Early Warning

Richie couldn’t have said that they were both going to have sex with her. He didn’t know if his mind proposed the idea or received the idea, and though he often received ideas from Michael, he also didn’t know if this idea was Michael’s or Alicia’s. Alicia seemed to like rough sex — she fought him off a little bit, and then laughed when he pushed her. She picked fights about other things, too, like whether a compliment he gave her was sincere or not, and then she made up quite enthusiastically, so he had come to realize that arguing was a bit of a game with her. He’d thought she was beyond him in some ways, but now Michael was looking down at her and laughing at her as if she were funny.

At a clearing, not grassy but soft with leaves and mulch, Michael said, “Lie down, bitch,” and Alicia said, “Fuck you, asshole.” Richie couldn’t tell if they were joking. He held back for half a second, and then stepped over the tree root. He said, “You two been seeing each other long?”

“Couple of weeks,” said Michael. “Long enough.”

Picking her bag up and setting it beside her, Alicia said, “How about you guys?”

Michael said, “Never saw this little fucker in my life before,” and laughed.

Alicia said, “Looks like two against one.”

But which two against which one? thought Richie.

In their two years at Cornell, Richie had made it a point to wait a split second before Michael said what he was going to do, and then say that he was going to do a different thing. Their paths had not diverged; they had run parallel. Some people knew that they were twins — they did still look very much alike — and some people had been fooled. One professor the previous spring had told Richie he’d taken that class already. The first thing Richie said was “How’d I do?” and the professor looked at him like he was crazy while saying, “You got a B+. You could have worked harder.” Richie said, “Must have been my twin brother. I’m sure to get a B—.” Then the teacher looked at the roster of students and laughed, as if this were a joke. A girl who had met both of them at mixers but was able to tell them apart said, “I met your brother last week.” Richie said, “How do you know?” She said, “Your left eyelid is a little droopy, and his right one is.” Richie had been impressed. He’d told her she ought to be a private investigator. They’d danced a few times and had a beer. But he was not going to ask how Michael met Alicia, or whether Michael knew Alicia was his girlfriend. Then it occurred to him that maybe Michael had met her first.

Alicia scooted over so that her back was against one of the trees, pulling her bag with her, and when Michael came near her, she kicked him in the shins with her boots, then laughed again. Richie recognized her laugh; it was an I-dare-you sort of laugh. When Michael leaned toward her, she ducked to one side, grabbed his wrist, and pulled him down. He bumped his knee on something. Richie knew in his body that Michael was beginning to get mad. It could easily be Richie and Alicia against Michael, so he said, “Why did you leave last night? I woke up around four and you were gone.”

Michael glanced at him.

Alicia said, “I got my period, and I didn’t have any tampons in my bag.”

Richie hadn’t seen any blood, but, fine, as good a reason as any. He said, “You should leave some in the same little box as your toothbrush and your hairbrush and your deodorant.” Michael, kneeling, now put his hand under Alicia’s chin and kissed her long and hard. Alicia’s arms stayed limp, and her eyes rolled in Richie’s direction. He could not read their expression — was she scared, was she appealing to him, was she saying two are better than one? Why would a girl secretly date a pair of identical twins? And yet, he saw, Alicia was just the girl to do it. She was always trying stuff — never a Daiquiri, better a Hurricane; not a joint, better a bong; not marijuana, better kif; not mescaline, better LSD; not Last Tango in Paris, better Deep Throat. Suddenly her hand came up and smacked Michael in the balls, and then she popped away from the tree and scrambled to her feet. Michael doubled over for a second, jumped up, and went after her. Richie stepped to the side and knocked into him. Michael spun toward him, but Richie put his arm up and deflected the blow. “Oh yeah?” barked Michael, and Alicia said, mockingly, “So I get it: you’re the bad twin, huh, Mike?” But she was backing away.

Richie said, “Alicia, you should get out of here. I know when he’s mad, and he’s mad.”

Alicia said, “I can take care of myself, thanks.”

Just then, Michael punched her, not him, right on the jaw. Having been the recipient of one of these on several occasions, Richie flinched. “Leave her the fuck alone, Michael!” he shouted. “Just mind your own business!” He stepped toward them.