A Case of Mistaken Identity

by Collette Thomas

  Myrna had to sit down on this one. She tucked one foot beneath her, dangling one of the garters in her hand. “And that's why you're now jumping at the chance to go out with him? From what you've told me so far about this guy, I may prefer dating Frankenstein's brother.” Myrna stifled the impulse to take the damn garter and choke her friend with it. By the same token, the crumpled look forming on Adrienne's face tugged at her heart. She knew from the moment they walked into that kitchen that she was in deep trouble. They were first and foremost friends, and if the tide were turned, Adrienne would probably do the same for her. At least, Myrna would like to think so, except so far that issue had never come up in their relationship. Myrna wondered just how far Adrienne would go out on that limb for her.

  "Are you sure this is what you want?” Myrna asked, giving her friend a chance to reconsider.

  "Does this mean you'll do it?"

  "Do I have a choice?"

  "Well, of course you have a choice. I'm not holding a gun to your head."

  Myrna stared at the nasty wicked latex red dress, the overly suggestive too short leather skirt and brazenly shameless see-through blouse, then at the literally obscene crotchless panties. Although these clothes were all shocking, all sorts of possibilities floated through her mind. Possibilities that would allow her to live out any and all of her fantasies and not just inside her mind where they had existed for far too long.

  Myrna licked her lips as slow delicious warmth spread through her body, straight from her groin up through her belly. All of this meant only one thing and one thing only. Hot sex. Hot sex with a stranger. Not that it was going to happen with this Wetherall character, but the fact that the possibility existed. Wearing these things one couldn't help fantasize about those endless possibilities. One couldn't help think what could happen. One couldn't help but hope.

  "And if things go well between you,” Adrienne suddenly remarked, “you have my permission to use whatever I have stored in that Armoire."

  Myrna gave her a look of curiosity. The tall oak closet, its doors shut suddenly became the item of focus.

  A wicked smiled crossed Adrienne's face. “You'd be surprise at what a stroll through your local K-Mart can provide."

  "I don't follow you.” Myrna approached the doors. Adrienne handed her a key to the small padlock that held them shut. Myrna inserted the key into the lock, twisted it, and slipped it off the hinge, opening the doors, peered inside.

  Her eyes immediately widened. Lucite paddles she suspected from a sporting department. Ratcheting tie-downs designed for pickup trucks. Yet, considering her roommate's voracious appetite for kink, she pictured Art Wagner firmly attached to some frame of a bed. She lifted up the wide thick belt and looked questioningly at Adrienne.

  "That's a weightlifting belt. Art was kind enough to bring it over. Protects the kidneys during a whipping."

  "...Whipping?"

  The smirk on Adrienne's face warned Myrna she had invaded foreign territory. “Every bad little boy deserves a whipping. No?"

  Myrna shook her head, putting down the belt. Then she picked up a plastic see through box and opened the lid. Inside contained beading needles, Velcro cuffs, fasteners, and a pair of stainless steel handcuffs.

  "The pet department provided its own selection of goodies also,” Adrienne crooned, picking up several leashes in various thickness, as well as wide thick collars.

  "You probably always wondered why I insisted on the four poster bed.” She held up a slew of nylon leashes. “I merely tie these to the posts, and clip them on to the cuffs."

  "Adrienne, is that what you and Art do?"

  "Yes, but never when you're around. The poor boy makes too much noise; I didn't think you were ready to know."

  "Ready?"

  "Yeah. Would you have agreed to be my roommate?"

  Myrna sighed, and gave a slight shrug. “And you think I am now."

  "Honey, I think you've wanted to do this. Art told me he spotted you watching us. And well, from the look in your eyes, he also said you were ready to try anything."

  Adrienne looked at the assortment of vanilla looking items in her repertoire. She picked up a scissor-shaped wooden clamp Myrna recognized as a glove stretcher and could not begin to guess what other uses it might have, unlike the riding crops nestled against the collars and the leashes.

  Suddenly, her entire world was changing. Looking at these items, the ordinary no longer appeared ordinary. The obvious no longer the obvious. It all took on the form of kinky.

  "Let's say you might one day want to try some of this stuff. Besides, me and Art would love to show you how any of this works.” Adrienne's smile caused a sudden unexpected thrill of anticipation and Myrna knew she had just touched the tip of the iceberg when it came to her dark side. She imagined herself dressed to the hilt in black leather using one of the riding crops teaching Wetherall the Third a good hard lesson.

  "Let's say I had no problem finding any of these things,” Adrienne commented softly.

  Myrna knew Adrienne was correct about one thing. No one was holding a gun to her head to use any of these sweet instruments of torture.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Myrna heaved a sigh as the Audi passed signs for the airport. Though only in her mind, she could still hear the resounding blast from that invisible gun. Yeah, Adrienne had given her a choice. Some choice. Say no and put up with Adrienne's pouting and high dramatics for well ad infinitum or say yes, give in, and preserve the peace between them.

  Talk about wimps.

  Suddenly Myrna knew that word was invented for people like her and the Jonathan Wetherall's of the world.

  * * * *

  The airport terminal was already crowded with arrivals and departures. After pulling several bags off the carousel in baggage claim, Jonathan searched for any sign of Adrienne. Seeing no one who came close to her description, he made his way toward the airport lounge where his grandfather said she might be waiting.

  As he made his way through the terminal crowd, it was almost impossible for him to ignore the looks directed his way. He wondered if it was the Stetson that he was wearing, tipped over his forehead as he had seen in cigarette ads. Or if it was what he dubbed his macho renegade costume, because he felt like he stuck out like a sore thumb among the gray pinstripes and conservative navy blues. Even as chairman of the board where he was accustomed to commanding the full attention of his people, Jonathan was not accustomed to these blatant stares. He wasn't sure which bothered him most, old ladies giving him a wide berth or the Flynt-type appraisals and deliberate brushes given him by younger women.

  At least one thing he was sure about. All this would get Adrienne's attention. He checked his Rolex for the umpteenth time, and then chose a spot at the far end of the dimly lit bar to sit and wait. He knew he was probably early, and that she'd probably be late, IF she bothered to show at all. He still kept that scenario tucked inside his mind because he also knew he wouldn't put it past her not to show. He was prepared for anything at this point. If she was a no show, he would just turn around and go home.

  Considering the number of years that had passed, would she even remember him? Would she recognize him in this cowboy getup? He had no doubt that he'd recognize her. All he had to do was look for a blue eyed redheaded woman who would probably be wearing some outlandish outfit just to get attention. Adrienne, he remembered, like attracting attention. Liked being the center of attention. Liked what that attention could bring her in terms of fulfilling her wants and her every need. It was one thing he remembered about her, as young as he was. He chuckled on that last thought as he again scrutinized the incoming travelers. His grandfather had mentioned something about Adrienne wearing red.

  Suddenly a slender woman of average height and great legs strolled into the murky lit lounge. Her hair, a shocking shade of auburn almost matched the bright red silk dress that made her stand out quite conspicuously from the crowd. Even from where he sat, he could tell the woman had a nicely shaped mouth, full an
d inviting. The kind of mouth a man was tempted to explore and taste. Her slender waist emphasized full rounded breasts and hips. If this was Adrienne, she certainly had blossomed into a true beauty. But then as she drew closer, he could also see that her eyes, wide and heavily lashed were actually brown in color, and not the blue he remembered. He could've sworn that Adrienne's eyes had been blue. But then he could be wrong considering how many years it had been since he'd last seen her. Or maybe she was wearing those tinted contacts. Still he'd always held that picture of her in his mind, a tall lanky kid with red hair and daring electric blues—images about which he was seldom wrong.

  A tall, fairly lean man in a charcoal pinstripe suit stood up and left the bar. The woman in red spotted him and immediately walked toward him, a relieved smile pasted across her lovely face. But when the man walked right past her to greet a group of Southeast Asian businessmen, she was forced to back off, clearly demonstrating her embarrassment. If he remembered correctly, Adrienne didn't know the meaning of that word. The more he studied this woman, the more he wondered if his memory had grown faulty.

  He had to admit this woman certainly did resemble Adrienne in coloring and in flash, yet in his mind he couldn't dismiss the lingering uncertainty. Flamboyance had been part and parcel of the Adrienne he well remembered. While certainly striking, this woman didn't seem all that at ease in the silky red dress. But, as of yet, no other woman had come into the lounge even coming close to her description. Jonathan had to assume this was Adrienne Bennett. But considering Adrienne had stood him up that one time, he wouldn't put it past her to pull another one of her irresponsible stunts. She'd always been creative when it came to avoiding unpleasant tasks. And although Adrienne was creative, she was not particularly detailed oriented—sending a brown eyed imposter in her place. The more Jonathan thought about it, the more it made sense and the more sense it made, the more irritated he became. Damn! After all these years, she was still pushing his buttons with her crazy mind games. He didn't know about her, but he'd like to think of himself as a rational adult. Still, he was on vacation and his grandfather had often told him that he didn't know how to have fun. If this woman was an imposter, then two could play the same game. Throwing logic out the window, Jonathan straightened himself to his full six foot two height and walked toward her.

  "Hi there! I may be guessing, but you look like you're looking for someone?"

  Myrna slowly raised her gaze to the man standing before her. This could not be Adrienne's friend, Wetherall. No way. Not this man dressed in black leather and faded jeans that fit him like a second glove, and certainly not with that cowboy hat and those boots. No way!

  The man Adrienne had described would not be caught dead in such barbaric attire. Nor would he be slimmed hip and broad shouldered with a drop-dead sexy swagger. A slow chill went through her as his gaze passed over her in a leisurely manner, telling her he was leaving absolutely nothing untouched.

  "Uh, yes. Yes I am. But I don't think he's here yet, unless YOUR name is Jonathan Wetherall.” She giggled, knowing damn well the possibility was remote.

  Jonathan immediately responded. “No siree! But I sure wish I was, honey. Especially if I knew someone like you was waiting for me."

  His answer startled her and he looked her squarely in the eye. Although it was difficult to tell with the beard, Myrna had to admit the guy wasn't half bad looking, in a haphazard way. His blonde hair under the Stetson was a bit long and hung over his shirt collar, which was wide open, revealing tuffs of soft hair which she would guess, covered a muscular bronze chest. Involuntarily, her gaze traveled over the black biker jacket down past the snug-fitting jeans, to the unpolished cowboy boots. Maybe they rode Harleys on the range now instead of horses. Regardless, this man was definitely one of a kind. And no way could he be a Wetherall the Third, she thought, with some relief.

  "Care to join me for a cold drink while you're waiting for your friend?"

  "Oh, no, thank you. I'm sure he'll be arriving any minute now."

  Jonathan merely shrugged his shoulders and sauntered back over to the bar. Myrna walked over to a nearby empty table, all the while adjusting the snug fitting dress Adrienne had spent a whole afternoon convincing her to wear. As usual Adrienne had won. But now Myrna felt all too conspicuous sitting there alone in that lounge. Maybe she should have taken that stranger up on his offer, she thought. Then she wouldn't be feeling so awkward sitting there now. Besides, accepting the man's offer was something Adrienne probably would have had no qualms about. She glanced over at the tall blond. Suddenly for the first time in a long time, she was tempted to live as recklessly as her roommate. Throw all caution to the wind. Not dwell on ramifications, or consequences, or anything that would have her rethinking her decision, especially now that she suddenly didn't want to be rethinking any decision. Like Adrienne, she wanted to follow her own impulses, do whatever and go wherever those impulses might lead.

  When a buxom waitress appeared at her table to take her order, Myrna waved her away, figuring she would not be there long enough. But when a half-hour passed, then almost an hour and that same waitress returned, Myrna, mortified by the knowing look on the woman's face, ended up ordering a glass of Chablis. She drank half of its contents as soon as it was delivered. Then with deliberate nonchalance, she ventured a look at the renegade biker cowboy. He caught her glance and tipped his hat back on his forehead. Taking this as some kind of a cue, he strolled over to her table. “So what plane is your friend coming in on?"

  "The one from Albuquerque. With all this tightened security, maybe his plane was delayed."

  "Hmmm, I just flew from there myself on my own plane. But I did hear some of the other flights had gotten delayed because of stormy weather."

  "Oh? Well, maybe that's why he's not here yet.” The expected disappointed did not follow.

  "My offer still holds.” He glanced down at what she was drinking. “Looks like your glass could use refilling."

  Suddenly feeling more reckless by the minute, Myrna gave him a long contemplative look. What could it hurt? The airport was crawling with security guards, and despite his rough and ready appearance, she couldn't say why, but the man appeared a little lost himself. She had a sixth sense about some people, and she felt there was more to this man offering to spend time with her than met the eye.

  "You know, Mr. Albuquerque that might be the best offer I'm going to get today.” She flashed a wide smile.

  "I know what you mean, Red. There's nothing worse than sitting alone in an airport. Oh, by the way. The name is Adams. Flynt Adams.” He extended a hand to her.

  She grasped his hand and immediately liked the firmness. “Mine's Adrienne. Adrienne Bennett.” Why on earth she gave him Adrienne's name, she couldn't say. It simply seemed like the natural thing to do, at least in this instance. She thought she detected a funny look come into his ice blue eyes, but the die had been cast. For the moment at least, she had become I'll-try-anything-once Adrienne Bennett, and no longer plain old safe-and-sorry Myrna Dunbar.

  Strangely enough it suddenly felt good to be playing the part. It was as if she had taken off a pair of shackles that she had been carrying far too long. She knew she could play the part, and play it well. She also knew she would probably never see this man again after she left the airport lounge. So why not pretend? Why not pretend for just one evening to be someone else—live and enjoy that someone else's life. Live someone else's thoughts that she would never be held accountable ... nor for any of her acts.

  "So why are you out here from Albuquerque?” she asked, her curiosity suddenly growing stronger toward this stranger.

  "Business, actually."

  She giggled, feeling the effects of the first drink. “What? You mean you're not here to buy cattle?"

  He laughed. “No nothing like that. I thought I might get myself a place on the East Coast. Something a little different from what I've been used to."

  "Really?” she asked, not knowing why she was surprised by his wor
ds.

  "When I was a little boy I always wanted to make a snowman."

  "And you came out East just for that?” She sipped her wine, feeling giddier by the moment.

  "Sure, why not?” he responded. “We take our prairie dogs and cactus for granted. You people take your snow for granted."

  "I'm not sure if I'd go out West for prairie dogs. Maybe cacti. But I'd say you're way too early for that snowman. It doesn't start snowing until late November, sometimes not until December, depending on the weather patterns.” Her words sounded strangely slurred.

  Suddenly he hesitated. “If I'm not mistaken, I think the bartender is trying to get your attention."

  Myrna turned around and squinted. She realized the man behind the bar was looking over at her and waving a piece of paper in the air. “Yes, you're right. Excuse me for a moment."

  * * * *

  When she reached the bar, the bald-headed bartender quickly handed her a piece of scrap paper. She squinted at the scrawled handwriting.

  'Sorry, I had to postpone my trip. Will get in touch to reschedule. J. Wetherall.'

  Short. Precise. Written impeccably and to the point.

  And so that was that, Myrna thought as she crumpled the note tightly into her fist. She'd dyed her hair, spent the entire day fighting a losing battle with a dress that was too fitted and too silky for her taste, had made that long drive through Hartford traffic ... all for what? So that Wetherall the third could stand her up then send apologies? The bum probably never planned to show in the first place. He probably planned to just leave her sitting inside that damn lounge looking like a complete idiot. But it wasn't her he had planned to humiliate, she reminded herself. No, it wasn't Myrna who he had planned on making a fool. No siree. It was his nemesis and her roommate, Adrienne Bennett. If good old Adrienne were now standing in her place, what would she do? How would she react, respond to this rebuff, and more appropriately how would she retaliate?

  No answer was forthcoming and Myrna tossed the crumpled note back on to the bar, ignoring the curious look the bartender gave her. Let him figure it out himself, she thought. When she turned away from him and started to head back toward her table, she collided fully with Flynt Adams or rather with Flynt Adams’ hard muscular chest.