The Legend of the Ditto Twins (63 page)

Clark
nodded. "Exactly."

"Shit!
Double shit! What're we gonna do?"

Clark frowned.
"Call the police?"

"And
say what? We can't prove
Flamm's
responsible."

Clark
nodded. "And who's to say they'd believe us?"

"Right.
They might even arrest us for possession."

"Well,
we've got to call someone."

"Who?
Clay?" I asked. "He's in no shape to..."

"Well,
we've got to do something."

I nodded.
"Yeah. Get rid of this stuff. Pronto."

"Well,
okay." He stared up at the heating vent. "And another thing, no more
lovemaking back here."

I nodded.
"We really are being set up, aren't we?"

"No shit,
Sherlock. But if they bust in here..."

“...and
we're drug-free and fully clothed..."

“...
Flamm'll
look like a fool. Lose his credibility..."

“...with
the police. That's a start, at least."

"We're
wasting time." I grabbed my jacket. "Let's ditch that stuff before
someone else comes looking for it." Slipping on my gloves, I retrieved the
sandwich bag and stuffed it in my pocket. "Well? C'mon."

"Can't
we just flush it down the toilet?"

"Clark,
you've seen
Law and Order.
The first thing they do is rip up the plumbing."

"But..."
My brother looked around. "We can't leave the room unguarded. That's just
inviting more trouble."

As if to
confirm his concern, there was a knock at the door. We froze but replied:
"Yes?"

"Max
here.
Barback
from the upstairs bar."

"Just
a minute," Clark called out.

Calmly,
he
uprighted
the vase and replaced the roses.

"No
one comes in this room," he whispered.
"No one."

We
dittoed each other, and opened the door. There stood a horse-faced blond, his
badly bleached hair tied back in a ponytail. About our height, he was wearing a
bow tie and snug black slacks as well packed as Helmut III's cutoffs.

"Hi,
I'm Max." He offered up a bottle of champagne. "Something to get the
New Year started."

"Uh...
thanks. But we never drink..."

“...before
we do a show."

"Oh,
sure. I'll just set it on..."

He
started to edge between us, but we blocked him.

"Sorry,
but we don't let anyone in the dressing room..."

“...before
the show. We're kinda superstitious."

"Oh,
sure. Gotcha. Drink it after the show."

Again, he
offered the bottle of champagne; I took it.

Still, he
lingered. "Hey, I saw you guys perform in Lauderdale. The White Party.
How's the tour going?"

"Can't
complain." In unison.

"Well,
when things start to slow down, I've got this dynamite idea to rev things up a
notch."

"Oh?"
In unison.

He took a
dramatic pause. "Triplets."

We
couldn't even echo the word.

"Brilliant,
huh? See, everybody says I'm a dead ringer for you two, so how's this? One day
I just appear out of nowhere—separated at birth kind of thing—and we have this
big emotional reunion and form a new act. The Ditto Three."

Stunned
silence.

"See,
bartending's
just my day job. Actually, I'm a
singer-dancer-actor. Bus-and-truck company of
Mama Mia.
Okay,
I've never done porn yet, but I have a big dick." He started to unzip his
fly.

"Not
necessary." In unison. Quickly.

"What's
the matter? You don't like my idea?"

"It's
just... We're not..."

“...triplets.
We're twins."

"C'mon.
Everyone knows it's all smoke and mirrors. You're not really for real, are you?
You can tell me."

"Yeah,
we are. Real twins."

"Are
you sure?" We nodded; he lowered his voice. "But you don't fuck each
other, do you? I mean, in
The
Ditto Phenomenon,
that was all body
doubles and stunt dicks, wasn't it?"

We shook
our heads. "Real sex. Real love."

He just
couldn't process the idea. "Then...that Rev. Flamm is right? You're really
pervos
?

"No,
really lovers." We groped each other for emphasis.

He
blinked several times. "God! That is sick."

"It's
okay to fake it..."

“...but
if it's real, it's sick?"

"Well,
for
Chrissake
, what about the Bible? Do you know what
the Bible says about fucking your own brother?"

"Do
you?"
In
unison. "Tell us!"

At a loss
for words, he grabbed the bottle of champagne from me and beat a hasty retreat.

"Well."
I grinned. "That felt good."

"You
mean being honest for a change?"

"Right."
I zipped up my jacket. "Be right back."

"I'll
stay here, hold the fort," Clark said pointedly. "In case someone else
drops by."

Fifteen
minutes later, I buried the sandwich bag in a litter basket ten blocks from the
club and picked up a pizza on my way back. By the time I got there,
Flamm's
faithful were beginning to assemble on the
barricades. I pretended not to notice, and, head down, hurried into the lobby,
where I bumped smack into a couple on their way out.

"Oops,
sorry" I looked up. "Tanisha! Ricky! What are you doing here?"

"Oh,
no!" She clutched her book bag close to her chest as if in pain. "We
were going to surprise you."

"Well,
you did! God, this is a surprise." I glanced around. "Where's
Lily?"

"At
home."

"It
wasn't a good time, astrologically, for her to travel," explained Ricky.

"Oh."
I nodded as if I understood. "But what are you doing here?"

"The
Millennium Zodiac Convention. We're having a vigil in Central Park. Then
Tanisha saw the ads for your show, and we figured we'd do both." He held
up their tickets. "And the vigil will go on all night."

"Well,
come on back to the dressing room."

"Can't.
We're late for a meeting with some television guy. He's a Virgo, so..."

"A Virgo,"
repeated
Tanisha. "Understand?"

"Of
course. How about after the show?"

She
consulted a note pad. "Tomorrow would be better."

"Besides,"
added Ricky, "we want to get back to the vigil. You know, end of the world
stuff. It's very controversial, but you never know."

I nodded.
"Of course."

And so,
gambling on the fact that the end of the world stuff wouldn't work out, we made
plans for lunch on the following day.

"Well,
enjoy the show."

"Oh,
we will." Tanisha consulted her pad. "It's going to be
legendary."

When I
entered the dressing room, the first thing I noticed was that the heat had been
turned on. Clark nodded, a little too casually. More than a little panicked, I
forgot all about Tanisha and Ricky for the moment. At once I moved to the vent
and stretched my hand high to feel the warm air—and to sneak a glance upward.
Barely visible, a red light in the recesses of the vent was blinking.

"You
hungry?" I asked. "I got us a pizza."

We sat
side by side at the makeshift dressing table, watching ourselves in the mirror
as we ate and improvised a scene of small talk for whoever was taping us.

We were
scheduled to go onstage at 11:30, so that we'd finish just in time for the
countdown into the new century. That left us about seven hours to kill, and we
figured the safest way to avoid making any slips was to take a nap. Pulling the
futon into full view of the camera, we lay down on it, back to back.

About
nine o'clock we woke up. As I recall, very little was said. We took separate
showers; didn't shave each other; moved about the room with towels tied around
our waists; dressed ourselves; and spent maybe an hour going over the new
material we'd added to the act. I finally remembered to tell Clark about
running into Tanisha and Ricky, their Millennium Zodiac Convention, and about
our lunch date. By the time we were ready to go, it was after eleven.

"You
got the key?" I asked, a bit louder than necessary.

Clark
nodded, and we left the room. He locked the door, dropped the key in his boot,
and started off.

"Not
so fast." I produced a roll of black gaffer's tape.

"Where
did you get that?"

"It
was just sitting on a ladder." I grinned. "It didn't have anyone's
name on it, so I borrowed it."

"Why?"

"Insurance,"
I said, biting off a small strip about two inches long. "Watch." I
knelt down and secured it in place, half on the door, half on the jamb.
"If the door's opened while we're onstage, we'll know it." I stood to
admire my ingenuity. "Practically invisible."

"Very
Hardy Boys. I could kiss you."

"Why
don't you?"

"Yeah.
Why don't I?"

Clark
slid into my arms, and we kissed right there in front of the dressing room door
as people wandered past. Crew, security, groupies. No one looked twice. It was
the first time we'd allowed ourselves a public display of affection in God
knows how long, and it felt nice.

As we
wandered about backstage, we could hear the boisterous crowd and the pulsating
music, which was so loud that the sounds of the protestors were totally
inaudible. We stopped to watch the guy scheduled just before us, a runner-up in
the Mr. Olympia contest, but he was pretty dull. Eventually, he finished his
flexing-to-music routine, and the stage manager, with a big grin, motioned us
forward.

"All
set?" he asked.

Nodding,
we groped, and dittoed each other. I knelt down, and Clark climbed on my
shoulders as a voice reverberated over the loudspeaker.

"And
now, out with the old, in with the new! To welcome in the twenty-first century,
put your hands together for the phenomenal... legendary... Ditto Twins!"

Our music
started, and The Ditto Twins bounded out onto the biggest stage they'd ever
seen to charm the biggest audience they'd ever faced. Over a thousand voices
hit them in a torrential wave of welcome. Over a thousand! That's what the
newspapers said the next day.