Whatever the Impulse

by Tina Amiri

  “You’re getting worse really fast.”

  “Excellent report, brain surgeon. What do you want?”

  Night felt awkward announcing his lucky break, but he couldn’t contain it. “I think my hair is turning white! Look at my face. Look at my scalp.” He flipped his head down and parted his mop. “Do I have any roots—because I should have some by now?”

  Morgen stepped closer and peeked indifferently. “No.”

  “Well, how could this happen?”

  “How the hell should I know? Mother Nature just finally realized you should have been a blond all along, so just be grateful. Now, for Christ’s sake, leave me alone!”

  ****

  At one o’clock in the morning, Sandy approached his surveillance station and rewound the tape in his VCR. The live action monitor revealed nothing but a still form on Morgen’s bed, made visible only by the moonlight through the window. When Sandy pressed play, the black and white scene on his television flickered into a picture of an empty room. He advanced the tape, stopping where he caught the image of one of the twins entering.

  Sandy could only see the subject from behind, bending over to rifle through the nightstand drawer. He decided this had to be Morgen, when the subject exposed a syringe and vial in his hands, after turning on the lights.

  Plopped on the edge of his bed, and turned halfway toward the camera, the weary-looking Morgen pushed the needle into his arm, before tossing everything back into the drawer and leaving the room.

  Sandy gripped both sides of the television with his eyes wide and his lips halfway to forming a smile. As a bonus to his mercenary achievements, he could probably get the prick charged for possession. He stepped away from the screen and had to advance the tape another two times before he glimpsed some further action.

  For about a minute, Sandy watched Morgen cringing and hacking at the edge of his bed, but the event that followed had Sandy throwing up his arms in celebration. Night burst into the room to share his astounding hair phenomenon. Every word was clear, along with the details of their physical likenesses. Even if he never had a chance to record anything else, this alone would be enough. It was only the ensuing footage that almost blew down his mighty sails.

  He watched Morgen turn the white tissues black as he wiped the blood from his hands and arms. After Morgen’s phantom brother vanished from the room, Sandy raised his finger to the screen. “I don’t give a damn in what shape I have to sell you, you mangy fuck. I finally got you where I want you, and soon both of you will know exactly where that is.”

  ****

  Night dropped Morgen off at the park to meet Steve before making his way to the exclusive conference resort that Gin had booked for the band and its entourage.

  After hours in a boardroom, the whole troop headed outside for the cushioned, wrought iron chairs at one round extension of the massive, illuminated pool. Gin wrapped up one final debate, now under twilight, amongst palms, ferns, and chirping crickets.

  “If nobody has any more suggestions, then maybe we can just enjoy the rest of the night.” He turned to the occupied loveseat beside him. “Morgen and Doris…maybe the two of you can hold off on enjoying each other for the evening. My hopes are that each of you will bond intimately with one another while we’re here.”

  Doris bit down on her lip and smiled at the imposter Morgen. “So, what are we going to do?” she asked behind the straw of her margarita, her voice sultry like the air of a true jungle. “Are we going to play Truth or Dare or something like that? …In any case, I don’t think Morgen will be bonding too intimately with anyone else but me tonight.”

  Sean, who’d long pushed himself back from everyone else, set down his beer bottle. “Get a life, Doris. We’re about to go on tour. Do you really think such devotion is going to last once the first curtain falls? Me thinks your time is finally up.” He cackled. “We got what we wanted, but there’s always a price, darling.”

  Doris glanced around for support while Night tried not to grin at the deluge of toasts to their drummer.

  “Look at him…” Sean persisted, shifting his crosshairs on Night. “What was your price, Morgen? What did you trade to the devil to get here…your personality? What the hell’s the matter with you?”

  Aden’s tranquility finally broke. “Like you said, Sean, we got what we wanted. I don’t really care what’s up with Morgen, as long as he can work the stage. And that’s all you should care about.”

  “No, I want to find out what the hell’s up with that guy. I know Morgen, and that stiff sitting there ain’t him!”

  Night narrowed his eyes at the drummer, unable to see how playing it cool, in Morgen’s true form, could have given him away already. “I don’t know what you mean.”

  Sean began laughing. “‘I don’t know what you mean?’ Is this what you’re like when you’re more high or less high, Morgen? Or are you really Morgen’s twin? You do look a little different lately.”

  “Of course he looks different,” Brandt piped up as he reached for his drink. “He spends hours in my studio, week after week, being reinvented. I mean, of course it shows.” He winked at Night and then scanned the group smugly.

  Brandt rarely left him alone in any capacity, and Night didn’t mind. This style guru had even taken over Morgen’s coaching role, now that he had to venture out from under Morgen’s wing more and more.

  The sky switched from indigo to black, and a cool breeze passed over the urban oasis, but some of the guests couldn’t be dissuaded from using the pool. Night admired both the sinuous and the muscular forms cutting through what looked like liquid glass.

  “Shall we join them?” Doris enticed, dropping her wrap and tugging at Night’s open flannel shirt that he wore over a tee.

  Once again, Brandt came to the rescue. “He can’t, Doris. He’s…allergic to…the pool chemicals.”

  Doris chortled. “Really? But you have a pool…”

  “Beth uses it more than anyone. I can’t really—”

  “Yeah, it’s incredible. I even had to change the makeup I use on him. We’ll have to treat this one special.”

  “I’ll do my best,” Doris surrendered with a shrug.

  As Doris sat down, their manager, Gin, stood up with an eye on the bar. He took one step, then leaned over Night’s shoulder. “You really are awfully quiet. If this isn’t you, should we expect your return anytime soon?”

  Night replied with an emphatic shudder. Nothing from his past would ever be coming back if he had any say about it.

  “Well, I’ve seen you the other way. Whatever it is you’re on, stay on it,” Gin said, only half in jest. “But whatever our drummer’s on, he can’t handle it. Talk to him.” He slapped Night’s shoulder before heading off to the bar.

  Night hadn’t counted on ever having to acquaint himself with Morgen’s medication. He never would have guessed that the bonding experience with his new career family would involve passing around a straw with several rails of cocaine.

  It was pleasurable to sit amongst the people whose job it was to judge him and, for once, just laugh with them—even roll against the shoulder of one of them as the substance gripped him most intensely. Then again, that moment might have been during the second round when he began to fear everything around him—as though the world had fractured into a kaleidoscope of Andrews. Sean’s jeering in the background only heightened the effect.

  Night stood up—he didn’t know why—and stumbled forward. Gin reached out for him, full of concern, but this made him spring backward like a crayfish, and he ended up treading water after all.

  “I told you!” Sean cried, half delirious. “Morgen’s not green to this stuff. Who the hell is that guy? Identify yourself!”

  Brandt slammed down his drink and rushed to the edge of the pool while Night responded, only with semi-compliance, to the many arms all coaxing him to grab on. He still averted everyone’s hands when he found his footing on the tiled ground, but Brandt boldly clutched the hotel key dangling from a cord
around Night’s neck and read the room number. Hauling him past the others, he muttered, “This is just terrific. Maybe it’s funny to you guys, but I’ll be the one who has to deal with the rash before the photo-shoot.”

  The next morning, Night remembered Doris touching his face and prattling into it, and he remembered being helped to his hotel room, not by Doris, but by someone who was able to manage most of his weight. His friends recounted the events to him, in lavish detail, over breakfast.

  “Morgen Dahlsi…not so notorious after all,” Brandt professed in closing.

  Night sat back from the table, annoyed at being picked on, but also in an effort to avert Sean’s eyes. He sensed the time had come to start worrying.

  Chapter Twenty

  “Get a new drummer,” Morgen suggested, or it might have been an order. “Sean’s worn out his usefulness as a dealer. He’s become a bloody liability, and if he’s really onto us, you have to take him out of the picture.”

  “How?”

  Morgen explained between labored breaths. “Let him know that it’s not working out and that it’s his own fault. Tell him he’s bringing everyone down and risking your success. And if he argues, tell him you’ll expose his already lucrative business, along with all of his contacts. Ask him if he prefers jail.”

  Night’s eyes grew large. He should say this…he who narrowly escaped this fate himself? “But Sean’s your friend…”

  “Do you want him to ruin everything? Do you really want to argue about this? Do you want the police to add impersonation to your list of crimes—not to mention what happened to your daddy? You’re the one with all the motives for revenge.”

  “You wouldn’t do that to me. Not anymore…?”

  “You have one purpose, and if you’re going to allow him to fuck everything up, you bet. Just do it, Night.”

  The distinct sound of Brigitte’s heeled footsteps reached them from the far end of the hallway and Morgen ran for his bedroom, but his coughing could not be locked behind the door. Night made his mind up in a hurry and slipped into the hallway before Brigitte could enter the suite.

  “Well hello, superstar. I just came to check on you. Weren’t you going to tell me how everything went?”

  “I was just coming down to get something to eat.”

  “I thought they would have fed you guys through the entire thing,” she remarked, trying to keep up with him until he slowed down on the staircase. “Well, if you’re hungry, you can tell me all about it in the kitchen.”

  He told Brigitte about Gin’s plans for the tour and answered her questions while she waited for her tea water to boil.

  Sandy strolled into the kitchen, grinning. He didn’t head for the fridge; he just stood against the wall and fixed his gaze on Night, who eyed him uncomfortably over his toast. The water in the kettle started to roll, and the housekeeper just crossed his arms as Night’s words awkwardly faded to nothing. Brigitte excused herself, smiled at Sandy, and headed for the counter to prepare her tea. Only then did Sandy approach Night. He leaned over his shoulder to slip a Polaroid photograph in front of him.

  At one look, Night felt his blood freeze. He read the date and time that had been written on the white portion at the bottom—today’s date, and a time of only a few minutes ago. The picture, taken from an awkward angle, revealed Morgen curled up on his bed. He looked up at Sandy, lost for words.

  “Don’t run to him about this,” Sandy whispered. “We’ll talk later.” As Brigitte made her way back to the table, Sandy tucked the picture away and let out a dramatic sigh. “Sometimes I wish there were two of me. Then I could always be in two places at once and get so much more done.” He snapped his fingers in mock regret and walked out before Brigitte could question him about his apparent troubles.

  ****

  Car horns, engines, and faulty mufflers polluted the air outside a lively bar where Morgen arranged for Night to meet Sean. The inside had its own share of noise with cue balls slamming into one another and people shouting over the loud music.

  Sean sat down in front of Night. “What’s so important?”

  “I want you to leave the band.”

  “Now, you’re definitely high…”

  “I mean it.” Morgen’s words ran through his head…

  “Don’t ramble. Be firm. Less is best.”

  “So, now that we’ve made it, you want to cut me out? …Fuck you.”

  “Everyone is tired of you, Sean, especially me. You’re a wreck, and sooner or later you’re going to bring us down. I just can’t let that happen.”

  “It’s not your choice anymore. I’ve got a contract, just like you.”

  “I know, and I want you to break it.”

  Sean wiggled his head as he stood up. “See you in the studio.”

  Beneath the table, Night’s knuckles were turning white. “Sit down! You have a choice. You either get out like it was your idea, or the cops are going to find out about your other business.” He took a deep breath and tried to keep his lines straight. “I’ll have half your customers as witnesses against you after I report them too…and I’m sure they’ll do anything for a deal.”

  “You never had a problem with my business. What is this really about, Dahlsi?”

  Again, Night followed Morgen’s advice to remain cool. He said nothing.

  Sean swooped forward and spat on him before he reeled from the table. “Whatever. I’m done with you—all of you—but I want compensation or I’m going to make your life hell! And that is not negotiable!”

  He watched Sean barge into the daylight while he felt for the gift Sean had left in his hair. He’d predicted Sean’s wrath, but not his payoff demand. How was he going to tell Morgen that Sean wasn’t going down that easy…and that Sandy may have just become his biggest threat yet?

  ****

  Night emerged from the darkness of Morgen’s private stairwell only to be ushered back into it by the housekeeper. Sandy shushed Night as he closed the door to the hallway.

  On the narrow landing, Night ripped into Sandy, first. “Tell me how you got that picture!”

  “Now, now,” said the housekeeper. “Before I get to the important stuff, just let me assure you that I know what’s going on.”

  Night flexed one forearm between their chests. “Going on with what?”

  Sandy ignored him. He’d obviously written his script and wouldn’t deviate from it. “I’m assuming Morgen is the sick one… Have a look.”

  Night shuffled through a series of shots that Sandy had snapped off the television, many revealing proof of there being twins in the house. “How’d you get these?”

  “That’s my secret. As for your secret, let me share my thoughts on how you can keep it safe. Tip number one… I hate your brother, and I don’t plan on liking you, so if you think I’ll be forgiving if you screw up, you’re dead wrong. Two… If you tell your brother about any of this, you guys won’t have a secret anymore. Three… Don’t bother looking for the evidence in my possession because you won’t find it. Where are we? Number four… If something mysterious happens to me, like I disappear, or I get fired, then Plan B will take over and, guess… You won’t have a secret anymore. And last tip, there will be an end to this, so don’t lose too much sleep over it. You have to look good for the public.”

  Night stood in the murky light, paralyzed. He hadn’t worked this hard with Morgen to have everything ruined by the family housekeeper. He also wanted to throttle him for the tabloid incident, but that would undoubtedly backfire.

  “But you can protect yourself,” Sandy announced. “What I want is money. Big shocker, huh? Weekly payments will be fine. Let’s say a thousand bucks a week, every Saturday?”

  Night scrunched his face. “What if I can’t…?”

  “Don’t kid me…Night,” said Sandy with dissolving whim. “I’m sure that Morgen shoots more than a thousand dollars into his veins every week.”

  Night surrendered a peeved sigh. “What are you doing? You’re our housekeeper…”


  “I’m looking to change careers.”

  “I don’t think you know what’s going on. Morgen’s really sick, and neither of us are doing this for fun.”

  Sandy twisted around and opened the door. “I don’t care. Just do what you’re told and don’t be late with your payments.” Then he closed the door in Night’s face.

  ****

  The telephone began ringing the moment Night entered the suite and he ran to answer it.

  Sean’s voice immediately belched into his ear. “Just listening to my radio, here, rubbing our success into my face!”

  Night swallowed the lump in his throat that still hadn’t dissipated since his exchange with Sandy.

  “So, let’s talk about cash,” Sean continued. “You realize, by fucking me over this way, I won’t even get my rightful dues as a leaving member—and you owe me at least that?”

  “What exactly do you want?” Night asked, afraid that he might not understand the answer.

  “This isn’t going to be a one-time transaction, asshole. You may want me out of the band—and you got it—but you will never have me out of your life! From now on, I’ll be expecting a steady stream of royalty money. So, once you have a new drummer, consider me the fifth member of the band! Do your math, asshole, and then be in touch—or I will.”

  Night set the dead receiver down against the cradle, with two hands, and then pressed them both against his head. He couldn’t talk to Morgen just yet, so he trudged down to the kitchen and returned with a bowl of soup that he garnished with a parsley sprig. Once in a while, he liked to remember his restaurant days.

  “I thought you might be able to have soup,” he said to Morgen, who didn’t even look alive in his bed.

  Morgen blinked and then answered him with dry sarcasm. “That’s great, Night. Soup always makes everything better.”

  “You better have some, Morgen.” Night’s voice was shaking as he scanned the room for any sign of how Sandy might have obtained the pictures. “I’m trying to take care of everything, and I was thinking…you really should’ve been nicer to Sandy. I also think—”