The Templeton Twins Make a Scene

by Ellis Weiner

  “Oh, come on,” Abigail said. “We know it’s you.” She pointed to the man and said, “You’re Dan.” She said to the woman, “And you’re Dean D. Dean.”

  “I most certainly am not,” the woman said. “That is a man’s name. A man who I am not. Because, as you can see, I am a woman of the female variety. Now excuse me. My brother, I mean, my husband and I are late for an appointment elsewhere. Come, uh—” she waved her hand around as though trying to think of something. “—Bill.”

  The couple started walking. The twins walked with them.

  “We know what you did, Dan,” Abigail said.

  “You climbed up when no one was looking and unscrewed the device so it would fall and break and maybe hurt somebody,” John said.

  “He did no such thing,” the woman said. “I should know. Because he is my husband.”

  “And that’s why you’re both here now,” Abigail said. “You wanted to make sure it fell and broke.”

  The woman stopped walking and gritted her teeth and looked furious for a second, but then replied, “I deny every word of this. I don’t want to make sure of anything.”

  “But we fixed it,” John said. “So it’s not going to break.”

  The woman turned to the man and said, “Tom, these children are upsetting me.”

  “I thought my name was Bill,” the man said.

  “All right! Bill. These children—”

  “The question isn’t who did the sabotage,” Abigail said. “Because we know it was you. The question is, who is Steve Stevenson? Do you guys know him?”

  “We are not ‘guys,’ ” the woman said in a sniffy manner. “We are an adult woman and a man with a beard.”

  “But do you know him?” John said.

  “Of course not,” the man said. “I mean, just regular ‘no.’ Not ‘of course.’ Just ‘no.’ Now leave us alone. We just came to watch the show.”

  “Then why are you leaving?” John said.

  “Because, uh, I think we don’t feel good.”

  Abigail suddenly frowned and wrinkled her brow, as though she had just had an important thought, which she had. “Wait a second,” she said. “You did the sabotage. But how did that student know to tell us about it?”

  John shrugged. “Steve Stevenson told him.”

  “Right. And how did he know?”

  “Nobody knows how anybody knows anything!” the woman said. She grabbed her companion’s arm. “Come, Harold.”

  “Bill.”

  “Yes! Fine! Bill! Good-bye, you obnoxious twins,” she said. “We hope we never see you again.”

  She began to lead him away. But the twins dashed around in front of them and blocked their way. “Wait! We’re not finished figuring this out yet,” Abigail said.

  John said to the couple, “Steve Stevenson knew you did the sabotage. That means either he spied on you when you did it, or you told him about it.”

  The woman drew herself up indignantly and said, “No one spied on anyone and no one told anyone about anything.”

  “Well,” John began, “It has to be one of those—”

  “No, it doesn’t.”

  Everyone looked at Abigail in surprise. She said, “There’s a third explanation. I can’t believe I didn’t think of it until now.” She turned to her brother and began ticking things off on her fingers. “We know Dan did the sabotage. We also know that the sabotage in the lighting booth was really simple to find and really easy to fix. So we’re pretty sure that it was meant to be found.”

  “Um, honey?” the man said to the woman. “I think we should go.”

  “No,” the woman said in a chilly tone. “I’ve changed my mind. I want to hear what they think they know.”

  “No one has ever seen Steve Stevenson except that student. And no one knows Steve Stevenson,” Abigail said. “The only thing Steve Stevenson has ever actually done, in any of this, is to tell that student to tell us about the sabotage—”

  “—which Dean and Dan wanted us to know about,” John added. “It’s like Steve Stevenson was helping the Deans make sure we found it.”

  “Right. And what did that student say? That guy who actually met Steve Stevenson? He said Steve Stevenson had a beard and sunglasses.” She looked at the man. “Like you’re wearing right now.”

  “BWA HA HA HA!” the woman laughed, or pretended to. “What of it? Everyone wears sunglasses.”

  “At night?” John asked.

  “Well, no,” the woman admitted. “But people have beards at night. A great many, many people. But not me, you will notice. That’s because I am a woman, you horrible twins. Women don’t have beards, and I don’t have a beard, which proves I am a woman.”

  Abigail ignored all this and said to her brother, “Why didn’t Steve Stevenson come in and tell us himself about the sabotage? Why did he only tell that student to tell us?”

  John thought for a second. “Because he was in a hurry?”

  “I don’t think so,” she said. “I think it’s because he was afraid we would recognize him. Because we actually do know him.”

  “You don’t know anyone!” the woman cried. “I’ve heard enough. Come, Will.”

  Abigail pointed to the man and said to John, “This is Steve Stevenson.”

  “WHAT A STRIKING AND PROVOCATIVE THEORY YOU HAVE JUST ADVANCED, MY DEAR SISTER,” John did not say. Instead he conveyed essentially the same thing by saying, “Huh.” Then he added, “But this is Dan.”

  DAN D. DEAN IS STEVE STEVENSON!

  Abigail said excitedly.

  “That’s preposterous!” the woman said. “Tell them, Phil.”

  “Yes, um, that’s preposterous,” the man said without much conviction.

  “You’ve been sneaking around here the whole time in disguise,” Abigail said to the man. “Telling everyone you’re Steve Stevenson. And if anyone talks to you, you tell them you’re in someone else’s department. That’s why everyone thinks you work for someone else. Meanwhile—”

  “Meanwhile,” John said, catching up, “you were wearing a beard the first day we saw you. When we were taking a tour of the campus and you left Papa that note in his office. But why? You didn’t know we were going to see you that day. Why did you bother to wear a disguise?”

  For a couple of seconds, no one spoke. Even the couple seemed curious to see if anyone would be able to answer John’s question. Suddenly Abigail gave a big hoot of laughter. “Because they’re twins, John! Dan looks like Dean! If someone had seen Dan without the beard, they’d say, ‘Hey, you look exactly like Dean D. Dean. Are you sure your name is Steve Stevenson?’ ”

  “I’ve heard enough,” the woman said. “Come, Bob.”

  Throughout this exchange, the man had begun to look nervous. Now he said, “Look, Dean—”

  “I’m not Dean!” the woman yelled. “No one is Dean!”

  “What if they call the cops again?”

  “Let them!” The woman’s voice had abruptly changed into a man’s voice. “We haven’t done anything!”

  “We almost killed people!”

  “No one knows that, you idiot!” Dean D. Dean shouted at his brother.

  “We do,” John said.

  The woman glared at him—and then “she” ripped off her wig, confirming (as if anyone had had any doubt) that “she” was, in fact, Dean D. Dean. “Yes, you do, don’t you.” He suddenly drew up close to John and grabbed him by his shirt, actually lifting him off the ground. “So we’ll have to do something about that.”

  “Hey!” Abigail launched herself at Dean D. Dean and started hammering him with her fists. “Let him go!”

  “Do something!” Dean D. Dean yelled at his brother.

  Sighing, Dan D. Dean moved forward and grasped Abigail’s arms and pulled her off. “Now what?” he said.

  “Bring them,” his brother said. “We’ll think of something.”

  “Think about THIS!” a fourth voice said.

  FOR FURTHER STUDY

  How much more frequentl
y do you think people would wear sunglasses at night if the sun came out more at night? Much more frequently.

  Somewhat more frequently.

  About the same amount, but in an exciting new array of designer styles.

  Why do men wear beards? Because they forget to shave.

  To remind themselves that they are not women.

  Because their chins get cold.

  Were you surprised to learn that Dan D. Dean was, in fact, Steve Stevenson? Hint: Yes.

  From out of nowhere a figure appeared and, crouching low, charged headfirst at Dean D. Dean, who barely had time to drop John before the figure tackled him. Dean D. Dean lay on his back on the broad concrete walkway and struggled to catch his breath.

  Suddenly there was barking.

  Ten feet away, standing pert and upright and wagging her little tail in delight and looking thrilled to be taking part in whatever was going on, was Cassie the even-more-ridiculous-than-usual dog. She wore her collar and leash.

  “All right, that’s enough!” Dan D. Dean said. He shoved Abigail aside and began to advance on the person who had tackled Dean D. Dean. But Abigail, rather than retreating from Dan D. Dean, actually went back up to him (can you believe it!?), turned her back to him, and pushed herself backwards into his arms, calling, “Help! Cassie! He’s got me! I can’t get away!”

  When she heard Abigail’s call for help, Cassie darted forward and positioned herself in front of Dan D. Dean, crouched into a hunting position, bared her sharp teeth, and began to growl. It wasn’t cute. It wasn’t even ridiculous. John leaped forward and grabbed Cassie’s leash but didn’t tell her to stop growling.

  Finally the person who had tackled Dean D. Dean stood up. I am going to permit you to guess who it was. Thanks to my highly skilled narration, it should be fairly easy. Still, if you need a hint, here is a partial list of who it wasn’t:

  1. Leonardo da Vinci

  2. Clarence Birdseye, the Inventor of Frozen Food

  3. The San Francisco 49ers

  4. Dora the Explorer

  5. Vasco de Gama the Explorer

  This should be sufficient to enable you to guess who tackled Dean D. Dean and now stood before the twins.

  “Manny!” the twins cried out at the same time.

  “Look,” Dan D. Dean said, indicating his brother. “I’m just going to help my brother up, and then we’re going to leave. Okay?”

  The twins traded a look that said, wordlessly, “We know what they did, but we probably can’t prove it. And the only person hurt in this whole thing was Dean D. Dean. So let’s let them go so we can get on with things.”

  John said, “Good girl, Cassie! It’s okay.” The dog stopped growling and John gently pulled her away from Dan D. Dean, who ran over to his brother and helped him to his feet. Dean D. Dean glared over at the twins and started to say something.

  “Dean?” Dan D. Dean said. “Just drop it.”

  Dean D. Dean snorted but said nothing. He put his arm around his brother’s shoulder and the two of them hobbled off toward the parking lot.

  “Come on!” Manny said.

  “Where?” John said.

  “To watch the rest of the show!”

  The cast party for Let’s Live Life! was held in the banquet room of the main administrative building of the Thespian Academy of the Performing Arts and Sciences. Everyone who had worked on the show was there: actors, crew, the creative team, musicians, publicity people, and all of their husbands and wives and boyfriends and girlfriends and friends of the Academy. The feeling was one of triumph and joy.

  Of the almost one hundred people in attendance, only six of them knew the disaster that had been averted by the quick thinking and brave actions of the Templeton twins. The twins knew, of course, and they had told their father and Manny Mann. The stage crew person who had chased them off the catwalk knew. And Porter Shorter, the stage manager, knew.

  But none of them wanted to distract or steal attention from the cast and crew and orchestra, all of whom had performed brilliantly. So they kept that knowledge to themselves, and joined in the big celebration of the show and of the successful use of the Live Performance Horizontal-Tracking Individual Close-Up Lens.

  It was about an hour into the party, during which the twins had consumed a million little egg rolls and drunk an unlimited amount of soda, when John looked up and said “Uh-oh,” and Abigail looked where he was looking and she said, “Oh boy.”

  Gwendolyn Splendide floated over to them. (By this, I do not mean that the lady actually left the floor and flew through the air. I mean she moved as though floating, gracefully and smoothly and, if you must know, a little tipsily from having drunk several glasses of champagne.) She had somehow managed to change from the clothes she had worn at the opening performance. Now she wore a deep-red pantsuit over a jet-black blouse and a number of gold earrings, bracelets, necklaces, and a large gold pin depicting the (twin) faces of mirthful Comedy and agonized Tragedy.

  “And here they are,” she announced, although it was not clear to whom she was speaking. “I salute you, Arleta.” She executed a pretend little bow and extended her hand to Abigail. Then she did the same toward John. “And Geoffrey. As I salute your brilliant father.”

  The twins shook her hand. “Um, thank you,” Abigail said.

  “Because—can you keep a secret? I know I can’t, but you surely can—entre nous, my darlings, I don’t know what the Academy would have done without your father’s genius invention.30 Of course, I suppose I deserve some credit for having hired him. Oh, but enough about me. As it is, his creation will be in demand all over the world, and our future is secure.” She glanced around and someone caught her eye. “Now excuse me. It’s that dreadful woman who reviews plays for the local paper. I must make her feel important.”

  Gwendolyn Splendide drifted off. The twins made their way to the dessert table, where there were ten thousand little cupcakes. They were somewhere between their third and fourth ones when the Professor joined them. He looked tired but happy. He—

  I will tell you what happened next, but first I have several things I wish to say.

  It will come as no surprise if I tell you that this story—this narrative—is almost over. If you are reading it in book form, you can obviously see that there are barely any pages left. And even if you are listening to it being read, or are reading it in some mysterious invisible electronic form which has no “pages,” I am sure that you can sense that it’s almost over.

  I know this realization saddens you beyond words, but I couldn’t be happier. As I said at the beginning, in order to tell this second story about the Templeton twins, I have had to write an entirely new group of words, completely different from those I wrote in the first story. One can scarcely overstate how arduous this has been.

  True, these words are just as new to you as they are to me, and you have had to read (or listen to) them. But reading is as different from writing as eating is from cooking. I think we can all agree that this is an excellent analogy,31 and that the activity of writing (and cooking) is much more demanding than that of reading (or eating).

  I hope, therefore, that you appreciate all the work I’ve done during the past 255 pages. If you do, you need say nothing. If you don’t, I invite you to write a letter to me, in care of the publisher of this book. I will almost certainly ignore it.

  The Professor and the twins gazed across the floor and watched as Manny Mann said something to one of the actresses, who burst into laughter as Manny stood there with a little smile on his face. The Professor turned to the twins and said, “By the way, children, I’ve been meaning to ask you. That complicated eyeglass helmet you made for Manny—why did you go to all that trouble?”

  Abigail and John traded a look of surprise. John said to his father, “Because he kept bothering us with all his ideas. His funny ideas, and his serious ideas—”

  “We thought if we could get his glasses to stay on, he’d be able to read and do homework and leave us alone,” Abigai
l said.

  “Mmm, I’m not so sure that’s it,” the Professor said. “We could have made him understand that he shouldn’t distract you while you were doing homework. I think there was another reason.” The twins looked expectantly at their father. “I think you like him,” the Professor said. “He’s a friend. You did a nice thing for a friend.”

  “He’s our nanny,” Abigail said. “How can your nanny be your friend?”

  “Why not?” the Professor said. The twins looked across the room. Manny waved at the Templetons, and then took the hand of the actress he’d been speaking to and began to pull her over to introduce her to them. “And he feels the same way. Don’t you think?” The twins nodded. “Yes, you put in a lot of hard work to solve a problem for a friend. I think that’s great.”

  Then Manny and the actress made their way over to the twins, the Professor was called away to discuss his triumphant invention with many of his admirers, and things got loud and full of laughter. And so it wasn’t until the ride home that the Professor was able to say, “By the way, children, I got an interesting letter this morning from another university . . .”

  Abigail, in the front passenger seat, turned toward John, who was in the backseat. The Templeton twins shared a look that said, wordlessly, “Here we go again . . .”

  But that is most definitely another story. In any case, this one is over. Do not expect any additional narration from me. I cannot, in spite of what you may believe, entertain you all the time. Entertain yourself. Go do something interesting. Or go to sleep, and then get up and then do something interesting. I am sure that, when you do, you will want to call me up or come to my house to thank me for suggesting it. Please. Don’t bother.

  FOR FURTHER STUDY

  “If the Narrator is the Albert Einstein of narrators, then Albert Einstein is the Narrator of physicists.” Discuss these two analogies, preferably with another person.

  Now that this book is over, don’t you feel sorry for me, and for how exhausted I am?