G^{eminis
by Cindy Rosmus}

"You want something," she decided, in that smug, but appealing way. "What?"

Adrian wouldn't answer. It was Memorial Day. They were at Paradise House, that old-world Cantonese dump, with colored fountains, and secluded, bamboo booths. A front. Leo, the baggy-eyed owner, was supposed to be a mobster. Leo, Adrian thought, once again. Great Chinese name. Later the bar would be packed: sloe-eyed hookers in teal satin, and their johns. Though it was only eleven-thirty AM, Adrian had seen one behind the bar, as they'd crept in. He'd gripped Holly's elbow firmly, like he was scared she'd run off.

Again, she smiled. "I'll find out," she said, as the waiter came over.

Adrian cringed. The guy was about a hundred. Adrian, who'd just turned fifty-five, was preoccupied with looks. In the film world, who wasn't? So far he still looked good. But how long before his own skin sagged, and sculpted features drooped?

"You're worse than a chick," Holly always told him. Some friend. And God knows how old she was. Maybe his age. Maybe thirty. Her own birthday was just days away. All he knew was, she looked damned good. To put it crudely, and he was not a crude sort, she was a "hot piece of ass."

"A 'Flaming.Volcano?' " he said. "Is that what you usually get?"

"A 'Volcanic Flame,' " she corrected. She flashed the waiter a smile. "Hey, it's the same thing." You could almost hear the guy's face creak, as he smiled back.

"And a club soda, with lime." Adrian absently flipped through the menu, without seeing it. All those Group A and Group B choices confused him, even on better days.

Now she was really smiling. "We'll order later," she told the waiter, who bowed. When he left, she gripped Adrian's wrist. "Not hungry, are ya?"

She knew. His stomach was in knots. His whole life was in knots, maybe down the toilet. His marriage.

Irina.the Moscow pianist, was his second wife. Thirty years younger, blonde, and voluptuous, she was nearly as tall as him, an Amazon beauty! Brutally honest. Tender. She'd made each pair of his pants feel tighter. Whether pounding the keys, or being pounded by him, she'd brought him to the point of screaming. His heart ached, just knowing she was his. Between Irina's private concerts, and carnal majesty, what more could a man want?

Fidelity.

Holly leaned over. She looked.different this time. In the year that he'd known her, each time he saw her, she gave new meaning to that term "chameleon." Most famous of Gemini traits. Last time she was a platinum blonde. He'd felt he was out with Marilyn Monroe. Now her hair was bright red. Like a maraschino cherry. Even her smile was different. It was like having lunch with some Witness Protection bird.

"You want something," she said again.

He tried to pull away, but she wouldn't let him. She had some grip for such a tiny, sexy thing. "Know how I know?"

He shook his head.

"This is supposed to be a birthday lunch. For both of us. And you're not drinking. But you want me to." She stroked his long fingers. "So what do you want?" She twirled his wedding band, like he was her husband. "Ass?"

He stiffened. Took his hand back as the old waiter set down their drinks. Hers was the size of a fishbowl, with a flaming half-lemon floating seductively in what he bet was straight rum.

His hand shook as he reached for his club soda. That fiery concoction lit up her features, made them exotic, even more beautiful. His heart raced. As she bent over, her long hair trailed in the drink, too close to the flame. His same shaky fingers reached for her hair, pulling it safely out of the flame's way. He felt the heat.

"Is it?" she whispered.

Yes! he wanted to scream, but "No," he said coolly. At least, that's not why he was here. Irina, this was about. If he could find the right words.

She smirked. "Didn't think so." Through a thin straw, she took a big sip of the drink. "Or," she said, once that big sip had kicked in, "That you'd admit it."

Now he was twirling that wedding band. "Excuse me?" he said icily.

"You," she said, pausing to gulp more of her drink, "Are a lying sack of shit." He felt his lip curl. "And a stuffed shirt."

He sat up straight, wanted to sputter like one of those actors in stuffy, old British movies. That he was English, and an actor, made him the ideal stereotype. But he was many other things. For one, a devoted husband.

"A stuffed shirt," she repeated, her eyes shining, "Just dying to be torn off!"

He felt like slapping her. Instead, he blew out that flame.

She gasped. It was like a light went out in her. Like she'd run out of verbal gas. Part of her appeal as an actor, and a "hot piece of ass," was that poignant, Judy Garland-like quality. Her eyes brimmed with tears.

"You suck," she said softly, but with such love.

"It's about my wife," he said, finally, his voice shaking. "You know, Irina? Who I love. Who I absolutely." He knew the word would destroy her. "Adore."

Laughter was the last thing he expected. "You." she said, "Are a sad excuse for a Gemini!"

The whole room seemed to get red: that fountain, the doddering waiter, even that whory Chinese bird, who was back here, now. Adrian was so mad, he feared he was having a stroke. But somehow, his mind still worked. "And you," he said, in his most villainous screen voice, "Make us all look bad."

She just shrugged. It was the truth. No matter what she did, her birth sign was her excuse for it. No matter how perverse, or unscrupulous.Stuff she did with God knows who."It's a Gemini thing," she'd told Irina. About this.strange friendship she had with Irina's husband. Like Adrian and she had some special bond. Like deep down, they were in love, but fighting it, tooth and nail. Well, he was. At least, according to her.

He wouldn't be surprised. He began trembling all over again. If she were behind this whole thing. Maybe she'd turned Irina against him, for spite. "We Geminis," he'd heard Holly tell her, "Shouldn't be allowed to get married." To his knowledge, Holly never had.

"Adrian," she said now. When he didn't answer, she licked the straw. "That is your name, isn't it? Or is that a fake, too?"

Very much, he wanted to grab her throat, cut off her air.

"I get the feeling it's actually 'Butchie,' or 'Bobby.' Something real." The fishbowl was almost empty. Angry as he was, Adrian wondered if she'd pick it up from both sides and finish it that way. Instead, she gassed it up through the straw.

When the waiter came back, she waved him away. "No more," she said. "Not yet." She rested her face in her hands, stared so hard at Adrian, he felt himself sweating. "You know something?" she said. "Your problem's not Irina. It's you."

Without realizing it, he stood up.

Her tone was reasonable, nearly hypnotic. "You're not being your true self. Stop denying." She smiled. "Your.twin."

"I don't believe in that crap," he said wearily. "I have only one self, and I am being it. I love my wife. I'm a happily married man."

"A man. Ooooh, yeah!" She was eyeing his crotch. He sat down, quickly. "And married. Well, that's too bad. But you'll never be happy." She couldn't help smiling. "Not with her."

He watched her, closely. She'd changed again. Another of her "selves" had crashed their birthday lunch. "There's stuff about her you're clueless about." Her eyes had narrowed, like the Chinese mobster's. Her voice had gotten huskier. "Same with me."

He wondered if she was schizophrenic. If he was even safe, sitting here with her. He realized his cell phone was on the seat of his car.

"She cheats on you."

He wiped his sweaty face. He had a horrible feeling what she was going to say next. Still, he had to ask. "You mean.with you?"

She cocked her head, stared hard at him. Then the beginning of a terrifying smile. He hung on her answer.

A wink.

When she took his hand, he didn't resist. He felt old, helpless. As decrepit as the waiter, who set down two shots of a foul-smelling black liquor. Adrian didn't remember ordering them. He broke away from her, bolted his shot, sloppily. It burned his insides, nauseated him more, but instantly, he felt better. He didn't know why, but he did. Like a common Liverpool bloke, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Wait for the toast!" she said, too late. She held her shot glass against his empty one. She appeared to be thinking very hard. Then, the sunniest of smiles. "What happens?" she asked him, "When one Gemini tells the other a lie?"

He thought just as hard about the answer. When he realized it, his smile was actually giddy. In all the years he'd been in the movies, a giddier smile never graced the silver screen. Here, or back in Merry Old England. "What?" he asked, anyway.

"It makes it the truth!"

He smiled wider, as she downed her shot.

She grabbed his hand, held it up to her face. One of his fingers brushed her lips. She opened her mouth, and the finger slid inside. She sucked on it.

He felt like his heart would explode. That, or something. He shifted, uncomfortably, in his seat.

He took back his finger. Then, all five gripped her chin, lightly. She smiled, as they slid down around her throat.

"Check!" he told the old waiter.

Who creaked for them.