The Klone and I (14 page)

I sat for a long quiet moment, wondering what to do, and what I was going to tell Sam. I was already signed up at Charlotte's school, and she was in her room, dressing for the dance. Backing out on her at the last minute would be a sin she would never forgive me for, but making Sam stay home with a sitter on Halloween would break his heart.

I glanced across the room at Peter, with despair in my eyes.

“I take it Roger can't make it?” He looked at me sympathetically as I nodded, silently running through the options in my mind. I was wondering if a sitter could take Sam to his party, but it was too late to find one, and I knew Sam better than that. He would opt not to go, and I knew how
important Halloween was to him. I needed to be two people, and unlike Peter, there was no way out for me. I didn't have a Klone.

“They think Helena has appendicitis,” I explained with a morbid look. “Christ, couldn't she have done that some other time?”

Peter walked across the room to me with a gentle smile and a warm look in his eyes. “I'll take him, if he'll have me. I don't have anything else to do tonight.” He had been planning to have dinner with friends, while I went to Charlotte's dance. And the truth was, I didn't know if Sam would have him. He had expected to go with his father, and although he liked Peter, going out with the man in my life on Halloween wasn't quite the same. “Why don't I ask him?” Peter said matter-of-factly. “If it's okay with him, I'll cancel my other plans.” I knew he was fond of the people he was meeting and they were only in town from London for a couple of days, and this was the only free night they'd had. But there was no question in my mind, I needed his help.

“Let me ask him first,” I said gratefully, and stopped to kiss him. “Thank you for doing it … I know it'll mean the world to Sam.”

But when Sam heard what had happened, he was too disappointed to be reasonable. He didn't care what Peter had offered, he was furious with Roger, and so disappointed he wadded his Batman
costume up in a ball, and threw it on the floor.

“I'm not going,” he said, throwing himself on his bed, with tears of defeat and sorrow running down his face. “Dad always goes out with me on Halloween … it won't be the same.”

I know, sweetheart … but it's not his fault if Helena is sick. And he can't just go out and leave her. What if she has to go to the hospital and he's not there?”

The voice from the depths of his pillow was muffled, but audible nonetheless. “Tell her to call 911.”

“Why can't Peter take you?”

“He's not my father. Why can't you?” Sam said, rolling on his back to look at me mournfully, the tears still fresh on his face.

“I have to go to Charlotte's dance.” And as I said the words, I saw the door open, and Peter take a single cautious step into Sam's room. He stood there hesitantly for a moment and looked straight at Sam, man to man, and asked a respectful question.

“May I come in?” Sam nodded, but didn't answer as Peter made his way slowly to Sam's bed, and sat down on the end of it, as I quietly left the room, praying that Peter would know the right things to say.

I'm not entirely sure what happened after
that, except that Sam told me many days later that Peter's father had died when he was ten, and his mother had had to work very hard to support him and his younger brother. There had never been anyone to go places with him. But he had been very close to the father of his best friend. He had gone fishing with them, and camping, and skiing once. And for the father-son camping trip, his best friend's father had taken both of them. It hadn't been the same for Peter either, but to this day, he had told Sam, as my son relayed to me later on, he and his best friend's father were still friends. He went to Vermont, where he lived now, every year to see him, and it means more to him than ever, because the man's son, Peter's friend, had been killed in Vietnam.

Sam had obviously been impressed by the story, because half an hour later, he appeared in my room with Peter standing beside him, his Batman costume on, and a look of resignation on his face.

“Peter said he'd go as Robin,” Sam announced, “if you've got anything for him to wear.” No problem, one Robin costume coming right up, twenty minutes before I had to leave for the dance. Of such minor challenges motherhood is made. We made holes for him to see through in an old sleepmask I'd taken from an airplane. I found an old gray sweatshirt, and a
black wool cape, and he actually looked pretty credible, even in his gray flannels. I somehow couldn't see him leaving the building in gray tights, even if I had had some, which thank God, I did not. And for a moment, as I looked at him before they left arm in arm, Peter reminded me more of the Klone than of himself. Paul would have had the tights, of course, and a pair of Versace boots to match, but Peter's gray slacks and loafers looked just fine. I kissed them both before they left, thanked Peter, and rushed back to my room, to comb my hair and change my dress for Charlotte's dance.

“You're late, Mom!” She glowered at me from the doorway five minutes later, as I simultaneously slipped on my shoes and zipped up my dress.

“No, I'm not,” I said breathlessly, grabbing my handbag, and smiling at her. There was no doubt whatsoever in my mind, Peter had saved the day.

“What have you been doing?” It would have taken too long to explain. She seemed to assume I'd been eating bonbons and watching my favorite show on TV.

“Nothing,” I said modestly, just salvaging Sam's Halloween for him and dressing Peter as Robin. No big deal. I did things like that every day.

“Come on, we can't be late,” she said, handing me my coat and bag as we rushed out the door.

As it turned out, we weren't. We caught a cab immediately, and I reported for duty as a chaperone at the scheduled time. Charlotte had a great time at the dance, and when we got home, Peter and Sam were sitting on the couch, chatting like old friends. They had already made their way through several Hershey bars, four packs of Rolos, and there were silver papers from Hershey's Kisses and orange KitKat wrappers spread all over the couch. But in addition to the stomachache they were soon to share, it was obvious that a new bond had formed, and once again, Peter had won my heart.

“How was it?” I asked as Charlotte disappeared down the hall, having thanked me adequately for taking her to the dance.

“It was great! Peter and I are going to the Princeton-Harvard game,” Sam announced proudly. “And he said he'd take me on the school ski trip, if Dad can't go.” Peter looked over his head into my eyes, and I saw something there I had never seen before, something tender and open and very warm. Whatever reservations Peter may have had about making a commitment to me, Sam had made serious inroads into his heart
that night. It was a look that, however developed the technology, could never have been cloned.

And when I went to kiss Sam in bed that night, he lay smiling up at me from his pillow. “He's a great guy,” he said about Peter, and all I could do was nod, and fight back the lump in my throat.

“I love you, Sam,” I whispered softly.

“I love you, too, Mom,” he said with a sleepy yawn. “Thanks for a terrific Halloween.”

Peter and I talked for a long time that night, about his childhood, and the death of his father, and then his mother when he was fourteen. In a way, he was an odd and lonely man, more so than I had ever realized, and it explained why he was so cautious about getting too attached to anyone. I think he was afraid that if he came to love us too much, something terrible might happen and he might lose us. But whatever fences he had built around himself over the years, it was obvious that Sam had broken right through them that night, dressed as Batman on Halloween.

“I think I had more fun than he did tonight. He's a great kid.” Peter smiled lovingly at me, and pulled me closer to him on the couch.

“He said pretty much the same thing about you before he went to sleep, and I agree with him. Thanks for saving the day for us. Better than that. Thanks for saving my life.”

“Anytime,” he swept a quick bow from where he sat on the couch, “Robin at your service.” He kissed me then, and his kisses tasted of Hershey bars and KitKats. I like that in a man. There was a lot I liked about Peter that night, and I fell in love with him all over again.

I met Peter's son on Thanksgiving, who was appropriately suspicious of me, and as rude as he dared to be, which was comforting. It reminded me of Charlotte with him in the beginning. She had long since come to the conclusion that Peter was boring, but harmless. And Sam truly liked him, especially after Halloween.

It was in early December that Peter told me he was going back to California for two weeks again. He hadn't been there in nearly three months. And as he said it, I was almost afraid to ask the obvious question. He didn't volunteer anything, and I didn't dare ask. I took him to the airport in the Jaguar, which had been repainted,
again
, by then. He had had it restored to silver. Its brief moment of canary yellow never saw the light of day. He never let it leave the shop that way, which somehow seemed a pity to me. Paul had thought it a terrific color, and had chosen it carefully, thinking Peter would like it. But as in everything else, nothing but their looks were the same.

Peter kissed me lovingly when I left him at the airport, and told me not to be lonely, and keep
busy while he was gone. There were a slew of early Christmas parties we were invited to, and he urged me to go to all of them. I told him I wasn't sure I wanted to and mulled it over, as I drove back into the city. I didn't want to go to the parties without him. I was almost sorry he hadn't sent me the Klone this time, or promised to. I missed the Klone. It would have been a good time to have him around. But the last visit obviously had bothered Peter. And this time as he left, Peter said nothing about the Klone coming to see me, and I didn't ask. I think Peter was sorry about ever sending me the Klone in the first place. He had never mentioned him again, and I'd gotten the impression that he felt the first visit had gotten out of hand.

I was cooking dinner for the kids that night, when the doorman buzzed and said something had arrived, so when the doorbell rang, I sent Sam to answer to see what it was, and he returned to the kitchen with a broad smile.

“What is it?” I had told him not to open the door until he looked through the peephole.

“It's not what, it's who,” he said with a knowing look, and then was quick to explain. “It's Peter, he's back, and he looks like he's in a good mood again. I guess he didn't go to California after all.” Just listening to what Sam said, I wondered. I put the spatula down that I'd been brandishing,
and ran to the door, still in my apron. I was wearing jeans and an old sweater. I opened the door, and then I saw him standing there, with stacks of purple alligator suitcases all around him. It was Paul, and he was beaming at me. He had clearly conned the doorman into letting him come up unannounced. He always tipped them well.

He was wearing chartreuse satin disco pants, and a mink jacket, and peeking through it I could see no shirt at all, only his bare chest, and his diamond peace sign shimmering at me.

“Merry Christmas!” were the first words he said to me, and then he kissed me with unbridled passion.

“Wow!” I whispered, looking him over carefully. He hadn't changed a bit in three months. It could have been Peter, but I knew it was Paul, back from wherever he had been to have his wires polished up, and his chips replaced. God only knew what they did now. But I was thrilled to see him. “How have you been?” I suddenly realized how much I had missed him. More than I would ever have admitted to Peter, or even to myself.

“I've been bored as hell, thanks a lot. I spent three months with my head off. I didn't even know he was going away again. They just told me this morning. I came as soon as they called.”

“I think he decided on short notice,” I whispered.
And I was happier to see him than I knew I should be. The last three months with Peter had been wonderful … but Paul brought with him something magical, and very different. A kind of madness blessed by outrageous spirits and kissed by elves. He was wearing yellow alligator cowboy boots, and when he took the mink jacket off, I could see he had on a tiny black see-through undershirt, covered in rhinestones. He looked very festive, and happy to see me.

He hugged both of the kids, and Charlotte rolled her eyes at him, and said, “Now what? Are you on one of your crazy kicks again, Peter?” But she grinned at him. She liked it when he got a little crazy. And Sam giggled at the outfit, as Paul poured himself half a glass of bourbon. This time he knew where I kept it, and took it out of the cupboard with a grin, and a wink at the kids.

“Are you staying with us again?” Sam inquired, looking amused. The last time “Peter” had looked like that, he had stayed in our guest room for two weeks. He thought the yellow cowboy boots were a little silly. But Peter was his buddy, and had been for months, in khaki pants, or chartreuse satin. They were growing accustomed to what they thought were his mood swings and his fluctuating taste in clothing. And as though to confirm that to me, Charlotte whispered
to me when he walked out of the kitchen with Sam.

“Mom, he needs Prozac. One minute he's all quiet and serious and wants to play Scrabble with Sam, and the next minute he walks in, acting like Mick Jagger, and dressed like Prince.”

“I know, darling, he's under a lot of pressure at work. People express it differently. I think dressing like that relieves some of the stress for him.”

“I'm not sure which way I like him better. I've kind of gotten used to him looking normal. This is a little embarrassing. Last time I thought it was cool, now I think it looks silly.” She was growing up, and I smiled at her.

“He'll get over it again in a couple of weeks, Char. I promise.”

“Whatever.” She shrugged and took the salad out to the table. Paul was already sitting there with Sam, and regaled all of us with outrageous stories of meetings he had disrupted with whoopee cushions and live frogs over the years. It was a side of him that Sam particularly loved, and I found myself staring at him. Like Charlotte, I had gotten used to Peter, and now seeing Paul again was a little confusing. I wasn't sure I was up to another two weeks of intense ecstasy and the quadruple flip. In my heart of hearts, I had come to love Peter's quieter ways better. And in his own
way, he was twice as sexy as Paul. Paul took a lot of energy, and he consumed enough bourbon for the entire state of Nebraska. I didn't even have champagne in the house for him. He asked for dessert, but settled for half a bottle of Yquem that was still left over from the last time.