“Why? I can manage fine on my own for two weeks.” It made me seem like a nymphomaniac or something, as though I had to have sex fourteen times a day and hang off the chandelier while doing it, just because Peter was in California. And it wasn't that simple for me. Besides, I had plenty to do with the kids, getting ready for the holidays, I had started looking for a job, and I had lots of parties to go to. I tried to explain that to Paul, as we sat in the living room and he opened another bottle of bourbon.
“He probably doesn't want you going out alone at this time of year, Steph. He must have had a reason for calling me, and having me come to see you.”
“Maybe I should ask him,” I said, wondering how best to handle an awkward situation like this one.
“I wouldn't do that. I think he likes knowing I'm here, but I'm not sure he wants to hear about it.” I had figured that much out the last time. “Kind of like an imaginary friend, if you know what I mean.” But I knew better.
“Paul, there is nothing imaginary about you. My back hurt for two months after you left.” The quadruple wasn't as simple as it looked, no matter how skilled he was at it. Peter was right. It was dangerous. And he'd sent me to his chiropractor, which had finally helped me. He hadn't asked how I'd hurt my back, but I was sure he knew without asking.
“Tell me about it. They had to replace all the wires in my neck after last time,” Paul said, and then he smiled at me so winningly I felt something in me start to melt, in spite of my good intentions, and my resistance to him. “But it was worth it. Come on, Steph … for old times’ sake … just two little weeks. It's Christmas. If I go back now, I'll feel like a failure.”
“It might be the best thing for both of us. What's the point of this? I'm in love with him, and you know it. I don't want to spoil it.”
“You can't. I'm his Klone, for heaven's sake. I'm him, and he's me.”
“Oh God, not that again,” I said, feeling overwhelmed by his persona. “I can't go through this again.”
“Didn't you feel closer to him last time after I left?” he said, looking hurt that I doubted his good intentions.
“How did you know that?” The truth was, I had. But he had no way of knowing. Or did he?
“Steph, it's meant to. I think that's why he sent me. Maybe I show you a side of him he doesn't know how to show you himself.” I glanced at the chartreuse pants and the rhinestone-encrusted T-shirt as he said it, but I found his theory a little hard to swallow. There was so much to Peter as it was, if he had a side like this, I wasn't sure he needed to show it to me. This was just a crazy experiment someone had dreamed up, or Peter had, and it had gotten out of hand right from the beginning. It was an insane fantasy to live out, and I was convinced I didn't need to. It was his fantasy not mine, and I was no longer sure it was even Peter's. “Look, let me spend the night,” he persisted in spite of all my rationalizations. “No double flip, no triple, no quadruple. We'll just lie in bed and talk, like good friends, old times. And I'll leave in the morning, I promise.”
“Where will you go?”
“Back to the shop. To take my head off.” Poor thing. It was a rotten way to spend Christmas. We deserved a little fun at least before he went back in the shop again. After all, he had been there since September, waiting for Peter to leave for California.
“All right. But just tonight. And no funny stuff. You can wear a pair of his pajamas.”
“Do I have to? Christ, they're so ugly. They're probably beige or something.” He winced at the prospect, as though their oatmeal blandness would cause him genuine pain. He would have felt differently if they'd been chartreuse satin.
“They're navy, with red trim. You'll love them.”
“I doubt it. But for you, I'll wear them.” I was only sorry I had finally disposed of my very last flannel nightgown. They were gone forever. I had already decided to sleep in my bathrobe, just to be safe. I didn't want to provoke Paul into anything we'd both regret later.
We went to bed eventually, and used the bathroom separately. He came out wearing the navy blue pajamas, looking as though he might get sick from wearing them, and I came out wearing my most chaste nightgown, and the terry-cloth bathrobe he had bought me at ‘21.’ It was a far cry from the last time I'd seen him. And this time, there were no candles. Peter was right, I had decided, they were a fire hazard.
“Not even one little one?” Paul looked crushed when I told him. He loved candlelight, and so did I now.
“No. I'm turning the light off,” I warned him, and got into bed next to him, but as soon as he put an arm around me, he felt just like Peter. I had to keep reminding myself he wasn't, but it was hard to remember in the dark.
“Why are you so uptight tonight?” he asked unhappily, as I lay tensely next to him. “He must be making you frigid or something. No wonder he had them send me.”
“You are not here on a mission,” I reminded him. “You're here to visit, as an old friend, and a figment of his occasionally insane imagination.” For the past three months, Peter had seemed so normal, that it was hard to remind myself now that the Klone had originally been his idea and creation.
“What about your imagination, Steph? Have you lost it entirely, or has he killed it?”
“No, he has made me very happy.”
“I don't believe you,” he said firmly. And I frowned in the darkness. I didn't like the way the conversation was going. I hadn't invited him to stay so I could defend myself. I had let him stay because I felt sorry for him. “If you were so happy, you'd still be as much fun as you used to be. Now you're more uptight than he is.”
“I can't sleep with both of you. It makes me crazy.”
“I am not ‘both of us.’ We are one person.”
“Then you're both nuts.”
“Possibly. But we also both love you.” He said it matter-of-factly.
“I love you too. I just don't want to confuse myself again. Last time, when I was with you, I thought I loved you and not him. Then when he came back, I knew I loved him, and not you. And by then, you had your head off anyway, so the whole thing was insane.” How could I ever discuss this with him? But he seemed to want to. And he looked irritated when he answered.
“You know where your head is, don't you?”
“Don't be insulting.”
“Why don't you just shut up for a minute,” he said, and before I could stop him, he kissed me. And in spite of all my stern resolve, it started all over again. I could suddenly feel everything I'd felt for him the last time, in spite of the promises I'd made myself not to.
“No!” I said, and then kissed him again, hating myself more than him. It was ridiculous. As soon as he touched me, I had absolutely no resistance, no morals.
“That's better,” he said, and kissed me again, and I wanted to hit him. But I didn't. I just went on kissing him, and after a while I didn't want to stop. I just wanted to lie there, kissing him forever. Until he touched me. And suddenly the kisses weren't enough, and I wanted all of him, and the worst part was that the whole time I kept missing Peter, and at the same time feeling Paul was part of him. It was impossible to sort out who was who and what was what, and whom I was doing what with, and why. And by the time it was all over, I was as crazy as they were, and I no longer cared which of them was in bed with me. I was happy and peaceful, and even the double flip seemed funny to me when we finally did it.
“You're terrific,” he said, as I lay thinking afterward, about what a strange gift this was, and how much they both meant to me, although I still preferred Peter to Paul, and knew I always would. But I also loved Paul's whimsy.
“I think you're bad for me,” I lied to him, wanting him to feel guilty, because I didn't. After all, this was all Peter's fault anyway. He had invented him, and sent him to me. If he hadn't wanted this to happen, he shouldn't have given him to me. But what if it was a test of some kind, of my chastity and fidelity? In that case, I had a serious problem, because as long as it was Peter's Klone I was sleeping with, and not some stranger, I didn't really care. For all intents and purposes, Paul appeared to be the same man, the same face, the same body, the same spirit. Only the wardrobe was different, and then there was the triple flip, which was even more different, and quite terrific.