The Legend of the Ditto Twins (33 page)

Jay
looked over at Clay.
"A
nice
touch, don't you think? Sissy would approve."

Clay
shook his head. "You're no damned good, Babe."

"Coming
from you, that's high praise," retorted Jay.

Jay
handed us the chains, and we put them on each other. Once more, he stepped
back.

"Be
patient. Perfection always takes a while. Would you get back in position now?
Thank you very much."

Again, we
snuggled close.

"Of
course!" Jay turned to his assistant. "A mirror."

Promptly,
Helmut III rolled a full-length mirror from the other side of the room and
placed it about six feet from the end of the bench. We stared into it in awe. I
could see Clark's package, and I know he could feel mine.

Helmut
III handed over the camera. Jay moved close and murmured so softly that only
Clark and I could hear.

"Never
look at yourself, either of you. Always look at your brother. All you have to
do is let the camera see how much you mean to each other."

We nodded
and went with it. We heard the camera clicking but were gradually lost in each
other’s visage. I couldn't take
my ey
es
off him; he couldn't take his eyes off me. Sometimes we looked at each other
face to face over his shoulder, sometimes cheek to cheek at our reflections in
the mirror. More than once, we came within a hair of kissing each other, but we
didn't. Except for the constant click-click-click, there was not a sound in the
room nor a movement but for Jay. Stealthy as a panther, he began prowling for
the truth, capturing our bond from a hundred different angles.

And then,
all at once, this weird, mystical adventure was over. The clicking stopped, and
I heard Jay's voice. "I think we've got enough."

"More
than enough." Clay hurried over to Jay and hugged him. "You never
cease to amaze me."

When we
left the studio and started down the street, the sun was already low in the
sky. The afternoon had passed in a blink. At Jay's suggestion, Clark and I were
still wearing the work shirts, crucifixes, and cutoffs, and frankly, I felt a
little self-conscious. If my package was bulging out the way Clark's or
Helmut's was, then it was no wonder why everyone seemed to be staring at us.

We hadn't
gone more than a block or so when a young guy stopped us to ask Kurt Jupiter
for his autograph. As Helmut III graciously obliged the fan, I glanced over at
Clark, and I knew he was thinking the same thing I was: Would someone someday
ask us for ours, too?

"Well,
we'll leave you here," said Clay.

"What?
How come?" In unison.

"Well,
to be frank, we'd rather have an intimate..."

“...little
dinner for two tonight. Do you mind?"

"No,
of course not." In unison.

"Then
we will have an intimate little dinner for three," added Helmut
III, turning to us, "if you'd like?"

"Sure."
In unison.

"Wunderbar."
Helmut held
up
a
handful of Deutschmarks. "Courtesy of JayCee Photography."

"Get
a receipt," said Jay.

By the
time we stopped laughing, they were gone.

"We
cannot go to dine just anywhere dressed like this," said Helmut III.
"But I know a super little bistro where we would feel very much not out of
place."

The
restaurant was in a warehouse district at the far end of a street so narrow it
appeared to be an alley, and there was no sign over the inconspicuous cast-iron
door. Helmut III pulled it open, and we followed him through a beaded curtain into
a dimly lit room filled with heavy wooden tables. In the center of each was a
small red tumbler containing a flickering candle. Clark and I surveyed the
crowded premises—not a woman in sight.

A blond gym-built waiter rushed up.
"Kurt! Schön, dich wiederzusehen."

Helmut smiled.
"English,
please. These are my friends from America."

"Of
course. A table for three?"

"In
the far corner, if you can."

"Of
course. Follow me. Were you filming today?"

Helmut
III smiled. "No, no, just a photo shoot."

The waiter
turned to us. "You're in Kurt's new film?"

"No,
no," we replied, trying to emulate Helmut III. "Just a photo
shoot."

"You
two sit there, facing the room. Better view," Helmut III suggested,
"and I will sit here, facing you." He slid into a chair, his back to
the other diners. "Otherwise, we may be interrupted too often by... Kurt
Jupiter's fans." He seemed embarrassed.

As soon
as the waiter had left, we leaned forward.

"Helmut,
did he really think..."

“...we
were porn stars?"

Helmut
III nodded. "And why not? Individually, you are both very hot men, I
think. But together, as twins, you could have your pick of the place." He
reached in his backpack and produced a small package wrapped in tissue paper.
"Jay asked me to give this to you. While you are examining it, I must go
and take a leak." He smiled proudly. "See, my English is getting
better every day."

As he
retreated, we ripped at the tissue paper; it was filled with condoms.
Instantly, we scooped them into the pockets of our cut-offs—not an easy feat.

"Okay,
what do you want to do?" Clark asked.

"What
do
you
want to do?"

My
brother shrugged. "He's really hot, but I feel like it would be sort
of..."

“...like
I was cheating on you. Only how could either of us be unfaithful..."

“...if
the other one was there..."

“...and
doin
' it too?"

"That's
a good point," agreed Clark.

"But
if we just do it this once..."

“...and
treat it sort of like a game..."

"Exactly!
A game. Nothing more."

Clark
sighed. "If he's even interested."

Before we
could waltz around the subject any further, the waiter returned with our
drinks.

"Will
you be doing a scene with Kurt?" he asked.

"Oh,
I don't think so," I began.

"You
see, he's our brother..."

“...and
our folks would disown us,
y'know
."

"Brother?"
The waiter swallowed a gasp. "That would be super hot. But you two, you
are twins, aren't you?"

"People
are always asking us that, Helmut."

"'Helmut'?
No, my name's Stephan."

"Are
you sure?" I giggled. "Sorry. I guess you..."

“...just look
like a Helmut. But you were right about us being twins.
Sometimes..."

“...when
folks see us with Kurt, they even ask us if were triplets,"

"Oh,
be still, my heart." He fanned himself with his order book as Helmut III
returned. Instantly, the awestruck waiter pulled himself together. "I'll
get your menus."

Amused,
Helmut III took his seat and recounted what had just happened to him in the
john: Another fan had asked for an autograph, then whipped out his penis and
asked the star to sign it. We laughed a long time over that one, and one story
led to another as he regaled us with his adventures in pornography. By the time
we had finished dessert, he was not just a sex-god but a friend. The sexual
electricity had abated but never quite disappeared during the meal, and it
resurfaced again, instantly, once we left the restaurant.

"Cigarette?"

Helmut
III took one, and Clark lit it for him.

"I
have stopped smoking since going to the gym," he said with an inviting
smile, "but tonight I will make an exception. This is an evening for
exceptions,
s
timmt's
?"

I looked
at Clark; he blinked assent.

"Ja ja,"
I said.

"Ja ja,"
echoed Clark.

In the
cab to his place, virtually nothing was said. Helmut III sat between us, one
hand resting casually on my thigh, his other on Clark's, but that was as close
as he came to our packages, even though they were prominently displayed,
eminently available. I dropped my hand on top of his. Clark followed my lead.
By the time we reached our destination, we could hear one another's heartbeats.
Helmut III paid the fare and pulled out a roll of mints.

"I
am very partial to garlic during a meal, but not afterward," he explained,
as we each took one.

The
apartment, on the top floor, was small and modestly furnished, a student’s
garret. Except, everywhere there were pictures of Kurt Jupiter, portraits taken
by Jay, framed posters of the star's films, even a few stills, but not one
nude, not one explicit shot to be seen.

"I
have a wonderful view," he said, his hands finding our shoulders to steer
us toward the one window in the room. "If you lean out, you can just
barely see the top of the Brandenburg Gate." His hands slid down our backs
but stopped just above our butts. "And beyond it is the
Tiergarten
." As we leaned forward to peer down at the
spacious city park, his hands cupped our buttocks. "Would you like
something to drink? A beer?"

We
nodded.

He moved
to the kitchen door. "I will now get our beers. When I come back, I hope
you will be sitting on the couch—kissing. I would much enjoy such a
sight." And he vanished.

His request
was unnecessary. We folded into each other's arms and kissed long and hard
before moving to the couch.

"This
is
just a game, isn't
it?" whispered Clark.