The Klone and I (20 page)

“No,” I said, growing angry suddenly, “you are. You think that you can just swoop in here whenever he leaves and play with me, flip me around in midair, drinking yourself blind, and make a fool out of me with my friends, and I'll be so blown away by you, I'll forget him. Well, I don't. I can't. I never will. I don't even think he loves me, if you want to know the truth. But even if he doesn't, I still love him.”

“You're disgusting.” Paul looked deeply offended, and I was suddenly afraid I had gone too far and really hurt his feelings. His wiring was extremely sensitive, and I knew how easy it was to bruise his ego. “And you're right. He doesn't love you. I don't think he knows how. That's why he built me. He wanted me to do all the fancy footwork. And I do. Let's face it, Steph. I make him look good. Without me, he's nothing.”

“Without him, you are,” I said bluntly, and Paul looked as though I'd hit him. I wanted to stop then, but I couldn't. I knew that for the sake of my own sanity, I had to be honest with him. I was crazy about him. I enjoyed him endlessly. I had never had as much fun before, and I cared about him deeply, but in the past two days I had discovered what I had always suspected secretly. I didn't love him. I loved Peter. Utterly, completely,
and truly. Even if Peter never understood it. That still didn't change it.

“You hurt my feelings, Steph,” Paul said, pulling the vodka bottle out again, and taking a long swig from the bottle. And then he burped loudly as he set it back down on the table. It was one of those little things I loved about him.

“I'm sorry, Paul. I had to say it.”

“I don't believe you. And neither does Peter. He knows you love me.”

“What makes you think so?”

“He told me,” Paul said bravely. “He called before he left for San Francisco.”

“What did he say?” I asked, curious about the things they talked about, and what they said about me. Contemplating that was more than a little unnerving. No woman liked to think of both her lovers conferring.

“He just said you'd been depressed ever since he got back, and he needed to get away. He's been getting much too close to you, apparently. He missed you a lot when he was away. And he said he could see when he returned how much you missed me. You did, didn't you?” He grinned victoriously at me.

“I always miss you,” I said honestly. “And I was depressed thinking I might not see you again.”

“Why wouldn't you?” The Klone looked puzzled.

“I wouldn't see you if I left him, Paul. We talked about it.”

“Why would you leave him, if you supposedly love him so much?”

“Because he doesn't love me. And I can't play this game forever, sleeping with both of you. It's not decent, and it's too tough an adjustment. One minute I'm bounding off the walls with you, and trying to keep you from mooning the buses on Fifth Avenue, the next I'm trying to be respectable with him, and adjust to what his needs are. And whatever they are, I'm not sure that they include me at the moment. He barely said goodbye to me when he left for California.”

“Because he knows that we belong together.”

“You belong in the shop, with your head off. And I belong in the nuthouse.” But much more to the point, I knew I belonged with Peter. Forever, if he'd let me. But that seemed unlikely now.

“He doesn't want to stand between us,” Paul said with confidence, as though he knew Peter better than I did, and spoke for him.

“Then he's crazier than you are.” But before I could say more, the children came home from their weekend with Roger and Helena, and wanted to complain about it. They were used to Paul by then, and the exotic outfits he wore, that
they scarcely noticed him sitting in the kitchen, and of course they thought it was Peter.

“Nice pants,” Charlotte commented as she helped herself to a Dr Pepper and continued to complain about what a bitch Helena was, and how disgusting she looked with her boobs bigger than ever, while I urged her to be respectful. It was useless. I was still talking to her when Paul disappeared with Sam conspiratorially, and I almost had a heart attack half an hour later, when I went to look for them, and saw Paul hand him a live iguana. He had it in his suitcase.

“Oh my
God!”
I screamed. “What
is
that?”

“His name is Iggy,” Sam said proudly. “A friend of Peter's brought him back from Venezuela.”

“Well, tell him to take it back there. You can't have that thing in this house, Sam.” I was panicked.

“Oh, Mom …” Sam turned his huge eyes up to mine and begged me.

“No!
Never!”
And then I turned to Paul in fury. Not only had he come uninvited as usual, and unwanted this time, but he had brought a monster with him. “You can make a lovely pair of boots out of him, one at least. I'm sure your friend in Venezuela can find you another. You won't even have to dye them. They're green already. Now put that thing back in your suitcase!”
Paul picked him up off Sam's head, where he had been resting, and cradled him lovingly, while Sam continued to beg me to keep him. “Forget it, both of you! Get rid of him. Or I'm sending both of you to Venezuela with him. Good-bye, Iggy!” I said pointedly and went back to the kitchen to cook dinner. What was I going to do with him? And with or without Iggy, this time I knew Paul was not going to be staying. I had made a decision.

I was cooking pasta when Paul walked back into the kitchen again, with a serious expression. “I'm disappointed in you, Steph. You've lost your sense of humor.”

“I've grown up. You wouldn't understand. You're not real. You can afford to be Peter Pan forever. I can't. I'm a grown woman, with two children.”

“You sound like Peter. He always says stuff like that. That's why everyone thinks he's so boring.”

“Maybe that's why I love him. Besides, he would never do a thing like that, bring something like that to Sam. A goldfish maybe, or a hamster. Maybe a dog. But not a helio-monster or whatever that thing is.”

“He's an iguana, and he's a beauty. And what makes you think he wouldn't do that? You don't know him.”

“I know him intimately, and believe me, he would
not
give my son an iguana.”

“Well, pardon me for living,” he said, pulling out the cooking sherry and drinking half the bottle. “Do I have time for a shower before dinner?”

“No,” I said firmly, “and you can't stay here tonight.”

“Why not?” He looked disappointed as he started to hiccup. “That sherry is awful, by the way, you shouldn't use it.”

“You shouldn't drink it.”

“I finished the vodka, and you're out of bourbon.”

“I didn't know you were coming. Peter only drinks martinis.”

“I don't care what he drinks. And why can't I stay here?”

“Because I'm turning over a new leaf. I think he was really upset about you this time. I don't want to screw up a relationship that's important to me, even if he did send you.”

“Isn't it a little late for that? Besides, you don't even think he loves you.” He sounded mean when he said it. It was the vodka talking. Or maybe the sherry.

“That's not the point. Whether he loves me or not, I love him. And you can't sleep here.”

“I can't go back to the shop,” he said stubbornly.
“I don't have the keys, and it's closed on Sundays.’

“Then stay at the Plaza. You have his American Express card. Charge it to Peter.”

“Only if you stay there with me.”

“Forget it … and besides, I don't have a sitter,” I said, distracted, as the pasta started burning. All the water had boiled off while we discussed the iguana and whether or not he could sleep there.

“Then I'll stay here,” he said practically. “I'll he comes back from California.”

“Paul,” I said firmly, looking him squarely in the eyes, “you can stay for dinner, but after that, you're leaving.” And I wasn't kidding, as Charlotte walked into the room and looked at both of us with a curious expression.

“Who's Paul?” she asked, wondering what game we were playing. “What happened to dinner?”

“I burned it,” I said through clenched teeth, glaring at both of them, as Sam wandered in, holding the iguana.

“Get that thing out of here!” I screamed at him, as I dropped the pot of burned pasta in the sink. It was beyond salvation.

“I hate you!” Sam said, as he went back to his room with Iggy.

“You really should let him keep it,” Paul said gently, “it means a lot to him.”

“Get out of my life!” I said, wanting to scream or cry or hit him.

“You won't let me,” he said, smiling at Charlotte. “Your mother gets very nervous when she cooks, doesn't she? Do you want me to whip something up?” he offered helpfully, as I pulled a frozen pizza out of the freezer.

“No, thank you.” He took out the liar's dice then, and started playing with Charlotte, as I banged and slammed my way around the kitchen.

It was nine o'clock by the time I served dinner, and I somehow managed to burn the pizza.

It was after ten when I finished cleaning up the kitchen. Sam was asleep in his room by then, and he still had the iguana with him. When I went to kiss him good night, I saw it lying next to him, on the pillow, and closed the door gently so it couldn't escape. Paul was going to have to take it with him. I was never going to let Sam keep it.

“Is he asleep?” Paul asked gently, as I came back to the kitchen. He was working on my only bottle of sapphire gin. I had been saving it for Peter, but it didn't seem to matter as much suddenly. Peter had said we “had to talk,” which was always a death knell. He was probably going to dump me when he came back from California, if he hadn't already. He probably just hadn't had
the guts to tell me. I remembered how quiet he had been when we walked in the park in the snow, and the way he had looked at me after he saw the ruby ring Paul gave me.

I poured myself a small glass of the gin, poured some tonic in it, and threw in a couple of ice cubes.

“I thought you didn't drink.” He looked shocked when he saw it.

“I don't. But I think I need it.”

“How about a massage?”

“How about taking your iguana and going to a hotel, without me?” I had had all I could take for one night, two burned dinners, a romance on the rocks, and a giant lizard loose in my son's bedroom, not to mention this lunatic I'd been sleeping with, who had probably cost me my relationship with Peter. And Paul wasn't even human. My life was a shambles. I'd been shaving my legs religiously for two years, had sworn off blueberries, had met the finest man I'd ever known, and managed to screw it up somehow by having an affair with R2D2.

“I think you should go to see Dr. Steinfeld,” Paul said sympathetically as he watched me sipping my gin and tonic.

“Maybe we all should.” I was too tired to pursue the subject further. All I wanted was to see Peter, instead of Paul, sitting comfortably in my
kitchen in his scarlet leggings. “Don't those things itch? I can't wear them.” I was slowly getting drunk on one drink and didn't care. My life was over anyway. I had lost Peter.

“Yes, they do,” Paul said conversationally, indifferent to the desperation I was feeling. “I'll take them off in a minute.”

“Not here,” I said pointedly, and he smiled.

“Of course not. I meant in the bedroom.” I sat back in the kitchen chair, and groaned, with my eyes closed. Why had Peter done this to me? Why couldn't he have picked up someone else in Paris and inflicted his Klone on some other unsuspecting woman? I was in love with Jekyll and Hyde. Jekyll mostly, and he didn't want me. And I couldn't get Hyde the hell out of my life, my hair, or my kitchen. And I was exhausted from trying. “Where's Charlotte?” he asked with mild concern as he got up and stretched.

“Asleep.” She had gone to bed right after Sam had.

“So early?”

“I asked her to clean up her room and do her homework. That's like giving her nitrous oxide. She passed out as soon as I said it.” It also explained why the apartment was so peaceful.

I finished the gin and tonic and stood up, looking at him, wondering if there was any hope of getting rid of him that night, but I didn't think
so. It might just be easier to let him sleep there, one last time, and then throw him and his iguana out in the morning.

“Why don't you sleep in the guest room?” I suggested, giving in, but not completely. He could have my guest room, but not my virtue, or my heart. They belonged to Peter. I was sure now. I was not going to be swayed again, into believing that I loved Paul. I didn't. And then I remembered. The guest room was full of Christmas presents, and it would have taken hours to remove them. I had been piling them up in there for days, and I had nowhere else to put them. They weren't wrapped yet, and I didn't want the kids to see them. You couldn't even find the bed in there. The situation was distressing. “I just remembered. You can't sleep there. You can sleep on the floor of my bedroom.”

“I can't,” he said convincingly, as my whole body sagged listening to him. I was losing the man I loved, and couldn't get rid of the Klone he had inflicted on me. “I can't sleep on the floor,” he explained, “it's bad for my wiring. It distorts it.”

“I'll call an electrician for you tomorrow. That's your only option.”

“You're all heart, Steph.”

“Thank you.” I turned off the lights, put my glass in the sink, and he followed me to my bedroom.
And as soon as I closed the door, he stripped off the red spandex leggings. I tried not to see how great his legs were. Having been made with great precision and great care, his legs were every bit as splendid as Peter's.

I disappeared into the bathroom and put on a nightgown and a robe, and tied it. I would have slept in my ski clothes if I could have. I was determined to resist him.

“ ‘Are you cold?” he asked, looking surprised by the bathrobe.

“No, frigid,” I said simply, and climbed into bed, as he went to brush his teeth. He was good about those things, even though he had no need to go to the dentist. His teeth were white and perfect, and were actually made of porcelain over some very rare metal. He had explained it to me once when I asked him. He had no idea what it was to get a filling. Lucky devil.

And when he returned from the bathroom, the lights were off and I pretended to be sleeping. I was lying on my side at the edge of the bed, and I fully expected him to sleep on the floor, which was another sign of insanity on my part. He had no intention of it. And within seconds, I felt him slip into bed beside me. I couldn't see if he was wearing Peter's pajamas, but prayed he was. And then I heard him strike a match, and knew what he was doing. He was lighting the candle, but I
didn't dare say anything for fear he would know I wasn't sleeping, and then a moment later, I felt him gently touch my shoulders and start to massage them. I lay there, tense, hating him for being so nice to me. But I knew there was a reason for it. I knew exactly what he wanted, and I was determined that, for once, no matter how enticing he was, he wouldn't get it.