“Forget them. We'll go home and light some candles, and I'll give you a massage.” And for once, it sounded like just what the doctor ordered. I was quiet in the cab, still shaken by the encounter, and Paul was gentle and understanding when we went upstairs.
I paid the sitter and was relieved to find that both kids had gone to bed early and were asleep. And that night, it was surprisingly soothing to let Paul massage me, and eventually to let myself be transported by his gentle passion, and a very modest double flip.
I felt closer to Paul after that, he had gotten me through a tough moment, seeing Roger with Helena, and had restored a little of my self-esteem. We went to see the Nutcracker with the children that week. Paul went dressed as Turkish Coffee. He did an exotic dance in the aisle and tried to get me to do it with him. And then we took Sam to see Santa, and Paul sat on Santa's lap after Sam did. He also picked out beautiful gifts for both Charlotte and Sam. In his own way, he did a lot of things right. And being with him reminded me of all the things Peter wasn't. It was as though someone had programmed Paul to do all the things Peter didn't do for me. The gifts, the time he spent with me, his childlike spirit when he played with Charlotte and Sam. The endless tenderness he showed me. He was impossible to resist, harder still not to love. And beneath all the absurdities and inappropriate behavior, he was a very good man. Or should I say, good Klone. Peter had done an extraordinarily fine job when he designed him.
Peter was calling me from California two and three times a day. And he couldn't help asking about Paul. He wanted to know what we were doing, what Paul was saying, what he was charging to him, and if he was driving the Jaguar. I wasn't going to tell him that he was, but in the end I had to, when he had another accident with it on the FDR Drive. It was snowing that afternoon, and the road was icy. And when he told me about it, I was just glad I had forbidden the children to go in the car with him. He had been singing to himself and listening to Peter's CD's, most of which he hated, but he liked the Whitney Houston CD I'd given him, and while he was singing, he sneezed apparently, and drove the car right off the road and onto the snow piled to one side. The car sat poised there for an interminable instant, while Whitney kept singing, and then it slid slowly down the other side and into the shallow water at the edge of the East River. It sat there half-submerged while Paul waited for the AAA for nearly two hours. He said it had been rough on the upholstery and the rugs were soaked when they finally pulled it out. He was afraid it might need a new engine, and hoped that Peter wouldn't mind too much.
I called Peter and told him, and he just groaned, and then whimpered pitifully when I told him what it would cost him to repair it.
“Just don't let him repaint it again,” was all Peter said before he hung up.
“How was he?” Paul asked, looking worried, when I told him what Peter had said about the Jaguar.
“Cranky,” I explained, but I was worried about Paul. After his little dip in the East River, he was catching a terrible cold. “He'll be all right,” I said gently. And then I told him the bad news. “He's coming back tomorrow.”
“So soon? That's two days early.” Paul looked crushed. He'd been planning to spend the rest of the week with me, before Peter got back from California.
“He says he has a board meeting he has to be at.” But I suspected it was more than that, and not just the car either, I had the feeling that he didn't want Paul staying with me anymore. And I could see Paul was upset about it.
We spent a quiet night that night, I wrapped him in blankets for his cold, and served him hot toddies, and every time I kissed him he sneezed, and his nose was red. But as sick as he was about to be, I knew the Jaguar looked much worse. And then, as I climbed into bed with him, he turned to me with an unusually serious air. He looked as though he had a lot on his mind, and he seemed uncharacteristically unhappy.
“What would happen if I stayed here?” he asked, looking worried, and I smiled. Maybe he had hit his head in the Jaguar.
“I seem to recall that you are, or have you forgotten?” I kissed him gently and he set down his glass on the table next to the bed, and then looked at me with concern.
“I mean after Peter gets back. What would happen if we told him I'm staying, and I'm not going back to the shop?” It was the first time he had ever said anything like that.
“Could you do that? Would they let you?” Just looking at the tenderness in his eyes, I was stunned, and a little worried.
“I could try. I can't leave you, Steph. I belong here. I love you … we're happy together. You need me.” I did, more than I had ever planned to, maybe even more than I could admit, but the truth was that I needed Peter too, far more than I loved or needed Paul. I had gotten caught up in the good times we had again, but in the last few days, I had thought a lot about Peter coming home. Peter was the one embedded deep in my heart. Paul was the fun, the life, the spirit, the laughter. But Peter owned a piece of my soul. I had just come to understand that lately. I needed more in my life than a quadruple flip, and a good time. I needed Peter's solidity, his strength, his quieter style to shore me up and feed the parts of me that Roger had starved for so long, possibly forever.
“I don't know what to say,” I said honestly as we lay there. “I love you, Paul.” And then I realized I had to be honest with him. “But maybe not enough. We'd have a lot to overcome. It's not easy being with a Klone. We'd be shunned by society if people ever found out. It could get very rough.” It was true, and we both knew it. I had thought about it a lot. And it wasn't that his offer wasn't tempting. There was no doubt about it, it was. But with Peter, if he'd ever let me, I could have a real life. With Paul, I knew I couldn't.
I'd marry you, Steph,” he said in a gentle whisper, and just hearing those words meant a lot. “He won't.” I sensed as Paul did that Peter had gotten too used to being on his own. Although I knew he loved me, his fear of commitment was in fact more powerful than his love.
“I know,” I said quietly. “But I love him anyway. I'm not even sure that matters to me anymore. I've been there, I've done that. I was married to Roger, and it all went wrong anyway. Marriage isn't a guarantee,” I said wisely, I knew whereof I spoke, better than Paul, “all it is is a promise, an act of faith, a symbol of hope.” That was a lot, I had to admit, but I also knew it wasn't a fair trade. There was always one who loved, and one who walked, sooner or later.
“It's what you want. You'll never get that from him. If he had to make a choice, he'd rather have you marry me. Do you think if he really loved you, he'd put up with me staying here every time he goes away, massaging you, and loving you, and taking you out to parties and dinners, and teaching you the double flip? Or even the quadruple?”
“Maybe not,” I said sadly. “But that doesn't change how I feel about him.”
“You were a fool once with Roger. Don't be a fool twice.” He was begging me and I couldn't bear to look at him.
“It could be too late for that,” I admitted. “I already am a fool about him.”
“We could have a great life, Steph, if you were willing to try it.” But the truth was, I wasn't. Much as I loved him, I couldn't entrust my life to a Klone, not entirely, no matter how alluring he was, or how much fun. There was still a lot he was not. I couldn't spend the rest of my life with a man who played charades and enacted the word fart at a dinner party. “You're missing the opportunity of a lifetime, Steph. You'd be the envy of all your friends.”
“I already am,” I said gently. “You're the best,” and then I sighed, and decided to tell him the truth. “I think I'm going to leave him, Paul,” I said sadly, tears already filling my eyes, and as he saw them, Paul looked shocked. He handed me a Kleenex and blew his nose too. He cried easily, which I knew was only a flaw in one of his wires, but it still touched me.