioning. All the time I’d thought her dead, she’d been living in an institution in Connecticut. Mummy was a perfect lady, very genteel, but she wasn’t strong, couldn’t cope with adversity.

“The lawyer said he knew it had to come as a shock, he was sorry I’d been lied to, but Mummy and Daddy had felt it best. Now, however, they were gone, and since I was next of kin, Shirlee was my legal responsibility. Not that that had to burden me. He- the law firm- would assume her guardianship, handle all the finances, administer her trust fund so that her medical expenses would continue to be paid. There was absolutely no need for me to disrupt my life. He had papers for me to sign and it would all be taken care of.

“I filled with an anger I didn’t know I was capable of, started yelling at him right there on Fifth Avenue, demanding to see her. He tried to talk me out of it, said I should wait until the shock subsided. But I insisted. I had to see her right now. He called for a limousine. We drove to Connecticut. The place was big and nice-looking- an old stone mansion, well-kept lawns, a big sun porch, nurses in starched uniforms, doctors with German accents. But she needed more than that- she needed her partner. I told the lawyer she’d be returning with me to California, to have her ready for travel within a week.

“He tried again to talk me out of it. Said he’d seen this kind of thing before- survivor guilt. The more he talked, the angrier I got, the poor man. And since I’d reached my majority, he had no choice. I returned to L.A. feeling righteous with purpose- no longer just another grad student caught up in the grind, I was a woman with a mission. But the moment I stepped into my dorm room, the enormity of everything hit me. I realized my life would never be the same, never be normal. I dealt with it by staying busy, ordering the lawyer around, moving into the house, signing papers. Convincing myself, Alex, that I was in control. I found this place- it doesn’t look that great on the outside, but they really treat her special. Elmo is fantastic, totally oriented toward one-on-one care.”

She lifted my hand to her cheek, then placed it in her lap and held it tight.

“Now you, Alex. Your entree to this mess. The night you found me holding the snapshot was soon after Shirlee had been flown out- what a job, just getting her off the plane and into a van. I hadn’t slept for days, was wired and fatigued. The photo had come in a box with other family papers; it had been in Mummy’s purse the day she died.

“I started staring at it, fell into it, like Alice down the hole. I was trying to integrate everything, remember the good days. But so angry that I’d been deceived, that my whole life had been a deceit- every moment colored by lies. I felt sick, Alex. Nauseous. My stomach was heaving. As if the photo was capturing me- eating me up, the way the pool had eaten Shirlee. I freaked out, stayed freaked for days- I was hanging by a thread when you came in.

“I never heard you, Alex. Not until you were standing over me. And you seemed angry- judging me. Disapproving. When you picked the picture up off the floor and examined it, it was as if you’d invaded me- forced your way into my private pain. I wanted the pain all to myself- wanted something all to myself. I just blew. I’m so sorry.”

I returned the pressure of her hand. “It’s all right.”

“The next couple of weeks were horrible, just a nightmare. I worried what I’d done to you and me, but frankly, I was too drained to do anything about it and guilty because I couldn’t get myself to care more about it. I had so much to deal with: my rage at my parents for lying to me, my grief at losing them, my rage at Shirlee for coming back so damaged, for being unable to respond to my love. At the time I didn’t realize that she was vibrating, trying to communicate with me. So many changes all at once, Alex. Like a jumble of crisscrossing live wires burning into my brain. I got help.”

“Kruse.”

“Despite what you think of him, he helped me, Alex. Helped put me back together again. And he told me you’d come looking for me, which let me know you cared. I cared about you- that’s why I finally forced myself to get together with you, even though Paul said I wasn’t ready. And he was right. I came on like a nympho because I was feeling worthless, out of control, felt I owed you something. Acting like a sexpot made me feel in charge, as if I were stepping out of my personality and adopting a new one. But just for a short while. Later, while you slept, I despised what I’d done, despised you. I dumped on you because you were there.”

She looked away. “And because you were good. I ruined what we had because I was unable to tolerate goodness, Alex. I didn’t feel I deserved goodness. And after all these years, I still regret that.”

I sat there, trying to take it all in.

She leaned over and kissed me. Gradually, the kiss took on heat and depth and we were pressed against each other, groping, our tongues dancing. Then we both pulled away.

“Sharon-”

“Yes, I know,” she said. “Not again. How could you ever know you’d be safe?”

“I-”

She placed a finger over my lips.

“No reason to explain, Alex. Ancient history. I just wanted to show you that I’m not all bad.”

I kept quiet, didn’t say what had passed through my mind. That maybe we could start again- slowly. Carefully. Now that both of us had grown up.

She said, “I’ll let you go now.”

We drove away in separate cars.

Back from Kruse’s house, I sat in my living room with the lights out and turned it over, again and again. Park Avenue, Southampton summers. Mummy and Daddy. Martinis in the sun-room. Genteel cardboard cutouts.

But a nasty little scrap of celluloid said Mummy had been anything but genteel. A rich man’s party girl who’d made love on film, probably used it for blackmail.

My whole life had been a deceit- every moment colored by lies.

I thought about Shirlee Ransom. Vegetative. Squeaking. Wondered if any part of the story had been true.

If she loved her twin, how could she kill herself, abandon a helpless cripple?

Unless Shirlee was dead too.

S and S, silent partners.

A pair of little girls, beautiful, black-haired. Mountains in the background. Ice cream cones in opposite hands.

Mirror-image twins. She’s a lefty; I’m a righty.

Suddenly I realized what had bothered me about the porn loop- the tip-of-the-mind incongruity that stayed under my skin.

Sharon was right-handed but in the film- stroking, kneading- she’d favored her left.

Being a sexpot made me feel in charge. As if I were stepping out of my personality and stepping into someone else’s.

Switching? Trying on a new identity?

The left hand. Sinestra. Sinister. Some primitive cultures considered it evil.

Putting on a blond wig and becoming a bad girl… a left-handed sinister girl.

Suddenly something about the drowning story bothered me- something that hadn’t troubled me six years ago, when I’d wanted to believe her:

The details, the vivid imagery.

Too complex for a three-year-old. Too much for a toddler to remember.

Practiced detail. Or a well-rehearsed lie? Had she been coached? Had her memory enhanced?

As in hypnosis.

As in Paul Kruse, master hypnotist. Amateur film-maker. Professional sleaze.

I was certain, now, that he’d known enough to fill in lots of blanks. Had died with that knowledge. Horribly, bloodily, taking two other people with him.