The Legend of the Ditto Twins (26 page)

"Thank
you," she replied icily. "And, boys, start packing. Summer's over.
It's high time you came home, too."

"No!"
said Clay, Lily, Clark, and I all at once.

Dismissing
her brother and niece, Mom turned to Clark and me. "Don't you argue with
me. I am still your mother."

Clay
closed in on her. "You may think you can fuckin' change the rules with
your sons. But not with me. You don't get to change the rules with me—not
again—and my agreement with you was to hire Mark till Labor Day. He fuckin'
stays."

"Send
us a bill for his last two weeks' wages," she snapped. "He's coming
home with me. And Clark, too. Today." She turned to us. "Move!"

Neither
Clark nor I did.

"Did
you hear me!"

Clay
placed his palms on my brother's shoulders. "And Clark, you're welcome
here as long as you want to stay."

"No!"
Mom was beginning to lose it. "He has his job. His father needs him—the
dairy. He..."

"Send
me a bill for his last two weeks' wages," replied Clay as he opened the
counter drawer to produce the Greyhound schedule and consult it. "You have
forty-two fuckin' minutes to catch the next bus. Better get your ass in
gear!"

Torn
between answering Clay and making one last pitch to us, Mom opted to make her
way to the table, and clumsily tried to embrace both of us in a single,
embarrassing gesture of mother love.

"Boys,
I know this is difficult to understand. But it's all for the best. You're still
minors. Trust me. Someday when you're older, you'll thank me. Now, come along.
Please."

Neither
of us moved.

After a
long, tense moment, Mom leaned in close, her face inches from ours. "Are
you disobeying me?"

We
nodded.

"I
see."

Out of
ammunition, she straightened up, gathered what was left of her authority, and
started out of the room.

Clark
stopped her. "Mom. Our drivers licenses."

"What
about your driver’s licenses?"

"Give
them to us."

"What
are you talking about? They haven't come yet."

In two
fierce steps he was at her elbow, snatching her purse from under her arm.
Stunned by the suddenness of the rebellion, she tilted back, clutching to find
the door frame. Deftly, he opened the purse, foraged briefly, and produced the
two envelopes from the Motor Vehicles Bureau.

Mom
actually looked frightened. "Oh, yes. I forgot."

"Bullshit,"
said Clay.

"I
don't like that word," she replied as grandly as she could under the
circumstances.

"Tough
shit," replied Clay. "Tough fuckin shit."

She spun
around. "And that is exactly what you'll be in, if my sons do not arrive
home first thing on the morning after Labor Day."

She went
directly to her room, reappeared six minutes later with her s
uitcase in hand, marched through the living room without
acknowledging our presence or kissing us goodbye, and out onto the front porch
where Clay was waiting.

I turned
around. Directly behind me, Clark was standing with the videocam to his eye,
taping her exit. He rushed to the window and continued as Clay opened the door
of the Mazda for her. She accepted this final indignity with silent fury and
got in.

"Clark,
why are you taping this?" I asked.

"For
the family album," my brother replied with smart-ass irony, but in the
pause that followed, his smirk turned inside-out. "So we'll never forget
today."

When Clay
returned, the three of us assembled in the parlor to rehash the morning's
skirmish and to consider the inevitable repercussions. Clark and I sat side by
side on the couch, my arm around him as he continued to fiddle with the
videocam. Clay swiveled around to face us.

"Your
mothers right about one thing. You're still her sons and you're still minors.
And that woman's not accustomed to losing. Now, you can stay here as long as
you want—you know that—but if it comes down to a fuckin pitched battle, I
wouldn't put it past her to go to court."

"Court?"
This in unison.

"To
regain custody. She said as much in the car."

"Nah,"
said Clark. "She'd never do that."

Clay
shrugged. "Maybe she would, maybe she wouldn't. But do you really want to
find out? A court battle's no fun."

I shook
my head in disbelief. "She'd do that? But..."

“...isn't
that kind of thing awfully..."

“...expensive?
Dad couldn't afford..."

Clay cut
us off sharply. "Don't be so fuckin naive. Your father's made a bundle off
his fuckin cows."

"But
he and Mom, they're always crying poor."

"Mark,
you've got to understand. Your mother was raised rich. When our fuckin' father
went under and lost everything, she panicked. It's understandable."

"We
never knew." This in unison.

"Of
course not. Your mother is an unhappy woman. Her beloved father turned out to
be a world-class failure—I still think he fuckin' killed himself. And to top
that off, her beloved brothers turned out to be fags. She's fuckin' entitled to
be bitter—but not entitled to destroy your lives."

I didn't
know what to say. Neither did Clark.

"Fellas,
have no doubt: They have the money to fight us."

"But
even if they do..."

"...Dad
wouldn't..."

"Don't
fuckin' kid yourself. He'll do what Sissy says."

I didn't
know what to say. Neither did Clark.

"The
bottom line is, your father may have the money for a prolonged court battle.
But so do I." A wily grin. "You'd be surprised how much money a repo
man makes." He began to unlace his sneakers. "I'm not Bill Gates, but
I'm not one of the hundred neediest cases either. You can be fuckin sure of
that!""

"Clay..."
This is unison.

"But
you've got to understand. This could get very ugly.
Very ugly.
The laws
of this state recognize the rights of natural parents, no matter how fuckin'
unfit they are. We'd probably lose."

Clark
continued to fiddle with the videocam, but I knew he'd heard every word.

"Now,
I'll fight for you guys to my last fuckin penny. But…" Clay tossed his
sneakers aside. "The decision is yours. Mull it over. My advice for what
it's worth: Don't fuckin eliminate the possibility of going home as she
wants."

I
groaned. "But after this summer..."

“...the
life we have here..."

“...how
could we go home..."

“...and
still be ourselves?"

"It’s
only another year. That seems like a fuckin' eternity right now, but you'll be
amazed how quickly it passes. You need to finish school." He stood.
"On the other hand, anytime things get to be impossible, you know you can
always come back here. Any fuckin time."

"But
what about the car?" I protested. "We..."

“...can't
go home without the car."

Clay just
chuckled. "Bet you could do a trade-off. You agree to come home; they
agree to let you keep the car."

"But
what about... you know, our privacy?"

"C'mon,
you're inventive little bastards. Why, I'd bet my left nut you'll find ways to
fuck your brains out on a daily basis. We always did."

"What
are you doing?" I asked.

"Taping
you having a cigarette."

That
night, we were lying on the big four-poster after a long, tense session of lovemaking
that was among the best we'd ever had. I assumed its urgency might have had
something to do with the day's events. The prospect that we might not always
have the freedom to make love whenever we wanted had only made the sex more
precious.

"What're
we gonna do?" I asked. "Go home? Finish school?"

Clark
continued to film us. "Do you have any idea what you look like after
you've just made love?"

"A
mess, probably."

"No,
magnificent."

"Oh,
yeah? Here, give me the camera." I put my eye to it and studied my
brother.

He was
soaked with sweat, his hair was tangled, and his lips swollen from kissing.
Plus, there were two prominent hickeys on the right side of his neck. And yes,
he looked as magnificent as he seemed to think I did.

I tilted
the camera down.

"You're
filming my dick?"

I nodded.
"Why not? Who's gonna see this but us?"

He poked
a finger at his spent penis. "I've seen it look a lot more photogenic.
Here, give me the camera. I want to see what yours looks like."

I handed
over the videocam and began playing with myself. As I stared down, both the
lens and my erection were directly in my line of sight, and the alignment of
the two images was really turning me on. I glanced over at Clark and noted that
the juxtaposition of the lens and the dick was having the same effect on him.

"My
turn," I said, taking the camera to capture his erection just as
thoroughly as he had taped mine.

He aimed
his dick at the camera. "Now, that's more like it." He patted its
head as if it were a well-trained puppy. "Good boy. Good boy. If we're
gonna record you for posterity, you better look your best."

"Here,"
I said, handing him the camera.

And I
went down on him. At once, he exploded into my mouth. Startled by his premature
ejaculation, I looked up directly into the lens, amazed, enchanted.

"Oh,
my God," murmured Clark, frantically panning the camera from my face to my
erection as it too exploded.

It took
us a minute or two to come down from this unexpected event, but when we did, we
were both beaming.

"Oh,
shit!" Clark seemed caught off guard by what had just happened. "Do
you realize what we just did?"