Call me Elsie. Everyone else does. Actually, it used to be L.C. And that was only because I never let anyone call me by my proper name.... never let anyone even know it if I could help it. What kind of parent names their kid Lorenzo Carlton? I used to half joke that I should be able to bring them up on charges, for naming your child something guaranteed to get them picked on at school surely counts as child cruelty.

My mum used to try to console me. She kept telling me that I was named after great men from my father's side of the family, and that I should be honoured to be named after such great, great men. Although I'm not so sure she didn't think it was all vainglorious bollocks as I did.

My father for his part just told me to shut my piehole and not be such a pussy about it. He said if anyone gave me guff, I should just stand the christ up and wail them into last Saturday. Great advice from the man who used to call me 'big bird' because I was really tall, but really skinny. He used to joke that someday he was going to grab me by my spindly legs and make a wish for a real son.

He had one thing right. I could fly! I learned at an early age that if I couldn't actually beat my tormentors, I certainly could outrun them. That earned me the nickname 'rabbit', because someone once saw a greyhound race where all the dogs chased a mechanical rabbit they could never catch but would still always chase... because that's what dogs do. And bullies. Of course, where I come from, calling someone 'rabbit' is a bit like calling someone 'cockroach' or maybe 'locust'. Not exactly a term of endearment. No matter. I'd been called worse. Especially 'Lorenzo Carlton'.

Well, the fact that I was lean and tall ….and fast, was noticed by more than the school bullies. Pretty soon, I was approached by coaches and found myself running for the school instead of just from the school. I did quite well, and became the star of.... well, nowhere really. My coaches liked me because I had 'good attitude and great aptitude' my team mates were a bit miffed that I made them look slow, and the rest of the school.... well, they considered running and jumping like track and field, or swimming or cycling just things you did on summer break and holiday. They didn't consider them real sports. Same as my dad.

“Look at all the pretty little ribbons. They'll make a lovely sash when they crown you queen of your grade.” he'd coo as he sashayed around my room when I'd come home with another win. “Why don't you just grow a pair and go out for a real sport.... like rugby?”

I scowled at him, and my mum grabbed him by the arm and tried to lead him out of my room.

“Clive! Leave the boy alone. He won his meet. ….we're proud of you son.” she smiled warmly.

My father broke free of her tug and spun in my direction with a leer. “When I said 'grow a pair' I meant down there not up here” and he twisted my nipple so hard I let out a yelp and folded down to a crouch, putting him in reach of the top of my head which he soundly slapped like one of the three stooges. “Fucking poof” he muttered as he stormed out of the room shaking his head. I just stared at my mum, who stood there. She looked like she wanted to come and comfort me, but seemed unsure if it was the right thing to do. I looked at her with anguish and embarrassment and she ran to me, then quickly changed her embrace to an arm patting my back while her other arm braced my elbow to help me stand. She just looked at me with such affection and sorrow...and she seemed at a loss for words. But she didn't need any. I just smiled, kissed the top of her head, and gently broke away to go put my ribbons in my drawer.

“I'm going to Dave's to watch the match.” my father bellowed from the front door. “Hold supper for me.” and he slammed the door as punctuation.

So, it's probably no surprise that when I got a chance to travel to the States, that I leaped at the opportunity to be 18 timezones from home.

My cousin Mikey won a national contest to go see a Hollywood premiere of some lavish musical adaptation of 'The Thornbirds'. Since a number of the producers and cast were local heroes, it was quite a big deal. Honestly it sounded to me like another over-the-top, over budget Hollywood atrocity. But I was more than happy to be his 'plus one' as well as his unofficial chaperone.

I suspect Mikey had little say in the matter. His folks, my mum's little brother and his wife, couldn't go. Uncle Sean had work and couldn't take 10 days off to gallivant to the states, and aunt Patty had Mikey's brothers and sister to look after. Mikey was a good kid, and we always got along. He never teased me, and I never treated him like a little kid. Even though he was only a year and a half younger than me, it can be a big deal at that age. I think he would have preferred one of his mates from school, but he took the appointment of me as his traveling companion with good cheer.

I did apologize for wedging in on his prize holiday, but he seemed genuinely fine with it.

“No, really, it's great. I can't think of anyone I'd rather go with..... that they'd let me go with” he grinned.

“Ahh.” I smiled. “Someone ….special.... back at school or somewhere?”

He blushed his answer. “Well, no one serious.... and hey, there's a whole hemisphere of new people to meet. ….for both of us!”

Now it was my turn to blush. I had not considered this trip as an opportunity to improve my love life. Which I had to concede, wasn't exactly brilliant.

“It'll be a great adventure L.C.! Imagine it.... Hollywood... red carpets... stars ….and starlets.... the glamour.” He grinned at me and wiggled his eyebrows. “Hollywood babe!” he said in a Billy Crystal as Sammy Davis Junior voice. I couldn't help but laugh.

“California, here we come!” I shouted.

“Brace yourself!” Mikey howled.

That was one LONG flight. I thought only bus journeys were that long nowadays. It was probably good that it was so long, because with all the time to sleep and doze, it couldn't but help with the serious jet lag. It would take some getting used to, but I was confident that we'd be all adjusted ...at least by the time we had to return.

They put us up in a very lavish hotel. This was a big contest sponsored by one of the national TV networks and the multinational conglomerate that owned the film company releasing the movie, so Mikey got fitted out with all sorts of 'gifts' – which also just happened to be products made by the film company's corporate parent, or by other companies that appeared in the film. The marketing and promotion people swarmed on him like ants and carried him off to be dressed and outfitted then photo-op'ed as the lucky contest winner.

I was left on my own to explore our quite posh hotel room, and check out the town. They say it never rains in southern California. Well, that's a lie. My walk around Beverly Hills got cut quite short when the skies opened. I had my hoodie with me, but it was no help. By the time I scurried back to our hotel, I looked like a drowned rat. My cargo pants were sticking to my skinny legs like dangling skin, and my hoodie had become a giant sponge dribbling water down my face so I could barely see. My trainers made a squishy “splurch splurch” sound as I padded through the posh lobby trying not to draw attention to myself. I almost made it to the elevator when someone grabbed me by the elbow and spun me around.

I expected to be accosted by hotel security demanding to know where I thought I was going, since I looked like a very soggy homeless person. But it was a very fit middle aged guy in a T shirt and blazer, he just glared at me as I squinted through the water still dripping into my eyes trying to make out his face.

“What the fuck???” he whispered angrily. “What are you doing here and where the fuck do you think you're going?”

He had the confidence of someone in charge, but I seriously doubted that he was hotel security. Maybe a manager of some kind?

“I'm going to my room!” I whispered back in what I hoped sounded like righteous indignation that I had every right to be here. Still, I fished in my pocket for my room key and brandished the card in his face. “I'm staying in this hotel!” I wasn't sure why I was still whispering, but he started it, so I just kept doing it. “I'm going to the premiere tomorrow night and right now I'm going to my room to towel off!”

He just looked at me wide eyed. “Now?” he still whispered ...but rather loudly and with what sounded like annoyed disbelief. “NOW you nail the bloody accent? What the fuck???” Suddenly the elevator door opened and he dragged me in as a crowd of people stared at us with a variety of odd expressions as they filed out. I don't know what they were thinking, but I didn't really know what to think of this myself. The door closed and suddenly we were alone in the lift. My 'abductor' let go of my elbow and stood back to look at me.

“Jesus CHRIST Katherine” he said in a normal – if pissed off tone of voice. “What the fuck did you do? Bribe someone to let you out or did you go over the fence?”

“Excuse me?” I said, pulling off the sopping hood and drying my face rather ineffectively with my wet sleeve. Finally the water was out of my eyes and I could get a good look at him. “Who's Katherine?”

Apparently he finally got a good look at me too, because his face went pale.

“Oh, Christ. Oh Jesus. I'm SORRY1 I thought you.... you know.... has anyone ever told you that you bear an uncanny.... of course they have.... you said you were here for the premiere.... you're working....”

“Actually, it was a contest... the grand prize was....” I stammered.

“Oh! Great! …brilliant actually.... I can certainly see why you won.....”

“No. It was my.....” it hit me I was divulging an awful lot of personal information to a total stranger. “excuse me... who are you?”

Suddenly his confidence evaporated and he deflated to a middle aged guy in an elevator chatting up a total stranger.

“Oh. I'm.....” and like I did with my keycard, he fished into his breast pocket and produced a business card. Desmond Lehmann.

I instantly recognized his name, but would have never known his face.

“Sorry. I don't really read those kinds of magazines. I'm sort of the go TO the movies sort. So since you're always on the other side of the camera, and like I said, I don't follow the interviews or fan stuff... I'd never recognize your face. Sorry.”

“Perfectly alright. Refreshing really. And your accent? You're from.....”

“Brisbane. Well, just outside. Newstead really.”

“Been there.” He smiled. “Nice place.”

I laughed. “If you ever decide to get out of films, I think you could have a future in politics.”

He returned the laugh. “Oh, trust me.... it's all politics.....” he sought my gaze. I realized he was looking for a way to address me since I had never given him my name.

“L.C.” I smiled and put out my hand. “L.C. MacGuinness”

“A delight to meet you Elsie MacGuinness. A surprise.... and a delight.” he took my hand rather gently, by the fingers and gave them a slight shake. Not the way we shake back home, but who was I to judge? This was Hollywood.

“You said you're here at the hotel as a contest winner?” I nodded. “I'm in the penthouse suite through the day after the premiere, may I invite you and.... I presume you have a traveling companion?” I nodded. “May I invite the two of you to join me for dinner? I have a ….proposition....”

I think he saw my slight scowl because he quickly changed the invitation to join him in the public restaurant in the hotel. It still seemed quite odd to me and he must have sensed that.

“Oh.... I assure you.... it's all on the up and up. Nothing ...sordid...or sketchy.... at least for this town.” He smiled, but I sensed a bit of a leer in there too. I gave it a moment's thought and realized Mikey would be over the moon to meet the director of the world premier we'd traveled halfway around the world to see, so I put my reluctance aside and smiled. “Thank you for the invitation.... that would be …..nice.”

His mouth puckered into a slight grin at my lukewarm response.

“Well..... nice.... what is your room number? I'll have someone call with the details.”

I was just getting out of the shower when Mikey returned laden with 'schwag' as he called it. As I padded around our room in my robe trying to dry my hair vigorously with a towel, he told me in excruciating detail about his day. He was deliriously happy and caught up in all the glamour and excitement. The corporate sponsors could not have wished for a more enthusiastic contest winner. Suddenly he stopped babbling. I think it occurred to him that it might seem a bit rude to go on and on about his day without even asking about mine. So, I explained that I went out for a walk to explore, got caught in the rain and came back to the hotel. This seemed a satisfactory answer, so he nodded
and resumed telling me about his day.

I did interrupt him long enough to ask if he had any dinner plans. He shrugged and said he hadn't really thought about it. He said he thought the contest people might whisk him off to some glamorous hotspot for more photos or something, but instead they just told him what time they would pick him up tomorrow. He seemed a bit disappointed. Then his eyes lit up and he suggested we should go to the posh restaurants ourselves.

I smiled and told him I doubted two financially strapped teenaged tourists would be able to get a table at anyplace he would remotely be interested in going and suggested a ….nice.... dinner in the hotel restaurant. He seemed a bit gloomy at the prospect. His brow furrowed, and then I could see a new exciting scheme forming in his thoughts. I cut it off quickly by smiling and telling him that we already had reservations.

I did not tell him who made the reservations, and I doubted I would need to tell him once he saw our host in the restaurant. Mikey would not need to be handed a business card.

Sure enough, we got to the restaurant and I gave my name to the maitre d', and we were escorted to our table. Halfway across the restaurant, when our host saw us coming and stood, smiling in our direction, Mikey did a little double take. I saw his eyes go wide with recognition. He instantly began looking around to see who our famous host was smiling at, and seeing no one else around, stared at me, perplexed. I just smiled down at him and quietly said “….surprise....” at which he immediately …...squeed.... and ran over to the table lunging at the director and squeezing him in a bearhug like a child finding a long lost stuffed toy.

I shot the director a look of discomfort and apology at my cousin's outburst. He quickly regained his composure and patted Mikey on the shoulder.

“Ah... you must be Elsie's.....boyfriend?”

“Cousin. We're cousins.... ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod ohmygod..... I am such a big fan! Ohmygod, I thought maybe I might get to see you at the premiere and maybe maybe maybe actually get your autograph.... but to actually meet you and talk to you and have dinner? ….with you.... ohmygod ohmygod.... ohmy-”

“God... yes I think I get it. Please, sit down before you hyperventilate. Would you like some water?” he held a glass out to Mikey who gulped it down. I really think the water was just our hosts way to stop Mikey from babbling long enough to address me.

“I'm so delighted you and your …cousin.... could join me.”

I smiled graciously as he walked over and pulled my seat out for me. That seemed a bit ….unctuous.... but, as with the dainty handshake in the lift, I reminded myself that I really didn't know the Hollywood customs. “Thank you for the gracious invitation. I wanted to surprise Mikey.... my cousin.... so I neglected to tell him who we were dining with. I wanted it to be a surprise.”

“Mission accomplished” our host replied with a smirk.

“He's a really big fan.” I smiled.

“So I gathered.” our host chuckled.

“Oh my god. I am your biggest fan. I own every film released on video and saw your student films at a festival in Melbourne. Ohmygod. I can't believe I'm sitting here. This is such an honour!”

“Well, the pleasure is mine. It's always a treat to get to meet folks from back home. I met your cousin in the lift this afternoon.”

“I was a bit of the drowned rat this afternoon” I laughed.

“Yes, but still quite lovely.”

Wait. ...what?

He turned to Mikey. “I asked your cousin here...and you... because I have a ….proposition.....”

“Yes. Yes... Whatever it is, yes!”

“Wait wait wait.” I said to Mikey. I was quickly getting a really strange feeling about this and I figured in his enthusiasm at meeting his hero, Mikey was oblivious to it all and far, far too eager.

“I have no idea what we're talking about, but I don't think we want anything to do with it.”

“Speak for yourself LC!” Mikey snapped back. That startled both our host and me.

“I think we've gotten a bit off the rails here.” our host calmly replied. “If you're thinking this is what I think you're thinking, you're completely off the mark.”

“What do you think we're thinking?” Mikey asked ….hopefully?

“I think that's obvious” I replied.

“At this point I don't think anything is obvious.” our gracious host replied. “Except that obviously our quiet little dinner got off to a dreadfully bad start.”

He looked at us and we nodded our agreement.

“I have a business proposition. Simply business. No mischief. Nothing you won't be able to write home or tell your friends about..... well, actually that's not ...quite... true. This business arrangement will involve signing a nondisclosure agreement, so you won't be able to talk about it. And even if you did, no one would likely believe you.” he smiled slyly.

Just then the room stirred and there was a small commotion as one of the most famous leading men in Hollywood entered the restaurant with a dazzling supermodel on his arm, and was seated at the other end of the room. All eyes turned to him as he nodded discreetly in our general direction and out of the corner of my eye I noticed our host nod back with a slight smile.

“Ah. Right on cue. While the room is distracted, may I suggest that we discreetly depart to continue our meal and our discussion in my suite?” He stood up and came around to pull out my seat. “I've taken the liberty of having our meals sent up. They're waiting for us...” then sensing my discomfort he added “....along with a number of my staff and a lawyer or two.”

OK. It no longer sounded sexual. However, with lawyers involved I still wasn't sure it wasn't something sordid.

On the lift to the penthouse our host confirmed my suspicion. “You noticed that didn't you?” I nodded. “He's wanted to work with me for a few years now. After becoming the worlds leading action star, he wants to ...expand.... his repertoire. I heard rumours of his grand plans for an operatic action film.... no, I mean actual opera... only with dance numbers.... I think the phrase I heard was West Side Story meets Wagner's Ring cycle – in space” he shuddered slightly. “He's been trying to take a meeting with me for months, but I had always managed to avoid it.” He shrugged. “We needed a distraction so the paparazzi would not notice us dining together, so I called in a favor.” He cringed almost unnoticeably and met my eyes. “That is how much I want our meeting.”

Mikey remained dazzled as he gazed around the penthouse suite. “This is exactly how I imagined it.” he muttered to himself.

The director introduced us to his staff and again we all exchanged those weird finger-squeeze handshakes, while I sensed them sizing me up. His staff then went into an adjoining conference room with stacks of paperwork while we retired to the dining area for a 'working dinner'.

We made some small talk. Talked about home. Talked a bit about ourselves. Though Mikey did most of the talking, to our host's apparent dismay. Mikey was such a big fan and he was bursting with enthusiasm, so I didn't want to cut in on his moment. Our host kept trying to turn it back to the two of us, although Mikey already told him everything, so I guess at this point, 'us' really just meant 'me'.

He asked how long we were here for, and if we'd be willing to extend our stay if he could get the visas worked out and arrange for us to work for the studio. I explained that I really needed to get home and start finding a job now that I was out of school. He asked how I would feel about an overseas job.... working for his production company, and he slipped me a folded piece of paper with what I took to be his phone number. I shot him a perplexed look.

“Is that agreeable?”

“Whatever you have to say, you can say right here in front of my cousin. I don't need to call you.”

Now it was his turn to look perplexed. In a moment it was replaced by a burst of laughter.

“Oh, God! That's not my phone number!” he struggled to catch his breath he was laughing so hard. “I think you'll find it's a few digits short for most developed nations..... Oh my goodness.... it's a fee proposal.”

“What is this? Italian Lira? Japanese Yen?”

He smiled and shook his head.

“No. Dollars.”

“Australian or US?”

“US. Or, possibly Euros.”

“A year?”

“Oh, goodness no. That would be just for the job.... I imagine we'd be collaborating for 2, maybe three months. With a guaranteed extension, should we decide to do other markets.”

“I have no idea what you're talking about.” As I was saying this, Mikey grabbed the piece of paper from me and gasped.

“Who CARES L.C.? Ohmygod!”

“He says that a lot.” our host chuckled.

“I think it's his new catchphrase” I sighed. “Alright. Forgive me. But treat me like I'm utterly stupid. ….what the hell are you talking about.”

“OK. Cards on the table time. But before we continue.... cards on the table time.... forgive the ...directness... of this question, but we'll spend all evening beating around the bush and still never satisfactorily get to the issue... not that it matters either way......” He looked uncharacteristically uncomfortable.

“Just ASK it!” I smiled, but he could hear the frustration in my voice.

He fidgeted and drew a deep breath.

“Are you ...gay?”

There it was. Finally the elephant in the room was being acknowledged. I was not surprised by the question. In fact I had suspected it was the issue roiling beneath the surface since we met in the lift.

“Actually..... no.” I sighed.

“You aren't?” he asked incredulously.

“You aren't?” Mikey asked incredulously.

“No!” I replied. A bit incredulous myself at their response. “People always seem to assume that. What made you think I was gay?”

“Well.... your hair.....” the director replied. Mikey nodded.

“OK. I'm just a poor student. It's not like I can afford brilliant salons. There's a beauty school nearby and it seemed a win win. The students get practice, and I got.... well, I thought it was a decent cut.”

That seemed to satisfy them, as they both nodded.

“And your ….dress...” he looked me up and down.

“Well... kind of the same reason.... it's not like I'm made of money, going out to shop designer fashion. ….and I have.... kind of a weird body.... everything hangs off it funny... even the good stuff the times I tried it at the pricey shops. So I figured 'if you can't look stylish anyway, at least be comfortable'. I didn't think it made me look.... gay.... it's a jacket and a tee like you had and some khakis and Clarks”

“....It's.... borderline....” he wavered his hand. “A bit Annie Hall.... but you make it work.”

“....AND your ears....” Mikey added.

“OK. That I kind of get. Especially having the holes with no earrings. When I was younger I thought I'd be a rocker, a real heavy metal monster... so I bought the outfits, spiked up the hair.... bought the skull earrings”

“I remember.” Mikey beamed. “That's when I started thinking 'at least I have one cool cousin'”

I smiled back. “Yeah... I looked pretty badass.... Too bad I couldn't play worth shit. ...or sing.” The only fond memory I have about that phase is how much it pissed off my father. So after I gave it up and he began to gloat about something else I sucked at, I kept wearing the skull earrings now and then just to chafe him.... so I still have the holes.”

“OK. Not gay. Got it. But no reservations about letting our stylists at you to transform you to something clearly not gay? Completely unambiguous?”

“Stylists? What exactly do you have in mind?”

“Why to be a ringer of course.”

“A ringer?”

“of course”

“Like a stand in?”

“More like a double.”

“A doppelganger” Mikey chimed in.

“For WHO?” I asked naively.

“Seriously?” the director asked.

“You really don't know? How can you not know?” Mikey asked.

“How can she not know?” the director asked.

“Wait. What?” Mikey and I both replied.

It was about another half hour of 'Who's on First?' before we finally were all on the same page. And we were all astounded. For entirely different reasons.

The director was staggered to learn that I was L.C. ….a lad.... not Elsie. He thought the lack of makeup and short-ish somewhat butch haircut and loose, gender neutral clothing for complete androgynous appearance was because I was a lesbian.

Mikey, who had known me all his life. Thought my pierced ears, long-ish somewhat 'femmy' hairstyle and baggy, gender neutral clothing for androgynous appearance was because I was gay. Like him. Which I never knew or suspected, but suddenly explained so much. I guess neither of us knew the other as well as we thought.

I was astounded that I was giving off any of these signals. And my discomfort compounded when I realized that I was giving off such mixed signals that the two people I was dining with took them in completely opposite ways.

Just when I thought the evening couldn't get any more awkward, one of the 'minions' came in and announced 'they're here sir.'

Our host shot me a look. “Call me crazy, but I still think this could work.”

“OK. You're crazy. I told you. I'm not gay.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Mikey asked.

I started to reply but the director interrupted me.

“Look. When I saw you in the lobby, you were wearing cargo pants and track shoes and a hoodie and you were wringing wet. Yet I instantly took you for Katherine Keller.... who was supposed to be in a maximum security rehab facility in the Oregon woods, far from paparazzi here to cover her dazzling screen performance. Even when I realized you weren't her, I thought you were a Katherine Keller impersonator... a contest winner here for god-knows-what parasitic promotion tied in with the film premiere. Not only were you not trying to convince me that you were Katherine Keller.... you weren't even trying to convince me that you were female …. yet you did. Convincingly. So, yes. I think this can work. I believe it can't help but work!”

“I never meant to mislead you.”

“Of course you didn't. Yet you still did. That's why it will work. They'll see you and think... her.”

“You're trying to tell me you've never dressed up as Katherine Keller?” Mikey asked.

“Of course not! I've never even thought about wearing women's clothes.”

“Ummm.... Annie Hall called. She'd like her blazer back.” Mikey grinned. I heard the director snort.

“Look. Does this look like a woman's body?” I said as I dramatically flung the jacket to the floor and pulled the black tee shirt tight around my torso so my ribcage showed through. “I'm freakishly tall.... all limbs and bones. I'm a big old gangly scarecrow. Do you see any boobs? ….Do I look like Katherine Keller?” I demanded.

The director's smile broadened. “Have you ever met Katherine Keller? Now I'm more
convinced than ever that this will work.”

“But I'm NOT gay!” I insisted.

“What does that have to DO with anything?” Mikey demanded. He was really getting irritated at my resistance to this crazy scheme. “It's not like anyone is asking you to have SEX with anyone!” then he glanced at the director sheepishly “...are they?”

The director smiled and shook his head. “Actually, that might be the only giveaway.”

I looked at him, confused.

“Katherine isn't exactly known as a paragon of virtue. Actually she kind of has a reputation as a human trainwreck. Somehow I suspect you may be too respectful and well behaved. Could spoil the scheme.”

“What exactly is the scheme?” I was a bit frustrated and grabbed the director by his lapels as I queried him. He simply smiled enigmatically.

“Maybe you DO have it in you.... OK. Here's the whole deal. Katherine is ….unavailable... I mentioned that... out of state rehab.... long story... unfortunate incidents.... lots of property damage.... no serious injuries or deaths thank God.... some witnesses.... paid off.... authorities involved..... warrants issued.... she's being held for.... treatment.... in another state. No extradition because no one knows she left the state. The legal matters are being …..handled.... by the studio. By the time she's out, it will be a slap on the wrist. I'm confident of that. But still, that will be at least 90 days. So we have a world premiere tomorrow and a nationwide press junket and no leading lady. I thought we were just going to have to do the 'you know those moody divas' thing to explain her absence and hope no one noticed she vanished from the face of the planet for at least three full months. I had grave doubts about its success, but it was the best we had. Until our chance encounter in the lobby this afternoon. My fury at thinking she had escaped....” I think that word just slipped out before he could filter it, but he said it and it was out there, so he just regrouped and moved on “well.... my....fury.... quickly turned to hope when I stumbled onto a girl who won a Katherine Keller lookalike contest and was so convincing that she even completely resembled Katherine as very few have ever seen her.... thank god.... Without makeup and wringing wet!”

“But I won the contest” Mikey protested. “And it had nothing to do with a Katherine Keller lookalike!”

“And... HELLO.... I'm not even a girl!” I added with just a touch of petulance.

His smile got wider still. “ALL of which is why I'm SURE this will work. It's all so wildly improbable a more superstitious person would deem it the result of divine intervention!”

“If this is the hand of God, then I'm the virgin Mary.”

“Time to meet your makeover team, Mare.” he leered.