The Klone and I (8 page)

Later that day Charlotte was in the process of telling me how glad she was that he was gone and that she hoped his plane crashed, as she described the flames that would devour him after it did, when the doorbell rang. I was cooking dinner, and didn't like what she was saying, since I knew he was still en route to California, or at least I thought so. That is, until I answered the door, wearing an apron, and carrying a ladle. It was the first week of school, and Sam was in his room, doing homework. Charlotte disappeared to hers at the sound of the doorbell, as though she knew what was coming.

I was surprised the doorman hadn't announced who was coming up, and figured whoever
it was had slipped past him, or maybe it was someone from the building, with a package for me. But I was in no way prepared for what I saw, when I opened the door, and almost dropped the ladle I was holding. It was Peter, in an outfit the likes of which I had never seen, anywhere, at any time, on anyone, and certainly not on Peter. He was wearing fluorescent green satin pants, skintight and startlingly revealing, with a see-through black net shirt, with a little sparkle to it, and a pair of black satin cowboy boots I'd seen in a Versace ad, with rhinestone buckles. I remember distinctly wondering who on earth would wear them, when I saw it. His hair was slicked back, differently than he normally wore it, and he was smiling at me. It was Peter, there was no doubt about that, and he had played the best joke on me. He hadn't left town at all. He had stayed, and dressed up for Halloween, a little early to be sure. It was a far cry from his immaculate white jeans, and well-pressed khakis, and the blue Oxford shirts I had grown so fond of.

I threw my arms around his neck and laughed. It was a terrific trick to play, and I loved it. “You're here! … And that's quite an outfit!” I noticed that he was wearing a different aftershave. I liked it, but it was a lot stronger, and made me sneeze. And as he followed me back into the kitchen, he walked with an outrageous
swagger. He was almost grinding his hips, and in the clothes he was wearing, reminded me of an interesting cross between Liberace, Elvis, and Michael Jackson. He looked as though he were about to go onstage in Las Vegas.

“Do you like it?” He seemed pleased that I liked what he was wearing, and smiled broadly at me.

“It's quite a surprise…. What I like best is that you're here.” I couldn't stop grinning as I watched him, and put down the ladle as I stared at him sauntering around my kitchen. I could hardly wait till the kids saw him, particularly Charlotte, who had just been complaining about how conservative he was, and how boring. This was definitely not boring, neither the trick he had played, nor the outfit he had worn to do it.

“He told you I was coming, didn't he?” he asked, as he straddled one of my kitchen chairs, and ran a hand up the skirt I was wearing. It was a gesture he had never before made with the kids so near at hand. But fortunately, they were both in their rooms, doing their homework.

“Who?” I was confused by the question. No one had spoiled the surprise, how could they? I hadn't met many of his friends yet. It was still too soon, and he hadn't had time to introduce me.

“Peter,” he said, sliding his other hand up the other leg, as I pulled away gently. If one of the
children walked in, I didn't want them to see that. It might shock them, but the sensations he was causing were certainly pleasant.

“Peter who?” He was so distracting, between the way he looked and the way he behaved, and the very fact that he was there, that I couldn't concentrate on what he was saying. I still couldn't get over the fact that he hadn't gone to California, and I was pleased that he hadn't.

He spoke as though to a child, with careful patience, as I gently avoided his hands this time and looked at him, trying to understand what he was saying. “Didn't Peter tell you I'd be here?”

“Very funny. No, you didn't tell me you'd be here. You told me you were going to San Francisco, and I'm thrilled you didn't.”

“I did,” he said smiling ingenuously. “I mean, he did. He left this morning. He told me to get here by dinner. He told me you'd be out before that, picking up the children at school.”

“You are utterly outrageous,” I said, laughing openly. “Are you pretending
not
to be Peter? Is that the game here?” It was very clever, and it totally amused me. He looked so out of character, it was perfect.

“I'm not pretending anything. It has taken years to perfect me. It was only an experiment at first. But it's been so successful, he wanted to share the secret with you.”

“What secret?” I was amused but baffled. He was talking in riddles. Perhaps it went with the costume, which was a great one. The fluorescent green pants looked like they were going to burst into flames as he moved lithely around my kitchen.

“I'm the secret!” he said proudly. “Didn't he tell you anything before he left?” He was smiling, and I was too.

“He said I was going to get a surprise,” I said, falling into the game with him, without intending to. It was hard not to.

“J'w the surprise,” he said proudly, “and the secret. They cloned him.”

“Who cloned him? Cloned who? What are you talking about?” I was laughing, but suddenly nervous. This was unnerving. I was beginning to wonder if he had a twin, or a far more unusual sense of humor than I had at first suspected. The fluorescent green pants were the first clue.

“The lab,” he explained, while opening cupboards and looking for something. “Peter must have told you he was in bionics. I'm his most successful experiment so far,” he said proudly.

“What are you looking for?” He was pulling everything out, and seemed very determined to find whatever it was he wanted.

“The bourbon,” he said simply.

“You don't drink bourbon,” I reminded him,
wondering if that was part of the act too. And then suddenly I had a terrifying insight. What if he was schizophrenic, or had multiple personalities? Was that possible? Gould that happen? Maybe as loving and wonderful as he was, he was crazy. Maybe there was no genetic engineering firm in San Francisco. Maybe there had never been a wife, or a son, or any of it. I started to panic as he poured himself a full glass of straight bourbon. This was no longer funny. It was much too convincing. “What are you doing?” He had filled the glass by then, and all I could think of was Joanne Woodward in the movie about the woman with the dozens of different personalities possessing her. I had seen it as a child and been terrified by it. This was almost as scary. Maybe worse. He seemed to believe what he was saying to me.

“He doesn't drink bourbon,” he explained, sitting down again, but this time the roving hand was holding his glass of bourbon. He didn't even bother to put water, soda, or ice cubes in it, and began guzzling it like Dr Pepper. “I drink bourbon,” he said happily after the first long swallow. Half the glass was instantly empty. “He drinks martinis.”

“Peter, stop it. I'm happy you're here. It's a wonderful surprise. But stop playing this game. It's making me nervous.”

“Why?” He looked hurt when I said it, and took another gulp of the bourbon, and then burped loudly and wiped his mouth with his sleeve. “Don't be nervous, Steph. It's not a game. This is Peter's present to you. He had me sent from California just for you.”

“How did you get here? By UFO, with aliens driving? Peter, stop it!”

“My name's not Peter. It's Paul. Paul Klone.” He stood up and bowed low, sloshing a little of the bourbon on his fluorescent green pants, but he didn't seem to mind it. I was mesmerized by him.

“Why are you doing this?” I grinned at him. “Stop teasing me. This is crazy.”

“It's not crazy. It's wonderful,” he said proudly. “Ten years ago, no one could have done this. It's his research that made me possible, you know. He's a genius.”

“No, he's a nutcase, apparently.” And then I narrowed my eyes at him, wondering suddenly if this was his twin, and the surprise was that I'd never known it. But it was a hell of a way to introduce me to him. “Tell me the truth, are you his brother?”

“No, nothing that mundane. I am truly what I told you. My name is Paul, and I can do everything he does … except,” he looked apologetic, “wear khakis. I can't stand them. He tried
programming me for that at first, but it kept screwing up my systems. You know the blazer, the white shirt, those awful ties he wears. Short-circuited me completely, so he lets me pick my own wardrobe.” He pointed to the satin boots with the rhinestone buckles, and I stared at them. This was madness in its highest form. After all the wonderful times we'd shared in the past month, this was suddenly a nightmare. This was worse than Roger telling me he didn't love me. Peter was crazy. “You're the same color as my pants,” he said sympathetically. “Are you pregnant?”

“I don't think so,” I said wanly, but I was actually dizzy. If it was an act, it was the best one I'd ever seen. If not, if he truly believed what he was saying, he was a very sick man. I had fallen in love with someone so sick, so insane, that it didn't bear thinking.

“Would you like to get pregnant?” he asked me then, pouring himself another full glass of bourbon. He had a mild case of the hiccups, and then suddenly I smelled something burning. It was our dinner. I had a chicken in the oven that looked like it had been incinerated when I opened the oven door to check it. “Don't worry. I can take you out to dinner. I have his American Express card. He doesn't know.” He looked very pleased about it.

“Peter, I am feeling too ill to go anywhere.
This is
not
funny.” And I meant it. I had had enough of the game by then. But he was loving every minute of it.

“I'm sorry.” He looked crestfallen. He could see now how upset I was, but it only made the hiccups worse. What were the children going to think when they saw him, if he kept telling this insane story? Either he or I belonged in Bellevue. And I was ready to volunteer if he didn't start sounding normal again shortly. “You know, if you want to get pregnant, Steph, it's probably easier for me than for him. They worked all the kinks out of that last year.”

“I'm relieved to hear it. And no, I don't want to get pregnant. I just want you to behave like the man I fell in love with.” I was about to burst into tears, but I didn't want to seem like a bad sport, if he was just kidding. I was praying that it was just a side of his sense of humor I'd never seen before, combined with the bourbon. He poured a third glass then, while I stared at him.

“I'm actually a lot nicer than he is, Steph. To know me is to love me.” He giggled then and set down the bourbon, and came over to put his arms around me. And suddenly everything about him felt familiar again, despite the aftershave that tickled my nose. I leaned my head against the ridiculous black shirt, and I could see his chest through it. He was wearing a large diamond peace sign on
a diamond chain that I hadn't noticed until then. And he saw that I'd seen it. “Great-looking, isn't it? I had it made by Carrier.”

“I think I'm having a nervous breakdown.” All I wanted was a Valium. I still had some left from the prescription the doctor had given me when Roger left me. But I wasn't sure if I should take it. Five more minutes of this, though, and I knew I'd have to.

“Sweetheart, look at me.” I looked up at him then, and realized that it was over. He was going to be Peter again, and stop playing mind games with me. I was exhausted. The “surprise” had gotten out of hand, and was now the size of the cloud over Hiroshima. “I'm here for two weeks, while he's gone. Let's just enjoy it.”

“You're making me crazy.” I was almost in tears by then, and it was going to take more than Valium to restore me. By then my sanity, if not his, was in question.

“I'm going to make you so happy you won't even want him back when he comes back from California.”

“I want him back
now”
I shouted at him, hoping to frighten away the insane spirit that had possessed him, and was now trying to unhook my bra as he put his arms around me. “I want you to leave here.”

“I can't,” he said gently, reminding me instantly
of Peter's tenderness with me, and I started to cry as I leaned my head against his shoulder. This was insane. I was in love with a complete lunatic. And even this other, utterly crazy, side of him was endearing. “I promised him I'd take care of you till he got back. I can't leave you. He'd kill me.”

“I'm going to kill you if you don't stop this,” I said wanly.

“Just relax. Come on, I'll help you cook dinner. You just sit down for a minute, and I'll get things organized for you. Here, try this, you'll feel better.” He handed me the glass of bourbon, and put the other apron on. And as I stared at him, he whipped around the kitchen with ease. I felt as though my life had been taken over by Martians. He added half a dozen spices to the soup I'd had on the stove, and put a frozen pizza in the oven, and without saying a word, made a salad and a loaf of garlic bread. And ten minutes later, he turned to me with a smile and announced that dinner was ready. “Do you want me to call the children?” he asked helpfully. The hiccups were gone by then, and he took another swig of bourbon.

“What am I going to tell them?” I asked, feeling desperate and a little woozy. I'd been drinking his bourbon. I needed it a lot more than he
did. “Are you going to keep this up all the way through dinner?”

“They'll get used to me, Steph. And so will you, I promise. None of you may want him back in two weeks. I'm a lot more fun than he is. And I cook better … not to mention…” He reached for my bra again and I leaned away from him in terror.

“Please! … for God's sake, Peter … not now!” What was I saying? Not now. Not ever! Not with this crazy man. Peter had always kept his passion confined to the bedroom. In this new guise, he seemed to have no inhibitions whatsoever.

“I'll call the kids, you just sit there!” he said sweetly, and before I could stop him, he had taken off down the hall to call them. “Kids! Dinner!” And before I could say anything at all, Sam rushed in and then stopped dead when he saw him, and grinned from ear to ear.

“Wow! Is that how you dress in California?”

“Actually, I got the pants in Milan last summer,” he said proudly. “Do you like them?”