“Off the car, Sue,” Daniel said. “Time to go home.”
I didn’t hurry. I listened to Daniel unlock the car. Listened to the sound of the door open. I jumped off the hood of the car, stretched my arms over my head. And there was Chloe. Short bangs, shopping bags, pale face, blood on her sleeve. She got into the backseat of the car and buckled her seat belt.
“Assault,” my father said. He lay his briefcase down on the dining room table, taking out his tape recorder, hitting the record button. He leaned forward in his chair to get a closer look at me. He believed in making eye contact with his clients. I stared right back at the cocksucker. “You could get juvie time for this. Juvenile detention.”
My mother held a yellow legal pad on her lap. She was already taking notes.
“You committed a violent crime, daughter,” he said.
My mother bit her pen. “First offense,” she said. “Good family. That’s absurd. Let’s not scare her.”
Chloe came in from the kitchen. Always a Goody Two-shoes, she brought fresh drinks to my parents. She did not look at me.
“I’d like a drink,” Daniel said.
My father kept his gaze fixed on me. “When you go to your overpriced alternative college, then you can act up any way you want.”
I wondered how my father spoke to his clients.
“That is terrible advice,” my mother said. She drew a large X on her notepad. My father sipped his whiskey. I watched Daniel watching him drink it. It was only six o’clock and my parents were home from the office. My mother took off her heels. She rubbed her feet, idly.
My parents thought they were big shots. They worked fourteen-hour days, drove expensive cars, and represented famous people; they had two beautiful children, identical twin daughters. They came home tired, self-satisfied.
My father started in earnest. He had a list of questions. Why did I go to the mall? Why had I carried a tennis ball? Why didn’t Daniel try to stop me? What had I hoped to accomplish? My mother scribbled notes in her pad. My father sighed continuously.
“Am I being sued?” I said. “Is that why you’re upset?”
“We don’t know yet, baby,” my mother said.
“Who is a baby?” I said.
My mother winced. I saw her write the word hostile. She was right.
There was no way I was getting sued. Or arrested. Mr. Markman could afford to pay his daughter’s medical fees. He could send her to Switzerland, put her in boarding school if he wanted to keep her safe. Maybe I needed to talk to him directly. Someone had to do something about Lisa Markman. Someone had to tell her to stay away from Chloe or there would be consequences.
Chloe’s eyes were roving all around the room. She would look anywhere other than at me. I was desperate for Chloe to forgive me. She hadn’t spoken to me since we’d come home from the mall. She’d marched into our bedroom and locked herself in without me. I did not have time for this idiotic meeting.
My father cleared his throat. “Honestly, I don’t know quite how to approach this case.”
“We are not a case, Daddy,” Chloe said.
I tried smiling at Chloe. She shrugged.
“No, no,” my father said, with his small, fake lawyer laugh. “But certainly this is a situation. Mr. Markman has grounds for a lawsuit.”
We were identical twins, pretty and smart, but my father preferred Chloe. Chloe was the one with law school potential.
“Lisa is getting a nose job,” Chloe said. “She has always wanted one. She called me from the hospital right before she went into surgery. Lisa is unbelievably happy. There won’t be any lawsuit.”
I looked at Chloe. She hadn’t told me. Since when did Lisa Markman call our house? My father shook his head. He spoke into the tape recorder’s microphone.
“Perhaps the Markmans won’t choose to press charges,” he said, with a meaningful look at his tape recorder. “But had this case proceeded to a court of law, the judge’s foremost concern before passing judgment would have been to assess the home life of the plaintiff, Sue. Your mother is right. Rather than punishment, the legal answer for this particular type of situation is rehabilitation. Why would this beautiful girl with so many of life’s advantages feel the need to resort to violence?”
“It wasn’t violence,” I said. “It was a tennis ball.”
My mother wrote that down.
“Why did you take a tennis ball to the mall?” she wanted to know.
“You already asked me that.” They stared at me. Daniel was strumming a throw cushion like it was his guitar.
“I took the tennis ball to hide it from Daisy.”
My mother wrote that down. She had hidden lots of tennis balls on the top of her dresser to keep Daisy from bothering her at night. Daisy loved to play ball. There were balls all over the house.
“How can the pattern of violence be put to rest?” my father said. “What would be the best course of action?”
“I don’t think Sue meant to break Lisa’s nose,” Chloe said.
“No,” Daniel said. “She meant it. Sue was pissed off.”
I looked at him. It was none of his business what I meant to do. I wanted him to stop trying to understand me. He could go off to college, get lost.
My mother noted Daniel’s opinion on her pad.
“Counseling would be the most obvious conclusion,” she said. “I have done some research, and I’ve been recommended an excellent doctor who works with twins.”
“The solution is simple,” Chloe said quietly. “Sue was upset that she wasn’t invited out with us today. It was insensitive of me to go to the mall without Sue, and I am sorry.”
I bit my lip. Chloe wasn’t sorry. She knew just what she was doing when she got into Lisa Markman’s car. Chloe was lying to my parents. My mother reviewed her notes, shuffling through the papers in her manila folder. She had files about us: our likes and dislikes. Distinguishing characteristics.
“But Sue hates the mall,” my mother said, reading from her pad.
Chloe nodded. “I was insensitive,” she repeated.
“That isn’t true, honey,” my mother said. “You are allowed to have your own life. You can go out with a friend and not be made to feel guilty.”
“Or persecuted,” my father said.
“I am sorry,” Chloe said again, nodding. “I will be more sensitive.”
“I think family therapy might be a good idea,” said my mother.
My father looked alarmed. He reached into his briefcase for his date book. “Our schedule is fairly booked,” he said, flipping through the pages.
Daniel snorted. “I’m going to college in the fall. It’s too late for me to get emotionally healthy.”
My mother also noted this down. Had she forgotten? Daniel had gotten into some college in Massachusetts where you didn’t get grades and you could design your own classes. A school for morons. This meeting was not necessary. My parents’ lame solutions were not worth listening to; if they would take me and Chloe out of school, we wouldn’t have any problems.
“What I think,” Chloe said, laying her palms flat on her lap, sitting up straight, “is that this was an isolated incident.”
My father smiled. He loved it when Chloe talked like a stuck-up lawyer in training.
“Speak louder, honey,” he said, gesturing toward the tape recorder.
“Daniel is going to college in the fall, and if he agrees, I would like to move into his room.”
I stared at Chloe, horrified.
“I think it would be good for me to have my own private space while I am in high school,” Chloe said. “I think if I have my own room, it will be easier for me to be more sensitive to Sue’s feelings. Otherwise, we are fine,” she said. “We are happy.”
Chloe knew just what to say to my parents, and she knew just how to say it. She said we were happy. I wanted for us to be happy. We had our names etched into each other’s skin. C H L O E. I traced the letters of the tattoo on my back. Maybe Chloe was lying about wanting h
er own room.
My father shook his head.
“Happy girls don’t break people’s noses,” he said. “I think we need to hear from our plaintiff.”
“Sue’s not on trial,” Daniel said.
He patted my hand. I shook his hand off. He would go off to college, and Chloe would take his room. He was ruining my life.
“Sue?” my mother said. “Tell me. You didn’t mean to hurt Lisa Markman, did you?”
She held her pen ready. I could see that there were two interpretations: I could have thrown the tennis ball at Lisa Markman and meant to cause her grievous harm or I could have thrown that tennis ball, aimed it right between her eyes, for no reason at all.
“No,” I said. “I didn’t.”
My father turned off his tape recorder. We were done. He nodded to my mother, finished his drink. My mother put her legal pad back into her briefcase. I realized that I wasn’t going to get punished. The meeting was over. I had broken Lisa Markman’s nose, and Chloe was going to get her own room. I looked from one parent to the other. They couldn’t leave things like this. Chloe would put a lock on the door. She’d keep a secret diary where she would write terrible things about me.
“You are right,” I said. “I am trouble. I am bad news. Chloe and I could try twins’ therapy. That could help us. We could talk everything through.”
Chloe shook her head.
“We are fine,” she said.
My father had a thought. He pressed the record button and spoke. “Follow-up meeting in one month,” he said. The tape recorder went back into his briefcase. He stood up and stretched.
“We’re done?” I said. “This can’t be it?”
I couldn’t go on the way I was going. I would never eat a good meal again. I would never get my period. Chloe didn’t love me. I had no reason to live.
“We can’t be done,” I said.
I looked at Daniel.
“You were right,” I said. “I meant to hurt Lisa. I am deeply disturbed.”
But my parents’ briefcases were already closed.
“No histrionics, Sue,” my father said. “That’s enough for one day.”
Chloe got up from the couch. She reached for my hand.
“Come on, Sue,” she said.
I looked at her hand, the one she wanted me to take.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said, and because I didn’t know what else to do, I let her lead us to our room. Our room. Chloe closed the door. I looked for open suitcases, empty drawers, but it was the same. The framed pictures of us on the wall. My favorite: me and Chloe, three years old, naked in a sandbox. Neither of us could tell who was who. I sat on Chloe’s bed. I wanted to die.
“Look,” she said, handing me a shopping bag. “I bought these today.”
Inside were two baseball shirts. They were my favorite colors, black, with dark gray sleeves. Extra-large.
“One for me. One for you,” she said.
“Thank you,” I said. I touched the shirts.
“Would you like me to cut your bangs?” she said.
I nodded. I had a lump in my throat. Earlier today, Chloe had tried to leave me behind. She’d cut her hair and turned into another girl. There were tears in my eyes. More than anything, I wanted Chloe to cut my bangs.
“Come sit on the chair,” she said, holding a pair of scissors.
Chloe knelt on the floor in front of me. She combed my hair straight over my eyes, and then, with a series of clean, quick cuts, she trimmed my bangs.
“Look,” she said. “Look at yourself.”
Chloe got down on her knees, leaned her head on my shoulder. She had cut my bangs short and straight. They were identical to Chloe’s short bangs. We were identical. She kissed the top of my head.
“Let’s put on our new shirts,” she said.
Chloe lifted her arms, and I pulled her pink sweater over her head. She did the same for me. We stood with our backs facing the mirror, looking over our shoulders at our tattoos. Chloe put her finger on my tattoo. “Let’s get dressed,” she said.
We put on our new shirts.
“We look nice,” I said.
Chloe shrugged. “I like pink better,” she said. “But I knew you would like them.”
I nodded.
“You can wear this shirt whenever you want,” she said. “Even when I don’t.”
I shook my head. I would only wear this shirt when Chloe wore hers too.
“You have to stop with all the drama,” Chloe said. “We are twins. I love you. I love you more than anybody else. I don’t have a choice about that. It is a given.”
I gazed at us in the mirror. I looked right in my new shirt with my short bangs. Chloe’s bangs. I looked like my identical twin sister. She looked like me. We were okay.
Chloe
The summer before we started high school, not long after our fourteenth birthday, Sue bought unicycles. She didn’t ask me what I thought before stealing my father’s credit card. I could feel her eyes glued to my face, watching me, as I examined her new toys. If I didn’t act happy, Sue might cry or perhaps throw things. I felt my head start to ache. Until that moment, I had never known how much I did not want to ride a unicycle.
I never knew what would happen if I stood up to Sue. When we were younger, I used to know how to handle her. I could handle her crying and her pouting, and I would always forgive her if she gave Daisy one of my sweaters to chew on. We were fine until we turned thirteen and Sue decided that we needed tattoos.
“This will be the greatest thing we have ever done together,” she said, tossing me a helmet to wear when I rode the unicycle. The helmet, I dully noticed, was pink.
A few days later, my father came home from work and slapped a credit card bill on the kitchen table. If he knew about all the twenties she slipped from his wallet, he never let on, but he had already canceled two other cards.
My mother sighed as my father set down the briefcase next to the bill and then reached for his tape recorder. “I’m hungry,” she said. “Tonight you play the bad cop.”
My mother winked at me. She took off her heels and, carrying them in one hand, went into the kitchen. Daisy followed her.
“Let’s start with Chloe then,” he said, looking directly at Sue. Her hair was greasy. She hadn’t washed it in six days. “For our voice of reason.”
“Not me,” Sue said. She was grinning. “Try again.”
“My bad.” My father laughed at himself, as if it was a simple, easy mistake to make.
My father looked very much like lawyers look on television shows. He was handsome like a television star, and home so rarely that, as I got older, he had stopped seeming real to me, and more like a TV actor who had been paid to play my father. A real father would never confuse the identities of his twin daughters after fourteen years of parenting, nor would he need a tape recorder to conduct a simple conversation. He took off his jacket and loosened his tie. I watched his thumb press down on the record button.
“It’s been a long day,” he said. “Chloe, do you know about this?”
I found myself staring at the red light on the little tape recorder. I realized that this would be the perfect moment to betray Sue. She desperately needed to be disciplined, but my parents did not want to take the time to discipline her. My parents always looked to me when there was trouble. Sue was my twin and therefore my responsibility. I could never remember it being any other way. She had started to ruin my things when I said no to her. I looked at the unicycles lined up against the wall, the metal wheels shining, the blue plastic seats.
Sue had stolen my father’s credit card, and there he was, wanting to know what I thought. I noticed Sue’s hand snake behind her back; she had no idea how desperate she was for someone to discover our secret. She had no idea how much I wanted to grab her arm and twist it round until it snapped.
“Let me see the bill,” I said.
I didn’t know what the smartest thing to say was, and so rather than say anything, I scanned the i
tems on my father’s bill. I recognized most of the places where he spent his money: payments on the Mercedeses; Brooks Brothers, where he bought his suits; the Carlyle bar, where my parents often went for martinis after work. The two unicycles cost eleven hundred dollars. I looked at Sue, almost impressed. There were also three separate charges at Godiva.
“You like chocolate?” I said to my father.
I had never seen my father eat chocolates. I wished that he would come home from work with a box of Godiva chocolates just for me.
“Gifts for the staff,” my father said, his voice impatient. “Please answer the question. There are two pricey, unapproved expenditures to be accounted for.”
“Ask me, ask me,” Sue said.
My father looked at Sue.
She held up her middle finger.
My father choked on his drink. I waited, excited, for his reaction. Sue had been rude to his face. Not only that but she had stolen from him a significant amount of money. If a member of his staff were to behave in such a way, my father would have that person fired and prosecuted. Finally, he would have to take action against Sue, and whatever he decided would be forever recorded. My father opened his mouth to speak, but before he had formed his sentence, Sue started to cry. Her flair for drama worked on most people, especially my parents, who were usually tired when they came home and bewildered by her intense emotions.
“Stop that, Sue,” my father said. “We are having a conversation.”
“Bullshit,” she said. “Fuck you.”
I bit my lip. I could see that no matter how bad Sue got, my father was not going to win. He’d been too easy on her for too long. She had no respect for the law or for lawyers either. My father looked at me, his face pleading.
“The unicycles are good,” I said. “We need a project for the summer.”
“I thought you wanted to intern at our office.”
My face burned red. I was letting the perfect moment get away; I loved my parents’ office, the floor-to-ceiling rows of silver file cabinets, the quiet, carpeted halls, and the computers on every desk.
“I would rather die,” Sue said.
“Sue and I want to have fun before school starts again,” I said. I listened to myself calmly, knowingly ruin my chance at escape. It had been a stupid idea in the first place. If I interned, Sue would intern too. She would always ruin everything.
Twins Page 6
