Dare Me

by River Laurent

  “No,” I blurt out in disgust.

  I see a flash of surprised anger cross his face and quickly smile to soften the blow. “What I meant to say is, thank you. It’s a truly great offer, but it won’t be necessary since I will have the money for you.”

  He throws me a sour look. “Fine. I’m leaving now, but you keep your word this time. Don’t think I won’t haul your sorry ass out on the sidewalk and change the locks.”

  “Okay. Thank you, Mr. Tanner,” I whisper.

  He turns around and walks out of my room.

  I walk to the door, close it, and sag against it. My knees give way. I slide down and sit slumped on the floor. It’s like the weight of the whole world is bearing down upon my shoulders. I stare at the blank wall above my bed, feeling sick to my stomach.

  I don’t know how I’m going to manage. It is now clear that Mr. Tanner is deadly serious. He is going to kick me out unless I come up with my rent money. I am so lost in worry and stress, I jump when my cell phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and look at it hopefully. It is my bestie, Jesse.

  “Hey,” she says, her voice bubbling with excitement. “I’ve got great news for you.”

  “Yeah? What is it?” I ask without enthusiasm.

  “It’s too good to tell over the phone. I’m coming over right now,” she says and cuts the connection.

  Cass

  Jesse’s eyes are shining when I open the door.

  “Howdy, partner,” she greets jauntily.

  “Howdy? What’s with the cowboy talk?”

  Instead of answering me, she grins, grabs my arm, and pulls me over to the mirror, positioning me in front of it. “What do you see?” she asks excitedly.

  I don’t even want to see my reflection. I’m rocking the shadows under the eyes, deathly pale skin, and haunted blue eyes look. I turn away from the tragic sight. “Look, Jesse. I’m really not in the mood. What’s this about?”

  Undeterred by my lackluster tone, she cups her palms on either side of my face and turns it back toward the mirror. “I see money.”

  Frowning, I ask, “What?”

  She leaves me standing at the mirror and goes toward my bed. Hopping on it, she sits cross-legged and pats the space in front of her. With a sigh, I go and sit opposite her.

  “You know how everybody is always mistaking you for Tamara Honeywell?”

  “Yeah,” I agree cautiously. Tamara Honeywell is a hotel heiress, famous for being infamous. I think she cut a record where her voice was compared to cats wailing, and she might also have starred in a Hollywood movie her father produced that flopped big time. She does a bit of modeling and has a clothing line but seems mostly to be photographed at parties and clubs looking wasted, or making out with perfect strangers. I don’t have the time to read gossip magazines, but there might also have been talk of a sex tape. So, it’s not exactly a compliment to be compared to her, and I can’t imagine why Jesse is so fired up.

  Jesse leans forward eagerly. “Well, I had an idea, so two months ago, I secretly signed up as you on Cinderella.com.”

  I stare at her. “What the hell is Cinderella.com?”

  She smiles proudly. “It’s a body double agency. Normal people who look like celebrities can impersonate them for a night or a day, feel like a star, and get paid for the pleasure. They have all kinds of doubles on their website. The Queen of England, Taylor Swift, Nicole Kidman. Are you getting the gist of what I’m saying?”

  “Kind of, but I’m going to need a bit more.”

  “Basically, I sent them your photo, as well as your height and weight, to be on their books as an impersonator for Tamara Honeywell. Two days ago, they contacted me because they need you to impersonate her for an entire month!”

  My head starts swimming. I dare not believe. I stare at her silently.

  “Guess how much this gig is worth?” she asks.

  For her to be this excited it has to be…quite good. I shake my head.

  She grins. “Five-hundred smackeroos a day plus expenses.”

  My jaw drops. “Five-hundred dollars a day? For a whole month? Are you sure?”

  “Abso-fricking-lutely,” she says with a laugh. “I’ve been emailing Mrs. Carter, the owner of the agency, for the last two days, but now she wants to connect on Skype to make sure the photos are not photoshopped and stuff.”

  I open my mouth to ask her more about the job, but no sound comes out. My chin starts trembling, the backs of my eyes sting, and tears start rolling quickly down my face.

  “Hey,” she soothes, hugging me. “Don’t cry, Cass. Please don’t cry. It’ll be all right, I promise.”

  “I’m sorry,” I sob. “It’s just the relief. You can’t imagine what it’s been like. I’ve been so frightened. I didn’t know what to do, Jesse. Mr. Tanner is planning to kick me out on Sunday, and I’m behind with my loan payment, which they’ve just doubled again. I’ve already paid them everything I borrowed, but the figure never seems to go down. There’s always interest and penalties being added for no damned reason. It’s starting to feel as if I’ll never be able to pay it off. I’m already working two jobs, and though I’m trying really hard to find another, it’s been impossible to find something that I can fit around the other two.”

  Jesse pulls away and gazes at me. “Why didn’t you tell me how bad it was?”

  I shake my head. “What could you have done?”

  “To start, you can stop being such a dork and move in with me. Our couch is very comfortable and you can sleep there.”

  I wipe my tears with the backs of my hands. “I’m not going to sleep on your couch, Jesse. It wouldn’t be fair to Adam.”

  “Adam won’t mind.”

  I sniff and shake my head. “Jesse, you live in a one-bedroom apartment. Of course, Adam will mind. Who wants to have someone living on their couch?”

  “Anyway, we don’t need to worry about that anymore, do we? Let’s just get you this job and see where we go from there, okay?”

  “Tell me more about the job. What will I be doing for a month?”

  Jesse grins widely. “You’ll be learning to ride a horse on a ranch in Montana.”

  I look at her in disbelief. “Are you kidding me?”

  “Nope.”

  “I’m going to be impersonating Tamara Honeywell for a month on a ranch in Montana?”

  “Yep.”

  I open my hands, palms up. “Why?”

  She shrugs. “Mrs. Carter said she can only give more information once you’ve signed a Non-Disclosure Agreement.”

  “Me on a ranch in Montana. Pretending to be Tamara Honeywell. Riding a horse. It’s just…surreal.”

  “I’m thinking breakfast with cowboys,” she says, rubbing her hands like some evil witch in a Disney cartoon. “Mmm…sausages.”

  I start giggling and so does she.

  “Speaking of sausages, Bacon Belly told me we could come to some arrangement over my rent.”

  Her warm brown eyes flash with disgust. “Ew. Thanks a bunch for that. Now I need to go flush my brain out with bleach.” She wrinkles her nose with disgust. “It’s practically pedophilia. What a dirty dickwad. I hope you told him what he could do with his wrinkly old thing.”

  “I didn’t. I was too shocked, actually.”

  “I’ll give him a piece of my mind the next time that—”

  For a second, I stop hearing the torrent of abuse spewing out of her mouth and see only her kind, sweet face. I say a silent prayer to God for sending her to me. Now that Dad can barely recognize me, she’s all I’ve got. Jesse and I met in ninth grade. She was lousy at math and I helped her with it. We’ve been best friends ever since.

  “Thank you, Jesse,” I say, my voice breaking with all the emotions swirling in my body.

  “Stop being weird, Cass. I love to do things for you, but you’re always so damned independent you won’t accept even the slightest bit of help.”

  I reach for a tissue from the box by the bedside and blow my nose.

 
“Anyway,” she adds, “I’m so happy this job’s come up for you. It’s about time you got a break in your shitty life.”

  I hug her tightly. “I love you.”

  “Break my ribs, why don’t you?”

  Cass

  Mrs. Carter, the owner of Cinderella.com, turns out to be super-efficient. Less than four hours after we speak, a courier comes with an NDA agreement; a ten-page affair written in the strictest, most pretentious sounding words I have ever come across. I skip through most of it since it’s basically Miss Honeywell’s solicitors trying to impress me with just how prepared they are to take me to court and see me behind bars if I don’t keep my mouth shut. I’ve never been a talkative person anyway, so I sign the document on the spot and give it back to the courier.

  The next day, Mrs. Carter calls me.

  “Can you ride?” she asks as soon as I answer the phone.

  “No,” I confess, my heart lurching with disappointment. I thought Jesse said I would be learning to ride. I should have known it was too good to be true.

  “Excellent,” she says crisply. “Are you prepared to learn?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Let me tell you about the job. Miss Honeywell seems to have gotten herself into a bit of a scrape. Something to do with driving while under the influence. Anyway, her father negotiated a probationary sentence for her on the understanding that she must live on the ranch of a friend of his. It is not meant to be a holiday but a kind of rehabilitation. The plan is for her to learn how to ride, take care of the horses, and generally help around. At the end of her stay, her father will come to the ranch to see what progress she has made with her riding skills.

  “Miss Honeywell has decided she does not care to be on a ranch in the middle of nowhere for a month, so she has hired us to find a body double to take her place. And that’s where you come in. Are you available to drop everything starting tomorrow and take her place?”

  I didn’t even have to think about it. “Yes.”

  “There is a catch. If the ranch hand who is in charge of teaching her reports back to her father that he is unhappy with her general attitude or her willingness to learn or do as she is told, she will have to stay for another month. If that happens, you will not be paid a single cent.”

  I take a deep breath. “Wow!”

  “Is that a deal breaker for you?”

  “No,” I say immediately.

  “Can you confirm that you are prepared to work very hard on the ranch for a month?”

  “Yes.” I say the word at the speed of a bullet. Of course, I can work hard. I can work very hard.

  “And you are prepared to alter your appearance slightly and wear the clothes provided to you?”

  “No problem.”

  “Good. It looks like we have a deal.”

  “I may be having a blonde moment here, but if I learn to ride, how will Miss Honeywell ride for her father?”

  “Er…yes. I was getting to that. Miss Honeywell has a solution to that problem. Her plan is that you should pretend to fall and feign injury on the day before her father comes. While you are in a separate living accommodation, she will exchange places with you.”

  “She wants me to fall off a horse?” I ask incredulously.

  “Well…” Mrs. Carter begins.

  “I could break my neck,” I splutter.

  Mrs. Carter clears her throat uncomfortably. “Miss Honeywell suggested that you arrange to fall into bushes or a body of water. I suppose you could ride out on your own and pretend you have fallen off and sustained an injury.”

  How shockingly selfish and sick rich people are. But I need the money. I take a deep breath. “And then what?”

  “Then, Miss Honeywell will simply pretend that, as the result of the fall, she is too afraid to get back on a horse.”

  “And her father will buy that?”

  “Miss Honeywell is certain that he will believe that story. There is no reason for him not to because all the ranch hands would have seen you ride.”

  We are both silent for a few seconds while I digest this new requirement.

  “By the way, I didn’t mention it before, but there is an extra reward. If you stick the month out to the end, Miss Honeywell is prepared to pay not five hundred dollars, but one-thousand dollars per day.”

  A thrill runs through me. My God! At that rate, I’ll be able to pay off my entire loan. “A thousand dollars a day?” I echo.

  “Yes, but you will only get that sum if you stay to the very end and execute the fall in a manner that is believable to those around you.”

  I clutch my phone tightly. It sounds almost too good to be true. I don’t care if I break a bone anymore. “And that’s guaranteed?”

  “You’ll have it in writing. Miss Honeywell is my client. She is not your employer. I am. As soon as you agree to the terms of this assignment, the entire sum will be put into escrow for you. If you make it to the end of your assignment, my agency will release the payment into your account.”

  “Thirty days at a thousand dollars a day is thirty thousand dollars! That’s what I’ll get?”

  “That’s correct. You’ll have to pay taxes on that, obviously.” She pauses for an instant. “Will you do it?”

  “Yes. Yes, I’ll do it,” I respond instantly. My head is swirling with excitement.

  “Fantastic. Miss Honeywell will be pleased to hear that. Can you leave for LA tomorrow?”

  “Er…I don’t have any money,” I admit quickly.

  Her voice softens; loses that professional edge. “I’ll send you some pocket money with your ticket. We’ll put it under expenses. She can well afford it.” For the first time, I hear a sarcastic, disapproving tone creep into her voice.

  I sigh with relief. “Can I also have a small advance? I need to pay my rent.”

  “Certainly,” she says immediately.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Carter.”

  “Don’t mention it.”

  “What do I need to bring?”

  “Nothing. Just yourself. Someone will pick you up at the airport and take you to Miss Honeywell’s home and her PA, Ms. Nora Moore, will take over.”

  That afternoon, I go to the diner where I work. The manager, who knows my dad and understands my financial situation, agrees to hold my job for a month. Nonetheless, I have no choice but to give up my second job stocking shelves at Target.

  Afterward, I go to visit Dad at the hospice. He is sleeping soundly, so I don’t wake him. When he is awake, he’s in pain, so sleep is a good thing. I sit silently by his bedside until it’s time for me to leave. As I’m leaving, a woman from the office runs up to sternly remind me that another bill is already overdue.

  “I’m sorry. I’ve had some problems but I’ll settle it at the end of next week,” I promise.

  When Chips-R-us calls to say I’ve got the job, I respectfully turn it down. That evening before I leave to have dinner at Jesse’s, I pay my landlord. He snatches the money from my hand grumpily and stalks off. Behind his back, I flip him the bird.

  At Jesse’s apartment, for the first time in a long time, I feel no stress. I relax and taste the food I am eating. Pasta with meat sauce. Jesse is a truly terrible cook. The meatballs are green and she doesn’t know how they got to be that color, but I can’t stop smiling. When the evening comes to an end, Jesse kisses me on the cheeks and wishes me luck.

  The next morning, I hop on a flight to LA.

  Cass

  I get out of the cool, scented limo air into the fiery heat of LA’s sun. Standing on the wide driveway, I look up at Miss Honeywell’s ginormous white mansion. Wow! What a place. It’s more like a palace than a house. I’ve never been inside such a majestic building.

  The driver closes the door and indicates that I should walk up the steps to the house. I ring the doorbell, suck in a breath of scorching air, and straighten my spine. One of the tall double doors opens and cool air-conditioned air pours out. The round, middle-aged, Mexican-looking woman standing at the entrance wid
ens her eyes in surprise at the sight of me.

  “Santa Maria, you’re prettier than her,” she cries gaily.

  Slightly embarrassed, I smile politely. “Hello, I’m here for my meeting with Ms. Nora Moore.”

  She moves back to allow me access into the house. Above us, there is a massive chandelier hanging from the tall ceiling, and beneath my shoes, the granite floor gleams like a mirror. A few yards in front of me is a sweeping, white marble staircase. Amazing. All this to accommodate just one person.

  “Come in, chica. Ms. Moore is not here yet, and Miss Honeywell has company, but she asked me to take you up to her when you arrive.”

  I take a small step forward. “Company?”

  “A man,” she stage-whispers. “And I should warn you that she’s been drinking.”

  “It’s ten o’clock in the morning,” I blurt out.

  “Miss Honeywell likes bubbles for breakfast, but today she’s had a bit more than usual, so be careful,” she confides.

  A chill runs up my spine. “Is she…drunk?”

  “A little bit.” She smiles apologetically.

  “Do you think she’ll remember that I’m supposed to be here?”

  She rolls her eyes heavenward. “God only knows. But don’t worry. Ms. Moore will remember and she’ll be here soon.”

  “Well, shouldn’t I just sit somewhere and wait for Ms. Moore to arrive then?” It seems like the most logical solution to me.

  She ushers me further into the house. “No, no, my orders are to take you up as soon as you arrive.”

  I hang back. “But don’t you think it will be better if we just wait for Mrs. Moore?”

  “Do you want me to lose my head?” she cries dramatically.

  My mouth drops open. “What?”

  She laughs uproariously. “I was joking, chica. This is a madhouse you have come to and without a sense of humor, you won’t survive it.”

  I stare at her.

  Her face suddenly becomes serious. “What’s your name again?”