Joy and Tiers

by Mary Crawford

  One of the reasons I signed up for BrainsRSexy was to become less isolated. I’ve fallen into this weird rut of going to class and the library and my job at the local ice cream parlor and not much else. Jessica threatened to line up all the guys from her classes and start randomly choosing numbers to set me up on blind dates.

  My computer pings again and I glance at the screen with a mixture of trepidation in anticipation. Jessica has no such qualms as she’s practically shouting in my ear, “Hurry up and open the message!”

  Ivy,

  That’s uber-weird. I didn’t get the vibe from Rogue that she was running a scam. In fact, we were on a Skype call and I was teasing her about her unusual first name and she even showed me her drivers license to prove that it was really her real name. She has a Florida drivers license with the first name Rogue. I’ve never seen someone who works at a tattoo place that doesn’t have tattoos. I thought that was odd. But, other than that she seemed cool. I looked at your Facebook page, her picture isn’t any of the ones you have on Facebook.

  --Mitch-- curious in the land of Disney

  Mitch,

  I have no idea where she would get a picture of me if she didn’t get it from Facebook. I’m not on Instagram because I’m not really a big picture taker and the last time I had a MySpace page I think I was in junior high so you would’ve been able to tell the difference. This is starting to creep me out.

  ~ Ivy

  Almost instantly, my computer beeps in response.

  Ivy,

  I don’t know, maybe it’s just coincidence. You know how they say everyone has a double somewhere. Try not to worry.

  -- Mitch

  Mitch,

  That’s true. But, I wonder why people think we have the same profile?

  ~ Ivy

  Again, my computer beeps right away.

  Ivy,

  Another excellent question. Unfortunately, I don’t have a great answer.

  -- Mitch

  Mitch,

  Sadly, I have to study for my economics exam. So, I need to go.

  ~ Ivy

  My computer beeps almost as quickly as I hit the send button.

  :-)

  Economics was one of my favorite classes. Good luck with the exam.

  -- Mitch

  I guess it should be quite telling that the fact that he likes economics actually makes them less attractive to me. I wonder what I should read into that. I’m sure there are thousands of volumes of psychological studies and abstracts on that very topic.

  But just then, an idea strikes me and I sprint down the hall to my neighbor’s room and bang on the door. A very startled guy in ratty sweatpants comes to the door. “Hey Craig, what’s the name of that guy that graduated like three years ago? You know, the one that was going to start his own security firm specializing in identity theft?”

  Craig stretches and yawns as he eyes my pajama shorts and my baby doll T-shirt. “Yeah? What’s in it for me?” he asks with a leer.

  I squint my eyes at him and shake my head as I reply, “If you ever want class notes for Poetry 250 which meets at 8 AM Monday Wednesday and Friday, I’m counting on you to cough up a name and phone number.”

  Craig belches and then replies as he holds up his hands in surrender, “Okay, no need to be mean about it. The dude’s name is Tristan Macklin. He’s got a business a couple blocks off the campus. I’ve heard he’s spooky good. Are you going into hiding or something? Somebody told me he’s better than the witness protection program.”

  I laugh out loud at Craig’s vivid imagination. “I’m sorry to disappoint you. But it’s nothing quite as dramatic as that. I’ll be sure to tell Tristan you said, ‘Hi’,” I say as I reach forward to shake Craig’s hand.

  I watch as the color leaches out of Craig’s face. “Oh, that’s okay you don’t have to mention it. I’ll just do you a solid because we’re practically neighbors,” he says as he nervously wipes his hands on his pants and shakes my hand.

  As I turn to leave the room, I look back and say, “For the record, I really liked the poem you shared the other day in class. You should speak up more often.” I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone blush in quite the shade of red as Craig in that moment, but he seems pleased by the complement.

  I’m still grinning when I reenter my dorm room. As soon as I hit the threshold, Jessica starts yelling at me, “Where in the hell did you go? I left for one second to fix my contact lens and you were gone. With all this weirdness going on, I had no idea what happened to you. You left without saying a word. I was so scared!” At this point, she’s practically beating me with her throw pillow.

  “Oh my God Jessica, I didn’t even think about it. I just ran down to Craig and Derek’s room to ask Craig a question,” I answer, feeling chagrined.

  “Oh man, if that was designed to make me feel better, that was an epic fail. Craig is seriously creepy,” Jessica responds as she gives a full body shudder.

  “Really? You think he’s that bad? He’s a little strange. I mean you don’t see very many full-grown men with a full contingent of Star Wars action figures in their dorm rooms, but other than that he seems nice enough to me. He always walks me to my car with an umbrella when it rains,” I comment.

  Jessica just shakes her head at me. “I still find it hard to believe that you’re a couple years older than me. You seem to be missing some basic survival instincts. Did you not learn any street smarts along the way?” she asks me as she raises a questioning eyebrow in my direction.

  I giggle at her line of questioning as I respond, “ Hello? I’m the daughter of a kindergarten teacher and an accountant from upper Vermont. My idea of street smart is making sure that I get a really good coupon for Macy’s and the Gap and trying to make sure nobody takes our table at Applebee’s.”

  Jessica is collapsed on her bed in peals of laughter at my description of the perils of the rough side of suburban life. When she can gather herself she says, “Geez, no wonder you don’t have a lick of common sense when it comes to judging other people. You grew up in Mayberry, USA. The sheriff came to your football games, didn’t he?”

  “Well, yes,” I concede. “It only makes sense considering his nephew was the star quarterback.”

  Jessica narrows her eyes as she examines me closely, “ Wait... let me guess,” she says drawing out the words and walking around me in a big circle, “Miss Big Hair and perfect body, was a high school cheerleader.”

  I can’t help but flush a deep shade of red. Instead of being proud of my accomplishment, it feels more like a scarlet letter of shame. Although I liked the athletic challenge of being a cheerleader, I never liked the petty social politics and the narcissistic class standing that was endowed because of it. “It wasn’t really a big deal. Almost everybody that tried out made it on the squad,” I stammer.

  “Were you on the squad all four years?” Jessica probes.

  I nod.

  “I bet you were a flyer,” Jessica comments.

  I nod again.

  “Captain?” Jessica asks with a triumphant grin.

  “Co-Captain my junior year, Captain my senior year,” I grudgingly admit.

  “See, not only were you a cheerleader, you were a stellar cheerleader. Just like you’re stellar at everything else. I know you’ve been trying to fly under the radar here. But, you don’t do that very well. You’re the type of person who just kind of naturally shines regardless of your surroundings,” Jessica observes.

  “That’s sweet of you to say. But, I’d just as soon be a background player. I’m not all that comfortable being front and center. It’s the not fun part of being an only kid that I had no choice but to be the kid on the awards stand whether I wanted to or not,” I confess.

  “Hey, at least your parents actually know you exist. Mine couldn't care less. Trust me, there are worse things in life than parents who care too much. So, what can we do about this weird computer thing?” Jessica asks. “If your parents found out about it, they would have an apoplexy
and pull you out of school.”

  "Well, they certainly would try. But, I think I’ve reached an age where they no longer have the right to make decisions for me. Now, I’m not saying that they wouldn't be able to guilt me into it. But, the school isn't going to give them any right to make decisions for me,” I declare with a degree of certainty.

  “You know this how?” Jessica demands.

  “Technically, the law is on my side,” I argue.

  Jessica rolls her eyes at me and just gives me a look of pity as she retorts,“Well, you can have technicalities until the cows come home, but it isn’t going to matter a hill’s worth of beans if your daddy thinks you’re in danger. He’ll march right down here all the way from Vermont and haul your pretty little butt all the way home and lock you in your pristine suburban paradise until he thinks it’s safe.”

  I want to respond with a really good argument, but I really don’t have one. She’s spot on when it comes to my dad. When I was born. I had a blood clot in my lungs. Fortunately, the doctors caught it and were able to remove most of it before it traveled anywhere dangerous. But, because I had to be on blood thinners as an infant and spent many weeks in the hospital, my parents have a tendency to view me as fragile and they lean toward the overprotective side. It took several campus visits in a meeting with the Dean of Students to convince them to allow me to attend school out-of-state. They even insisted on meeting Jessica and her grandparents before we became roommates. Fortunately for me, they found it amusing and not a sign of sociopathic behavior.

  “You’re right, Jess. That’s why I have to head this off at the pass.” I reply as I put my hair up in a scrunchy. “I think I know someone that can figure this out for me. There has to be some sort of explanation. I think somebody might be pretending to be me. Although, for the life of me I can’t figure out why. But, this guy, Tristan figures this stuff out for a living. Maybe he can come up with an answer.”

  The expression on Jessica’s face is hysterical as she inquires, “You’re going to pay somebody to figure this out?”

  Shrugging, I’m nod slightly as I reply, “Well, it’s not like I have the expertise to figure it out. Besides, I’ve got finals coming up. I don’t have time to deal with this and I need to keep my grades up to keep my scholarships. My classes this term are sucking out all the joy I ever had toward learning. I’ll be lucky if I don’t flunk all my classes.”

  Jessica’s mouth is still moving like a guppy out of water. “But how in the world are you going to pay for it?” she asks, confused. “If you ask your dad for money he’s going to know something’s up.”

  “Well, you know the pottery workshop I was hoping to go to?” I reply, regret tinging my voice. “I guess there’s always next year.”

  “No way! Jessica exclaims, You’ve been saving for that for a year and a half. You even gave up lattes for it.”

  “I did,” I confirm wistfully. “But, this is more important to me. I don’t want to freak my parents out and I don’t want to leave school even though I don’t really like accounting.”

  I have to fight to contain the stream of cuss words that threaten to come flying out of my mouth when the bell over the front door chimes. Normally, this would be a good thing, but not when I’ve just spent the last three and a half hours chasing down code on a nasty computer virus that allows perverts to turn on people’s laptop cameras remotely. The sound caused a momentary lapse in my concentration and I missed the anomaly that I have been searching for.

  I try to take a few calming breaths before I turn around and face my potential customer. I plaster what I think is a semblance of a smile on my face and turn to confront my customer. “Welcome to Identity Bank. How can I help you?” I ask.

  When a customer comes into my shop, I usually play a little mental game with myself and try to guess what they might need. Although this beauty seems somewhat nervous, she doesn’t have the look of an abused girlfriend or spouse. She is stunningly gorgeous, but she doesn’t look high maintenance enough to be on the run from the IRS or anything underground. Quite frankly, she doesn’t really fit any of my stereotypical clients. It will be interesting to hear her story. I’m surprised when I hear her softly address me by name, “Tristan? Are you Tristan Macklin?”

  I nod curtly as I reply. “Yes, ma’am, and you are?” I hold out my hand for her to shake.

  She grasps my hand and shakes it. I notice she’s not afraid to make eye contact and that she’s not much shorter than my six-foot one.

  “Oh, I’m sorry, my name is Ivy Love Montclaire. I go by Ivy. You were recommended by a fellow student,” she replies.

  “What’s her name? I can give her a referral discount,” I offer.

  “That’s really nice of you, but my friend gave the impression that he’d rather decline,” Ivy answers diplomatically.

  I chuckle at her careful answer. “I suspect your friend may have an issue with me.”

  Ivy grins at me as she concedes, “Yes, that’s entirely possible. It’s also not my business. So, I just thanked him for his referral and moved on.”

  I really appreciate clients with a sense of discretion. Consequently, her willingness to move on without gossiping earns major points with me.

  “What can I help you with today?” I ask as I balance a yellow legal pad on my knee.

  For the first time since she walked into the shop, I notice real tension and stress in her demeanor.

  She starts to nervously fiddle with the cuffs of her sweatshirt as she haltingly explains, “Look, I’ve probably made a huge mistake in coming here. This likely isn’t even worth the time it’s going to take me to explain what’s going on. You’re probably going to think this is the most idiotic thing you’ve ever heard.”

  I hasten to reassure her, “Ivy, one of the earliest lessons I learned in this business is to never underestimate the instincts of a woman. If they encounter something that makes the hair on the back of their neck stand up, it’s something worth looking into.”

  “Do you really think so?” she asks, looking for reassurance.

  I nod encouragingly. “Why don’t you start at the beginning and tell me your story?” I prompt.

  “Okay, it started with this really stupid challenge from my roommate. She wanted me to get out of my shell. So, she dared me to create a profile on BrainsRSexy.com. Apparently, several people that she knew from high school have met their ‘perfect soul mates’ on that site, so she thought it was worth our while to create profiles. It was going pretty well for a few days. I mean, I’ve gotten a few really lewd pictures, but I guess that’s to be expected on this kind of site. I reported them to the site administrator and moved on. So, I had been corresponding with a few guys I thought sounded cool. But, then I started getting feedback from a couple of them that claimed that I had changed personality on them during our real live date. The only problem is that I never scheduled live dates with any of these guys. I’m in the middle of studying for exams and don’t really have time to go out right now. So far, two guys have come forward and said they talked to me when I know there is no possible way I could have been out on a date. This would all be funny except it could potentially have negative impacts on my career for years to come. Not to mention I would never lie about that. If this is as serious as I think it might be, it could have severe negative career ramifications forever.”

  “You’re right, it does sound serious,” I confirm.

  “But, what if I’m wrong and it’s nothing?” she asks, panic setting into her voice.

  “Or, what if you’re right and it turns into a big deal and you’re the voice of reason that stops this person before they could do irreparable damage to someone?” I suggest.

  I watch as Ivy wilts a little in front of me. She trembles for a few seconds before she pulls herself together and explains, “I don’t have a whole lot of money for a deposit, but I could make small monthly payments. Hopefully, it won’t take you too long. I already have a first name for you and I might even be able to run down
a last name. She supposedly even has a Florida driver’s license using the first name Rogue.”

  “I don’t want you to stress too much about the fee. I have a feeling this case might overlap with another case that I’m working on, so we’ll discuss the nitty-gritty of the fee later. For now, just give me twenty bucks so that I’m officially on the case,” I offer.

  Ivy rewards me with a misty eyed grin. The expression changes her from stunning to beyond breathtaking.

  “Sure! I can definitely do that,” she digs through her small purse she has securely placed across her chest. From the way that she’s defensively carrying her purse, I wonder if she’s had self-defense training. When I see her remove a small bottle of mace from her purse so she can better reach her wallet, my suspicions are confirmed. She removes a $20 bill from her wallet and hands it to me with a grateful smile.

  “So, do you have a physical description of this Rogue?” I ask as I pick up my pen and paper, ready to take a detailed physical description.

  Much to my surprise, my question elicits a snort and a smirk from Ivy. “Well, I haven’t seen her personally, but I’m told that she looks identical to me,” Ivy answers. Her eyes are so filled with mirth that I’m not exactly sure if she’s pulling my leg.

  “Seriously?” I ask, kicking myself for the question. Way to sound like a professional Macklin.

  “Yes, I’m dead serious. The people who have seen both profile pictures thought that we were the same person. I’ve had a couple of long conversations with Mitch—he’s one of the guys looking for dates on the dating website–-he went on my Facebook page to see if this Rogue woman was using my Facebook pictures for her profile page and he said that it was a different picture. I’m a little creeped out because I don’t know where the picture came from. I don’t know why anyone would even almost want to catfish my life. My life is so exceedingly boring that I bore myself most days. Why would someone want to pretend to be me? It doesn’t make any sense,” her explanation trails off as she runs out of steam.