“I’m bored,” whines KK.
Caspian rubs himself against her cheekbone. “Don’t say that,” he whispers.
“You’re not bored,” I tell her. “You’re in the best threesome of your life tonight.”
To the rest of the group, I say, “Shall we?”
Li, Parker, Johan, KK, Freddie, and Caspian come to the door. “Bring the fiddle,” I tell Johan. “In case you’re inspired.”
We go into the hallway. Parker asks, “We’re going to Mr. Bergman’s apartment, right?”
“Yes,” I say.
“Did he finally move?” Parker asks. Mr. Bergman was a “confirmed bachelor” who’d lived at the Stanwyck longer than Czarina.
“If by ‘move,’ you mean to Mount Hebron Cemetery in Flushing, Queens, then yes,” I say. “Mr. Bergman moved.”
Parker does the sign of the cross over his chest. “Rest in peace, Mr. Bergman. He was a good dude. Used to give me and Sam the free movie passes his family sent him every year at Hanukkah. Said he hated ‘the picture show’ and why didn’t his family give him opera tickets instead.”
And now I’m mad at Sam for something else. He got grumpy Mr. Bergman’s free movie passes.
I walk to the front door opposite Czarina’s apartment, and there is no real crime happening here. I simply turn the knob, and the door opens. The building workers only finished clearing out Mr. Bergman’s apartment this morning. I knew they wouldn’t remember to lock the door. I knew they’d want the quiet, secret refuge for themselves until the real estate agents swoop in and Mr. Bergman’s apartment goes up for sale.
We step inside. I flick on the light switch, but there’s no bulb in the ceiling fixture. Through the light coming from the hallway, Parker spots a small lamp on the floor. He turns it on. I close the door behind us.
The best part of Sam and Ilsa’s dinner party will be when Sam returns to the living room and finds I’ve stolen his guests away. The good guests, not Jason Goldstein-Chung. Whenever Sam finally emerges, he’ll see we can have a great time without him, just like he showed me.
I remember trying to peek into this apartment as a kid. I’d be standing at Czarina’s front door waiting for her to let us in, and Mr. Bergman would come outside to go to the elevator. From those brief flashes, I remember the apartment seeming bigger than it does now, in the dim light and with no furnishings. “Depressing view,” says Li, standing at the windows with an air-shaft view of another wing of the Stanwyck building.
It’s no wonder the guy was not very friendly (except to cute boys).
“He probably didn’t see much sunlight for the last fifty years,” says Parker, mind-reading me as always.
“We’re afraid to live ’cause we’re afraid of dyin’,” says Johan.
“That’s deep,” says Parker.
“That’s Dolly,” says Johan.
“I want to see the kitchen,” says Li. She steps inside the alcove kitchen, attached to the main room.
“I want to see if Mr. Bergman left any beers in the fridge,” says Parker, following Li.
KK says, “I didn’t know it was possible for an apartment to be this small. It’s smaller than my bedroom. I feel like I’m suffocating.”
“Let’s go back to Czarina’s,” says Caspian.
KK bolts out the front door, with Freddie/Caspian in tow. “Air! I need air!”
I turn to Johan. We’re alone at last. “I want to know your intentions toward my brother,” I say.
“Lascivious,” says Johan. The guy just keeps making me like him more and more, dropping words like lascivious. Johan could practically be a third member of Flight of the Conchords, he’s so way-below-the-equator odd, and cool, and confused-charmed by the native New Yorkers.
I point to the corners of my lips, like they’re sore, and I emit a deep cough, hoping Johan will get my meaning: cold sore. “Then…have a talk with Sam first. Because…you know. He’ll dodge you because the subject makes him uncomfortable, but if you bring it up first, he’ll be fine to tell you. Be safe.”
Johan’s so naturally pale and it’s so dark in the room, I don’t know if I’ve embarrassed him with my comment, but he’s definitely made the connection, from the awkward shifting in his legs. He whispers, “I tried to kiss him earlier, but he backed away at the last second. That must be why.”
Is it? Okay, sure!
My work here is done.
I’m hardly mad at my brother at all anymore. Just needed to let it go with some old-fashioned sibling payback. Fake STD story, real FTW for Ilsa.
Parker and Li return from the alcove. Parker’s holding a can of Ensure. “No beer,” he says.
“But lots of protein drinks!” says Li.
Johan picks up his fiddle. “I was told you two were once competitive ballroom dancers,” he says to me and Parker.
“Once upon a time,” I say.
“We could still be champions,” says Parker. “Later tonight, right, Ilsa?”
“Show us what you’ve got,” says Johan.
“Perfect dance floor,” says Li, gesturing to the parquet flooring below our feet, unobstructed by furniture.
Johan starts to play. A tango.
Parker holds out his arms for me to step into position. I hesitate. I don’t want to be sucked back in.
Whoa! Seeing Parker resume that familiar position after all this time, I realize: I don’t have to be sucked back in for anything more than a dance.
Sam has always been the boy-crazy one in our twinship. He never lacks for male admirers, and his life sometimes seems like a constant revolution of flirty messages and cute boys wanting to know him better. It’s never been that way for me. Most boys are scared of me. Parker wasn’t. In turn, I was boy crazy for only Parker. Literally, crazy.
Finally, I get it. I can dance and be friends with Parker again because I’m over him. I feel love for him, but not in love.
“I don’t want to go to any dance-off with you later tonight,” I confess to Parker before I can step into his arms.
“I’ve been sensing that. So let’s dance it out now, then,” says Parker. “One last
