Danielle Steel - The Klone and I: A High-Tech Love Story

PRAISE FOR DANIELLE STEEL'S

THE KLONE AND IFUN.PeopleDeft, bubbly, decidedly unusual a welcome departure.Kirkus ReviewsSteel's fans will enjoy this.BooklistHUMOROUS AND CLEVER.Greenville Advocate (Ill.)If you want a fun read try Danielle Steel's latest book. I thought I was reading an incarnation of the late comic-writing Erma Bombeck I was so delighted in reading this bookBloomington Herald-Times (Ind.)UPROARIOUS.Butler County Tribune-Journal (Allison, Ia.)A fun romp with a love triangle of a jilted wife, a wonderful new man, and his crazy double named Paul Klone.Salem News (Ohio)A MAIN SELECTION OF

THE LITERARY GUILD

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THE DOUBLEDAY BOOK CLUB

PRAISE FOR

DANIELLE STEELA LITERARY PHENOMENON and not to be pigeonholed as one who produces a predictable kind of book.The Detroit NewsTHE PLOTS OF DANIELLE STEEL'S NOVELS TWIST AND WEAVE as incredible stories unfold to the glee and delight of her enormous reading public.United Press InternationalMs. Steel's fans won't be disappointed!The New York Times Book ReviewOne counts on Danielle Steel for A STORY THAT ENTERTAINS AND INFORMS.The Chattanooga TimesSteel writes convincingly about universal human emotions.Publishers WeeklySTEEL IS AT THE TOP OF HER BESTSELLING FORM.Houston ChronicleFEW MODERN WRITERS CONVEY THE PATHOS OF FAMILY AND MARITAL LIFE WITH SUCH HEARTFELT EMPATHYThe Philadelphia InquirerIt's nothing short of amazing that even after [dozens of] novels, Danielle Steel can still come up with a good new yarn.The Star-Ledger (Newark)

Books by Danielle Steel

GRANNY DANZOYABITTERSWEETKALEIDOSCOPEMIRROR IMAGEFINE THINGSHIS BRIGHT LIGHTWANDERLUSTTHE KLONEAND ISECRETSTHE LONGROADFAMILY ALBUMHOMEFULL CIRCLETHE GHOSTCHANGESSPECIAL DELIVERYTHURSTON HOUSETHE RANCHCROSSINGSSILENT HONO RONCE IN A LIFETIMEMALICEA PERFECT STRANGERFIVE DAYS IN PARISREMEMBRANCELIGHTNINGPALOMINOWINGSLOVE: POEMSTHE GIFTTHE RINGACCIDENTLOVINGVANISHEDMIXED BLESSINGSTO LOVE AGAINJEWELSSUMMER'S ENDNO GREATER LOVESEASON O F PASSIONHEARTBEATTHE PROMISEMESSAGE FROM NAMNOW AND FOREVERDADDYPASSION'S PROMISESTARGOING HOMEVisit the Danielle Steel Web Site at:

http://www.daniellesteel.com

DELL PUBLISHING

To Tom Perkins,

and his many faces,

Dr. Jekyll, Mr. Hyde,

and Isaac Klone, who,

of them all, gives the best

jewelry

but most of all, to Tom,

for giving me the Klone,

and so many good times.With all my love,

d.s.

a cognizant original v5 release october 06 2010

Chapter One

My first, and thus far only, marriage ended exactly two days before Thanksgiving. I remember the moment perfectly. I was lying on the floor of our bedroom, halfway under the bed, looking for a shoe, with my favorite well-worn flannel nightgown halfway to my neck, when my husband walked in, wearing gray flannel slacks and a blazer. As always, he looked immaculate, and was impeccably dressed. I heard him say something vaguely unintelligible as I found the glasses I'd been looking for, for two years, a fluorescent plastic bracelet I never knew was gone, and a red sneaker that must have belonged to my son, Sam, when he was a toddler. Sam was six by the time I found the lost sneaker. So much for thorough cleaning at our house. Apparently none of the parade of cleaning ladies I had ever looked under the beds.

As I emerged, Roger looked at me, and I politely rearranged the nightgown. He looked embarrassingly formal, as I glanced at him, the top of my hair still sticking up from my foray under the bed.

What did you say? I asked with a smile, unaware that one of the blueberries from the muffin I'd eaten an hour before was delicately lodged next to my eyetooth. I only discovered it half an hour later, when my nose was red and I was crying, and happened to see myself in the mirror. But at this point in the saga, I was still smiling, with no inkling of what was to come.

I asked you to sit down, he said, eyeing my costume, my hairdo, and my smile, with interest. I have always found it difficult to discuss anything intelligent with a man when he is dressed for Wall Street, and I am wearing one of my well-loved nightgowns. My hair was clean, but I hadn't had time to comb it since the night before, my nails were trimmed and also clean, but I had given up wearing nail polish sometime in college. I thought it made me look more intelligent not to wear it. Besides, it was too much trouble. After all, I was married. At that point, I was still suffering from the delusion that married women don't have to try as hard. Apparently, I was sorely mistaken, as I discovered only moments later.

We sat down across from each other in the two satin-covered chairs at the foot of our bed, as I thought again how stupid it was to have them there. They always looked to me as though we were meant to sit there and negotiate going to bed. But Roger said he liked them that way, apparently they reminded him of his mother. I had never looked past that statement for a deeper meaning, which was, perhaps, part of the problem. Roger talked a lot about his mother.

He looked as though he had something important to say to me, while I carefully buttoned up the nightgown, sorry that I had not yet made it into a sweatshirt and blue jeans, my daily costume much of the time. Sex appeal was not foremost on my mind. Responsibility was, my kids were, being Roger's wife was important to me. Sex was something we still played at, once in a while. And lately it had not been often.

How are you? he asked, and I grinned again, somewhat nervously, the mischievous little blueberry undoubtedly still twinkling naughtily at him.

How am I? Fine, I think. Why? How do I look? I thought maybe he meant I looked sick or something, but as it so happened, that came later.

I sat, waiting expectantly to hear him tell me he'd gotten a raise, lost his job, or was taking me to Europe, as he sometimes did, when he had time on his hands. Sometimes he just liked to take me on a trip as a surprise, it was usually his way of telling me he'd lost his job. But he didn't have that sheepish look in his eyes. It wasn't his job this time, or a holiday, it was a different kind of surprise.

The nightgown looked a little frail as we sat in the satin chairs, me sliding slowly forward uncomfortably. I had forgotten how slippery they were, since as a rule I never sat there. There were several small tears in the ancient flannel I was wearing, nothing too revealing of course, and since I get cold at night, I was wearing a frayed T-shirt underneath. It was a look that had worked well for me, for thirteen years of marriage with him. Lucky thirteen, or at least it had been till then. And as I sat looking at him, Roger looked as familiar to me as my nightgown. It felt as though I had been married to him forever, and I had, and of course I knew I always would be. I had grown up with him, had known him when we were both kids, and he had been my best friend for years, the only human being I truly trusted in the world. I knew that whatever other failings he had, and there were a few, he would never hurt me. He got cranky now and then, as most men do, he had trouble hanging on to a job, but he had never seriously hurt me, and he was never mean.

Roger had never been a raging success in his career. He had played at advertising when we were first married, had a number of jobs in marketing after that, and invested in a series of less than stellar deals. But I never really cared. He was a nice man, and he was good to me. I wanted to be married to him. And thanks to the grandfather who had set up a trust fund for me before he died, we always had enough money not just to get by, but to live pretty comfortably. Umpa's trust fund had not only provided well for me, but for Roger and the kids, and allowed me to be understanding about the financial mistakes Roger made. Let's face it, and I had years before, when it came to making money, or keeping a job for more than a year or two, Roger did not have whatever it took. But he had other things. He was great with the kids, we liked to watch the same shows on TV, we both loved spending our summers on the Cape, we had an apartment in New York we both loved, he let me pick the movies we went to once a week, no matter how sappy they were, and he had great legs. And when we were sleeping with each other in college, I thought Casanova paled in comparison to him in bed. I lost my virginity to him. We liked the same music, he sang in my ear when we danced. He was a great dancer, a good father, and my best friend. And if he couldn't hold on to a job, so what? Umpa had taken the sting out of that for me. It never occurred to me that I could, or should, have more. Roger was enough for me.