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Show FICTION m TWO ALIKE llfl rlVl BWiM By LOUIS MALLEN "d U Cot net I' - - - - 4X1jl3 WHAT puzzled Paul most was what made girls vulnerable and moon-eyed whenever his twin brother, Peter, was about. There was no denying it, girls usually fell for Peter's line. He was smooth. Paul had seen it happen too many times. Fear gripped his heart as he thought it was about to happen again tonight this time to "too nice a girl." Pensively, Paul tugged at the chair under him and moved closer to the table in the El Zebra club. He passed his hand fondly and carressingly over the beaver jacket on the chair beside him. This was Ann a part of Ann the delicately Ann had said: "You don't mind, do you, Paul?" Of course he did! But he couldn't let Ann know, just then. "This is some brother you have." She smiled into Peter's face as they glided away. Some brother, is right! Paul thought. Probably laying it on again. Ann seemed to enjoy it. Paul didn't! Ann was his girl! Ann fitted into Paul's plans for that part of life he desired. A home. A charming wife. His heart melted every time he dared to think of it. He hadn't yet found the courage cour-age to tell her. Gracious, kind, beautiful Ann. But he had told her all about himself, his early boy- ii i tf i "rt- irtii, irt -ijjjAyiW. .ni lift in iiat W-.---irri,,xx How did you get in the apartment?" "Quiet, young un," Peter had said. He placed his hand over the mouthpiece of the phone. "Can't you see I'm busy?" "Sorry." "Say, who's Ann?" Peter whispered. whis-pered. "ANN!" Paul had almost shouted. "Give me that phone. Quick. Before Be-fore you wreck my life!" Yes, Ann knew it was his brother . . . Peter told her after a few minutes of conversation . . . their voices sounded so much alike . . '. quite a kidder . . . she'd like to meet him. Why not bring him along tonight, on their date? . . . it would be nice . . . he'd probably be lonesome . . . she had said. Lonesome? What a thought to associate with Peter. New York would be just an interlude for him. ". . ; the superintendent let me in. You're looking great, Paul. The phone rang so I answered it. All right? Good. Transferred to Massachusetts. Mas-sachusetts. You'll be seein' more of me now. Great town, Boston. Steeped in tradition. Girls congenial, conge-nial, too. Wouldn't exactly compare com-pare with the girls in Texas. But all right. Great." In the apartment Paul wasn't so sure he was doing the right thing taking Peter out on this date, he felt uneasy remembering Peter's technique. He had executed a feeler: "How about making it stag tonight?" "Nothing doing," Peter had said. "Besides, you've already made the date." True, the date was made and Ann did want to meet Peter. Would she be less susceptible to Peter's soft impeachment? Thank goodness this was the last dance. Paul feared the worst. He tried to put the fear from his mind. They were coming back to the table now, both of them laughing, hand-in-hand. Paul tried to tell himself he was being foolish and torturing the depths of his heart with pain that never really should be there. The obsession stayed with him as they reached the street and there took on more agitation. Peter said: "Well, I'll leave you two alone now. The night is still young for me. See you later in the apartment, Paul. Good night, Ann." "Good night, Peter," Ann said. "Call me before you go away." TS THIS IT? Paul wondered. Is this the beginning to another broken brok-en heart? They watched Peter vanish down the dim lit street. He turned at the next corner and waved. In the next instant he was gone and with - him a still, hushed silence came over the empty street. The laughter, the gayety, the radiance left Ann's face. Paul prepared himself bravely for what was to come. Ann was talking: "Peter is fun." Fun? Was that how lasting love was defined? Had fun taken the place of love built on solid, deep-rooted deep-rooted admiration? The love, the deepest affection that normally leads to marriage? Peter was not ready for that. Someone was bound to be hurt, cruelly; he'd not allow it to happen to Ann. He turned to her, words of protest rushing to his lips then suddenly heard her say: ". . . but of the twins, I like you best, Paul." Paul glowed. Ann somehow understood un-derstood understood that ' life with Peter, for any girl, would end so a wave of the hand. His heart beating beat-ing wildly, there on the walk, Paul took Ann into his arms, held her close and vowed to be himself for the rest of his life. Thank goodness this was the last dance. Paul feared the worst. He tried to put the fear from his mind. perfumed fragrance of the jacket pierced his troubled mind. Baffled and driven, he came to a decision. He resolved, after tonight, to ape and copy his twin brother's every move and loquacious banter. He'd do it and see how far that would get him for a change. Paul's eyes searched the dance floor for Peter and Ann. They had danced together for the fourth consecutive con-secutive time. Thank goodness this was to be the last dance, they had agreed to leave upon its completion. hood, he, the younger qf twins, he had even told her about Peter. He wasn't afraid of Peter then, with two thousand miles between them. They'd probably be married before Peter would meet her. Paul was afraid of Peter now. Breezy, garrulous Peter. Back home, Paul had always been referred re-ferred to as the quiet one, when the twins were the subject of conversation. con-versation. The trouble with himself, Paul thought, was that he had always given up too easily to Peter; from childhood up. Peter always did get tha best toys, the best bike, the best clothes, the best of everything. Ann was something Paul wanted more than anything else in his life. She represented the best of everything every-thing to him. Determination filled his lean, square-jawed face. He WAS the quiet one, up until tonight. to-night. Long live the new Paul! It would not be easy, Paul reminded re-minded himself. Peter had years of experience along these lines. He regarded life about him with hardened hard-ened indifference, and when Paul sought to reason with him, Peter's face would turn quite blank, his eyes evasive. He never argued, never changed. He'd find love, cultivate cul-tivate it to crop, taste of It, and leave It. Now, with the thought of losing Ann racing through his nervous system, Paul vowed his scruples were to undergo a change. Earlier in the evening Peter was In Paul's apartment talking on the phone. "Peterl" Paul said. "What are you doing in New York . . .T |