A Taxonomy of Barnacles, page 35
Defeated, Billy lingered at the bedroom door for a moment. As he stood, he fell into a small trance and, as a result, was quite shocked to find Bell standing inches from his face.
“Billy,” said Bell. “Are you okay?”
“Oh yes,” he lied. “Very.”
Bell smiled lovingly and raised an eyebrow, as though to suggest she was immune to such transparent displays of bravado.
“Oh fine,” Billy sighed. “What’s the use in pretending?”
Bell followed him into the room, closing the door behind them.
“You think you know someone,” Billy began. He took a seat in the girls’ stuffed chair then changed his mind and stood up. He walked to the bookshelf, removed a book, flipped through the pages for a moment, and replaced it on the shelf. Then, in a final admission of defeat, he walked back to the chair and fell into it, looking up at Bell pitifully like a tortured poet.
Bell offered Billy a consoling smile then took a seat facing him on the edge of her bed. “Knowing,” she said, “is not the problem. The problem is that sometimes people you know do not behave like themselves.”
“It’s just not fair,” Billy said.
“You’re telling me,” said Bell. “Try living next door to a pair of twins.” She invoked Blaine’s favorite line. “It ain’t all it’s cracked up to be.”
Billy accepted Bell’s point with a begrudging smile then, remembering his miserable state, contorted his face back into a scowl. “I expect this from him,” he moaned. “But how could she do this to me? But the thing that really hurts … the thing that really gets me…” He stopped to clear his throat. “If Bridget really, truly loved me, she’d have no trouble telling us apart. She’d feel it in her bones.”
“Come on, Billy,” Bell said sharply. “It’s a very easy mistake. Let’s not forget that you and Blaine have spent the last thirty years perfecting this very deception.”
Billy considered this earnestly and appeared to be somewhat consoled. Then, picturing his brother and Bridget together, he resumed moaning and cursing.
“Besides,” said Bell. “I can assure you, nothing happened that night.”
“How do you know?” Billy sighed.
“Because,” said Bell. “Bridget does know the difference and she’s only in love with one of you.”
Billy searched Bell’s eyes imploringly as though the very answer he sought was buried beneath her gaze.
“So, if I were you,” Bell concluded, “I’d hurry up and remind her that she has a very valuable pair of tickets in her possession.”
Billy looked up suddenly as though Bell had just said something very controversial. “Oh come on. Bridget would never. Everyone knows there’s nothing worse than proposing at a…” He trailed off suddenly. “That’s it!” he shouted.
“What’s ‘it’?” Bell said.
“I can’t believe it took me so long. In Bridget’s mind, the best proposal would be the all-time worst.”
Bell smiled, amused by Billy’s incurable histrionics.
“I’m still in the game,” Billy declared, then, thanking Bell, he turned to go and headed home at a sprint.
* * *
Bridget arrived at her old apartment without calling Trot in advance. Lacking the energy for a more thorough move-in, she walked up the stairs of their fifth-floor walk-up, heaved her luggage to the top, then left it on the landing with the intention of retrieving it later or, better yet, convincing Trot to do it for her. When she arrived, Trot barely acknowledged her entrance, busied by what seemed a very pressing commitment, sitting at his desk, intermittently staring into space and doodling in a notebook. Undaunted, Bridget marched into the apartment, dropped her accoutrements, and commenced a cleaning tour of the kitchen designed less to clean than to broadcast the number of dirty dishes in the sink. Finally, realizing she lacked the expertise to complete such a task, she abandoned the pretense of washing dishes, marched across the apartment, threw herself onto her bed and said, “Fine. You win. I’m ready.”
Trot was, of course, more than slightly offended by Bridget’s brazen entrance. The gall of assuming he would take her back, let alone without an apology. Did she think she could treat him however she pleased and he would simply tolerate her abuse? Did she think that under the circumstances, his proposal was still on the table? Bridget waited for a response. Trot stared at the page of his notebook then, without acknowledging the presence of so much as a new breeze in the room, he raised his hand and placed pen to paper as though he had finally found the perfect verbiage for a line of fiction. Bridget watched with shocked outrage as Trot scribbled contentedly. She lifted herself from the bed with an overwhelming grunt, crossed the room to Trot’s desk, snatched the pen out of his hand, and took a seat on the desk atop Trot’s current project.
“Excuse me,” said Trot. “I’m doing something.”
“Did you hear what I said?” Bridget demanded.
“Yes,” said Trot. “Very clearly. Did you hear my answer?”
“No,” sniffed Bridget. “You didn’t say anything.”
“Exactly,” said Trot. “Know why?” He took the liberty of answering his own question. “Because there’s nothing left to say.”
And with that, Trot stood up, walked to his closet and commenced a long-overdue project: packing his clothes to move out.
* * *
At this very same moment, Billy geared up for his performance. Though Bridget had not yet responded to his message, he was sure she would cave at the reminder of the tickets. In all his life, he’d never known her to pass up a chance to see the Sox play, let alone a chance to witness such a symbolic and significant match. It was true the seats he’d managed to secure were less impressive than Blaine’s, but it was a feat that he’d snagged them at all and, besides, it didn’t really matter where they sat as long as they could see the field. At least, this is what Billy told himself as he waited for Bridget to return his call. Even if she was not swayed by the opportunity to spend time with him, surely she would be convinced by the momentous occasion in baseball. Dizzy with nerves, Billy regarded himself one last time in the mirror and attempted to quell his anxiety by rehearsing sotto voce his third and, necessarily most successful, proposal. Unfortunately, a knock on the door interrupted this private moment. Blaine entered without Billy’s permission. Billy stood, stoic and silent at the mirror, vowing not to be dissuaded.
“I just came to wish you good luck,” Blaine said, “on this, your last chance in hell.” Blaine crossed the room with all the good cheer of a talk show host, and then paused to stand behind Billy, making eye contact in the mirror, that most eerie of fifth dimensions.
Billy met Blaine’s pointed gaze and returned serve with an unflappable smile.
“So, you’re oh for two,” Blaine said, assuming the deep and over-enunciated delivery of a sportscaster. He held up an invisible microphone. “How does that feel going into this game? It must be a crippling burden.”
Billy managed to strengthen his smile without releasing Blaine’s gaze. “Actually, I feel confident that today’s the day. I’ve got a fail-proof plan.”
“I sure hope so for your sake,” Blaine said, “considering that the day holds so many other disappointments.”
“How do you figure?” Billy asked. He focused on his own reflection.
“Well, for one, I’m proposing to Bell and I can’t imagine that will help your cause. Second, and you know how much it pains me to beat you but—and of course, I’m no psychic—the Sox are about to go down.”
“Oh, you think so?” Billy asked.
“I’d bet my life on it,” Blaine said. Then, he had the nerve to wink.
Finally, Billy disengaged from Blaine’s gaze and turned to regard his brother head-on. Now, as he stood mere inches away from his identical twin, Billy noted his brother’s defects as though seeing him for the first time. Blaine’s lips were thinner than his, causing him to seem as though he was constantly judging and making him look much older than his twenty-eight years. His eyes were small and permanently squinty which made him look mean-spirited. In fact, Billy noted, there was some truth to all their jovial teasing. Despite their superficial similarities, he and Blaine looked nothing alike at the level of their souls. As he stared into Blaine’s eyes, something snapped in Billy and, before he could think better of it, he extended his hand, smiled broadly, and said, “Okay, you’re on.”
“Pardon me?” asked Blaine.
“You heard me,” Billy said. “I accept your bet. But I want to raise the stakes.”
Thrown, Blaine shifted his weight as though to station himself better to the ground then folded his arms, cocked his head, and waited for Billy to elaborate.
“If the Yankees win,” Billy explained, “you go ahead with your plans and propose to Bell. If they lose, you walk away and accept defeat like a man.”
“And you?” asked Blaine.
“Same goes for me. If the Sox win, I propose to Bridget.”
“And, if they lose?” Blaine demanded.
“If they lose, I give up for good.”
Blaine stared at his brother for a moment as though to make sure he was indeed looking at flesh as opposed to a reflection. Then, regaining his previous composure, he smiled as though to coax Billy back into the realm of laughter.
“What’s the matter?” asked Billy. “Have you lost faith in your team? Are you scared they might crack under the pressure?”
“Absolutely not,” said Blaine.
“So, do we have a bet?” asked Billy.
Blaine said nothing. He only smiled and extended his hand to shake.
And, for the umpteenth time in as many years, the twins sacrificed their good judgment to a history of wagers, challenges, and dares.
* * *
Bridget waited until five o’clock to leave her apartment. She had spent the better part of the afternoon writing hateful letters to Trot, assembling his left-behind clothes in piles, and calculating his outstanding debt. But her willpower faltered after computing his portion of the telephone bill. Perhaps, Bridget decided, Billy could be granted temporary amnesty due to this highly anticipated event in the history of baseball. Comforted by this new resolve, she scrutinized piles of half-packed clothing to select the perfect uniform for her date that evening. Finding an outfit that was both alluring and casual was one of life’s great challenges. One could always couple jean shorts with a snug black camisole, but there was something about this particular ensemble that betrayed a certain desperation to showcase one’s attributes. Jean shorts always ended up causing so many unforeseen problems. The exact length and extent of the fringe often required last minute alterations and, even worse, caused shedding at the most inopportune moments. Cotton pants were certainly another viable option, but unless they were cut in the latest style, they risked making one look as though one was heading off on a camping trip.
Skirts were always a welcome possibility after the endless New York winter, allowing a girl to enjoy added freedom of movement or, when necessary, to speed the negotiations of a first date. But skirts and baseball stadiums made for such an awkward match, subjecting the wearer to mysterious surfaces and, when one was not vigilant, the odd, unwelcome itch. Jeans then, perhaps, were the best option; sensible and still sexy, permitting a girl to maintain the illusion of nonchalance when she had put hours into her appearance. Her anxiety allayed by this careful analysis, Bell redirected her energy to the next decision: Which of the fifty-odd pair of shoes strewn about her floor provided the adequate lift for her silhouette without seeming overly dressy? Finally, a full hour later, Bridget reached a satisfactory decision. She wore dark blue jeans, a white camisole, a pair of black kitten heels with green polka dots, and Billy’s beloved Sox cap to complete the ensemble.
* * *
Billy and Blaine arrived at the Barnacles’ within seconds of one another. This forced the two estranged twins first to stand in the foyer between the two apartments in complete and utter silence and then, once they’d made the unanimous decision to open the front door, to stand in the Barnacles’ living room and make awkward banter. Both boys chose against sitting. Billy opted to pace aimlessly, while Blaine chose to stand and examine a painting on the wall. Finally, tiring of these two activities, Blaine picked up a magazine and pretended to read, and Billy took a seat on the living room sofa and fidgeted with his shoelaces. Finally, a third party to their rescue. Barry entered, this time not rolling, but practically running into the room.
“Boys, what a pleasure,” Barry declared. “So glad you decided to come.”
Blaine regarded Barry quizzically, unsure of the event to which he was referring. Wary of offending his potential patriarch, he clarified the reason for his presence. “I’m here to pick up your daughter. We’re going to the game tonight.”
“As am I,” Billy added.
“If his date accepts,” Blaine corrected.
Barry said nothing, just stared at the boys as though he’d forgotten their identity for a moment. “Very well, then,” he said finally. “Please take off your shoes while you wait.”
Both boys smiled an apology and fumbled to remove their shoes. Then, as though moved by the very same emotion, both boys shifted their weight nervously, both boys sat awkwardly on the sofa, then suddenly stood back up, both boys cleared their throats and mumbled something unintelligible and both boys, without discussing such a plan, opened their mouths to ask Barry for the privilege of marrying his daughter.
“Mr. Barnacle,” Billy and Blaine said in unison.
Billy paused to glare at Blaine.
Blaine paused to glare at Billy.
Suddenly, prescient of their twin goal, they turned simultaneously to one another, issued the same bullying look and then attempted to monopolize Barry’s attention.
“Mr. Barnacle,” said Billy.
“Sir,” Blaine said louder.
Then, in perfect unison, both boys said, “There’s something I need to ask you.”
Barry understood their intention immediately and preempted their next question. “Boys,” he said, “I truly thought this day would never come.”
Finally, the twins’ responses varied. Billy smiled and Blaine winced.
“So, you approve?” Billy asked.
“Of course, I don’t approve,” Barry scoffed. “It’s more a case of the devil you don’t know versus the devil you do.”
Once again, the three men stood in awkward silence. Barry broke the pause with a volcanic chuckle. He stopped laughing just as suddenly as he’d begun, indulged in a wicked smile, and gestured for the twins to join him in a huddle. “Can you keep a secret?” he asked.
The twins nodded solemnly.
“Now that you’re going to be members of the family, I think I can trust you with this. And, I could use your support later on in the case of a mutiny.”
Though both were now terribly confused, Blaine and Billy did their best to smile encouragingly.
“But, even in the worst case,” Barry went on, “I’ve accomplished what I set out to do.”
Billy widened his eyes.
Blaine tightened his stomach.
“There is no contest prize,” Barry whispered. “Or at least, not the one they think.” He rubbed his hands with glee. “Oh, the girls are going to be shocked,” he said, “when they realize there’s no money.”
“What?” Blaine said sharply.
“Excuse me?” said Billy.
“But you said—” Blaine blurted.
“Oh, I never said a thing,” Barry smiled. “They jumped to their own conclusions. Or rather, their stepmother did.”
Both twins remained speechless for several moments. Billy crossed his arms playfully. Blaine stood still with shock, scanning the room as though for modes of escape.
As Barry beamed at the boys, it was hard to tell which pleased him more: the plans he harbored for the contest or the effect of this announcement.
Billy recovered first and offered Barry congratulations. “You old devil,” he said, punching him on the arm. “You really had me going.”
Blaine attempted his own playful punch but found his arm inexplicably paralyzed. Luckily, the front door opened at this moment, drawing attention away from Blaine. Bridget and Bell arrived to meet their dates in perfect tandem, dressed so similarly as to be confused for one another. Somehow, the last ten minutes had resulted in a dramatic turn of events, transforming two dissimilar sisters into twins and turning two identical twins into polar opposites. Everything Blaine held dear flew rapidly out the window as, for the first time in his life, he headed to Yankee Stadium, praying for the Red Sox to win.
23
A Good Arm
Despite the dwindling headcount in the apartment, Barry called the family together. Benita was eager to commence before any unexpected arrivals, thrilled by the implications of congregating with so few of her competitors present. She had dressed up in honor of the occasion, taking advantage of Belinda’s absence to wear the controversial dress she had “borrowed” days earlier. The dress, however, required some alterations. She had hemmed the skirt and cinched up the back, causing the ensemble to look like a last-minute Halloween costume. But blinded as usual by her competitive designs, she deemed the outfit impossibly glamorous. As a finishing touch, she pulled her hair into a tight ponytail. She congratulated herself in the mirror. The dress, she felt, provided the perfect context for her upcoming win. It was fitting that she wore the clothes meant for Cordelia since she was, in her opinion, the only deserving sister.
With four of the six Barnacle sisters in absentia, the table felt unusually bare. Still, those in attendance made up for the missing with a surplus of nerves and anticipation. Finally, just before six o’clock, Barry yelled up the spiral staircase, threatening to start without Bella and Bunny if they weren’t downstairs within thirty seconds. Never one to make idle threats, Barry commenced counting backward, adding emphasis to urgency by bellowing through the apartment and clinking an empty glass with a spoon. Bunny leapt over the last step as Barry reached “ten.”
