top. He didn't notice my gaze. I  realized that I was  feeling  resentful of
him he was so damned sure of himself, even to  the way he was making himself
at home in my  car. Was  that  the way I  was?  I found  myself studying his
mannerisms.
     Suddenly he turned to  me.  "Relax," he  said.  He  turned  to  look me
straight  in  the eye.  "I know what you're going through. I went through it
too. The way to do  this is  at least, I think so  is the first  time you go
through something,  just watch.  The second time, you  know  what's going to
happen; that's where the arrogance comes from. Only it isn't arrogance. It's
confidence." "I guess this is happening a little too fast for me."
     "Me too," he said.  "I know this  is a weird thing to say, but I missed
you. Or maybe I missed me. Anyway, it'll work better this way. You'll  see."
He pushed the button on the dashboard and the convertible top lifted off and
began folding back. "Put  on  a  tape,"  he  said,  indicating  the  box  of
cassettes on the floor. He started to name  one, then stopped himself. "Want
me to tell you which one you're going to choose?"
     "Uh no, thanks." I studied the different titles with such  an intensity
I couldn't see any of them. It would be impossible for me to surprise him no
matter  what tape  I  chose, no matter what I did, he would already know, he
would have done it himself.
     Of course, he  had been through all this before. He had every reason to
be sure of himself. When I became him, I'd probably  be cocky too. Perhaps a
little giddy you couldn't help but feel powerful if you knew everything that
was going to happen before it happened. Of course he should be the one to do
the talking.
     Later  I'd  get my turn; but right  now I was feeling  a little unsure,
both of myself and of the situation. I could  learn by following his lead. I
put on a tape of Petrouchka and concentrated on the road.
     I'd  never  been to the race track  before.  It  was  bigger  than  I'd
expected.  Don  steered  his  way  into  the  parking  lot  with  surprising
familiarity and arrowed immediately toward a space that shouldn't  have been
there, but was.
     Instead  of seats in  the  bleachers, as  I  had expected, he  bought a
private box. Grinning at me, he explained, "Why not? We deserve the best."
     I wanted to  point out that  it wasn't necessary; besides, it  cost too
much. Then I  realized he was right; the money made no difference at all. We
were going to make a lot more than we spent, so why not enjoy? I shut up and
let myself  be awed  by  the great expanses of green lawn. Under the  bright
sun,  the wide sweeping track seemed poised in midair, a curve  of stark and
simple  elegance.  The  stands  loomed  high  above us  and  I was  properly
impressed.
     We ordered mint juleps from the bar nouveau riche I thought, but didn't
protest and made our way to our seats. Don made a great show of studying the
paper, which I thought was  funny  it was today's race results he was poring
over. "Yes, yes . . ."he muttered in loud tones of feigned thoughtfulness.
     "I think Absolam's Ass  looks pretty good in  the first." He looked up.
"Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolam's Ass. To win."
     "Uh " I started fumbling in my pockets. "I only
     have sixty " And then I broke off and looked at him. "A
     hundred dollars ?" On a horse? A hundred dollars?
     He was eying me with cool amusement. There was a  crisp new bill in his
hand.  "You want to get rich?"  he asked.  "You have to spend  money to make
money." I blinked  and took the bill. Somehow I found my way to  the betting
windows and  traded the money  for  ten  bright printed  tickets. The  clerk
didn't even glance up.
     Absolam's Ass paid off at  three  to one.  We  now  had  three  hundred
dollars.  Don  ordered two more  mint  juleps  while I  went to  collect our
winnings and put them on Fig Leaf.  This time the clerk  hesitated, repeated
the bet aloud, then punched the buttons on his machine.
     Fig  Leaf paid off at two to one. We now had six  hundred  dollars. And
another mint julep.
     Calamity Jane also paid off at two to one. We were up to twelve hundred
dollars, and the clerk at the window was beginning to recognize me.
     Finders Keepers came in second, and I looked at
     Don in consternation. He merely grinned and said,
     "Wait " I waited, and Harass was disqualified for
     bumping Tumbleweed. Finders Keepers paid eight to
     one. Ninety-six hundred dollars. The betting official
     went a little goggle-eyed when I tried to put it all on Big
     John. He had to call over a manager to okay it.
     Big John came in at three  to one. Twenty-eight thousand, eight hundred
dollars. I was getting a little  goggle-eyed. The track  manager  personally
took my  next bet; with that much money at stake,  I couldn't blame  him.  I
made a little show  of hesitating thoughtfully as if I couldn't  make  up my
mind,  partly  to keep him from getting curious about my "system" and partly
because  I was getting nervous about all the  people who were watching me to
see which way I would bet. Apparently they were  betting the  same way. Word
of my "luck" seemed to have spread. (I didn't like that I'd heard  somewhere
that too  much money on one horse could change the odds. Well, no matter. As
long as I still won. . . .)
     As I climbed back to our seats, I thought I saw Don leaving, but I must
have been  mistaken because he was still sitting there in  our box.  When he
saw me, he folded the newspaper he'd been looking at and shoved it under his
seat. I started to ask  him about the odds, but he said.  "Don't worry about
it. We're leaving right after this race. We're through for the day."
     "Huh ? Why?æ
     He waited until the horses broke from the gate; the crowd roared around
us. "Because in a few minutes we're going to be  worth fifty-seven thousand,
six hundred dollars. Don't you think that's enough?"
     "But  if we keep  going," I  protested, "we  can win almost  a milllion
dollars on an eight-horse parlay."
     He flinched at that. "There are better ways to make a million dollars,"
he said. "Quieter ways. More discreet. "
     I didn't  answer. Evidently he knew something  I didn't.  I  watched as
Michelangelo crossed the finish line and paid off at two to one. Don scooped
up his two newspapers and  stood. "Come on," he said. "You go get the money.
I'll wait for you at the ear.
     I was a  little  disappointed that  he didn't want  to come  with me to
collect  our winnings; after all,  they were as much his as they  were mine.
(I'm  getting my  tenses confused they were  all mine, but  it  seemed  like
ours.) Didn't he care about the money?"
     No matter. I found my way down to the windows to
     turn my tickets in that is, I tried to turn my tickets in.
     There were  some forms to be filled  out  first, and a notification for
the  Bureau  of Internal Revenue. And I had  to show my  drivers license for
identification and my credit cards  too. The track manager was beaming at me
and kept shaking my hand and wanting to know  if I would please wait for the
photographers and reporters.
     At first  I  was pleased  with the idea, but something inside  me  went
twang just a warning sensation, that's all, but it was enough. "I don't want
any publicity," I said; now I knew why Don had beaten such a hasty retreat.
     I shook off the track manager and collected my
     check for $57,600 as quickly as possible. It felt like a
     mighty powerful piece of paper; I was almost afraid to
     put it in my pocket. I must have walked out to the park-
     ing lot like my pants were on fire. I was that nervous and
     excited.
     Don  was sitting on the passenger  side, looking thoughtful, I was  too
giddy to notice. "You want to see the check?" I asked, waving it at him.
     He shook his head. "I've already seen it." Then he pulled it out of his
pocket to show me his check for $57,600. He'd had it with him all the time!
     I blinked from one to  the other. They were identical, even down to the
last curlicue on the signature.
     "Hey!" I said. "Two checks!" Why don't we cash
     them both?"
     Don looked at me. "We can't. Think about it. If you cash yours, how  do
I get it back so I can cash it?"
     He was right, of course. I wanted to hit myself for being so stupid. It
was the  same check.  He I we  just hadn't cashed it yet. He slipped it back
into  his pocket; I did the same with mine.  Well, at  least it was nice  to
know I wasn't going to lose it.
     * * *
     I drove  home. Don was strangely quiet; I noticed it almost immediately
because I had gotten  used  to letting him do all the talking. (There wasn't
much point in my saying anything; he  already knew it, and anything I needed
to know,  he would tell me.) But now he had lost  his former exuberance.  He
seemed almost brooding.
     I  was  still  too  excited by the  whole experience.  I  couldn't stop
talking. But after a bit I began to realize it was a one-sided conversation.
I trailed off, feeling foolish. (He'd heard it all  before, I  had to remind
myself After all, he'd said it too.)
     "Well," I said. "What happens now? Do you go back
     to your time?"
     He looked at me, forced himself to smile. "Not yet.
     First we go out to celebrate. Like rich people."
     Of course. Its not every day you make $57,600.
     We stopped at home to change clothes. (There was a bit of hassling over
who was  going to  use the bathroom first and who was  going  to wear  whose
favorite sport  jacket, but eventually we  compromised.  Even so,  this  was
something  I might  have trouble getting used to sharing my life.  I like to
live alone, and this business of another person even when it's only yourself
sharing  your  apartment,  your  clothes,  your  bathroom, your razor,  your
toothbrush, and  even your  clean  underwear, can be unnerving.  To say  the
least.)
     The restaurant was called simply The Restaurant. It was supposed to  be
one  of the best places in the city, but  I'd  never been there before, so I
didn't  know.  Don,  of  course,  was  quite familiar  with  the  layout. He
presented himself  to the maitre  d'  and announced, "You have a reservation
for Mr. Daniel Eakins . . .?"
     Yes, he did when had Don arranged that? and
     led us to a table on a balcony overlooking a splashing
     fountain. Fancy.
     We  started  off  with cocktails, of course, and an  hors d'oeuvre tray
that was meal  in  itself, and then had another drink while  we  studied the
menu and wine  list. I went  goggle-eyed at the prices, mostly out of habit,
but  Don merely announced, "Last night I  had the steak. Today I'm going  to
try the lobster."
     His "last night" was my tonight. I had steak.
     It was still early in the evening. We were in a quiet and empty corner.
Somewhere  a violinist  was teasing a  Bach concerto  until  it giggled with
delight.  I sipped  my drink  and studied Don; I was  beginning to find  his
selfassurance attractive. (I  knew what that  meant. I wanted to be the same
way and I'd begun to imitate him.)
     He was studying me too, but there was a detached
     smile on his lips. I could  tell his thoughts were not running the same
course  as mine and I wondered what he was thinking about. I kept looking at
him and he kept looking back at me.
     Finally  I had to break away. "I can't get  used to  this," I  said. "I
mean, I thought I'd be doing all this  alone. I didn't realize that you'd be
here "
     "But why should you have to be alone?" He'd
     started to answer my question before I'd finished asking
     it. "You'll never have to be alone again. You'll always have
     me. I'll always have you. It makes more sense this way. I
     don't like being alone either. This way I can share the
     things I like with somebody I know likes them too. I
     don't have to try to impress you, you don't have to try to
     impress me. There's perfect understanding between us.
     There'll never  be  any of  those destructive  little  head games  that
people play on each other,  because there canôt be. I like me, Danny; that's
why I like you. You'll feel the same way, you'll see. And I guarantee, there
are no two people in this world who understand each other as well as we do."
     "Um " I said. I studied the pattern of bread
     crumbs on the tablecloth.  Don's intensity  scared  me. All my life I'd
been a loner; I  wasn't very  good at talking to people, and when they tried
to get too close to me, I backed away in a hurry.
     (Uncle  Jim had arranged  for  me to visit an analyst  once.  It hadn't
worked. I wouldn't open up to him. The most I would admit was a feeling that
I wasn't living my life, only operating  it by remote control.) So now, when
Don opened his thoughts to me
     but I couldn't reject him. He was me. How could
     I put up a psychological barrier between myself? I couldn't, of course,
but it was the candidness of Don's admissions that made me uncomfortable.
     Abruptly,  he  was  changing  the  subject. "Besides,  there's  another
advantage,"  he  pointed out.  "With  me  along, you'll never  be  taken  by
surprise. Whatever we do, I'll have  been through  it  before,  so I'll know
what  to expect, and  you'll be learning it at the hands of an expert guide.
Whatever we do."
     "I've always wanted to try parachute jumping," I offered.
     He grinned. "Me too." Suddenly he was serious again. "When you go, Dan,
you have to take  me. I'm  your  insurance so you can't be killed." "Huh?" I
stared at him.
     He repeated it. "When  you're with me, you can't  be  killed. It's like
the check this afternoon. If anything happens to the earlier one, the  later
one won't be there beside it  it won't  exist. It's more than me just  being
able to warn you about things my sitting here across from you  is proof that
you won't be  killed  before tomorrow night. And I know that nothing happens
to  me" he thumped  his chest  to indicate which "me" he was  talking  about
"because I've got  my  memories. I've  seen that nothing will happen  to  me
tonight, so you're my insurance too.
     I thought about that.
     He was right.
     "Remember the automobile accident we didn't have last year?"
     I shuddered. I'd had a blowout on the San Diego Freeway while traveling
at seventy miles an hour. It had been the  left front tire and I had skidded
across  three lanes and found myself the wrong way, with  traffic rushing at
me.  And the motor had stalled. I just barely had time to restart the engine
and  pull  off  to the  side.  It had been fifteen minutes  before  my hands
stopped trembling enough for me to attempt changing the tire. It was a mess.
For weeks afterward I'd kept a piece of it on the dashboard to remind me how
close a  call I'd had. I still had nightmares about it: if traffic  had been
just     a     little    bit     heavier    .    .    .     the    sickening
swerve-skid-bumpety-bumpscreeeeeeech
     I figured  I  was living on  borrowed  time. I really should  have been
killed. Really. It was only a miracle that I hadn't been.
     I realized  my hand  was shaking. I forced  myself to take  a sip of my
drink. I looked  at Don; he was as grim as I was. "There's too much to lose,
isn't there?" he said.
     I nodded. We shared the same  memory. There was a lot we didn't have to
say.
     "Dan,"  he said; his  tone was intense, as intense  as before. His eyes
fixed  me with  a  penetrating  look.  "We're going  to  be  more than  just
identical twins. We can't help it. We're closer than brothers."
     I met his gaze, but the thought still frightened me.
     I'm not sure I know how to be that close to anybody. Even myself.
     * * *
     We  ate  the  rest  of  our  dinner  in  silence,   but  it  wasn't  an
uncomfortable silence. No, it was a peaceful one, relaxed.
     I had to  get  used  to the situation,  and Don was  letting me. He sat
there and smiled a lot, and I got the feeling that he was simply enjoying my
presence.
     I  had to  learn how to relax, that  was the  problem. Other people had
always unnerved me because I thought they were continually  judging  me. How
do I look? What kind of a person do I  seem?  Is my  voice firm enough? Am I
really  intelligent or just  pedantic?  Was that joke really funny, or  am I
making a fool of myself? I worried  about the impression  I was making. If I
was shy, did they think I was being aloof  and call me a snob? If I tried to
be friendly, did they  find me overbearing? I was always  afraid that  I was
basically unlikable, so I wouldn't give anyone the chance to find out; or  I
tried too hard to be likable, and thereby proved that I wasn't.
     And yet
     Here was this person, Don, sitting across from me
     ...  he  wasn't  unlikable at all.  In fact, he  was quite  attractive.
Handsome,  even. His face was ruddy and tanned (well, that was  the sun lamp
in  the  bathroom, but it looked good); his eyes were clear,  almost glowing
(that must be from the tinted contact lenses); his hair was carefully styled
(that was the hair  blower, of course) he was everything I was always trying
to  be. His  voice  was  firm,  his manner  was  gentle, and he was  in good
physical condition. Perhaps I had been too hard in judging myself.
     Yes,  I  liked  the look of  this person. He was capable, assured,  and
confident. He projected likability. Friendliness.
     And  something  else. There was  that same  kind of  longing no,  maybe
desperation was the word in Don; that feeling of reach out, touch me, here I
am, please that I so often felt in myself. Under his assurance was a hint of
helplessness? need? And I could respond to that. I enjoyed his presence, but
more than that, I sensed a feeling that he needed me. Yes, he needed to know
that / liked him.
     I  realized  I was smiling. It  was nice to be needed, I decided. I was
glowing, but not with the liquor. Not entirely. I was learning to love no, I
was  learning to like  myself. I was learning  to relax with another person.
No. I  was  learning  to  relax with  myself.  Maybe it was the same  thing,
actually.
     We spent a lot of time drinking and thinking and
     just looking at each other. And giggling conspiratorially.
     Our  communication  was  more than  empathic. We  didn't  need words he
already knew what  I  was  thinking.  And  I would know the rest,  if I just
waited. We simply enjoyed each other's existence.
     After dinner we went to a nearby bar and played a few games of pool. It
was  one  of the few  things we could do  that wouldn't be boring the second
time around. Most kinds of  spectator entertainment, like a movie  or a show
or a baseball  game, wouldn't work  two nights in a  row,  but participation
activities  would  work just  fine. Swimming, sailing, riding; I could learn
from  watching my own technique.  (I wondered  if  I could get a  poker game
going let's see,  I'd need at least five of me. I doubted it would work, but
it might be worth a try.)
     We got home about eleven-thirty; we were holding each other up, we were
that drunk. Don  looked at me blearily. "Well, good night, Dan. I'll see you
tomorrow no, I'll see you the day after tomorrow. Tomorrow I have to see Don
and you have to  see Dan  " He frowned at that,  went over it  again  in his
head,  looked  back to me. "Yeah, that's  right." He  flipped  open his belt
buckle,  set it,  double-checked  it, closed  it,  and vanished forward into
time. The air gave a soft  pop!  as it  rushed in to fill the space where he
had been.
     * * *
     ' i
     After  he left I stumbled through the  apartment, wondering what to  do
next another  trip through time? No. I  decided not.  I was too tired. First
I'd get some sleep. If I could.
     I paused to pick up  the  clothes that I'd  scattered on the floor this
afternoon when  we'd  changed for dinner; I  realized  I was  picking up his
clothes  too  wait a minute, that meant that  he'd  left wearing some of  my
clothes.
     I looked in the closet. Yes, the good sport jacket and slacks that he'd
borrowed  were missing.  So was my red tie.  But the sweater and slacks that
he'd discarded were still there.
     No, they weren't they were in my hand! I blinked back and forth between
the clothes I was holding and the clothes in the closet. They were the same!
I'd lost a jacket and slacks, but I'd gained  a sweater and a pair  of pants
identical to the ones I already owned. I had to figure this ' t.
     Ah, I had it. The jacket and slacks he'd  borrowed had traveled forward
in time with him. They'd be waiting there for me when no, that wasn't right.
I'd be going  back in time  tomorrow that  is, I'd be coming back  to today,
where I'd put them on and take them forward with me. Right.  They'd  just be
skipping forward a few hours.
     And  the  sweater and  the  other  pair of pants  the  duplicated  ones
obviously, that's what I'd be wearing tomorrow when I bounced  back, leaving
only  one  set in the future. The condition  of having  two of them was only
temporary, like the condition of having two of me. It was just an illusion.
     Or was it?
     What would happen if I wore his  sweater and slacks back  through time?
The sweater and slacks that he brought  from  the future  would  then be the
clothes that I would leave in the past so  that I could  put them on when  I
went back to the past to leave them there for myself, ad infinitum . . . and
meanwhile, my sweater and slacks would be hanging untouched in the closet.
     Or would they?
     What would happen tomorrow if I didn't  wear either  sweater or pair of
slacks? But something else entirely? (But how could I? I'd already seen that
I  had worn  them.) Would  the pair  that he brought back cease to exist? Or
would they remain would I have somehow duplicated them?
     There was only one way to find out . . .
     I fell asleep thinking about it.
     * * *
     The morning was hot, with that crisp kind of unre-
     ality that  characterizes the northern edge of the San Fernando Valley.
I  woke up  to  the sound of the air conditioner already beginning its  days
work with an insistent pressing hum.
     For a while I just stared at the ceiling. I'd had the strangest dream
     but  it  wasn't  a  dream.  I bounced out  of  bed in  sudden fear. The
timebelt glittered on the dresser where I'd left it. I held it tightly as if
it might  abruptly fade away. All  the  excitement of yesterday flooded back
into me.
     I remembered. The race track. The restaurant.
     Don. The check. It was  sitting on the dresser  too, right next  to the
belt $57,600!
     I opened the belt  and checked the time. It was almost eleven. I'd have
to hurry. Don would be arriving  no, I was Don now. Dan would be arriving in
three hours.
     I showered and shaved,  pulled  on a sport shirt and  slacks and headed
for the car. I wanted to go to the bank  and deposit the check  and I had to
pick up a newspaper
     Actually, I didn't need the  newspaper at all, I could  remember  which
horses had won without it, but there was a headline on the front page of the
Herald Examiner: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600!
     Huh  ? I hadn't  seen that before.  But  then, Don hadn't shown me  the
front page.
     The story was a skimpy one and they'd misspelled my name; mostly it was
about how much I had bet on each horse and how it had snowballed. Then there
were some quotes from  various track officials saying how pleased  they were
to have such a big winner (I'll bet!), because it helped publicize the sport
(and probably attracted a lot of hopeful losers too.) Finally there was even
a quote from  me about what I was  planning  to do  with the money: "I don't
know yet, I'm still too excited. Probably I'll take a vacation.  I've always
wanted to  see the  world. I'd like to  invest some of it too, but I have to
wait and see what's left after taxes." Faked, of course. I hadn't spoken  to
any reporters at all; but apparently some editor had felt the story wouldn't
be complete without a few words from the happy winner.
     I was both pleased and annoyed. Pleased at being a "celebrity." Annoyed
that  they were  putting words  into  my  mouth.  Maybe  today  we'd  do  it
differently. Could we?
     Suppose we didn't stop at $57,600 suppose we
     went after an eight-horse parlay. That would be worth
     almost $750,000! Hmm. I thought about it all during
     breakfast at the local coffee shop.
     Afterward I went to the bank and withdrew two hundred and fifty dollars
from  my  savings  account  so we'd have  some money  for the track today. I
couldn't deposit the big check yet, because I needed it to show to Danny, my
younger self, this afternoon.
     I got home  with time to  spare. I decided to  change into some  cooler
clothes  then I remembered the  sweater and slacks.  What would happen  if I
wore something else instead?
     I went burrowing  in  the  closet,  found some lightweight  trousers, a
shirt and a windbreaker. They would do just fine. Now, what else was there I
had to take care of?
     Nothing that I could see. I scooped up the check
     and put it in my pocket; I didn't want to leave it lying
     around. Dan would be arriving at
     There was a soft pop! in the air.
     I turned to see a startled-looking me.
     "Hi," I said. "I've been waiting for you."
     His eyes were wide; he looked positively scared.
     "Relax, Dan " I said. He jumped when I spoke.
     For a  moment,  all he  could  do  was stare. His  face was a  study in
amazement. "You're me "
     I  suddenly  realized how silly this  whole tableau  was. I  thrust the
newspaper at him. "Here. I believe we were going to the races . . . ?
     "We?"
     That's right he didn't know!! "Well, it's no fun going alone, is it?
     "Uh "
     "It's all right," I  said. "I'm  you I'm  your  future  self.  Tomorrow
you'll be me. That  is,  we're the same person.  We've just doubled back our
timeline."
     He blinked. "Oh."
     He  looked so confused, I wanted  to touch him to reassure him,  but  I
remembered  how scared I had been. He'd probably jump right out of his skin.
I smiled at him. "Okay, let's  do it this way. I'm your twin brother." There
was  so much I wanted to  explain. I wanted to tell him everything that  Don
had told me last  night, but  it  wasn't the right  time yet. He  was  still
looking at me too hesitantly. Instead I reached out and took his hand, shook
it  firmly.  "Hi,"  I said.  "I'm Don.  I'm your  brother." After  a  bit he
returned my grip.  I knew how scared he was  but I also knew how curious  he
was about to become.
     We bounced back in time  in his  "today." (I snuck a peek in the closet
when he wasn't  looking. There was only one  sweater and slacks of course, I
hadn't brought them back with me. But there were duplicates of the trousers,
shirt and windbreaker I was wearing  now. So you could change the timestream
. . . !)
     On  the way  out to the car, old  lady Peterson surprised  us surprised
Danny, I should say; I'd  been expecting her. "This is my  brother,"  I said
quickly.  "Don,"  I touched his  arm. "This  is Mrs. Peterson." To her: "Don
will be staying with me for a while, so if  you think you're  seeing double,
don't be surprised."
     She smiled at us. "I didn't know you were twins "
     "We've been living separately," I answered, remembering quickly how  my
Don  had explained it. "So we could each have a chance to be our own person.
Don's been living up in San Francisco for the past two years."
     "Oh," she said. She beamed politely at  Dan. "Well,  I hope you'll like
it in Los Angeles, Don. There's so much to do."
     He went kind of frog-faced at that. He managed to stammer out, "Uh yes.
It's very exciting."
     I couldn't help myself. I started giggling; when we
     got to the car I couldn't hold it in any longer. "I wish you
     could have seen your face " I said. Then I realized.
     "Well, you will tomorrow." He was half glaring at me.
     "'Uh yes. It's very exciting,'" I mocked. "You looked as
     if you'd swallowed a frog."
     He stopped in the act of unlocking the passenger-
     side car door. "Why didn't you let me explain?" he asked.
     "She's my neighbor."
     "She's my neighbor too," I pointed out. "Besides,
     what would you have said? At least I've been through this
     once before." I opened my door and got into the car. I
     could see this twin business was  going  to take some getting used  to.
Already I was noticing  the differences between the Dan of today and the Don
of  yesterday. Sure, it was only  me but I was beginning  to realize that  I
would never be the same person twice in a  row. And I would never be viewing
myself through the same pair of eyes either. Dan seemed so uncertain; it was
as  if he was  a little  cowed by me. It  showed  in little  things his easy
acquiescence of the fact that I would drive, for example. All I had done was
point  him  at  the  passenger  side  of the  car  while I headed toward the
driver's side myself, but he had accepted that. Not without some resentment,
of course;  I could see him eyeing me as I unlatched the top, preparatory to
putting it down.
     "Put on a tape," I said, pointing at the box of cassettes. I started to
name  one, then  stopped.  "Want  me to  tell you  which one you're going to
choose?" I realized  that was  a mistake  as soon as I'd  said it.  "Uh  no,
thanks," he muttered. He was frowning.
     I  could have kicked  myself. I'd let myself get carried away with this
wild sense of  power. I hadn't been considerate of Dan at all.  Belatedly, I
remembered  how I had  felt yesterday. Resentful,  sullen, and most of  all,
cautious. Poor Dan here he was, flush with excitement, filled with a feeling
of omnipotence at the wondrous  things he could do with  his timebelt  and I
had stolen it all from him. By my mere presence, my know-it-all attitude and
cocksure arrogance,  I was relegating him to  second  fiddle.  Of  course he
wouldn't like it.
     As  he put  on the tape of Petrouchka, I resolved to  try  and  be more
considerate. I should have realized how he would feel no, that  was wrong, I
did know how he felt; I simply hadn't paid it any mind.
     Thinking  back, I remembered that as Dan,  my arrogance had bothered me
only  at first later, as I had gotten used to the idea of "Don," I had begun
to see the wisdom of following  his  lead. Or  had that been  my reaction to
Donôs suddenly realized consideration of me?
     It didn't matter. There was bound  to  be some  confusion at first,  on
both sides.  What  counted would be what happened later  on,  over dinner. I
remembered how  good  I  had felt last night in Don's  presence and I looked
forward to it  again tonight. I would make it up to Dan. (The reservations I
hadn't made  them yet! No, wait a minute; it was all right. I could make the
reservations any time. All I had to do was  flash back a  day or so; I could
do it later. Boy, I could get used to this )
     I  found  my  way  to the track  easily  enough;  I'd been watching Don
yesterday. Today  Dan was watching me. Now, if I remembered correctly, there
should  be a parking place, right over  . . .  here. There was, and I pulled
neatly into it.
     I bought a private box and had  no trouble finding it. Dan was properly
impressed with how well I knew my way  around; actually, I was trying not to
be  so  cocksure, but it  wasn't easy. He was  such a perfect audience to my
newly discovered self-confidence.
     After we'd gotten our drinks, I remembered how
     Don had  pretended  to study the  newspaper  yesterday and  how funny I
thought  that had been. So  I  did  the same  thing.  I frowned and muttered
thoughtfully, and Danny giggled  in  appreciation. Maybe he  was starting to
warm up to  me. "I think Absolam's Ass  looks pretty  good in the  first," I
announced. "Danny, go put a hundred dollars on Absolamôs Ass. To win."
     He started  fumbling in his pockets. I pulled out some bills from mine.
"Here," I said impulsively, "make it two hundred."
     He blinked and took the two hundred-dollar bills I
     was holding out. "You want to get rich?" I said. "You have
     to spend money to make money."
     He  went  off to  place the bet, leaving me to wonder  what I  had just
done. Don had given  me only one hundred dollars. I  had given Dan  twice as
much. I had changed the past again!
     First the sweater  and slacks,  now the amount of the first  bet, yet I
remembered it happening the other way
     Paradox? A pair of paradoxes?  I finished my  drink thoughtfully,  then
finished Danny's.
     Absolam's Ass paid off at three to one and we had six hundred  dollars.
I went and got two more drinks while Danny  went to bet on Fig Leaf. I found
myself wondering  if I could  change the past so easily, maybe it  wasn't as
fixed as I thought it was, maybe Fig Leaf wouldn't win this time. But on the
other hand, I hadn't done anything that should have had any effect  on that,
had I?
     Fig Leaf paid off at two to one. We now  had twelve hundred dollars.  I
had another drink. Ginger ale. For some reason, this was getting scary.
     Calamity Jane came in on schedule too. We doubled our money again.
     The  next race was  the  fun one.  I'd  forgotten about  Harass bumping
Tumbleweed.  When  Finders Keepers  came in  second,  Dan  looked at  me  in
confusion. "Wait "  I grinned.  After  Harass was  scratched, we were  worth
nineteen thousand, two hundred dollars.  I felt great. We could keep this up
all  afternoon and  we  would end  up  with $750,000  no, twice that; I  had
doubled our original bet. We'd take home  a million  and  a half! "Go put it
all on Big John," I said. I must have been getting a little dizzy.
     Dan went off, but almost  immediately, he  was  back. No I stood  up in
surprise this was Don. "What are you doing here?" I asked.
     "Sit down," he said. He looked grim.
     "What's the matter?"
     He  handed me a newspaper. It  looked like todays  Herald  Examiner.  I
opened it up
     The headline blared: IDENTICAL TWINS TAKE
     TRACK FOR $1,500,000! And in smaller type: Track
     Officials Promise Full Investigation.
     I looked at Don. Confused.
     He looked back. Angry. "Don't be greedy," he said. "Quit before it gets
too big."
     "I don't understand " I started to stammer.
     "I've come from the middle of  next week," he whispered.  "Only in that
future, we're in trouble. Big trouble.  We  won too much money  here  at the
track today,  so  I've  come back to tell you not to win any  more.  They're
going to get suspicious."
     "How about one more bet?" I asked. "Michelangelo
     will make us worth a hundred and fifteen thousand, two
     hundred dollars."
     He frowned. "Even that might be too much." His
     eyes blazed; he gripped my arm. "Dan, listen to me
     you don't want publicity! None at all! Don't let them
     take any pictures and don't talk to reporters." He looked
     at his watch. "Dan will be back any minute. I've got to
     go. Read the newspaper if you have any doubts " Then
     he left. I watched him as he strode away, then I looked at
     the Examiner. The story was pretty ugly. I folded up the
     papers and shoved them under my seat just as Danny
     returned.
     He started to ask me something about the next  race, but I cut him off.
"Don't worry about it. We're leaving right after this. We're through for the
day." "Huh ? Why?"
     I waited till after the horses  broke from  the gate. Sure enough,  Big
John  broke first  to take an early lead. I  said, "Because in a few minutes
we're going to be worth fifty-seven thousand, six hundred dollars. Don't you
think that's enough?"
     ,"But if we keep going," he protested, "we can make
     a million and a half dollars on an eight-horse parlay."
     I winced. I thought of the newspapers under my
     seat. "There are better ways to make a million and a half
     dollars," I said. "Quieter ways. More discreet."
     He didn't answer. I waited till  Big  John  crossed the finish line and
paid off at three to one. I scooped up my newspapers and stood. "Come on," I
said. "You go get the money. I'll wait for you at the car."
     I think he wanted me to go with him, but I had to
     be alone for a while. I had a lot to think about and I was
     suddenly in a very, very bad mood.
     Oh, it wasn't the money I'd already realized that if
     I could make fifty-seven thousand, six hundred  dollars  in one  day at
the races, I could easily turn that into more in the stock market. And there
were other ways I could make a fortune too
     It wasn't the money. It was the implications of the visit from Don.
     This Don, the new one, the one who had given me the newspaper where had
he come from? The future obviously, but which future? His world was one that
no longer  existed no, never would exist. We were leaving the races  without
taking the track for a million and a half dollars.
     I reached the car and got in on the passenger  side. I didn't feel like
driving back. I started to toss the papers into the back seat, then stopped.
I looked at them again. One had a small story on page one: FIVE-HORSE PARLAY
WINS $57,600! The other: IDENTICAL TWINS
     TAKE TRACK FOR $1,500,000! A banner headline.
     Both  newspapers were dated the same, yet they were from two  different
alternate worlds.
     The $57,600 world was mine; I knew the events in it because I had lived
them. The  $1,500,000 world  was  Don's,  but he had  talked me  out  of the
actions that would eventually produce his future.
     Where had  that future  gone?  Where had that Don gone?  Had they  both
ceased to exist?
     No. I still had the newspaper. That proved something.
     Or did it?
     I had the paper in my hands it was real. But you couldn't take it  back
I  mean, forward  to the future  it came from because that future  no longer
existed. Shouldn't the newspaper cease to exist too? The "Don"  who had come
back in time to talk me out of the actions that had produced the time he had
come from what had happened to him?
     Where was he now?
     If he stayed here like the newspaper he wouldn't disappear. (Were there
actually two of me now?) In fact, he couldn't disappear, unless he could get
back to  his  own  future,  except that future didn't exist  anymore, so  he
couldn't do that.
     Now, wait a minute. . . .
     If he bounced forward from now, where would he
     end up? His world's future? Or this world's future? If he
     went back to his world, he'd have to disappear with that
     world, wouldn't he? Or would he? But if he disappeared,
     then he wouldn't exist and couldn't come back to warn
     me. So, he had to exist. Where was he? Unless maybe
     his original world didn't disappear at all. Maybe it just
     got left behind.
     So, where was Don?
     Was he waiting for me in tomorrow?
     If so, then he wouldn't be my future self anymore.
     He'd be a different duplicate.
     No. The whole  thing didn't  make sense.  It didn't  seem logical  that
every  time I went back  and  talked  myself out of an  action that  I would
create a duplicate of myself
     But  it  seemed the only  answer. Every time I changed the  past, I was
creating an alternate world My head was starting to hurt.
     Now, wait a minute I had already changed the
     past! I had worn different clothes and I had given Dan
     two hundred dollars to bet instead of one hundred. And
     the newspaper I had brought with me
     The newspaper, of course! It  had  been  staring  at  me all  the time.
FIVE-HORSE PARLAY WINS $57,600!
     But it wasn't a five-horse parlay not anymore! It was only a four-horse
parlay!  We  hadn't stayed to  bet on bet on Michelangelo. We'd doubled  the
first bet. It was only coincidence that we'd ended up with the same amount.
     But  the  important thing was: I had  changed the past. Just as Don had
come back in  time to  change his past,  so I had done  the same thing to my
past,  though not on so large  a scale. I  remembered my  past differently I
remembered different clothes,  a different bet and  a  five-horse parlay.  I
remembered it the way it had happened to me and then I had changed it.
     So where was my Don the one I had gone to the races with? Where was he?
     The  situation  was  exactly  the same:  I had  changed  the  past  and
destroyed the future. So where was he?
     Well,  that  was silly. He was me. He  hadn't disappeared he was  right
here. I had simply done things differently this time around.
     Ouch.
     That  meant  that the Don who had come back in time with the  newspaper
was me too.  (Of course but would I have to go back in  time