The Legend of the Ditto Twins (38 page)

"Whatever
makes you happy. You can go stark fuckin naked if you want. I'm planning
to."

"Oh,
Jay, you're terrible!" She threw her arms around him. "I love you
already, you're almost as rotten as Clay."

Jay
reared back. "More so. I promise."

It was evident
by the time we got to the restaurant that Lily had at last found the mother
she'd been missing all her life, even if he did have a dick. The place with the
white tablecloths was clearly Clay's cafe of choice, and we slipped into the
same seats we always did. Carl, the piano player, came over to greet us.

"Going
to give us a song tonight, Clay?" he asked.

"You
never know. Depends on how much I have to drink."

Carl
patted Lily on the shoulder. "Get your dad good and soused. That way, he
stays on key."

We all
laughed as Carl moved on to greet other customers.

"Nice
place," said Jay, finding Clay's hand and slipping it under the
tablecloth.

To see
Clay and Jay again was almost as great as it was to relax and be ourselves, not
guarded at every moment, the way we had to be at home. After the second bottle
of wine, we were all feeling no pain, and that was when Clay decided to drag
Jay up to the piano. The next thing we knew, they were sharing the hand mike,
their cheeks as close as Clay's and Mom's had been, their voices blending even
more smoothly. Of course, the song was "Blowing in the Wind."

We
thought Clay and Mom had been well received; it was nothing compared to the
warm ovation that washed over our uncles. The air was filled with cries of
"Encore! Encore!"

Jay shook
his head. "It's the only one we know."

It must
have been the wine. That's the only explanation for what I did next. I actually
stood, grabbed Clark, and pulled him up. He must have been feeling no pain
either, since he didn't resist as I led him to the piano. I swear this wasn't
pre-planned, but while I took the microphone from Clay, Clark held a quick
consultation with the pianist. Clay and Jay retreated to our table; I raised a
hand for attention and introduced myself and my brother.

"We're
Clay's nephews, and Jay's, too..."

“...and
they're the two best uncles in the..."

“...world,
so if it's okay with you,
we'll
do..."

“...the
encore. It's the first act finale of..."

“...one
of the greatest musicals ever written..."

“...part
of our cultural heritage. It opened..."

“...January
15, 1964 at the St. James Theatre..."

“...and
ran for 2,844 performances. See, we've..."

“...done
our homework, and we dedicate it to our awesome uncles."

Carl hit
the note we needed, and we began to sing.

"Before
the parade passes by,

I've
gotta go and taste Saturday's high life.

Before
the parade passes by,

I've
gotta get some life back into my life."

We must
have inherited a musical gene or two from Mom and Clay-Jay's side of the family,
because we didn't humiliate ourselves, at least. Clay was charmed, Jay choked
up, and for once, Lily's mouth was wide open, but she was speechless. As for
us, we were having a ball as we threw ourselves into the big ending of the
song.

"I'm
gonna raise the roof!

I'm
gonna carry on!

Give
me an old trombone!

Give
me an old baton!

Before
the parade passes by!"

We got a
nice round of applause and took a bow, hand in hand. For the first time ever, I
think we understood the real reason why people become rock stars or movie
actors, for we were in no hurry to leave the stage. We bowed again but decided
not to push our luck and soon sat down.

"Bravo!"
said Clay.

"Bravo,
my ass," said Jay. "
Bravissimo
!"

"You
were better than The Pet Shop Boys," Lily assured us.

"Who
the fuck are The Pet Shop Boys?" asked Jay.

"Write
it down, Patrick," we replied. In unison.

As Thanksgiving
loomed, we decided to maintain the uneasy peace by having dinner with the
folks. Clay and Jay praised our decision and agreed to delay their own holiday
dinner till Friday when we could be with them. Thursday morning, we dutifully
watched the Macy's Parade on television and finally sat down to dinner about
two o'clock. Traditionally, Thanksgiving is supposed to be a family-friendly
holiday, I know, but ours quickly turned into something between a funeral and a
not so civil war.

"What's
Clay doing for Thanksgiving?" Mom asked in a clumsy attempt to break the
leaden silence of the meal.

"They're
holding off on it till tomorrow..."

“...so we
can be there, too."

"Oh?
I thought you were staying home this weekend."

Dad just kept
eating, not looking up from his plate.

"No,
after we get the dishes done..."

“...we're
heading out. Didn't we tell you?"

"You
most certainly did not. I would have said something." She smeared
cranberry sauce all over her slice of turkey. "I just don't understand.
What
is
the attraction?"

"Mom,
Clay’s been very good to us..."

“...and
so's
Jay. They're family, too."

"What
are they like—together?" She just blurted it out, as if she couldn't stand
not knowing any longer.

"What
do you mean?" I asked. "They laugh a lot and..."

“...they're
very considerate of each other. Very loving."

"Do
they still sleep in the same bed?" It just seemed to slip out before she
could catch herself.

"Interesting
question." I turned to Clark with my best poker face. "D'you know the
answer to that one?"

Playing
dumb superbly, he shook his head. "Nope. But then we usually go to bed
before they do. It's nothing I've ever been very curious about—where people
sleep."

"Right.
What's the difference where they sleep, Mom?"

"Okay,
guys. Drop it." This from Dad. "More stuffing?"

"No."
I aimed my fork at Dad. "We'd like an answer for once. Mom's constantly
putting Clay down. And Jay, too."

Mom
responded at once. "Their relationship is not normal."

"Loving
your own flesh and blood is not normal?"

"Not
sexually."

Clark was
brilliant; he began to laugh. So I did, too.

"Is
that what this is all about?" Clark shook his head in disgust. "My
God, we're back to the Vaseline again."

"I
think this has gone far enough," said Dad.

"No!"
Mom snarled. "Jay corrupted Clay, and now—I will not have those two
perverts recruiting my boys."

"Then
why don't you ask us straight out, what you want to know?"

Her words
came tumbling out before she could stop them. "Has either of them—ever
touched you—down there?"

My
brother threw down his paper napkin. "Are you that sick? To think such a
thing? That's like asking if Dad's ever come on to us. You don't
deserve..."

"Hey,
calm down," I said. "Okay, she doesn't deserve an answer, but let's
give her one, anyway. Clark, be bigger than she is. Okay? On three. The answer
is..."

"Absolutely,
unequivocally not." In unison.

"You're
sure?"

"Mom,
you know when someone is touching your dick."

"I
don't like that word."

"Okay,
Little Fella then."

"Have
you ever seen them... kiss?" She had to ask.

"Yes, once..."

“...in a crowded restaurant.
They..."

“...hadn't seen each other in thirty
years, for God's sake." I leaned across the table and kissed Clark on the
lips. It was more than a peck, less than foreplay. "The same way you've
seen Clark and me kiss each other for years now—ever since you taught us to.
That is not normal?"

Mom didn't seem to have an answer.

I stood. "Now. We have a
question for you: Do you want us to come back Sunday night or not?"

Mom closed her eyes and nodded.

In the car, Clark lit two cigarettes
and passed me one. "Offense is always the best defense. Right?"

A week or so before Christmas, late on
a cold Saturday morning, Clark and I stumbled into the parlor after a long
night out, clubbing with Lily. There stood the tallest blue spruce we'd ever
seen indoors. Beneath it, giggling like kids, Clay and Jay were plopped in the
middle of the floor surrounded by a dozen dusty cardboard boxes filled with
lights and ornaments that had been in the attic for years.

"No eggnog till the tree is
completely fuckin' decorated," announced Jay. "Get over here, you
two."

The tree-trimming party that followed
may have been the best Saturday of our life. Jay put on a stack of CD's—all
show tunes—and everyone sang along. Mario and his latest—her name was Vendetta,
or so she said—stopped by for an hour or so before they headed off to start
their Christmas shopping. Tanisha and Ulrich also dropped in on their way to a
Kabuki Christmas pageant, and we were stunned to see she was wearing a red silk
dress and a ton of mascara. She still carried her book bag, though.

Finishing up around seven o'clock, we
ordered out, and within the hour, the five of us were basking in the glow of
the warm colored lights, feasting on sushi and eggnog.

Jay
turned to us. "Got all your shopping done?"

"Not
really. Mom and Dad..."

“...they're
always hard to shop for."