Evie was painting her toenails when Steve said, “Hell, I could use a few more of you.  Have a ménage `a…  How do you say “eight” in French?”

They were watching a program on cloning and he was already ruminating on some appealing applications.  “They,” he said, “could start at the top and bottom of yours truly and work their way to the middle”.  

She paused, the polish brush suspended just over her “Pretty in Pink” Tootsie toe dividers.  “You tryin’ to tell me something, Steve?”

“They’d all be you, hun,” he reassured.  “That’s the best part.”

“Well, I could use a few more of you too.”

“You mean it?” he said.

“Sure.”

He imagined what it would be like, (a bunch of Steves) ravaging her all at once.  He could hardly wait for her nails to dry.

Evie figured four or five “Steves” was a good number.  She’d have to get them all “fixed”, of course, like she did their tomcat, Big Earl.  It was hard enough keeping Steve in the holding pen most times.  And gourmet meals would be a must.  She’d send one off to culinary school, straight away.   He’d be Charles.  And Vic could be the handyman.  The “Mr. Fix-it” Steve never was...

Steve stretched out on the couch.  Hell, he thought, he might even have them get boob jobs in different sizes.  And they could all wear wigs.  He didn’t care what color—blue, purple…  Variety was what he was after.

He’d clear out his sock drawer (it was Evie who separated his socks from his briefs anyway)—stock it exclusively with sex toys and smelly lotions.

She’d need a gardener too, Evie decided—Chuck.  He’d wear coveralls and carry tools in a green bucket.  And a stand-in “cuddler”— she’d need one of them.  Maurice would be for those cold nights when Steve, satisfied, turned from her, balled up on his end of the bed.

She’d keep them in the basement, she mused, (when they weren’t set to their tasks) — could use a bell cord like those rich folks had in old movies.  Three pulls of the cord, say, and Rico would come trotting up to rub her feet with his “tension-calming” techniques…

“So, you think it’d be great having a bunch of me around?” Steve said, edging closer.  “You really meant that?”

“You bet.”

He took a magazine from the coffee table and began fanning her feet, nearly clubbing her big toe.

“What are you doing, babe?”

“Helping them dry.”

“That’s alright,” she said, dipping her brush back in the bottle.  “I’m doing my fingernails now.”

“Christ,” he said and flung down the magazine.  He grabbed the remote and began flipping through the channels.

Evie watched him for a long moment, then threw up her hands. 

“What?” she said.