Double Take

© 2003 by Nom de Plume

Episode Seven:  Amazing Grace, Double Jeopardy

 

What a difference a fraction of an inch makes!

Sandy Lane reflected on this as he brushed the loose powder off his nose.  When it was a centimeter smaller, with a slightly different curve to it, his nose had given him the face of a beautiful girl.  Now, although he was still nice-looking, nobody would be mistaking him for Ashley Vaughn.

Standing side by side at the his-and-her vanities in their new master bathroom, they made quite a sight.  Ashley Vaughn, her breasts taped down, was wearing a pair of Sandy’s boxer shorts as she tugged at her man’s brown wig.  And Sandy, dressed in a bra and panties, was applying the finishing touches to his makeup, his long blonde hair still wet from his lilac-scented shampoo.

Sandy trembled with anticipation as he stepped into their enormous walk-in closet to pick out his ensemble for the day.  He hadn’t worn a stitch of women’s clothing since his accident off the Redondo jetty, and he had put on a good ten pounds following his return to competition surfing.  Still, his swimmer’s body was lean and lithe, and he had maintained the ritual of removing all of his body hair, which gave him a psychological edge in the water.

Let’s see, what to wear…he spied a cotton jumper, white with little pink flowers, and a matching pink tee shirt hanging next to it.  Perfect for an afternoon of shopping after a lady’s lunch.  He looked through Ashley’s shoe racks and found a pair of pink canvas espadrilles that ought to look cute with his outfit.  He was holding one of them up next to the dress to make sure they were the right shade of pink when he felt Ashley’s arms around his waist.  “You’re gonna have to wear nylons to make those fit,” she said with a giggle.

“That’s okay,” he said without a trace of embarrassment.  “They turn me on.”

“That’s what I love about you, Sandy.  It takes balls for a guy to say something like that.”

“Right now, my balls are a problem,” he said, looking down at the growing tent his panties.

Ashley watched as he pulled on the tee shirt and stepped into the jumper.  He tied the strings behind his back into a loose bow, like he had been doing it all his life.  The dress fit him perfectly, except for a tell-tale bulge in front.

“Try to think girlish thoughts while I dry your hair,” she said, steering him back to her vanity.  He sat down on her tuffet and closed his eyes while she went to work with her brush and dryer.  “This is gonna be so much fun!” Ashley said as she ran the brush through his golden hair.  “I can’t remember the last time we did this!”

In fact, it had been almost six months.  Sandy’s spectacular return to professional surfing had coincided with the meteoric rise of Ashley’s acting career.   Released from her Wet Girls contract, she had snared a part in a made-for-TV movie based on a true-crime story, and her brilliant performance as the victim of a cheating husband had catapulted her onto the cover of People Magazine.  That same week, Sandy Lane was splashed all over Sports Illustrated, which featured a cover story about his astonishing return to the pinnacle of men’s surfing. 

They were one of the hottest twosomes in America, and it was becoming impossible for them to go anywhere without being besieged by autograph-seekers and paparazzi.  Although they were not yet married, they had sold their homes and bought a house on the beach near Playa del Rey. They loved their new place, but escaping from it was becoming more and more of a challenge.  So when Ashley mentioned for the umpteenth time how much she missed going out like a normal couple, Sandy had solved the problem by redefining what was normal.

 “There’s no reason we can’t go out like everybody else, as long as we make sure nobody can tell who we really are,” he told her.

“Well, duh!  How are we going to do that?”

“I’ll be the girl and you can be the guy.”

Needless to say, Ashley jumped at the suggestion.  Fortunately, she had saved the wig and prosthetic nose fashioned for her by the Wet Girls makeup department, and they were both bouncing off the ceiling as they began their preparations that morning.   Fixing Sandy’s libido had been job one, and Ashley thought she had taken care of the problem after she made love to him twice before they got out of bed.  Evidently the prospect of dressing up in her clothes was as exciting for him as it was for her. 

After Ashley finished drying and styling his hair, she pulled it back behind his ears and tied it with a pink ribbon that matched the flowers on his jumper.  At the sight of himself in the full-length mirror, the bulge in front of Sandy’s dress became more pronounced.  Ashley sighed as she lifted up his dress and pulled down his panties.  “This is not very lady-like,” she said as she teased his aching cock.  Sandy groaned as she kneeled down and began coaxing another orgasm out of him.  Stiff and sore, his exhausted penis held out until Sandy’s eyes wandered over to the half slip and suntan pantyhose waiting for him on his vanity.  The prospect of wearing them sent him over the edge, and he succumbed with sweet anticipation to the pleasures that lay ahead.

*  *  *

Lieutenant Goering greeted Detective Halani as he came off his Hawaiian Airlines flight from Honolulu.  The lieutenant’s LAPD credentials had enabled him to bypass security, and he was pleased to see that Detective Halani had carried his luggage on board.  Within a few minutes, they were driving down Century Boulevard in an unmarked car.

“If my daughter hadn’t left People Magazine in the john, I never would have figured it out,” Lieutenant Goering was saying as they drove towards Playa del Rey.  “It turns out that Sandy Lane was acting as a stunt double for Ashley Vaughn at the time of the Cruz murder.”

“So he lied to you about not having his nose fixed.”

“Among other things.  I’m still not sure how it all went down, but we have enough to hold him for suspicion of first degree murder.”

“What about the girl?”

“At a minimum, she’s a material witness.  Maybe an accessory after the fact.  We’ll read him his rights, and see if she volunteers anything.”

“What’s the plan?”

“They live a few minutes away from here, in Playa del Rey.  We’ve had a crew outside since yesterday.  They haven’t left the house since they came home last night.  I thought we’d pay them a visit.”

The lieutenant’s radio squawked.  “The subject’s vehicle is backing out of the driveway.”

“Stay with them.  Don’t let them see you.  Call me back when you find out where they’re going.”

 

*  *  *

Ashley and Sandy were unrecognizable as they strolled through the Third Street Promenade in Santa Monica.  It was so wonderful, walking hand-in-hand without being hounded for autographs by total strangers, with no cameras or microphones stuck in their faces. 

They stopped from time to time, pretending to window shop at little boutiques as they stared at their reflections in the plate glass windows.  They were slightly overdressed compared to the other shoppers, Ashley in her black shirt and slacks and Sandy in his dress and nylons, but those who noticed probably took them for tourists.  Each indulged in secret thoughts as they studied the handsome couple in the windows. 

Why does he dig this so much, Ashley wondered to herself.  I mean, putting on guy’s clothes is no big deal for a girl, we do it all the time.  For me, pretending to be a guy is cool, but for Sandy, pretending to be a girl is…hot.  She looked over at him.  He had stepped out of one of his espadrilles to scratch an itch through his stockings. 

Sandy blushed self-consciously as he stepped back into his shoe.  She’s looking at me like I’m a fairy, he said to himself.  Why do I dig this so much?  Look at me, standing here in one of Ashley’s dresses.  What must she think of me?  How can she respect a guy who’s such a sissy? 

“You know, I think I’ve got this all figured out,” Ashley said at length. 

“What do you mean?”

“I’ll tell you over lunch.  Hungry?” Ashley took his hand and led the way to an Italian restaurant with outdoor tables, under a trellis festooned with hanging plants.  They studied the menu and agreed to give it a try.

 “Two,” she said in her guy  voice to the maitre’d, who seated them at a quiet table.  She ordered them each a glass of Chardonnay, and waited until they were alone before she took Sandy’s hand.  Her engagement diamond sparkled on his ring finger.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Sandy said, suddenly feeling very vulnerable.

“How many women have you been with?” she asked softly.

“I dunno,” he answered, surprised by the question.

“Come on, you must have some idea.  You told me you lost your virginity when you were sixteen.  That was almost ten years ago.  How many girls have you slept with since then?”

Sandy had no idea. 

“I’ll bet it’s at least a hundred, right?”

“I guess.”

“So it’s safe to say you like girls.”

“You might say.”

“Then I think I know why you dig this so much.”

“Why?”

“You’re crazy about girls, you’re good-looking enough to pass for one of us, and you’ve got the balls to do it.  So you can’t resist the chance to see what it’s like sometimes.  It’s elemental logic.”

“It’s gotta be more than that.”

“Why?”

Sandy hestitated.

“Don’t hold back.  We’re on the verge of a major breakthrough here.   Tell me what’s on your mind?”

“Your little theory doesn’t explain why I’ve got a hard-on right now.”

“Another one?  Sandy Lane, you’re incorrigible!” 

“It just makes me so hot when I dress up like this,” he blushed.

“Can I let you in on a little secret?  It makes girls hot, too.”

“What?”

“I get a rush when I put on a new dress, or when I’m wearing sexy lingerie.   We all do.  It’s part of the fun of being a girl.”

A waiter appeared to take their orders.  When they were alone again, Ashley pressed ahead with her analysis.  “Being a guy at heart, you have only one thing on your mind at all times, which is sex of course.  So it’s natural that you’re gonna get off on this.”  She sat back with a triumphant look on her face, as if she had just invented the theory of relativity.

“Okay, Professor Vaughn, you’ve got me figured out.  How about you?”

“Me?  I dig dressing up like a guy because it’s cool.  Women do it all the time.  Nobody thinks twice about it, because we don’t have your hang-ups.”

“That’s not what I mean.  Why doesn’t it turn you off when I dress up in your clothes?  I mean, how can you respect me like this?  Sometimes I think you like me more as a girl than as a guy.”

Now it was Ashley’s turn to blush.  “I used to think I was gay,” she said quietly.  “Big hairy guys just turn me off for some reason.  I never really enjoyed sex until I met you.”

“But when we’re in bed, I’m a guy.  Even when I’m wearing one of your nightgowns, I’m definitely a guy,” he said defensively.

“Don’t I know it!  There’s something so hot about making it with a beautiful guy who’s soft and sweet, like you.”

The chattered away for hours, happy just to be with each other and to share once again their incredible secret.  They were lingering over coffee and ice cream when two men approached their table.  Ashley had never seen either one of them before, but they both looked vaguely familiar to Sandy.  Oh shit.

The men stood a few feet away from the table, looking confused.  “Sandy Lane?” one of them finally said.

“No, this is rocky road,” Sandy said, taking a dainty spoonful of ice cream. 

Goering looked bewildered, but Halani saw right through him.  “Sandy Lane, you are wanted in connection with the murder of Buster Cruz.  You have the right to remain silent.  Anything you say can and will be used against you in a court of law.  You have the right to talk to a lawyer….”

*  *  *

SANDY LANE TRIAL STARTS TODAY

Honolulu - Sandy Lane, the dominant surfer on the men’s professional tour, goes on trial today for the first degree murder of rival surfer Buster Cruz.  Lane, 25, was indicted after a two year investigation for the sensational killing of Cruz at a Waikiki Hotel.  A former Hollywood stuntman, Lane was disguised as a woman at the time of his arrest.  Police had been pursuing a mystery woman in connection with the unsolved murder, and they expect to prove that Lane was similarly disguised when he lured Cruz to his hotel room and shot him in revenge for an altercation at a surfing tournament.

Sandy sat impassively next to his lawyer, a smooth-talking black man named Dexter Boyd, as the Deputy District Attorney gave his opening statement to the jury.  “The evidence will show, ladies and gentlemen, that the defendant lured Mr. Cruz to his suite at the Halekulani by disguising himself as a woman and pretending to be a Hollywood producer.  At some point, Mr. Cruz thought she, or he, wanted to have sex with him, because his trousers had been removed when she, make that he, shot him in the genitals.  As he lay bleeding on the floor, the defendant shot him again, in the face, with premeditation and malice aforethought.”

Ashley, dressed in a severe black suit, sat in the front row of the courtroom, which was packed with spectators and the media.  To the nation, it was the most sensational trial since O.J., but to her, the whole thing was like a bad dream.  At least the DA had decided against prosecuting her, lacking enough hard evidence to go after her as an accessory or an accomplice.  The only other familiar face in the courtroom was Grace, their old friend and confidant from the Wet Girls crew, who had flown in from Los Angeles to support them.

The publicity had done wonders for Ashley’s career, of course, and she was now the most sought-after actress in Hollywood.  The producer of her next picture had agreed to shoot around her as the trial date approached, and she was determined to be there for Sandy, no matter what happened.  Although they had never discussed it, in her heart she knew that Sandy had killed Buster Cruz, and that he had done it to protect her.  She kept up a brave front as the trial progressed, but inside she was dying. 

Sandy looked like a fish out of water in his suit and tie.  His hair, cut short for the trial, was a shade darker now, and after six months in jail, his perpetual tan was long gone.  The judge had refused to release him on bail, and the combined deprivation of Ashley’s love and the feel of the ocean had precipitated the gradual erosion of his soul.  When the District Attorney refused to accept any plea that would result in less than a life sentence, Sandy had resolved to go to trial, and to take his one shot in a million at regaining his lost freedom.

As the case progressed, the evidence against him piled up like logs on a bonfire.  It was all circumstantial, but it was devastating:  the video of Buster Cruz’s assault established motive, the record of Sandy’s air travel to and from Honolulu established opportunity, the testimony of Goering and Halani about his lies and evasions impeached his character, and the photos of him in women’s clothing at the time of his arrest added fuel to the flames.   The only good news was Dexter Boyd’s successful effort to exclude some damning DNA evidence found at the murder scene, the result of a snafu at the crime lab that he was cleverly able to exploit.

Although Dexter Boyd was known for his flights of oratory, he was also a skilled courtroom tactician.  After the government wound up its case, he requested that his client be allowed to spend the lunch recess with him in an adjoining witness room to enable them to go over his testimony.  The revelation that Sandy Lane would take the stand, and the surprising absence of Ashley Vaughn from the courtroom  that morning, brought the spectators to a fever pitch and they scattered for the two hour recess.

The members of Dexter Boyd’s entourage were carefully screened before they passed into the witness room to meet with their client:  only Boyd, another lawyer from his office, and a paralegal were allowed to enter.  After the guards locked the door behind them, everything happened with remarkable speed and efficiency.

First, Ashley removed the wig and glasses that had disguised her as a member of Boyd’s legal staff.  While she was taking off her skirt and blouse, Grace the makeup wizard removed the files from her paralegal’s bag and produced a cosmetics kit from its false bottom.  Meanwhile Sandy had taken off his suit and tie and was staring longingly at Ashley in her bra and panties, and she was staring back at him the same way.  “Go ahead, but make it quick,” said Boyd, who didn’t miss a trick.  They rushed into each others’ arms and embraced, knowing it might be for the last time.

“Oh Sandy, if only none of this had ever happened,” Ashley cried.

“Then I never would have met you.  No matter what happens now, it was worth it.  Now come on, be a man,” he said gently.  “I’ve got to make myself beautiful.”

*  *  *

When the trial resumed after the noon recess, Ashley Vaughn was back in her front row seat, but all eyes were on Dexter Boyd as he took center stage. The defendant sat next to him, looking nervous.  

“Counselor, is the defense ready to proceed?” the judge asked.

“Yes, your honor.”

“Call your first witness.”   The young man seated next to Boyd at the defense table got up from his chair and walked over to the witness stand.

“Do you swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth?” the clerk intoned.

“I do.”

“Please state your name for the record.”

“My name is Ashley Vaughn.”

Pandemonium broke out in the courtroom.  The deputy district attorney was on his feet, shouting “Your honor, we object to this travesty.  I don’t know what Mr. Boyd’s game is, but this looks like another one of his well-known tricks.”

The judge was incredulous.  “If this is Ashley Vaughn, then who is the woman sitting in the first row?” 

She stood up and said, ‘I’m not a woman.  My name is Sandy Lane.”

Total bedlam ensued.  The judge banged his gavel again and again until the ruckus died down.  The deputy district attorney was shouting “Objection!” and the spectators were falling all over themselves, trying to get a better look as Sandy self-consciously  tugged his skirt down over his knees.  Opaque white and flesh-colored tights under sheer nylons masked his body hair, and the wig which Ashley wore into the witness room had been styled by Grace into a layered shag.  Most amazing, the little loops which Grace inserted into Sandy’s nostrils had recreated Ashley’s turned-up nose – the same technique employed on Judy Garland for her role as Dorothy in The Wizard of Oz.

 

 “Mr. Boyd, you’d better have a very good explanation,” the judge said.

“If your honor will grant me a little leeway, I think it will all become clear.”

“This is a travesty!” the prosecutor shouted.  “Mr. Boyd has turned this courtroom into a drag show!”

“Your honor, this is a murder trial.  A man’s life is at stake.  The defense maintains that this is a case of mistaken identity.  I demand the opportunity to demonstrate my client’s innocence.”

“Go ahead, Mr. Boyd, but I warn you, you are on very thin ice.”

Dexter Boyd walked over to the witness stand and stood a few feet away from Ashley, who was fidgeting nervously with her short brown wig.  “Miss Vaughn, how long have you and the defendant been dressing up in each other’s clothing?”

“It started out as a gag on the set of Wet Girls two years ago.  We’ve been doing it off and on for fun ever since.”

“Have you ever appeared in public dressed up like each other?”

“Many times.”

“And on the day of the defendant’s arrest, he was wearing one of your dresses and you were pretending to be him, were you not?”

“That’s right.”

“Now, where did you spend Thanksgiving the year before last?”

“At home, in the Hollywood Hills.”

“I believe Detective Halani and Lieutenant Goering testified that you were in New York.”

“They were mistaken.  I was supposed to be in the Macy’s parade, but I was coming down with a bad cold, so Sandy took my place.”

A clamor swept through the courtroom, and Halani and Goering shook their heads in bewilderment.  “Thank you, Miss Vaughn.  Your witness.”

The prosecutor sprang out of his chair like a tiger.  “Miss Vaughn, did you kill Buster Cruz?”

“No.”

“Did you know that a man identified as Sandy Lane flew to Honolulu a few days before the murder?”

“I heard that here in the courtroom, yes.  But it couldn’t have been Sandy.  He was in New York.”

“Then how do you explain the fact that he bought a ticket to Honolulu and checked into the Royal Hawaiian Hotel?”

“He didn’t.  Someone must have scammed his identity.  He was always buying junk over the Internet, and I warned him that could happen.”

“I see.  How convenient.  Did you know that Sandy Lane had an axe to grind against Buster Cruz?”

“You mean because Buster killed Toby Goodfin and threatened my life?”

The prosecutor recoiled as a clamor swept through the courtroom.  “Your honor, I move that the last answer be stricken from the record.”

“On what grounds?”

Dexter Boyd was on his feet.  “Oh, no you don’t.  You’ve opened the door, and if you don’t pursue this line of questioning, I will.”

“This is an outrage!  The defense is trying to put the victim on trial!”

“Why are you so afraid to let the jury learn the truth about Buster Cruz?  So you can railroad my client?”

“All right, gentlemen,” the judge broke in.  “I’ll allow the answer to stand. Proceed with your cross-examination.”

The deputy district attorney seemed tongue-tied.  A moment ago, he had the jury eating out of his hand.  Now, they thought he was trying to hide something from them.  “Miss Vaughn,” he finally asked, “did Sandy Lane ever say anything about wanting to kill Buster Cruz?”

“No.  But a lot of other people wanted him dead.”

Rattled, he asked a fatal “why” question:  “And why was that?”

“Lieutenant Goering told me that Buster Cruz was a murderer, that he cut the brake lines on Toby Goodfin’s car.  Buster swore that he’d kill me too.”

“Your honor, I move to strike the answer as unresponsive hearsay.”

The judge, who was hanging on every word, ruled before Dexter Boyd could respond.  “I’ll allow it under the dead man exception.”

“I know Sandy didn’t kill him,” Ashley went on, “but whoever did it, saved my life.”

The prosecutor decided to quit before she did any more damage.  “No further questions,” he said.

“Redirect?” the judge asked Dexter Boyd.

“No, your honor.  We recall Lieutenant Goering.”

The lieutenant returned to the stand as Ashley took her place at the defense table.  “Your honor, now that the charades are over, can the real defendant sit where he’s supposed to?” the prosecutor asked in exasperation.

“Certainly, your honor,” Dexter Boyd said smoothly.  “Thank you, Miss Vaughn.  Sandy, come back up here.” 

The spectators in the courtroom, and millions more watching on TV, were spellbound as Sandy and Ashley traded places.  After they both sat down, Dexter Boyd moved in for the kill.

“Lieutenant, as you sit here today, can you tell me to a moral certainty whether the person you interviewed a few days after the murder was Ashley Vaughn or Sandy Lane?”

“No,” he said with a shrug.

“So your entire testimony about the statements allegedly made to you by the defendant is in doubt.  One more thing.  Where is Sandy Lane right now?”

“He is sitting next to you.”

“Are you sure?”

The lieutenant hesitated.  “I’m not sure of anything anymore.”

“The defense rests.”

*  *  *

SANDY LANE FOUND NOT GUILTY OF CRUZ MURDER

Honolulu – After deliberating for less than an hour, a jury acquitted professional surfer Sandy Lane of the murder of Buster Cruz.  In a stunning development that brought howls of protest from the government, defendant Lane and actress Ashley Vaughn switched places during the noon recess, and reappeared in court wearing each other’s clothing.  “All my client had to do was walk out of the courtroom in his skirt and high heels,” defense attorney Dexter Boyd told the jury during his closing argument. “Instead of escaping, he stayed to prove his innocence.”  Although Lane never took the stand, the resulting confusion was enough to create reasonable doubt in the minds of the jurors. 

*  *  *

That evening, Dexter Boyd hosted a celebratory dinner for Sandy, Ashley and Grace at Duke’s, a surf-themed restaurant overlooking Waikiki Beach.  Sandy was ravishing in a flowing skirt with a halter top, a flower tucked behind his right ear to signify that he was spoken for.  Ashley, dressed in a billabong shirt and khakis, couldn’t keep her hands off him.  

After they toasted Grace for her miracles, Sandy thanked Dexter Boyd once again for getting him off.  “Only one thing worries me.  What if the cops decide to go after Ashley now?”

“I don’t think they will.  But if they try, all you have to do is tell them what really happened that night.  They can’t go after you again, Sandy.  That would be double jeopardy.”

And so they lived happily ever after….

 

By the author of The Jessica Project  cover

 

since 8/27/03