The Third Twin (34 page)

44

S
TEVE WAS WAITING BY THE PHONE
. H
E SAT IN THE BIG
kitchen of his parents’ home in Georgetown, watching his mother making meat loaf, waiting for Jeannie to call. He wondered if Wayne Stattner really was his double. He wondered if Jeannie and Sergeant Delaware would find him at his New York address. He wondered if Wayne would confess to raping Lisa Hoxton.

Mom was chopping onions. She had been dazed and astonished when first told what had been done to her at the Aventine Clinic in December 1972. She had not really believed it but had accepted it provisionally, as it were for the sake of argument, while they spoke to the lawyer. Last night Steve had sat up late with Mom and Dad, talking over their strange history.

Mom had got angry then; the notion of doctors experimenting on patients without permission was just the kind of thing to make her mad. In her column she talked a lot about women’s right to control their own bodies.

Surprisingly, Dad was calmer. Steve would have expected a man to have a stronger reaction to the cuckoo aspect of the whole story. But Dad had been tirelessly rational, going over Jeannie’s logic, speculating about other possible explanations for the phenomenon of the triplets, concluding in the end that she was probably right. However, reacting calmly was part of Dad’s code. It did not necessarily tell you how he was feeling underneath. Right now he was out in the yard, placidly watering a flower bed, but inside he might be boiling.

Mom started frying onions, and the smell made Steve’s mouth water. “Meat loaf with mashed potatoes and ketchup,” he said. “One of the great meals.”

She smiled. “When you were five years old you wanted it every day.”

“I remember. In that little kitchen in Hoover Tower.”

“Do you remember that?”

“Just. I remember moving out, and how strange it felt having a house instead of an apartment.”

“That was about the time I started to make money from my first book,
What to Do When You Can’t Get Pregnant.”
She sighed. “If the truth about how I got pregnant ever comes out, that book is going to look pretty silly.”

“I hope all the people who bought it don’t ask for their money back.”

She put minced beef into the frying pan with the onions and wiped her hands. “I’ve been thinking about this stuff all night, and you know something? I’m glad they did that to me in the Aventine Clinic.”

“Why? Last night you were mad.”

“And in a way I’m still mad, about being used like a laboratory chimpanzee. But I realized one simple thing: If they hadn’t experimented on me, I wouldn’t have you. Beside that, nothing else matters.”

“You don’t mind that I’m not really yours?”

She put her arm around him. “You’re mine, Steve. Nothing can change that.”

The phone rang and Steve snatched it up. “Hello?”

“This is Jeannie.”

“What happened?” Steve said breathlessly. “Was he there?”

“Yes, and he’s your double, except he dyes his hair black.”

“My God—there
are
three of us.”

“Yes. Wayne’s mother is dead, but I just spoke with his father, in Florida, and he confirmed that she was treated at the Aventine Clinic.”

It was good news, but she sounded dispirited, and Steve’s elation was checked. “You don’t seem as pleased as you ought to be.”

“He has an alibi for Sunday.”

“Shit.” His hopes sank again. “How can he? What sort of an alibi?”

“Watertight. He was at the Emmys in Los Angeles. There are photographs.”

“He’s in the movie business?”

“Nightclub owner. He’s a minor celebrity.”

Steve could see why she was so down. Her discovery of Wayne had been brilliant—but it had got them no further forward. But he was mystified as well as downcast. “Then who raped Lisa?”

“Do you remember what Sherlock Holmes says? ‘When you have eliminated the impossible, what remains—no matter how improbable—must be the truth.’ Or maybe it was Hercule Poirot.”

His heart went cold. Surely she did not believe
he
had raped Lisa?
“What’s
the truth?”

“There are four twins.”

“Quadruplets?
Jeannie, this is getting crazy.”

“Not quadruplets. I can’t believe this embryo divided into four by
accident
. It had to be deliberate, part of the experiment.”

“Is that possible?”

“It is nowadays. You’ve heard of cloning. Back in the seventies it was just an idea. But Genetico seems to have been years ahead of the rest of the field—perhaps because they were working in secret and could experiment on humans.”

“You’re saying I’m a clone.”

“You have to be. I’m sorry, Steve. I keep giving you shattering news. It’s a good thing you have the parents you have.”

“Yeah. What’s he like, Wayne?”

“Creepy. He has a painting that shows Salina Jones being crucified naked. I couldn’t wait to get out of his apartment.”

Steve was silent.
One of my clones is a murderer, the other is a sadist, and the hypothetical fourth is a rapist. Where does that leave me?

Jeannie said: “The clone idea also explains why you all have different birthdays. The embryos were kept in the laboratory for varying periods before being implanted in the women’s wombs.”

Why did this happen to me? Why couldn’t I be like everyone else?

“They’re closing the flight, I have to go.”

“I want to see you. I’ll drive to Baltimore.”

“Okay. Bye.”

Steve hung up the phone. “You got that,” he said to his mother.

“Yeah. He looks just like you, but he’s got an alibi, so she thinks there must be four of you, and you’re clones.”

“If we’re clones, I must be like them.”

“No. You’re different, because you’re mine.”

“But I’m not.” He saw the spasm of pain pass across his mother’s face, but he was hurting too. “I’m the child of two complete strangers selected by research scientists employed by Genetico. That’s my ancestry.”

“You must be different from the others, you
behave
differently.”

“But does that prove that my nature is different from theirs? Or just that I’ve learned to hide it, like a domesticated animal? Did you make me what I am? Or did Genetico?”

“I don’t know, my son,” said Mom. “I just don’t know.”

45

J
EANNIE TOOK A SHOWER AND WASHED HER HAIR, THEN MADE
up her eyes carefully. She decided not to use lipstick or blush. She dressed in a V-neck purple sweater and skintight gray leggings, with no underwear or shoes. She put in her favorite nose jewel, a small sapphire in a silver mount. In the mirror she looked like sex on a stick. “Off to church, young lady?” she said aloud. Then she winked at herself and went into the living room.

Her father had gone again. He preferred to be at Patty’s where he had his three grandchildren to keep him amused. Patty had come to pick him up while Jeannie was in New York.

She had nothing to do but wait for Steve. She tried not to think of the day’s great disappointment. She had had enough. She felt hungry; she had kept going on coffee all day. She wondered whether to eat now or hang on until he got here. She smiled as she remembered his eating eight cinnamon buns for breakfast. Was that only yesterday? It seemed a week ago.

Suddenly she realized she did not have any food in the refrigerator. How awful if he arrived hungry and she could not feed him! She hurriedly pulled on a pair of Doc Marten boots and ran outside. She drove to the 7-Eleven on the corner of Falls Road and 36th Street and bought eggs, Canadian bacon, milk, a loaf of seven-grain bread, ready-washed salad, Dos Equis beer, Ben & Jerry’s Rainforest Crunch ice cream, and four more packets of frozen cinnamon buns.

While she was standing at the checkout she realized he might arrive while she was out. He might even go away again!

She ran out of the store with her arms full and drove home like a maniac, imagining him waiting impatiently on the doorstep.

There was no one outside her house and no sign of his rusty Datsun. She went inside and put the food in the refrigerator. She took the eggs out of the carton and put them in the egg tray, undid the six-pack of beer, and loaded the coffee machine ready to start. Then she had nothing to do again.

It occurred to her that she was behaving uncharacteristically. She had never before worried about whether a man might be hungry. Her normal attitude, even with Will Temple, had been that if he’s hungry he’ll fix himself something to eat, and if the refrigerator is empty he’ll go to the store, and if the store is closed he’ll get drive-through. But now she was suffering an attack of domesticity. Steve was having a bigger impact on her than other men, even though she had known him only a few days—

The doorbell sounded like an explosion.

Jeannie leaped up, heart pounding, and spoke into the entry phone. “Yes?”

“Jeannie? It’s Steve.”

She touched the button that unlocked the door. She stood still for a moment, feeling foolish. She was acting like a teenage girl. She watched Steve come up the stairs in a gray T-shirt and loose-fitting blue jeans. His face showed the pain and disappointment of the last twenty-four hours. She threw her arms around him and embraced him. His strong body felt tense and strained.

She led him into the living room. He sat on the sofa and she switched on the coffee machine. She felt very close to him. They had not done the usual things, dated and gone to restaurants and watched movies together, the way Jeannie had previously got to know a man. Instead they had fought battles side by side and puzzled over mysteries together and been persecuted by half-hidden enemies. It had made them friends very quickly.

“Want some coffee?”

He shook his head. “I’d rather hold hands.”

She sat beside him on the couch and took his hand. He leaned toward her. She turned up her face and he kissed her lips. It was their first real kiss. She squeezed his hand hard and parted her lips. The taste of his mouth made her think of wood smoke. For a moment her passion was derailed as she asked herself if she had brushed her teeth; then she remembered that she had, and she relaxed again. He touched her breasts through the soft wool of her sweater, his big hands surprisingly gentle. She did the same to him, rubbing the palms of her hands across his chest.

It got serious very quickly.

He pulled away to look at her. He stared into her face as if he wanted to burn her features into his memory. With his fingertips he touched her eyebrows, her cheekbones, the tip of her nose, and her lips, as gently as if he were afraid of breaking something. He shook his head from side to side slightly, as if he could not believe what he saw.

In his gaze she saw profound longing. This man yearned for her with all his being. It turned her on. Her passion blew up like a sudden wind from the south, hot and tempestuous. She felt the sensation of melting in her loins that she had not had for a year and a half. She wanted everything all at once, his body on top of her and his tongue in her mouth and his hands everywhere.

She held his head and pulled his face to her and kissed him again, this time with her mouth open wide. She leaned backward on the couch until he was half lying on her, his weight crushing her chest. Eventually she pushed him away, panting, and said: “Bedroom.”

She untangled herself from him and went into the bedroom ahead of him. She pulled her sweater over her head and threw it on the floor. He came into the room and closed the door behind him with his heel. Seeing her undressing, he took off his T-shirt with one swift movement.

They all do that, she thought; they all close the door with their heel.

He pulled off his shoes, unbuckled his belt, and took off his blue jeans. His body was perfect, broad shoulders and a muscular chest and narrow hips in white Jockey shorts.

But which one is he?

He moved toward her and she took two steps back.

The man on the phone said: “He could visit you again.”

He frowned. “What’s the matter?”

She was suddenly scared. “I can’t do this,” she said.

He took a deep breath and blew hard. “Wow,” he said. He looked away. “Wow.”

She crossed her arms on her chest, covering her breasts. “I don’t know who you are.”

Comprehension dawned. “Oh, my God.” He sat on the bed with his back to her, and his big shoulders slumped dispiritedly. But it could have been an act. “You think I’m the one you met in Philadelphia.”

“I thought he was Steve.”

“But why would he pretend to be me?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“He wouldn’t just do it in the hope of a sly fuck,” he said. “My doubles have peculiar ways of getting their kicks, but this isn’t one of them. If he wanted to fuck you he’d pull a knife on you, or rip your stockings, or set fire to the building, wouldn’t he?”

“I got a phone call,” Jeannie said shakily. “Anonymous. He said: ‘The one you met in Philadelphia was supposed to kill you. He got carried away and messed up. But he could visit you again.’ That’s why you have to leave, now.” She snatched up her sweater from off the floor and pulled it on hastily. It did not make her feel any safer.

There was sympathy in his gaze. “Poor Jeannie,” he said. “The bastards have scared you good. I’m sorry.” He stood up and pulled on his jeans.

Suddenly she felt sure she was wrong. The Philadelphia clone, the rapist, would never start dressing again in this situation. He would throw her on the bed and tear off her clothes and try to take her by force. This man was different. This was Steve. She felt an almost irresistible desire to fling her arms around him and make love to him. “Steve …”

He smiled. “That’s me.”

But was this the aim of his act? When he had won her confidence, and they were naked in bed, and he was lying on top of her, would he change and reveal his true nature, the nature that loved to see women in fear and pain? She shuddered with dread.

It was no good. She averted her eyes. “You’d better go,” she said.

“You could question me,” he said.

“All right. Where did I first meet Steve?”

“At the tennis court.”

It was the right answer. “But both Steve and the rapist were at JFU that day.”

“Ask me something else.”

“How many cinnamon buns did Steve eat on Friday morning?”

He grinned. “Eight, I’m ashamed to say.”

She shook her head despairingly. “This place could be bugged. They’ve searched my office and downloaded my E-mail, they could be listening to us now. It’s no good. I don’t know Steve Logan that well, and what I do know, others might know too.”

“I guess you’re right,” he said, putting his T-shirt back on.

He sat on the bed and put on his shoes. She went into the living room, not wanting to stand in the bedroom and watch him dress. Was this a terrible mistake? Or was it the smartest move she had ever made? She felt a bereft ache in her loins; she had wanted so badly to make love to Steve. Yet the thought that she might have found herself in bed with someone like Wayne Stattner made her shaky with fear.

He came in, fully dressed. She looked into his eyes, searching for something there, some sign that would assuage her doubts, but she did not find it.
I don’t know who you are, I just don’t know!

He read her mind. “It’s no use, I can tell. Trust is trust, and when it’s gone, it’s gone.” He let his resentment show for a moment. “What a downer, what a motherfucking downer.”

His anger scared her. She was strong, but he was stronger. She wanted him out of the apartment, and fast.

He sensed her urgency. “Okay, I’m leaving,” he said. He went to the door. “You realize
he
wouldn’t leave.” She nodded.

He said what she was thinking. “But until I really leave, you can’t be sure. And if I leave and come right back, that doesn’t count either. For you to know it’s me, I have to
really
go away.”

“Yes.” She was sure now that this was Steve, but her doubts would return unless he really went away.

“We need a secret code, so you know it’s me.”

“Okay.”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Okay.”

“Good-bye,” he said. “I won’t try to kiss you.”

He went down the stairs. “Call me,” he shouted.

She stood still, frozen to the spot, until she heard the slam of the street door.

She bit her lip. She felt like crying. She went to the kitchen counter and poured coffee into a mug. She raised the mug to her lips, but it slipped through her fingers and fell to the floor, where it smashed on the tiles. “Fuck,” she said.

Her legs went weak, and she slumped on the couch. She had felt in terrible danger. Now she knew the danger had been imaginary, but she still felt profoundly grateful that it had passed. Her body felt swollen with unfulfilled desire. She touched her crotch: her leggings were damp. “Soon,” she breathed. “Soon.” She thought about how it would be the next time they met, how she would embrace him and kiss him and apologize, and how tenderly he would forgive her; and as she envisioned it she touched herself with her fingertips, and after a few moments a spasm of pleasure went through her.

Then she slept for a while.