“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.