"You have got to get that girl laid," Jun declared, balancing the wine crate in his arms.

Vince slammed the boot shut. His luxury sedan, the latest in a series of impulsive ego purchases, beeped and blinked as it locked. "Why don't you do it?"

"Uh..." Jun made an are-you-kidding-me face. "Because I'm dating her sister?"

The singer raised an eyebrow. "That didn't seem to bother you when you boned Mia Castillo at that fashion show in Paris."

Jun rolled his eyes, motioning for Vince to go ahead and press the elevator button as they strolled across the underground car park. The doors dinged open unexpectedly soon. The dancer had to dash to make it.

"First of all," Jun mumbled, adjusting his hold on the crate, "I mean... Mia Castillo."

He had a point.

"And second of all... Odile and I weren't officially dating at the time. Heck, I couldn't find her all night back then, remember? She was probably in someone else's bed, too."

Vince stared a bit too hard at the floor numbers going up. Ten, eleven, twelve...

"But it's fine, you know."

Jun's voice didn't sound fine. Probably not a good time to reveal who Odile had actually spent that night with.

"It's fine because we weren't together-together. But now we are. And we've put that behind us. So you have to loosen Odette the fuck up. Jesus. Oh, and did you know they speaking fucking Russian?"

Vince shrugged. "Isn't their dad Russian?"

"Yeah, but... did you ever hear Di speak Russian?"

"Di?"

"Odile's two syllables too long sometimes, sue me."

"It literally is two syllables long."

"Whatever! My point is, you never knew she spoke Russian, either, did you?"

The elevator doors opened again, on the top floor. Vince stepped out first.

"No," he said, "I didn't know. But I'm not surprised."

"I don't know, man. It's weird. Why wouldn't she tell me?"

"She doesn't have to tell you everything, Jun."

Jun swiped his key card on the reader and backed ass-first into the apartment. Vince drew a deep breath. Put his cool smile on before facing Tweedledee and Tweedledum. He'd seen pictures of the twins, but Jun had warned him to brace himself for the shock.

"Guess who's here!" Jun called out, passing through the living area towards the kitchen. "Vincent Friday in the house, ladies!"

"No need to roll out the red carpet," Vince quipped.

Two figures appeared at the top of the stairs, dressed in similar black outfits. Expressions blank and hair tied back. Vince gulped. These weren't Lewis Caroll's Tweedledee and Tweedledum. These were Stephen King's fucking Grady twins.

"Oh, shit," Jun exclaimed, throwing an arm around Vince's shoulders. "Do you..." The dancer eyed his friend. "Do you think you can guess who's who?"

Vince gritted his teeth. The twins came down the steps, glued to each other. Stopped at a distance, looking down on him. There was no distinct feature he could latch onto, their cloned genes further evened out by make-up and loose clothes. His eyes skittered between them. He couldn't get this wrong. He couldn't.

"Alright..." Vince cleared his throat, squinting. "Left is... Odile and right is Odette." He looked to Jun for confirmation.

The dancer sighed. He reached out for the girl on the right and pulled her to him. Dammit.

"Nice try, buddy," Jun said, before twirling Odile away.

She managed an apologetic smile in-between pirouettes. Then Cheek to Cheek came on and they broke into dance. Her smile grew from timid to elated. Jun held her close, beaming.

"Heaven," Jun mouthed along to the lyrics, "I'm in heaven... and my heart beats so that I can hardly speak..."

A lump lodged itself in Vince's chest. It stunted his breathing and quickened his heartbeat. How could he get it wrong, when he'd seen the raw and real side of Odile which she never showed to Jun? Had it been all an act?

Had she really just used him like everybody else?

"Look at them..." Odette crossed her arms beside Vince. "Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers must be turning in their graves."

"Or Ella and Louis," Vince countered.

"Who?"

The singer shot her a look. Odette's eyes followed every step of the improvised routine Jun and Odile embarked on.

"Ella Fitzgerald and Louis Armstrong," Vince clarified. "They're... It's their song, playing right now."

Odette shrugged. Did this bitch really not know Ella and Louis?

"I'm a ballerina, not a jazz dancer," she said. "I only know Fred Astaire because my Gran was a huge fan. We used to watch Hollywood classics together." Odette faced Vince with a proud grin. "She even met Fred Astaire once when she was a little girl."

Marvellous. A colonial cunt. How could he have mistaken her for the snarky-but-sweet Odile?

"Anyway!" Odette sighed. "You want a beer while Fred and Ginger are dancing it out? Dinner's in the oven, should be ready shortly."

"I literally just brought a crate of wine."

Odette laughed. He walked with her across the room. The fragrant aroma of lilac freshener in the hall gave way to the savoury scent of garlic and herbs as they approached the kitchen island. Odette surveyed the wine collection, picking out a bottle of white.

She handed it to him. "Help a girl out?"

"Sure."

Shrouded in euphoric steam, Jun and Odile came up giggling and kissing to the island while Vince uncorked the Chardonnay.

"Need a hand there, buddy?" Jun asked.

"No, I'm - "

Jun snatched the bottle, finished fixing the corkscrew, and yanked out the cork in one swift move, winking. Odette cheered. Odile rolled her eyes.

"Show-off," Vince mumbled.

This was going to be a long evening.

*

"We should do a show together," Odette suggested out of the blue during dinner.

Odile looked up at her sister. "A show? What show?"

"How about Swan Lake?"

"No," Odile immediately declined. "Anything but Swan Lake."

"Come on!" the ballerina insisted. "Odette, Odile, Prince Siegfried." She pointed to herself, her sister, and Jun, in turn.

"I mean... I'd be cool with it," Jun put in. "If I could dance ballet."

"We do a modern version," Odette said. "A fusion version! Classical ballet meets contemporary dance. You might still have to do Odile's thirty-two fouettés, though, sis. God knows the Swan snobs love their fucking fouettés."

"I'm not doing Swan Lake," Odile repeated. "Fusion or otherwise."

Odette turned to Vince. "And maybe you could help us with the music! A modern score for a modern staging."

Odile's radiating discomfort made Vince want to change the subject. To buy some time, he stuffed the rest of his food in his mouth and chewed slowly, humming his appreciation. It eased out some tension.

"Compliments to the chef," Vince concluded, setting his cutlery down on his empty plate. "That was a first-grade rib roast." He tapped a napkin to his lips, then took a sip of wine.

"Thanks, man." Jun tilted his glass in the singer's direction. "Glad you liked it."

Eager to recover the spotlight, Odette slumped in her seat and complained loudly about how full she was. Vince stared into his glass. Jun began to gather the dishes. Odile picked up her drink and moved to stand by the window. Vince caught her grateful glance as he helped Jun clear the dining table.

"What are you doing, man?" Jun asked when the singer began to roll up his sleeves.

"Well, since you cooked for us, figured I could do this in return." He put the stack of plates in the sink and let warm water flow over them.

Jun shook his head. "You really don't have to."

"I'll just do these and the cutlery." Vince nodded at the roasting pan and rack sitting dirty on the stove. "You can do the heavy lifting tomorrow."

Jun gave in, throwing his hands up. His steps on the wooden floor dissolved into the pressured stream of the faucet. Vince soaped and scrubbed plate after plate, setting them aside to rinse them all together at the end.

"Isn't there a dishwasher?" Odette leaned against the countertop, ankles crossed.

Vince let her question hang in the air for a minute. Reluctant to admit he wouldn't know how to use it, since he'd never had one growing up.

"I don't trust no dishwasher to do this," he said. He rubbed thumb and index finger on the rim of a washed plate. "Squeaky clean."

Odette looked like she either didn't believe him, or had something far more nefarious in mind.

"Listen..." She edged closer, lowering her voice.

Vince turned the tap off. They both glanced at Jun and Odile snuggling by the tall window with a view to Central Park.

"I was wondering," Odette whispered, "if you'd like to get out of here and... go play in the snow."

That colonial-cunt glimmer in her eyes again.

Vince wiped his hands dry on a kitchen towel. "I don't suppose you wanna build a snowman, do you?"

She giggled, biting her lip.

He levelled with her, eye to eye. "Are you asking me because I'm black?"

"No, silly!" A conspiratorial wink. "I'm asking because you're a rockstar."

For the umpteenth time that evening, Vince wondered how he could have possibly mistaken the sisters. That thorny look in Odette's eyes should have been a dead giveaway. The rest of her, though...

He spared her a onceover. Up close, he noticed she was slightly skinnier than her twin. And her hair had traces of chrome and platinum in it, remnants of an outgrown ombré. No real difference. Tweedledee and Tweedledum, but sexy.

"Alright," Vince muttered. He'd coke her up and fuck her once. Loosen her up, like Jun had asked. "Let's get out of here."