Miss Misery (37 page)

I peered around the bar toward the bathroom to see if he was listening. “You mean ‘Spy versus Spy'?”

Debra clapped her hands. “Yes! Wait. Which one is the good one and which is the bad one?”

Cath smirked. “Depends on the day.”

Ben There sipped his drink and turned to face me. “Are you going to try and kill each other? Should we get some plastic wrap to protect ourselves from blood stains?”

“What? No.”

Cath put her hand on my shoulder. “You're not going to get in a fistfight again, are you? That didn't work out so well last time.”

I shook off her hand. “Will you all please be quiet? How long ago did he go in there?”

Ben There chuckled. “Relax, Rambo. He just went in there a minute ago. He did say he was in a hurry, though.”

I walked away from the group and headed toward the back bathroom. He had walked in on me once. Time for me to return the favor. But before I made it to the door, Franta stepped in front of me, his bald, imposing bulk blocking both my path and my vision.

“David,” he said. “Where you going?”

“Franta,” I said. “I have to go to the bathroom.”

“Ah-ah.” He shook his stubby index finger in front of me. “There is somebody already in there.”

“Is there?” I tried to sound casual. “Let me check.”

I reached for the doorknob, but Franta gently pushed my hand away and whispered, “Doppelgänger, eh? He give you trouble?”

I was too stunned to speak.

“Oh, don't look so surprised. Franta been around for a long time. I seen some crazy things like you wouldn't believe.”

“You know what's going on?”

“Sure.”

“You've seen something like this…before?”

“Ho boy, yes.”

I felt weak and woozy and steadied myself on the edge of the bar. “Well, then…what should I…what do I do?”

Franta chuckled and rested his meaty paw on my shoulder. “I watch you, I watch him run in and out of this place all week. I look you in the eye right now and I think—this boy figure it out on his own. He get it now. He knows what he has to be doing.”

“I do?”

Franta grinned. “David, you know what you want?”

I nodded.

“Then you go get it. You don't look back. You don't let anybody stand in your way. Not Franta. Not these kids. And not your own self.”

“OK.”

“And if you come back around, I still need a new kid to play records. This one with the rappers and the broken bones can't even move! I need one with softer music and two arms that work.”

I smiled. “Thanks, Franta. Really.”

“Is no problem. Now, like I promise, I get out of your way.”

Franta turned and walked back around the bar. Behind where he had been standing was the doppelgänger, drying his hands on a paper towel and staring straight at me. He was wearing the same ironic softball T-shirt I had worn to meet Cath and an old, loose-fitting pair of my jeans. Also, he was clean-shaven, which made him look younger than me and downright innocent. “Well, hello,” he said, throwing the towel away. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“Give me my passport. It's over.”

The doppelgänger looked shocked. “What are you talking about? You made your choice—now get out of my way and let me make mine.” He pushed past me into the bar, and I grabbed his arm as he passed.

“You've done enough. Give me my passport. And my wallet. And everything else you've taken from me.”

“Why would I do a thing like that?” He yanked his arm away and stood still in the middle of the bar. As I turned to face him, I felt all of the eyes in the Satellite Heart trained on me and my double.

“Holy shit!” Debra squeaked.

“This is awfully freaky,” purred Ben There, his head swiveling from one version of me to the other. “Cath, you've outdone yourself this time. An honest-to-goodness identity crisis!”

Only then did the doppelgänger seem to notice Cath. “Well, I certainly hope
you're
happy.” He sneered.

She took a step forward. “Just give him back what's his.”

“He doesn't even know what's his anymore!”

I also took a step forward. “This ends now,” I said. “I'm taking it back—all of it. Just give me what belongs to me.”

The doppelgänger swung his head frantically from me to Cath and back again. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “What are you going to do, hit me again? Call the cops? Like they'd believe you.” He took a step toward the door. “I don't have any of your stuff on me. Why can't you just make up your mind like normal people? Jesus!”

“I'm telling you that I
have
made up my mind.”

The doppelgänger looked panicked. “Well, so have I! I have a wonderful girlfriend! And a quiet, happy life!” He seemed shaky, unsure, weak. “And I wish you'd stop trying to foul it all up!”

“Look,” I said, taking another step toward him, showing him my open palms. “I'm not going to—”

A loud police siren ripped through the bar. The doppelgänger almost jumped out of his skin. “Holy shit! You did call the cops. You're crazy. I'm gone!” And with that, he pulled open the door and sprinted up the stairs and down the street.

I turned back to the bar. “Jesus Christ, Debra, why can't you just choose a
normal
ring tone?”

Debra meekly punched a key on her Sidekick and quieted the siren. “Sorry!”

“What do we do now?” Cath grabbed my arm.

“We follow him,” I said. And together we raced out of the Satellite Heart.

 

A crowd was forming at the corner of Rivington, where the other me had pushed past an old lady, knocking her basket of groceries into the street. A bunch of chivalrous local toughs, revenge on their minds, shouted “Hey!” as I passed, but we ignored them and kept running. The trail ran cold back at Houston—there were too many people pouring out of the subway, running to catch the uptown bus, and mingling in front of bars for us to be able to make out one fleeing doppelgänger in the midst of them. Cath stepped off the curb and peered in all directions. I doubled over to catch my breath. It had been a long time since I had run that fast, and I felt a nasty cramp forming in the pit of my stomach. “Do you see anything?” I panted.

“No.” Cath walked up to me and rubbed my back. “God, old man, don't die on me now.”

I stood up and wheezed. “You should be so lucky. Where do you think he went?”

“Well, he said he didn't have your passport. So he must have stashed it somewhere. Someplace nearby.”

“He's a homeless extension of my troubled psyche,” I said. “Where could he have possibly felt safe? Bellevue?” I looked at my watch. It was three o'clock. I felt everything slipping through my fingers.

But then we figured it out at the same time.

“Your apartment,” I said.

“My apartment,” said Cath, and she sprinted across the street just as the light turned yellow.

“Wait up!” I took off after her and nearly died under the bicycle of a Chinese delivery guy before making it across the street. As I jogged up Avenue A, I made a quiet resolution that if this craziness ever ended, I would really definitely consider joining a gym.

 

We knew we had guessed right when the fortune-teller seated in front of Cath's building took one look at my red-faced, gasping form and burst out laughing.

Cath stopped short of the door with her keys in her hand. “What is it, Stacey?”

The fortune-teller wiped at her eyes. “Oh boy,” she said. “I'll tell this friend of yours the same thing I told his twin—today just isn't your day.”

Cath grabbed the fortune-teller by the shoulders. “Is he here? Is he still here?”

Meanwhile, I finally caught the ragged edge of my breath. “Stacey?” I wheezed. “Stacey the fortune-teller?”

Stacey gave me the finger. “It pays the bills, jackass. Yeah, he just went up. I think he works out more than you do; he was running pretty fast.”

“Thanks for the observation.”

“Hey, no problem. By the way, I predict a heart attack in your future unless you get your white ass to a gym!”

But we were already up the first flight of stairs. As we climbed, we planned.

“I'll go in first and try to reason with him,” Cath said, her thick heels making a racket on the cheap linoleum. “You wait in the hall in case he tries to make a break for it.”

“That's a good plan,” I said. “Where'd you pick that one up?”

“
Law and Order.
They give away all the best tricks.”

“Huh,” I said. “You ever notice on that show how the people the cops interview never stop moving or doing their jobs? There's always all this
business.
If I was ever being questioned by cops, I would definitely take a break from waiting tables or fixing a tailpipe.”

We reached Cath's floor and trod lightly down the hall. “A keen observation,” Cath whispered. “Good to know your pop-culture radar is still functioning.”

I chuckled under my breath. “When I lose that, I've lost the will to live.”

We reached her apartment, and I leaned my back against the wall just to the right of the door in order to remain out of sight. Before turning the lock, Cath made a series of elaborate gestures with her fingers that seemed half SWAT team and half third-base coach. “What are you doing?” I mouthed.

“Making sure you stay sharp!” she mouthed back. I gave her a look, and she took one long index finger and laid it across my lips with a grin. “Shhhhh,” she said. Then she opened the door and went inside.

The door swung shut behind her with a smooth
click
, and I strained my ears to hear inside the apartment to no avail. The wall I was leaning against was plaster, two-toned, and filthy. From behind the door of another apartment I could hear the sounds of Spanish-language TV blasting at full volume. I closed my eyes and let my head fall back against the wall, which was surprisingly cool for such a hot day. My breath was slowly returning to normal. And I felt that my life would soon do the same—if only I could catch up to myself. I tried to picture daily life in the Netherlands—all pot-smoking, justice, and socialized medicine—but a loud crash from Cath's apartment shook me from my reverie.

“Cath?” I yelled. “Cath? I'm coming in!”

I pushed the door open as hard as I could, figuring that if the doppelgänger was going to make a move in my direction, I might as well smack him back into the apartment. But the only person I saw was Andre, standing with one foot still in the bathroom, wearing nothing but a bright red towel wrapped around his waist.

“What the hell is going on?” he murmured in his sonorous voice.

I took two steps past him into the apartment. “Cath?” I shouted. “What the hell
is
going on?”

When she answered, she sounded desperate. “Hurry! Help me!”

I took the rest of the hallway in three long strides, expecting to see the doppelgänger holding Cath at gunpoint—or worse—but when I reached the living room, he was nowhere to be found. There was movement in the far bedroom, and I caught a glimpse of a naked Stevie Lau diving under the covers to hide himself, thick plumes of sweet marijuana smoke billowing through his door. Cath, however, was halfway out the living-room window, one leg splayed comically in the air, wrestling with something—or someone—out on the fire escape.

“Hurry up!” she squeaked. “Help!”

“Is it him?” I scurried to her side. “Did you catch him?” But as I peered out the window, I saw that what was scurrying and straining in Cath's desperate grasp wasn't my double. It was Sinky, the water-loving cat.

I reached my hands out the window and wrapped them around the cat's furry chest. I could feel its tiny feline heart hammering away either in terror or the thrill of escape. “I've got him,” I said. “Bring him in slowly.” In response, Sinky yowled theatrically, but he didn't put up much more of a fight.

When we had him safely back on the sill, Andre came up behind us and nimbly slid the window closed. “You never should have given
him
a key,” he muttered before spinning on his heel and flouncing back into Stevie's room. The door slammed shut behind him.

Cath sat down on the floor with her legs spread out in front of her, holding the wild-eyed Sinky to her face. “Poor baby,” she breathed. “Poor, poor baby. Shhhh.” Her face was flushed crimson.

I joined her on the floor. “I guess he never figured out that he was four stories up.” Cath let the cat go, and he slinked off toward the bathroom, presumably for a post-traumatic dip under the faucet. I touched her shoulder. “What happened?”