“What did you say your name was?” I teased, smiling sleepily at him.
“Paul,” he whispered, as he kissed me again, and the phone rang.
“I love you,” I whispered back, and reached for the phone, before it could wake the children. It was nearly one o'clock in the morning.
“How did you like my surprise?” a familiar voice asked, as I looked around in confusion. It was Peter. But it couldn't be. He was in bed next to me, running a finger lazily down my spine as I listened. “Is he behaving himself? Don't let him get too outrageous, Steph … or I'll get jealous.” My eyes opened wide as I listened to the voice on the phone. It was right out of The Twilight Zone as I turned to look at Peter, to make sure he was still there with me. But the voice on the phone was identical. I knew it too well, unless it was some crazed but very clever mechanical recording. But how could that be?
“Who is this?” I said, my voice a croak in my throat as I asked him.
“It's Peter. Isn't the Klone there with you?” I looked at Paul then, and knew it was all true. Peter was in California. And Paul Klone was in my bed, had been making love to me as no one ever had before, and he'd been telling the truth all evening about not being Peter. But if he wasn't Peter, who was he? The room spun around as I listened to him, and I looked at Paul, and unable to withstand any more, I closed my eyes, and fainted.
Chapter Five
By the next morning, when I woke up, I realized with utter certainty that alien beings had taken over my life. I could hear Paul on the phone, as I opened my eyes, ordering five kilos of caviar, a case of Louis Roederer Cristalle, and another of Chateau d'Yquem. And before I could even comment on it, he had leaped across the room, talking about it being a great morning. But I was in no condition to discuss it with him.
I crawled out of bed, with an incredible hangover, something I hadn't had in years. It must have been the champagne. And as I stood in the shower moaning softly, trying to sort out what had happened, Paul came in and offered to help me shave my legs.
“No, thanks, I can do it myself.” He sat down on the toilet seat next to me then, with a fresh glass of champagne in his hand, while I wondered if I should just forget about my legs, and slit my wrists instead.
I still couldn't understand what had happened. I remembered talking to Peter supposedly in California the night before, but he was very clever and knowledgeable about technology. He had probably made the recording before he left, and it was actually him sitting there, next to me, drinking champagne, and pretending to be someone else. This clone story of his was more than a little far-fetched, but it allowed him to indulge in a lot of very exotic liberties and sex games and a most unusual style of dress, guilt-free. I wondered if it was the only way he could free himself of whatever inhibitions he had, and suspected that was it. But it really made me wonder what kind of neuroses he had to need to hide behind the pretense of being someone else. It was more than a little kinky, but at least I had worked it out in my head. The night before I had actually believed him for a while, but as he sat in my bathroom, watching me, wearing only a towel, it was easy to see that it was really Peter, no matter what name he wished to be called, or how outrageous the outfit.
“Feeling better?” he asked, as I stepped out of the shower, smiling finally. He wasn't going to fool me with his little game. And if that was the game he wanted to play with me, I could play it just as well.
“Much.” I kissed him, and took a sip of his champagne. ‘‘ That was fun last night.’ I said, drying my hair, noticing how handsome he was, by whatever name.
“I'm sorry it freaked you out a little bit when Peter called. It's a little startling at first, I realize, but once you adjust to the idea of it, it really makes a lot of sense. With Peter having to travel so much, he didn't want you to be alone. You know, it took them over three years to build me, and another year and a half just to get all the kinks out.” I wasn't quite as sure “they” had. But we were apparently going to play “Stephanie and Paul” today, and pretend that Peter was still away. “What do you want to do today?” he asked amiably. “After we get the kids off to school.”
“Don't you have to go to work?” I said hopefully.
“Eventually. It makes Peter a little nervous when I go into the office, but I feel guilty if I don't at least drop by every few days. But I thought today, we'd take the day off … and maybe just stay in bed.” He grinned at me outrageously, finished his champagne, and threw the glass away. But a little lost Baccarat was a small price to pay for a fantasy like this one.
“There's an exhibit I want to see at the Met … I mean after … that is if …” I couldn't believe I was blushing as I talked to him, but he smiled as he looked at me, and bent gently toward me to kiss my breast. “Peter … don't …”
“Paul,” he whispered, and I nodded, and then tore myself away from him to get dressed. It was certainly an intriguing little game to play. It almost made me wonder what else he was into, whips and chains, handcuffs, or even more unusual costumes than the one he'd worn the night before. And as though to counteract the erotic fantasies I was beginning to have about him, I put on an old tattered gray sweater and my favorite pair of jeans. I slipped my bare feet into loafers, and walked soberly into the kitchen to feed the kids. Peter, alias Paul, had gone to make more phone calls, but he had promised to join us at breakfast, and see the children before they left for school.
I made waffles and bacon for everyone, since we had a “guest,” and Sam had gobbled up all of his before Charlotte even left her room. She appeared late, as usual, straightening the much-too-short skirt she was wearing and fiddling with her hair. She was wearing a necklace that looked like a stop sign but said SEXY, and my favorite pair of high heels. And I sent her back to change into the Adida3 she usually wore to school.
By the time she got back, she was even later, inhaled half a waffle, and informed me that eating bacon was sick. I nodded and picked up the paper, with a quick glance at my watch. It wasn't my day to drive them to school, and the mother who was scheduled to do it was almost always late. She already was, and as I shook my head over it and picked up the business section, I felt as though an odd, almost otherworldly presence had just entered the room. Unable to resist the forces around me, and sensing him before I saw him, I looked up. My eyes were instantly met with a vision that nearly defied description. For once, Sam was stunned into silence, and Charlotte whispered in awe, ‘Too cool.” It was too something definitely. I'm not entirely sure “cool” was the right word. “Hot” might have been more like it.
The Klone, as he called himself, was wearing a one-piece leopard spandex jumpsuit, with a skintight T-shirt in an almost electric hot pink, with matching shoes. He had on sunglasses and a heavy gold necklace, and on his fingers he wore at least six enormous diamond rings. And as the sun streamed in on him, he looked as though he were going to explode in a million particles of blinding light, rather like a kaleidoscope enhanced by LSD. He was definitely “too cool.”
“Bright in here, isn't it?” he said pleasantly, as he sat down at the table with a broad smile. All I could do was stare at him. The outfit was beyond belief.
“I think it's just you,” I said, wondering if the khakis and conservative blue shirts had just been a ruse. Maybe this was the real him. If not, it was certainly an intriguing joke. But maybe he had just worn the conservative clothes to pull me in. In either case, this was sick, and I knew it.
“ Anything special in the paper?” he asked comfortably, digging into his waffles and bacon, and pouring about an inch of maple syrup all over his plate, while Sam watched with glee and fascination.