If every Jekyll has his Hyde, then who's the doppelganger for Steve Bornfeld? I'll tell you who. His name, at least to me, is Beve Stornfeld, and he walks around my neighborhood. I've been watching him for months now, marveling at the similarities. That fair skin. That brown hair, framed by a cut that's a little bit shaggy, a little bit long, a touch '70s. Those tinted glasses. That purposeful gaze. That zip-along gait. Weather permitting, Beve usually wears some kind of denim shorts, a button-up shirt and a baseball hat. I don't know what Steve wears. I've never seen him in his doppelganger's element, and I never plan to. Who knows what havoc their union would wreak on the cosmos?
The moment I hear that Steve's planning a story on walking , I know I must follow said doppelganger. But first, I must learn the creature's habits, his habitat, his trail.
Monday, October 6, 5:30 p.m.: I'm driving home from the Roy shrine and I see him, rounding the corner at Sunset and Sandhill.
Thursday, October 9, 4:30 p.m.: I search for him for an hour on Sunset, walking from Sandhill to Annie Oakley and Annie Oakley to Sandhill. Adrenaline surges with the certainty that I'll walk right into him, any second. Annny second. No such luck.
Friday, October 10: Same.
Monday, October 13, 5:00 p.m.: Today's the day—I feel it. I walk the block a few times, but see nothing. "Walking is for fools!" I think and get into my car. It's the only solution if I'm serious about this stalking, er, search. At 5:30 I get in my car and start driving up Sunset, which I've started thinking of as HIS street. THERE HE IS. I quickly park and follow, trying to make up for lost time. I'm so excited to have found him that I pay more attention to sending a text message to a friend than I do to his walk. He's quick! I cut across the Carl's Jr. parking lot, thinking I'll close in on him. By the time I catch up enough to truly compare Beve to Steve, he's opening a gate to an apartment complex. He disappears inside. I feel a touch of failure. Then victory: I know where he lives! And, guess what? It's a stucco apartment complex. Just like that of Steve Bornfeld!
Tuesday, October 14, 5:00 p.m.: I go for a run. As I'm passing his complex, the gate opens and a car drives out. He's not in the car … but the open gate is beckoning me. I start towards it, thinking I'll somehow know which apartment is his once I'm inside. Then I remember years ago, when I rode my bike into a gated community and got stuck in there. I decide against reliving that experience in the gated community of a doppelganger.
Saturday, October 25, 11:30 p.m.: I'm walking up to Treasures Gentleman's Club to visit Jimmy Luv, the man-in-the-box I'm doing a story on. I'm passing a line of taxis, glancing inside a couple of them, and ohmygod. There. He. Is. It's Beve Stornfeld, doppelganger extraordinaire, wearing that same baseball hat, those same denim shorts, sitting in the driver's seat of a Yellow Cab.
That's it, I think. I'm done. Sure, it's a small town, it's a fluke, and he has no earthly idea who I am, but at that moment, in my mind, it went from me stalking him to him stalking me, which means both stalkings cancel each other out and we're left with pursuit. He'd become an extra in my life, and I wasn't looking for more extras. I only have room for doppelgangers, straggling through my neighborhood, hoofing it, huffing, trying for a little bit of exercise. At that moment, I decided to end it.
Steve Bornfeld got his hair cut recently. And my first thought was, "I wonder how ol' Beve looks in that new, short hair of his, too."