I gaped helplessly. It was all happening too fast.
He reached out and took my hand, shook it warmly. “Hi,” he said. “I’m Don. I’m your brother.” At first I just let him shake my hand, but after a second of his silly grinning at me, I returned his grip. (Interesting. Some people shake my hand and their grip is too hard. Others have a grip that’s too weak. Don’s grip was just right — but why shouldn’t it be? He’s me. I have to keep reminding myself of that; it’s almost too easy to think of him as Don.) The touch of his hand was strange. Is that what I feel like?
We went to the races.
Oh, first we bounced back twenty-eight hours; both of us. He flashed back first, then I followed. We both reappeared at the same instant because our target settings were identical. He was wearing a timebelt too — well, of course; if I could be duplicated, so could the belt.) I couldn’t shake the feeling that this fellow from the future was invading my home — even though it was meaningless — but he seemed so sure of himself that I had to follow in his wake.
When I glanced at the kitchen clock, I got another start. It was just a little past ten — why, I was still at Uncle Jim’s funeral! I’d be coming home in an hour with the lawyer. Maybe it was a good thing that Don had taken the lead; there was still too much I didn’t know.
As we walked out to the car, Mrs. Peterson, the old lady in the front apartment, was just coming out of her door. “Hello, Danny—” she started, then she stopped. She looked from one to the other of us confusedly.
“This is my brother,” said Don quickly. “Don,” he said to me, a gentle pressure on my arm, “this is Mrs. Peterson.” To her: “Don will be staying with me for a while, so if you think you’re seeing double, don’t be surprised.”
She smiled at me. I nodded, feeling like a fool. I knew Mrs. Peterson — but Don’s grip on my arm reminded me that she didn’t know. She looked back and forth, blinking. “I didn’t know you were twins—”
“We’ve been — living separately,” said Don quicky, “so we could each have a chance to be our own person. Don’s been up in San Francisco for the past two years.”
“Oh,” she said. She turned on her smile again and beamed politely at me. “Well, I hope you’ll like it in Los Angeles, Don. There’s so much to do.”
“Uh — yes,” I said. “It’s very — exciting.”
We made our goodbyes and went on to the car.
Abruptly, Don started giggling. “I wish you could have seen your face,” he said. “Well, you will — tomorrow.” Still laughing, he repeated my last words, “Uh — yes. It’s very — exciting. You looked as if you’d swallowed a frog.”
I stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-side door. (It seemed natural for him to take the drivers side; besides, I was unsure of the way to the track.) “Why didn’t you let me explain?” I asked. “She’s my neighbor.”
“She’s my neighbor too,” he replied, giggling again. “Besides, what would you have said? At least I’ve been through this once before.” He opened his door and dropped into the drivers seat.
I got in slowly and looked at him. He was unlatching the convertible top. He didn’t notice my gaze. I realized that I was feeling resentful of him — he was so damned sure of himself, even to the way he was making himself at home in my car. Was that the way I was? I found myself studying his mannerisms.
Suddenly he turned to me. “Relax,” he said. He turned to look me straight in the eye. “I know what you’re going through. I went through it too. The way to do this is — at least, I think so — is the first time you go through something, just watch. The second time, you know what’s going to happen; that’s where the arrogance comes from. Only it isn’t arrogance. It’s confidence.”
“I guess this is happening a little too fast for me.”
“Me too,” he said. “I know this is a weird thing to say, but I missed you. Or maybe I missed me. Anyway, it’ll work better this way. You’ll see.” He pushed the button on the dashboard and the convertible top lifted off and began folding back. “Put on a tape,” he said, indicating the box of cassettes on the floor. He started to name one, then stopped himself. “Want me to tell you which one you’re going to choose?”
“Uh — no, thanks.” I studied the different titles with such an intensity I couldn’t see any of them. It would be impossible for me to surprise him — no matter what tape I chose, no matter what I did, he would already know, he would have done it himself.
Of course, he had been through all this before. He had every reason to be sure of himself. When I became him, I’d probably be cocky too. Perhaps a little giddy — you couldn’t help but feel powerful if you knew everything that was going to happen before it happened.
Of course he should be the one to do the talking.
Later I’d get my turn; but right now I was feeling a little unsure, both of myself and of the situation. I could learn by following his lead. I put on a tape of Petrouchka and concentrated on the road.
I’d never been to the race track before. It was bigger than I’d expected. Don steered his way into the parking lot with surprising familiarity and arrowed immediately toward a space that shouldn’t have been there, but was.
Instead of seats in the bleachers, as I had expected, he bought a private box. Grinning at me, he explained, “Why not? We deserve the best.”
I wanted to point out that it wasn’t necessary; besides, it cost too much. Then I realized he was right; the money made no difference at all. We were going to make a lot more than we spent, so why not enjoy? I shut up and let myself be awed by the great expanses of green lawn. Under the bright sun, the wide sweeping track seemed poised in midair, a curve of stark and simple elegance. The stands loomed high above us and I was properly impressed.
We ordered mint juleps from the bar — nouveau riche I thought, but didn’t protest — and made our way to our seats. Don made a great show of studying the paper, which I thought was funny — it was today’s race results he was poring over. “Yes, yes… “he muttered in loud tones of feigned thoughtfulness.
“I think Absolam’s Ass looks pretty good in the first.” He looked up. “Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam’s Ass. To win.”
“Uh—” I started fumbling in my pockets. “I only have sixty—” And then I broke off and looked at him. “A hundred dollars—?” On a horse? A hundred dollars?
He was eying me with cool amusement. There was a crisp new bill in his hand. “You want to get rich?” he asked. “You have to spend money to make money.”
I blinked and took the bill. Somehow I found my way to the betting windows and traded the money for ten bright printed tickets. The clerk didn’t even glance up.
Absolam’s Ass paid off at three to one. We now had three hundred dollars. Don ordered two more mint juleps while I went to collect our winnings and put them on Fig Leaf. This time the clerk hesitated, repeated the bet aloud, then punched the buttons on his machine.
Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had six hundred dollars. And another mint julep.
Calamity Jane also paid off at two to one. We were up to twelve hundred dollars, and the clerk at the window was beginning to recognize me.
Finders Keepers came in second, and I looked at Don in consternation. He merely grinned and said, “Wait—” I waited, and Harass was disqualified for bumping Tumbleweed. Finders Keepers paid eight to one. Ninety-six hundred dollars. The betting official went a little goggle-eyed when I tried to put it all on Big John. He had to call over a manager to okay it.