A Case of Mistaken Identity

by Collette Thomas

  What she was embarking upon didn't pose as much danger to her physical health as it eventually might to her mental stability. Adrienne was crazy to think she could pull this off.

  Her focus returned to the balloon. Now wouldn't that be an adventure! Except that kind of adventure involved courage—throw-all-caution to-the-wind courage. And just getting through city traffic was taking as much courage as she could muster at the moment.

  She heaved a sigh and in sudden resignation, pulled Adrienne's Audi into the passing lane. Chances were this favor she was doing for her roommate ranked right up there with suicide missions—if one could die from boredom and frustration.

  As the balloon floated in front of her, it suddenly caught the edge of a breeze, and left the world of stalled city traffic, irate travelers, spoiled I-always-get-my-way roommates and you-can-always-count-on-me Myrna's far behind.

  Myrna thought of Adrienne and their last conversation. Yeah, her roommate, who'd have no problem throwing all caution to the wind, and would get right on that contraption and sail away on a silvery cloud. No looking back either. Adrienne always did things full speed ahead. Myrna swerved to avoid hitting a car and muttered something under her breath.

  Come back to reality, Myrna. You know you'll never ride in a hot air balloon, or hang-glide, or catch a rocket to the moon. You're too damn cautious about such things. Too wimpy. Too predictable. That's why you're meeting some nerd from Adrienne's past while she's off having herself some real fun.

  The balloon tacked to the right and disappeared over the horizon. Myrna blinked once and it was suddenly gone. A pretty memory that now joined all the wishes and dreams she'd ever held in her mind over the years. Wild abandoned dreams where she didn't have a care in the world beyond her own pleasure, where she was free to go wherever the wind had a mind to take her. She imagined herself floating aimlessly without care. Imagined her mind holding no worries. Imagined the little charade she was about to embark on done and over and all behind her.

  Again she thought about Adrienne. Thanks to Adrienne, she had plenty to worry about. She glanced down at the dashboard clock. She was cutting it close. Still on I-84, she had yet to get through Hartford traffic. And it suddenly had her rethinking why on earth was she doing this totally insane thing? Careful, cautious people like prudent Myrna Dunbar did not indulge in such harebrained acts. Adrienne, on the other hands, yes. Adrienne well known for her impulsive behavior, it was no small wonder how they'd ever became roommates in the first place, or better yet, had stayed roommates.

  Myrna pressed her foot down firmly on the accelerator, and then abruptly released it when a sleek black Porsche cut her off. The move reminded her how she missed her own reliable vintage Volkswagen now parked out in the rented garage. Spicy red Audi's were not Myrna Dunbar's style.

  Jonathan Wetherall the Third.

  Myrna hadn't even met the man yet, but his name had haunted her for days. A name that at one time meant nothing until Adrienne involved her in this little deception, recalling their infamous conversation when she returned home from work that day to find Adrienne slumped over the kitchen table. A picture of utter despair, she held a letter in her hand, its pages twisted as if Adrienne pretended it was someone's neck.

  * * * *

  "Myrna! He can't do this to me. I'm his only daughter."

  "Can't do what to you, Adrienne?” Myrna had innocently asked, assuming she was talking about her father. Looking back now, if only she hadn't been so curious. Nosy actually. If only she had simply minded her own business, gone on to her room that day, left Adrienne in that kitchen to deal with whatever she had to deal with. If only...

  "My father. Who else."

  "That part I caught. And aren't you usually ecstatic when he calls or writes? Didn't his last letter contain a set of keys to a nice red Audi that's now parked in front of our apartment?"

  "Well, yes. But Daddy doesn't usually give things away for nothing. Eventually I find out there's a hitch attached to his generosity, and sooner or later, he starts calling them in. But so far that has never presented a problem for me."

  Adrienne crumpled the mangled remains of the letter, threw it on the table, and waved her fist in the air. At that point Myrna knew she should have run. Knew because she didn't have to ask what the movement meant. Adrienne hadn't kept anything to herself since she learned to talk.

  "This letter is one of them,” her roommate went on. “His oldest friend is sending his son out east and dear daddy thought I might want to show him around town. Entertain him while he's visiting."

  Myrna saw no problem with it. “So."

  "So! Myrna don't you see what's happening here?"

  Myrna squinted at Adrienne, then down at the letter through her thick lenses. “Not exactly. I mean don't you think it would be a nice gesture on your part? You can show the kid some of Connecticut sights. Take in a few movies. Go bowling even. Or take him up to the lake. They've got this great roller coaster at the new amusement park—I'm sure he'll love it there. All boys do."

  "Boy my eye! We're talking at least thirty-five."

  "Oh. Well ... so he's a full-grown man, he's no longer a boy. So what's the problem? You can still take him to the movies. At least it won't have to be Disney or G rated. And he won't have to be in bed by nine. Adrienne, I don't see why you're getting so upset about this. It's not like you ever have to end up marrying this man."

  "His name is Jonathan Wetherall the third. Can you see me writing a name like that at the top of a bowling score sheet?"

  Myrna repeated the name, slowly. “Jonathan Wetherall the third?” Suddenly she couldn't restrain her laughter, unable to connect her roommate with anyone who carried a “the third” at the end of his surname. “Yeah, I think I see your point. With a pompous name like that, I bet he wears one of those hound's-tooth sports jackets, the kind with brown leather patches sewn at the elbows. Not to mention a paisley print ascot wrapped around his high-falutin’ neck, and impeccable high-polished winged tipped shoes.” She paused as a picture of the man came more into focus. “Perhaps you do have a dilemma. Because I'm not picturing his sort ever giving up those wing tips for a pair of bowling shoes."

  The two of them would be no more suited to each other than she was to Adrienne's wild crowd, Myrna mused. The ones who appeared inseparable from their silver-chromed Harleys and whose wardrobe consisted of black leather and ragged faded denim. Myrna chuckled at the image of this stuffed shirt mingling with Adrienne's leather chaff friends. It wasn't a pretty sight. Adrienne would make minced meat out of him the first time out.

  "I see no humor in this,” Adrienne responded. “I met Jonathan one summer when we were kids and our families were both staying at a nearby lake. If he wasn't your typical Mama's boy, then I'm not sitting here. The other boys would often call him four eyes, tinsel mouth, and the worst of it, wimp with the limp. But yours truly felt sorry for him, so I took him under my wing."

  "You? Really?” Myrna responded unable to picture Adrienne taking anyone under her wings, man or beast. “I'm sure he appreciated it."

  "Yeah, he appreciated it all right. One day I suggested that we take a rowboat out to the middle of the lake. We got all the way out there with moi doing ALL the rowing. He sat there the whole time complaining. Too fast. Too rocky. Then he tells me to row us back immediately. He was getting seasick or something like that. That made me rip roaring mad. I told him to do it himself. So what does this stupid kid do NEXT? He demands that I take him back to shore. Again, I refuse and call him a few choice names."

  Both Myrna's brows rose in twin peaks. “Let me guess. Among them I bet were four eyes, tinsel mouth, and wimp with the limp!"

  "Hey! The guy clearly asked for it. What would you do if someone stood up inside a rowboat, waving his hands like a hysterical idiot, and then capsizes the damn boat, and then you find out he can't even swim? I had to keep him afloat until a nearby boater could pull us in."

  "You saved that poor boy's life. You were a true heroine.
The man's forever in your debt, I'm sure."

  "Heroine my foot! Fool's more like it. My parents grounded ME for two months as a reward for this unselfish act of bravery. Since OUR family had invited their family, I was in charge, and should not have let it happen in the first place. I've always referred to it as the summer that never was because of that IDIOT."

  "Ouch!"

  "Ouch is right."

  "Yes, I can see how your dad's letter has dredged up a few unpleasant memories for you.” The sunny afternoon had turned dark and Myrna could imagine a string of dark clouds floating overhead. A short silence ensued and each sat in the sudden shadow. Myrna couldn't help think how some memories were as similar as those passing clouds. Dark memories locked inside one's mind, ready to make an unannounced appearance at any given moment.

  "Yes. And now I'm supposed to be nice to this ... this creep again? I think not. I might do something I'd regret, like spike his Perrier with arsenic. Or put Ex-lax in his chocolate mousse."

  Myrna regarded her with mild shock. “You can't mean that Adrienne. Plus I'm sure they can put you in jail for..."

  "I'm dead serious. There's no way that nerd will be safe in this woman's company.” Her friend regarded her with clear blue eyes that sent chills down Myrna's spine.

  "Then what will you tell your father? You won't do it? Simply flat out refuse?"

  Adrienne cupped her chin inside her palm, seemingly falling into a deep, contemplative state. Myrna could almost hear the wheels squeaking inside her roommate's mind and suddenly felt a certain queasiness coming on. Abruptly, Adrienne looked up at her. Myrna spotted the unmistakable gleam of purpose in her friend's eyes. Except following the queasiness, another onslaught of cold chills rushed through her and she had the sudden impulse to flee.

  "Myrna honey, I wonder...."

  Adrienne's tone was suddenly thick, and sweet —too damn sweet —like flowing honey. Sweet or not Myrna felt the need to brace against what might be coming next.

  "Our hair color is pretty similar,” Adrienne pointed out, arching both brows, “and if ‘we’ use a red highlighting rinse to bring out the auburn more in yours.” She was suddenly lifting locks of Myrna's hair, letting them slip between red manicured fingers. The same way Adrienne did when she shopped for clothes, testing the fabric. Myrna suddenly felt like a specimen under glass.

  "We could blow dry it into say a more ‘carefree’ upbeat style. And don't you need those glasses just for reading? Umm, maybe a bit of rose colored blush on those cheekbones, a bit of mascara, some violet shadow and black eyeliner. Damn, I think it could work. I know it could work."

  Motionless, Myrna regarded her cautiously. “Whatever you think could work, I'm not sure if I want it to work.” She found herself inching toward the kitchen back door, reaching for the knob.

  Adrienne stood up. “Come into my room. I want to show you something."

  Myrna hesitated, but curiosity got the better of her.

  Adrienne went to her closet and pulled something indisputably ‘red’ out of it. Myrna instantly saw that it was low cut and quite short.

  "Try this on!” Adrienne commanded.

  Myrna looked at her with mild shock.

  "It's a sundress,” Adrienne said. “It's perfect for the summer. It's getting really hot out there now."

  "And you don't think it'll get hotter when I put this thing on?” Myrna took the dress from her, and examined it closely. “Does one even wear a bra with this?"

  "That's why it's so great for the summer. You won't need one. I hate wearing those things when it's so hot out there, don't you?"

  "Yeah, except what's going to hold me up?"

  Adrienne looked at her and made a face. Myrna felt herself blush. “C'mon Myrna, you still got a lot of lift yet. You'll look great in this. Try it on. I'm sure it's your size."

  When Myrna put the dress on, immediate reservation rose, and she wondered what she was getting herself into.

  "It's not going to work,” Myrna said, hoping to convince her determined friend whatever scheme she was planning could not be easily pulled off. “He'll know I'm a fraud. Then what?"

  "Myrna, stop looking at me like that. You don't even know what I'm going to ask yet."

  "It hasn't been hard to figure out."

  "He won't suspect anything. We were kids when we last saw each other. You and I are so similar in height and size he'll never suspect a thing."

  "I don't know.” As Myrna stared at herself, somewhere in her mind the thought erupted that she could actually have fun with this. This was her chance to find out what life could be like from Adrienne's perspective. She thought back to that night—or that morning when Art Wagner looked at her almost with pity. Somewhere in her mind the words ridiculous and you'll only make a fool out of yourself if you go along with this, ran rampant.

  "No, this isn't such a good idea—"

  "Hey remember the two of us back in high school?” Adrienne suddenly asked as she picked out an extremely short black leather skirt and a lacy see-through top—in shocking pink no less—from her closet, then held it up to Myrna's body.

  Myrna stepped back, her hand sliding over the bodice of the red dress. She sighed. “I try my very best not to go back there. Why dwell on the past? Why ruin a perfectly good day?” Damn she had been all set to make her exit.... “... Why do you ask?” It needed to be asked.

  "Remember that Sadie Hawkins Day dance we had both wanted to go?” Adrienne persisted. “And we both had our eye on the same jock—the one with the muscles that bulged in all the right places. I backed out on asking him, didn't I? Remember? So you could ask him to the dance, and if I recall, you two had a pretty good time.” She lifted both brows.

  Adrienne's smile made Myrna wince. In her mind she pictured storm clouds coming; ready to rain on her parade.

  Suddenly Adrienne pulled out a next-to-nothingness unmentionable, along with black stockings, several lacy garters, and an unopened package of panties. When she pulled the panties out of the clear plastic one by one, Myrna could see that none had a crotch.

  And how well she remembered Jack “the Atlas” Morgan who had been her first and last jock as far as the dating game went. At first she had been enthralled by his Herculean outward appearance, but beneath those gorgeous good looks was empty dead space. The date had turned into a disaster from the start. Adrienne had only assumed they'd had a fantastic time. Who wouldn't with someone like that? To save face, Myrna never told her the entire truth.

  Jack “the Atlas” Morgan had dated Myrna only on a dare, a joke actually, with her as its punch line. A dare that she learned later had involved Jack Morgan getting Myrna into the back seat of his car. All to win a six pack of beer.

  After wrestling Jack in the back seat of that souped up green Camaro, he finally realized he wasn't going to make it to first, second, or third base and virtually spilled the beans about the bet.

  Myrna stiffened as she struggled to discharge the bitter memory of Jack Morgan from her mind. She pressed her back against the bedroom door, wishing she had the courage to open it, tell her friend no, and run out.

  She didn't want to listen to anymore of what Adrienne had to say.

  Instead she held up a pair of racy ‘crotchless’ black panties, inspecting them from all sides. “You're just like your father, Adrienne,” she said, putting the panty down and picking up the garter belt which came in assortment of racy colors. “Don't go denying it. You're a chip off the old block. So ... what are we doing here, calling in favors?"

  "Okay,” Adrienne said opening a drawer and taking out what appeared to be a lime green lacy corset with ruffles and frills. Myrna suddenly felt as if she had stepped into the private boudoir of a Victorian bordello rather than Adrienne's bedroom. “Look I'm desperate! You aren't going to make me come right out and beg are you?” Adrienne asked.

  Myrna jutted out her chin. “Why should I make it easy for you?” She took the corset from Adrienne's grasp and held it against her, deciding it had possibi
lities. “I know you well. Considering how many years we're talking here, I'm betting my money that you want me to impersonate you and pull one over on this Wetherall character. I'm the guinea pig. Or better yet, the sacrificial lamb being led to slaughter."

  Clear, unadulterated I'm-in-debt-to-you-forever hope filled Adrienne's crystal blue eyes. “Then will you? Will you do it for me? You have no idea what this would mean. I would forever be in your—"

  Myrna didn't need to hear the rest of her roommate's ramblings. Washing clothes, cleaning rooms, cleaning her car, even cleaning out the attic was not going to last forever. A week at the most, then Adrienne would forget her ‘forever’ promises. Nonetheless Myrna's stomach turned sour as Adrienne stared at her with melodramatic distress. It was hard to refuse Adrienne anything. Her poor father had to put up with it all these years, and now as her roommate it was Myrna's turn.

  "It won't be that bad,” Adrienne tried to convince her. “I mean you've gone out with ... I mean, you know—"

  "They're called nerds! Dweebs! Geeks! On occasion referred to as ‘jerks.’ And yes, I know how to handle one, because basically I'm cut out of the same mold, right?"

  "That's not what I meant,” Adrienne said.

  Myrna looked down at her own sensible loafers, including inserted copper penny and all. “You don't have to."

  "No, really I didn't mean it that way.” Adrienne paused. “Okay, let's take a different approach. How often does one get to entertain Jonathan Wetherall the third?” She arched one brow. “And from what my father's letter says here, the guy's filthy rich. Besides that, I'm sure his braces are off by now. He might even have the smarts to wear contacts. So it's not like I'm asking you to go out with Frankenstein's brother. I'm guessing the years have been good to him."