He says, Exactly.

He gestures for me to sit down on the steps next to him, which I do.

In this story, he says, confident and measured, there’s a kid called William, way back when in England, who meets another boy at school. And this boy, he’s got the same name, the same appearance, he’s even born on the same date.

I whistle in disbelief, because what the fuck?

He says, Crazy, right? So this boy tries giving William some advice, but William isn’t going to take any of that. Anyway, William goes to university, gets into sketchy shit like cheating at cards, hooking up with married women. That kind of thing.

But each time, his doppelgänger stops him from doing the thing, just as he’s about to do it.

I say, That’s got to be pretty frustrating for William. What happens?

Well, our William gets so mad, he drags his doppelgänger into a room and stabs him to death.

While he’s telling me this story, Other Me is looking at my face, and even though I’ve got a cap and sunglasses on, I’m feeling like maybe the disguise isn’t enough.

He says, Do I know you from somewhere? You look kind of familiar.

I say, I don’t think so. I’ve only been here for a couple of months, and most of that I spent cooped up in an apartment with a broken leg.

Yikes, he says. That must have driven you nuts.

Then his eyes light up and he snaps his fingers: Got it! That actor, Takeshi Kaneshiro. That’s who you remind me of.

This is something my mother said to me one time when I was a kid.

Very handsome, she said.

But then I googled this actor, and saw that I looked nothing like him.

Other Me, he says, It’s hard to say with those sunglasses on, though. Why don’t you take them off?

I’m thinking, How the hell do I get out of this one then?

And then I think, Fuck it.

So I take off my sunglasses, and wait for the incredulous reaction from Other Me as he realizes we’re practically the same person.

Yep, he says. Takeshi Kaneshiro. Definitely.

You know, he says, some people say I look like him too?

T

HIRTY

-N

INE

Was that any good? says the blond guy with the big jaw.

He lowers the sheet of paper, looking at us with wide, grey eyes.

In the middle of this studio space he got me to rent out for the day, Charles is sat down on a stool. He says, Will you excuse us for a minute?

Sure, the guy says, and steps outside.

Charles says, What do you think?

Me, I can’t focus on what we’re doing. On account of my encounter with the other me this morning.

I’m shook.

It felt like the whole conversation he was alluding to the fact that we’re the same, without explicitly saying it.

Charles is looking at me expectantly, so I shake it off and I say, He was pretty good. Maybe the best we’ve had all day.

Charles goes to the door to take a look at the guy again. I like that he’s American, he says. Tall and muscular. Handsome, too.

He looks like Brad Pitt is what it is, I say. A regular Adonis.

I bask in the guy’s presence, even though he’s not in the room anymore.

A feeling of half-admiration, half-self-loathing.

Tall, good-looking white dudes, they have that effect on me.

Charles folds his arms and looks at me. Is he making too much of it, though? Is he overdoing it with the hand gestures and the tears?

Why don’t we give him some pointers and let him have another go at it?

Good idea, says Charles.

Adonis composes himself, clears his throat.

He’s standing dead straight.

He wipes his face blank, then draws in despair.

He knocks on the black, Victorian-style door with the golden lion knocker. The number 88 above it in gold, too.

Charles is on the other side of the door, on the other side of the studio that’s not decked out like the hallway of that crazy glass and steel sci-fi apartment block the movie star lives in.

The red and gold carpet with the same pattern, the wall lights, even the oil painting of the old-time admiral on his warship in that elaborate gold frame.

No playing, it’s all here, every detail recreated.