The Same to You Doubled

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In New York, it never fails, the doorbell rings just when you’ve plopped down onto the couch for a well-deserved snooze. Now, a person of character would say, “To hell with that, a man’s home is his castle and they can slide any telegrams under the door.” But if you’re like Edelstein, not particularly strong on character, then you think to yourself that maybe it’s the blonde from 12C who has come up to borrow a jar of chili powder. Or it could even be some crazy film producer who wants to make a movie based on the letters you’ve been sending your mother in Santa Monica. (And why not; don’t they make movies out of worse material than that?)

Yet this time, Edelstein had really decided not to answer the bell. Lying on the couch, his eyes still closed, he called out, “I don’t want any.”

“Yes you do,” a voice from the other side of the door replied.

“I’ve got all the encyclopedias, brushes, and waterless cookery I need,” Edelstein called back wearily. “Whatever you’ve got, I’ve got it already.”

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