The Klone and I (13 page)

And then the final moment came. I helped him pack, all the silver and gold lame, the chartreuse velour jeans, the spandex suits in zebra and leopard. Touching each of them brought back memories for me, and looking at him nearly tore my heart out.

“Leaving you is the hardest thing I've ever done,” he said with tears rolling slowly down his cheeks, and for an interminable moment, I held him close to my heart. So much so that his diamond peace sign was embedded in my chest and left a mark there.

“You'll be back,” I whispered, fighting back tears, “he'll go away again.”

“Soon, I hope,” he said, sounding distraught. “I'll be so lonely in the shop without you.” He was going to be in a lab in New York this time, but when I asked if I could come and visit him, he shook his head. “They take me apart, and rewire everything each time,” he said. “I don't want you to see me that way. They rebuild my body and
take my head off.” It was an image I still found hard to adjust to.

“Make sure they don't change anything I love,” I said, smiling at him, and he grinned at me then, mischief dancing in his eyes again. I'll never forget that moment. He was wearing fuchsia satin pants, and a yellow vinyl shirt with rhinestone polka dots on it.

“They can rebuild anything you want smaller or bigger,” he said, “there are endless options.”

“Don't change a thing, Paul. You're perfect as you are,” I reassured him. And then, without saying a thing, he closed the purple alligator suitcases they'd made for him at Hermes, and walked slowly to the door of my apartment, and then stopped to look at me.

“I shall return,” he said victoriously, and we both smiled knowing it was true, or hoping so at least. And then he was gone, and I was left alone in the empty apartment to think about him, and the quadruple flip. It was hard not to think about it.

I had exactly two hours to compose myself, to readjust, to try and turn my thoughts from him, and turn my mind, and heart, back to Peter. He had asked me to pick him up at the airport, and I wasn't sure I could do it. It wasn't easy going back to Peter, after Paul. The Klone had made a lasting impression on me. And I was no longer sure what
Peter meant to me now. My two weeks with the Klone had literally changed my life, and I knew it.

I took a bath thinking of Paul, and the time we had spent talking there, and I took out a photograph of Peter to remind myself of what he looked like. They were identical, of course, but there was something in Peter's eyes, in his heart, that was very different and spoke to my soul. And then I had to remind myself that Paul was only a Klone, a mass of wires and computer parts that had been brilliantly made, but he was not real. And in truth, however much fun I'd had with him, he was not Peter. I was slowly returning to earth now.

I put on a new black suit from Dior, and a hat, and looked at myself in the mirror. I looked so dull, almost as dreary as I had in the old, flannel nightgowns in days gone by. But to cheer myself up, I put on the new diamond bracelet and the ruby pin Paul had bought me just before he left, with matching earrings. They were from Van Cleef, and as he always did, he charged them to Peter. He was sure he'd be happy to know he'd bought me something I was so fond of.

I was still feeling subdued in the limo on the way to the airport. Paul had tried to convince me to rent the white one with the hot tub on the back, but I had the feeling Peter might be happier with a smaller black one. I just couldn't see
him using the hot tub, although Paul had, and loved it.

The plane was late, and I stood at the gate for half an hour waiting for Peter, still wondering how I would feel when I saw him. It was hard to say after the two weeks I had just spent with Paul. I wondered if everything would be spoiled now. I hoped not.

And then, as I waited breathlessly, as people in track suits and jogging shorts and boxers began filing out, I saw Peter. He was slim and tall, with a new haircut and a serious air, and that incredibly powerful way of walking. He was wearing a double-breasted blazer and gray slacks, a blue shirt of course, and a Hermes tie with a navy background and tiny yellow dots. And just watching him move toward me took my breath away. This was no imitation, no Klone, this was the real thing, a real man, and I felt my heart pound as I watched him approach me. I could tell in an instant that nothing had changed between us. Much to my own surprise, I loved him more than ever. It was hard to explain, especially after the fun I'd had with the Klone. But Peter was real, and Paul wasn't.

We talked endlessly on the way home, about life, and the kids, his work, and everything he'd done in California in the past two weeks. He never asked about Paul once, or how it had all
worked out, or when he'd left. The only thing he wanted to know was why I had come to the airport in a limousine, instead of his Jaguar. And I had to explain that Paul had had a little mishap with it. I assured him that they had put out the fire in the engine immediately, and other than the totaled front end, there had been very little other damage. The trunk still opened easily, all the tires were being replaced, and he was going to love it canary yellow with red wheels. I saw a muscle tighten in his jaw, but to his credit, he said nothing about it. He was a gentleman, and a good sport, as he always had been.

He seemed happier to see me when we got home. He left his bags in the car, but came up for a while, for a cup of tea. And then he kissed me. And when he did, I knew nothing had changed between us. Peter kissing me was more powerful than the double or triple or quadruple flip with Paul. Just seeing him again turned my knees to mush. I was crazy about him.

He went back to his own place then, to shower and change, and when he came back that night to see me and the kids, they both looked disappointed when they saw him come through the door. He was wearing jeans, a blue Oxford shirt, a navy cashmere sweater, and the Gucci loafers. I had to remind myself that this was Peter, and not Paul, and my days of leopard spandex
and gold lame were over for the time being. I tried not to think of Paul, with his head off in the shop. More importantly I had lost my head over Peter again, though I had no regrets about Paul.

And while I was fixing him a martini in the kitchen, Charlotte came in and whispered, “What happened to him? He hasn't looked like a dork in weeks. And now look at him.” But the truth was I loved the way he looked, better than G-strings, and spandex and purple cowboy hats. I loved his “dork” look, and thought it irresistibly sexy and very “cool.” But that was hard to explain to Charlotte, who preferred the fluorescent green jeans, and the fuchsia satin overalls he had promised to lend her.

“He's just tired, Char,” I explained vaguely. “Maybe he's in a quiet mood. Maybe he just had a bad day at the office.”

“I think he's schizophrenic,” she said bluntly. Possibly. Or maybe I was. That was also an option.

But they were even more surprised to learn that he had moved back to his own apartment again. I explained that the construction he was doing there was going so well that he no longer needed our guest room, now at least. And Sam looked heartbroken to hear it.

“You're not staying here?” he asked miserably, and Peter shook his head.

“I moved back to my apartment this morning,”
Peter explained, sipping the martini, and playing with the olives.

“It must be Mom's cooking,” Sam said, shaking his head, as he went back to his own room. It was an adjustment for everyone, especially me, as we sat on the couch holding hands, and finally snuck into my room once we knew the kids were asleep. Out of sheer habit from the last two weeks, I lit the candles on either side of my bed, and Peter raised an eyebrow.

“Isn't that dangerous?” he inquired, looking worried.

“I don't think so … it's pretty.” I turned to face him, and he was watching me cautiously. I knew we were both wondering the same thing. What would it be like now?

“You're beautiful, Stephanie,” he said softly. “I missed you while I was away.” And I could see from the look in his eyes that he meant it.

“So did I,” I said in a whisper in the candlelight.

“Did you?” He looked worried, but as though he wanted to believe it was true, and it was. I loved him even more now. “It wasn't the same here without you.” An obscene understatement. But I had missed him. Terribly. Just seeing him standing there again, I was reminded of all that we had together. And then he reached for me ever so gently, and pulled me closer to him, and
as he did, all else was forgotten, as though Paul faded from my memory the moment Peter touched me and erased a whole block of information and feelings. It was very odd, and I didn't understand it.

Peter was everything I had always known him to be, tender, loving, artful, considerate, sensual, an extraordinary lover in every way. There were no acrobatic twists and turns, no double flip, no triple, or quadruple. There were only the two of us, transported to a place I had nearly forgotten in the past two weeks. And as I lay in his arms afterward, he gently stroked my hair and then kissed me.

“God, I missed you,” he said, and I smiled.

I missed you too … so much … it was a crazy time.” But in a way, although I didn't realize it at the time, it had shown me how much I loved him. He didn't ask about Paul then, or what we had done together. I sensed easily that he didn't want to know, although I was sure he suspected. Sending Paul to me was something he had done for me, a kind of gift from him, but in his mind, it was over. In mine, it was something I would have to live with, and absorb. But it was Peter who was important to me, who was a part of my real life, not the Klone. And wherever Paul was now, I knew they had already taken his wires apart, and his head off.

“You looked beautiful when you picked me up today,” Peter said peacefully in the flickering candlelight. “Where did you get all those rubies? Were they real?” They had been extraordinary, but he'd been so excited to see me that he'd forgotten to mention them.

“They're from you.” I smiled, looking up at him, as I lay against his shoulder. “Paul bought them for me, at Van Cleef. They're pretty, aren't they?”

“Did he charge them to me?” Peter asked, trying heroically not to look as stunned as he was. I nodded, and felt him grow anxious as we lay side by side.

“He said he knew you'd want me to have them. Thank you, sweetheart.” I nestled closer to him, and felt his tension as he lay next to me, and he said nothing more about the rubies. “I love you, Peter,” I said gratefully, remembering the miraculous things he had just done to me. It was good to have him home again, better than it ever had been.

“I love you too, Steph,” he whispered. And I knew that, wherever he was, and whether or not he would return again, in his own loving, inimitable way, Paul Klone had brought Peter even closer to me.

Chapter Seven

The next three months with Peter were remarkable, in their own way, the children readjusted to him, although they wondered what happened, after his brief two-week fling at near insanity and wearing cool clothes. But they got used to the Gucci shoes again, and so did I.

Peter and I spent a lot of time together, and I had never been as happy in my life as I was with him. We went to movies, plays. I met all his friends, and I liked most of them. He spent weekends with me, whenever the children went to stay with their father. And I spent the occasional night at his apartment, when I had a sitter for the kids, and left at six
A.M.
to come home to make breakfast for them, still smiling from my nights with Peter.

I fell in love with him more each day, in spite
of his occasional cool spells, and his occasional doubts about being involved with me, which I think came from years of independence and being on his own. According to him, I was the first serious relationship he'd had in many years. His freedom was important to him. He was actually very different from Paul. In contrast, Paul seemed to have very little need for freedom. But Peter was another story. He had been single for a long time, and in some ways, I suspected that commitment wasn't easy for him anymore.

But in spite of that, the relationship seemed solid. It meant a great deal to me, and it was obvious that it did to Peter as well. It was a more meaningful relationship than I'd ever had with anyone, including, and perhaps even especially, Roger. This was real, as real as it could be, with ups and downs, and laughter, and occasionally tears, and the shared confidences that we trusted each other with, and there were many of them. And although I'd had doubts about him when he sent the Klone to me, I decided finally that although he was perhaps unusual, Peter was, in fact, normal and very sane. The Klone was simply an added facet to him. And of course, like all men, he needed to remind me from time to time that there were parts of him I didn't know yet, and still other parts that I might never know. It added a veil of mystery he seemed to feel was important,
but the truth was that I saw who he was, and he had fewer secrets from me than he wanted to believe. I was willing to accept that there were some small, dark, hidden parts he had kept to himself, but they didn't frighten me. What I saw and what I felt and what I knew was a kind, generous, sensitive, intelligent, loving man. And he proved it to me in a thousand ways.

He was always patient and loving with my children, and had a special kind of empathy and tenderness in handling Sam. He was tolerant and understanding of Charlotte's moods and quirks as well, and the fact that some days she liked him, and at other times she wouldn't even say hello. I scolded her if she was rude to him, but he then chided me in turn for my lack of compassion, and was always quick to explain to me why this wasn't easy for her, and I had to back off, and give her a chance to get to know him in her own time.

But it was with Sam that he particularly touched me in late October. It was in fact on Halloween, and I had been putting together a Batman costume for him. Roger had promised to take him to a Halloween party, and there was no way I could take him, because I had promised myself to Charlotte that night, as a chaperone at her school dance. And it was important to her that I be with her. If they didn't have enough chaperones, they had threatened to cancel the
school dance, and my canceling out on her could put the whole event in jeopardy, since most of the other parents didn't seem to want to go. I had sworn to her that, no matter what happened, I would be there. But at the last minute, Roger called, and said Helena was sick and he couldn't take Sam out after all. I explained to him that he
had
to, but he said Helena would never understand how important it was, they thought she had appendicitis, and I would have to make other arrangements for Sam on my own. Peter sat listening quietly on the couch, as I battled futilely with Roger on the phone.