The Legend of the Ditto Twins (31 page)

"'Bout
time."

They both
nodded and threw their arms around each other. I squeezed Clark's hand. The
next thing we knew, they were locked in a kiss that, even to my sympathetic
eye, seemed outrageous. It was all shamelessly sentimental and absolutely
perfect. Two fifty-something old men carrying on like a pair of teenagers—right
in the middle of a crowded restaurant in one of the legendary cities in the
world, and no one seemed the least bit interested except Clark and me.

At last,
our uncles moved as one to the table. The waiter handed everyone a menu and
took our orders for drinks. It was as simple as that.

The four
of us shared a cab back to the hotel, and my brother and I followed Clay and
Jay into the lobby. They were still holding hands. I swear they had not let go
of each other throughout the entire meal. Nor on the street afterward. Nor in
the cab. Nor right there in the crowded lobby. So I figured "What the
hell?" and took Clark's hand too. After all, this was Berlin, and Mom was
half a planet away.

We said goodnight
in the corridor and went to our room. The moment the door was closed, Clark and
I slid into each other's arms.

"Do
you think they're going to fuck tonight?" I asked.

Clark
looked at his watch. "Within sixty seconds."

"Well,
so are we—if we hurry."

I began
to pull off my pants. Clark didn't.

"God,
I hope they don't have another set of twin coronaries and die in the
sack," he groaned.

"Get
your pants off! Do I have to do everything?"

"What's
your rush?" he asked. "I want to talk."

"Oh?
Okay. Sure. What about?"

We
flopped down on the bed.

"Would
you wait thirty years for me?" he asked.

"Longer,
if I had to. I would. But I don't see that happening, any more than I see you
waiting thirty years for me. We're not Clay. Neither of us likes boobs."

"But
we both like dick."

"Oh."
I nodded. "You mean all the
Helmuts
?"

"They
seem to be everywhere. What if one comes along that you can't resist?"

"What
if one comes along that
you
can't resist?"

"That's
what I'm saying."

I pulled
him close. "How many times do I have to tell you? Okay, I'm queer—but I'm
only queer for you."

Instantly,
he pushed me back. "But what if you change? People do."

"Not
us. Haven't you heard: Once a pervert, always..."

"Shut
up! What about Clay and Jay? I'll bet they've changed in thirty years. What if
they're
not
over there fucking? What if they're over there having a
fight about Clay's thirty-year screw-up?"

I shook
my head. "They still love each other."

"But
are they still
in love
with each other?"

"Clark,
you saw them this evening."

"Yeah,
yeah, yeah. But what if they have second thoughts? What if they're realizing,
at this very minute, that they aren't the same people they were when they were
young? What if they've fallen out of love?"

"They
haven't. I can tell."

"Mark,
don't be a sentimental slob. How do you know?"

"I
just do."

"I
want a better answer than that."

"Because..."
All I could add was: "They're twins."

"What
the hell does that mean?"

"I
dunno. I can't exactly explain it."

"Try!"

And so I
did. "Well... don't you know you're as much a part of me as I am of you?
The 'bond' thing. I never feel complete unless you're close enough to touch.
And I only feel completely complete when we... uh... make love." I paused.
"Ditto?"

"Ditto.
Right now, this minute, yes. Ditto."

"Well?"
By then, I was truly confused.

"Okay,
what if we're just getting our rocks off? What if this is just adolescent
infatuation? Puppy love? What if someday we get tired of each other. You
know... sexually?"

"I
can't imagine that happening," I persisted. "But if it does, there'd
still be the bond. Okay, people change..."

"That's
my point."

"But
twins, we change in the same ways, at the same pace, cause we're basically the
same person. I can't imagine not being in love with you. I think I'd die
without you."

"Yeah,
I know. I forbid you to die before I do."

"Oh,
no." I rolled over on top of him and started to tickle him. "I forbid
you
to die before I do."

"Stop
that! You know I worry..."

“...too
much." I started singing. "'Will you still need me?/Will you still
feed me?/When I'm sixty-four.'"

The
tickling led to wrestling, and I don't have to draw a picture of what that led
to. All in all, it had been a phenomenal day—and that night was even better. We
didn't get to sleep for hours.

Clark's
visions of doom were dispelled the moment we met Clay and Jay for breakfast
late the next morning. Obviously, they'd had a long night, too, and were still
hanging onto each other for dear life.

"Well,
what do you want to do today?" asked Jay. "The
Reichstag
? The
zoo? I even know where Hitler's bunker was. You
do
know who Hitler
was, don't you?" We nodded. "Or The Wall. What about The Wall?"

Clark and
I shook our heads.

"What
about..."

“...the
photo session?"

"What
photo session?" asked Clay.

"Jay
wants to take pictures of us. See..."

“...he's
never photographed twins before..."

“...plus,
we want to see if we might..."

“...be
good enough to become models."

Clay
seemed at a loss for words.

But not
Jay. "I just thought a portrait of the twins might make a nice Christmas
present for Sissy."

Clay
howled. "Babe, you are a fuckin' piece of work."

An hour later,
the four of us were standing in Jay's studio, and he was on the phone, talking
to his assistant.

"I
know it's short notice, but if you could...
Danke,
Dear Heart.
Ciao Schätzchen.
Bussi
,
Bussi
..."
Jay stopped short and dropped his voice an octave. "Thanks,
old buddy." He turned to us. "See, I told you you'd get to meet Kurt
Jupiter."

"You
know Kurt Jupiter?" Clay was clearly impressed.

"Oh,
yes. When he isn't busy being a living legend, he works as my assistant. He's
putting himself through college."

"His
real name's Helmut," offered Clark.

"And
he's coming here?" asked Clay.

"Within
the hour."

Kurt
Jupiter didn't look much like a superstar when he arrived forty-five minutes
later: a New York Yankees baseball cap on backwards, a baggy sweat shirt that
purported to be stolen from the "Alcatraz Athletic Dept.," ripped
jeans through which flashes of flesh were visible, and at least two days of
stubble. Most surprising, he was much shorter than I thought he'd be. But none
of that mattered, for under it all was a simmering sexuality that transcended
his outfit. I—we—were especially blinded by his emerald green eyes.

Jay made
the introductions. We stuck out our hands, but he chose to hug us instead. I
could swear he wasn't wearing underwear either. We tried not to appear
star-struck. So did Clay, and the three of us retreated to watch as Kurt (or
Helmut The Third, as he was promptly dubbed by my brother and me) moved about
to set up the lights and load the cameras. He hardly paid any attention to us
at all.

That
done, he turned to Jay. "Make-up?"

Both
silently studied our faces, tilting our heads this way and that, running
fingertips over our skin. There was a lot of touching, but it all seemed to be
strictly business.

"Good
skin," observed Jay. "Scrub them down. No make-up. And you'd better
shave them."

"Oh,
we can shave ourselves." In unison.

Jay shook
his head. "Better let Helmut do it. He knows exactly what I want." He
appraised us once more. "Good cheekbones. What do you want to wear?"

"We
didn't bring anything..."

“...except
what we have on."

"
Kein
Problem.
None
whatsoever. We've got more costumes here than Edith Head had at
Paramount."

My
brother and I looked at each other blankly.

"Write
it down, dear ones. Helmut, pull some things to show me—but be sure there's two
of everything—they must be dressed exactly alike."