the Third Twin (1996)

Steve laughed, mainly with relief. “I almost got in bad trouble,” he said. “A dumb-ass cop started beating up on that guy in the skirt, and I was fool enough to tell him to stop.”

Ricky was startled. “You’re lucky you’re here.”

“I know it.”

They reached Ricky’s house and went in. The place smelled of cheese, or maybe it was stale milk. There was graffiti on the green-painted walls. They edged around the bicycles chained up in the hallway and went up the stairs. Steve said: “It just makes me mad. Why should Dorothy get punched in the gut? He likes to wear miniskirts and makeup: who gives a damn?”

“You’re right.”

“And why should Lenny get away with it because he’s wearing a police uniform? Policemen should have higher standards of behavior, because of their privileged position.”

“Fat chance.”

“That’s why I want to be a lawyer. To stop this kind of shit from happening. Do you have a hero, someone you want to be like?”

“Casanova, maybe.”

“Ralph Nader. He’s a lawyer. That’s my role model. He took on the most powerful corporations in America—and he won!”

Ricky laughed and put his arm around Steve’s shoulders as they entered his room. “My cousin the idealist.”

“Ah, hell.”

“Want some coffee?”

“Sure.”

Ricky’s room was small and furnished with junk. He had a single bed, a battered desk, a sagging couch, and a big TV set. On the wall was a poster of a naked Woman marked with the names of every bone in the human skeleton, from the parietal bone of the head to the distal phalanges of the feet. There was an air conditioner, but it did not seem to be working.

Steve sat on the couch. “How was your date?”

“Not as hot as advertised.” Ricky put water in a kettle. “Melissa is cute all right, but I wouldn’t be home this early if she was as crazy for me as I was led to believe. How about you?”

“I looked around the Jones Falls campus. Pretty classy. I met a girl, too.” Remembering, he brightened. “I saw her playing tennis. She was terrific—tall, muscular, fit as hell. A service like it was fired out of a fucking bazooka, I swear to God.”

“I never heard of anyone falling for a girl because of her tennis game.” Ricky grinned. “Is she a looker?”

“She’s got this really strong face.” Steve could see it now. “Dark brown eyes, black eyebrows, masses of dark hair … and this delicate little silver ring through her left nostril.”

“No kidding. Unusual, huh?”

“You said it.”

“What’s her name?”

“I don’t know.” Steve smiled ruefully. “She gave me the brush-off without breaking stride. I’ll probably never see her again in my life.”

Ricky poured coffee. “Maybe it’s for the best—you have a steady date, don’t you?”

“Sort of.” Steve had felt a little guilty, being so attracted to the tennis player. “Her name is Celine,” he said. “We study together.” Steve went to school in Washington, D.C.

“You sleeping with her?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t feel that level of commitment.”

Ricky looked surprised. “This is a language I don’t speak. You have to feel committed to a girl before you fuck her?”

Steve was embarrassed. “It’s just the way I feel, you know?”

“Have you always felt that way?”

“No. When I was in high school I did whatever girls would let me do, it was like a contest or something. I would bone any pretty girl who would take her panties off … but that was then, and this is now, and I’m not a kid anymore. I think.”

“How old are you, twenty-two?”

“Right.”

“I’m twenty-five, but I guess I’m not as grown-up as you.”

Steve detected a note of resentment. “Hey, it’s not a criticism, okay?”

“Okay.” Ricky did not seem seriously offended. “So what did you do, after she gave you the brush-off?”

“Went to a bar in Charles Village and had a couple beers and a hamburger.”

“That reminds me—I’m hungry. Want something to eat?”

“What have you got?”

Ricky opened a cupboard. “Boo Berry, Rice Krispies, or Count Chocula.”

“Oh, boy, Count Chocula sounds great.” Ricky put bowls and milk on the table, and they both dug in.

When they had finished, they rinsed their cereal bowls and got ready for bed. Steve lay on the couch in his undershorts: it was too hot for a blanket. Ricky took the bed. Before they went to sleep, Ricky said: “So what are you going to do at Jones Falls?”

“They asked me to be part of a study. I have to have psychological tests and stuff.”

“Why you?”

“I don’t know. They said I was a special case, and they would explain everything when I get there.”

“What made you say yes? Sounds like kind of a waste of time.”

Steve had a special reason, but he was not going to tell Ricky. His answer was part of the truth. “Curiosity, I guess. I mean, don’t you wonder about yourself? Like, what kind of person am I really, and what do I want in life?”

“I want to be a hotshot surgeon and make a million bucks a year doing breast implants. I guess I’m a simple soul.”

“Don’t you ask yourself what’s it all for?”

Ricky laughed. “No, Steve, I don’t. But you do. You were always a thinker. Even when we were kids, you used to wonder about God and stuff.”