Gladyss of the Hunt. Arthur Nersesian

      I simply pointed into my apartment and opening the door, he followed me inside. As we headed up the stairs, I was shaking my ass in front of him, but instead of trying anything, he was busy recounting Bernard Kerik’s meteoric rise to police commissioner.

      “In 1994, he totally lucked out by getting posted to Giuliani’s protective detail . . .” On and on he went. Little could O’Ryan guess at the time that in just a few short years, Kerik’s stunning career would end with him being sentenced to four years in federal prison.

      When we reached my landing, Maggie’s door abruptly flew open. I could see her eyes widen instantly at the dimwitted hulk following me.

      “Eddie, this is Maggie,” I introduced them.

      He nodded coolly. Maggie batted her long lashes and continued downstairs, probably to meet her non-boyfriend/bartender Rick. In a moment we were alone inside my place. I grabbed some clothes and dashed into the bathroom.

      “So your neighbor’s a little hottie,” he said from the bedroom as I slipped into a corduroy miniskirt and skimpy halter top I’d bought but never had the nerve to wear.

      “How does this look?” I asked, standing before him, revealing far more than I ever recalled doing before.

      “Where are you going to hide your wire?”

      “Thanks Eddie, you’re a real confidence builder.” The man was one frozen fish stick.

      “Sorry,” he said, then looked awkwardly to the floor. “I think you’re beautiful. But my head’s still on the job.”

      “Was your head on the job on New Year’s Eve, ’cause you made me feel like crap then too.”

      “That was different,” he said.

      “Not to me.”

      “Can I make a confession?” he asked. “It might sound strange . . .”

      As he usually was so guarded, I nervously nodded yes.

      “That night something weird happened to me.”

      “What night?”

      “You know. . . New Year’s Eve.”

      “What happened?”

      “Well . . . this is really embarrassing, so I don’t want you to freak out or nothing.”

      “I won’t freak.”

      “After you mentioned your . . . circumstances”—he was awkwardly referring to my virginity—“I was trying to go slow, and then your brother called.”

      “I remember.”

      “And I thought it was odd that you chose the call over me.”

      “I’m sorry, he hasn’t been doing well lately . . .”

      “No, that’s okay. It when you showed me that photo of you and him, your twin . . .”

      “Carl?”

      “Yeah, it just kind of took the wind out of my sails, if you get my meaning.”

      “What took the wind out of your sails?”

      “Seeing that photo of the two of you side by side . . .”

      “What about it?”

      “Well, first telling me you were a virgin sort of knocked me out, but then afterwards, when he called and you showed me that photo. How can I explain, it was like seeing you as a . . . as a man.”

      “What?”

      “I’m sorry.”

      “What, are you . . .”—I wasn’t even sure what to call it—“twinophobic?”

      “No . . . I mean, if you had a twin sister it’d be hot.”

      “So you’re homotwinphobic?”

      “I don’t think so. I have gay friends. I just didn’t expect it. It kind of hit me out of left field.”

      “But I already told you I was a twin.”

      “I know you did. It was a spontaneous, visceral reaction and I’m truly sorry.”

      What could I say?

      “The important thing is, I do really like you. I think you’re hot and I want another shot.”

      “We’ll see,” I replied. What was I suppose to say—let’s jump in the sack? Without asking for another date, he gave me a peck on the cheek and left, just like that.

      I finally decided on my old high school shirt and skirt uniform, which I was now barely able to squeeze into, and packed it for work.

CHAPTER FIVE

      “Steady breathing, steady pose,” the Renunciate muttered to me when he saw me wobble in class as I recalled O’Ryan’s twinly repugnance. Thanks to my teacher’s constant guidance, I was gaining greater strength and flexibility than I’d ever had before. But during final relaxation, as hard as I tried to achieve that divine vacancy of thought—I found I was unable do so. And it wasn’t the usual petty distractions that prevented me from emptying my mind. It started out as a kind of shimmering light. Slowly, though, a vision emerged. It was a figure—a tall svelte female, no Lady of Guadalupe, posing proudly. She seemed to be naked. Her arms were stretched out majestically, but her hands seemed to be clenched. Then I realized she wasn’t making fists, she was holding something. From the position of her right elbow, it had to be a bow and arrow. but why would such an image enter my head? Instinctively, to get a better look at her, I opened my eyes, and poof! She was gone. When I closed them again I couldn’t get her back. A moment later the Renunciate had us all doing final chants and it was over.

      As the class was leaving I lagged behind. He spotted me and said he thought I was really coming along.

      “Has anyone ever had visions in class?” I asked.

      “All the time,” he said calmly.

      Before I could be more specific, another student came up and asked him about ashrams, so I waved goodbye and left. I reached my front door just as Maggie arrived.

      “Where’s that gorgeous hunk you were with earlier?” she asked as we went upstairs together.

      “Eddie had to run,” I said, without adding that he had lost interest because I had a twin brother who looked freakishly like a male version of me.

      “Let me ask you a hypothetical,” she asked. “If I ever saw you with Noel Holden, would you introduce us?”

      “Geez, I’ve only met the man once myself,” I replied, somewhat pissed.

      She giggled in embarrassment and dashed inside her apartment like a chipmunk.

      On Monday morning, Bernie reported for work late. He was wearing a baseball cap and sunglasses as he limped into his office. When Annie followed him in, I heard a gasp.

      As I stepped inside too, Bernie released a cascade of wet, non-productive coughs, then explained, “I was at a bar over on Twenty-sixth Street, had a few drinks, so I went back to my car to sleep it off. When I wake up—boom.” He removed his cap to reveal a walnut-sized purple lump.

      “Looks like it could use a few stitches,” I observed, looking at the jagged gash along its swollen center.

      “What happened?” Alex said, coming in late.

      “Some cocksucker walloped me over the head and took my cash.”

      “Holy shit! You didn’t get a look?”

      “I was passed out. I just woke up the next morning with a hell of a headache and blood all over my freakin dashboard. The thing is, I got this awful feeling it was