THE KLONE AND I

Give Steel points for turning from her usual tearjerkers (The Long Road Home, p. 145, etc.) and trying her hand at a playful romantic comedy with a twist. The twist involves a bionic man who wears Versace clothes and leopard G-strings and carries a matching set of purple alligator Hermäs luggage. This suave creature, called Paul Klone, is the brainchild of Peter Blake, an eligible mensch. While Paul and Peter look alike, their personalities could not be more opposite. Stephanie, Steel’s long-suffering heroine, has been thrown over by her letching husband Roger for a young bimbo with a large cleavage and an even larger trust fund, and flees to Paris with her two children to recuperate from the betrayal. It’s there that a newly slimmed down and dressed-up Stephanie meets Peter, who begins to woo her, even following her back home to Manhattan. Things are going well—there are trips to the theater and the Metropolitan Museum of Art—until Peter travels to California on business, and sends Paul (—The Klone—) east to keep Stephanie company. And, naturally, Paul (who’s more like a robot, with electrical wiring and a removable head), is all the outrageous things that sober Peter is not: charming, spontaneous, and an artist in bed: Besides the Day-Glo wardrobe, he performs triple somersaults during sex, and is working on his quadruple. It’s no surprise, then, that Stephanie finds her affections pulled in two very different directions. Paul is fun, but could she marry a robot? Peter’s sweet, but not nearly as stimulating as Paul. Can she have both? And what will the kids say, not to mention her ex-husband? A deft, bubbly, decidedly unusual romance, and a welcome departure for the ever-redoubtable Steel.