Double Take
Keywords: Double, Take,
1 2 3 4 5 6 Next
"© 2003 by Thrillerauthor "
Sandy Lane glanced at his Rip Curl watch as he paddled back towards the lineup. Less then twenty seconds remaining in his heat. Sandy had one good wave under his belt, but unless he nailed another one, there was no way he was going to make it into the finals.
He glanced over his right shoulder, and at first he couldn't believe what he saw. The surf had been small all morning, but looming behind him was the largest swell he had ever seen. Sandy started paddling for all he was worth, turning to his right to get into position before the wave broke. He timed it perfectly, dropping in as the enormous wave crested and broke around him. He was in free fall as he stood up and plunged down the thirty foot face, and he disappeared into a canopy of water as the raging surf engulfed him.
The judges and spectators thought he had wiped out until he was blown out of the tube, still standing, his arms raised in triumph. Awarded a perfect ten score on the wave of the day, Sandy Lane was catapulted into the finals of the Masters World Surfing Championship
He rode the shore break back in, still stoked over his amazing performance, and he didn't see Buster Cruz approaching him as he got out of the water. The reigning champion, Cruz towered over the diminutive Lane, and his face was livid with rage. He grabbed Sandy's shoulder and spun him around. "Here's what happens to assholes who drop in on me and snake my wave," Cruz said as he sucker punched Sandy in the nose, knocking him clean off his feet. Sandy was unconscious before his face went into the water.
* * *
Three days later, Sandy regained consciousness. He was aware of a tube running out of his nose, and white gauze interfered with his field of vision. When he tried to turn his head, it felt like a cherry bomb went off inside his skull. He fell back onto his pillows and lost consciousness again.
When he finally came around for good, he was surrounded by doctors, nurses, and a police sergeant. The doctors explained to him that he was suffering from a severely broken nose and a grade three concussion, and the sergeant told him that Buster Cruz had been arrested and charged with aggravated assault. When Sandy tried to speak, his voice was so weak that the sergeant was unable to take a statement from him. The doctors prescribed more rest, and Sandy returned to his nightmares.
As the days passed, his strength gradually returned. The first time his bandages were removed, the nurses recoiled in obvious horror at the sight of his smashed nose. Sandy Lane had been blessed with classic California good looks, and with his shoulder-length blonde hair and slight physique, he had sometimes been mistaken for a girl. Now his perfect nose was plastered all over his face, and his cheekbones and eye sockets were still badly swollen from the impact of Buster's fist.
The doctors assured him that surgery to repair his face would be scheduled as soon as the swelling went down enough for them to operate. Sandy spent endless days lolling in his hospital bed, bored out of his mind and overwhelmed with despair over the end of his surfing season. At twenty-four, he did not have that many good years left in him, and whatever money he had managed to save was going to be eaten up by his hospital bills. One thing was for sure, the meager income which he used to make from modeling wetsuits and board shorts would dry up when his sponsors got a good look at his face.
Even his return to pro surfing was in doubt, since Buster Cruz had made veiled threats that if he ever ran into Sandy Lane again, he would finish the job. Cruz had lost most of his sponsors, and was facing a possible jail term, all on account of Sandy Lane. If Sandy did make it back on the tour, he knew that Cruz would be laying for him.
A few days before his facial surgery was scheduled, Sandy had a visitor. She was tall, thin, high-strung, and well-dressed. She surveyed his broken face with professional interest as he studied her card. Her name was Darla Palmer, and she was an Assistant Executive Producer for a Hollywood studio. Sandy was surprised when she took a digital camera out of her purse and snapped a picture of him.
"Casting for a new horror film?" he asked her. "I can play the monster without any makeup."
"Not quite. When are you supposed to get your nose fixed?"
"Day after tomorrow."
"I'll be back before then."
* * *
"Amazing. Just uncanny," Darla Palmer said as she studied the photographs in front of her. A techie from the computer lab hovered over her shoulder as she glanced back and forth between three separate photos, lined up side by side on her polished rosewood desk. On the far left was the picture she had taken of Sandy Lane in his hospital room. On the far right was a studio portrait of Ashley Vaughn, a rising starlet who had just been signed for the lead role in Wet Girls, an upcoming television series about a female surfing professional. And in the center was a digitally recreated photograph of Sandy Lane, with a new nose. It was indistinguishable from the photograph of Ashley Vaughn.
"All I did was morph Ashley's nose onto the picture you gave me, and presto!" the techie was saying. Darla reached into a file drawer beside her desk and pulled out a buff manila folder. She took out a sheet of paper with Ashley's vital statistics, and compared it with a profile on Sandy Lane from Surfer magazine. "Age: Ashley 23, Sandy 24. Eyes: Ashley blue, Sandy blue. Hair: Ashley blonde, Sandy blonde. Height: Ashley 5' 7", Sandy 5' 7". Weight: Ashley 125 pounds, Sandy 135 pounds…nothing that a little diet couldn't take care of."
"Sex?" asked the techie.
"You are sworn to secrecy about this, or I'll have your job. Got it?"
"Sure, Miss Palmer. I won't breathe a word. What are you up to?"
"Ashley Vaughn is a lovely girl, but she has zero athletic ability. We've been pulling our hair out trying to find a stunt double for her surfing scenes in Wet Girls. I think we just found him…or rather, her."
* * *
Sandy's operation was canceled, and a few days later he was flown in a private jet to a clinic in Palm Springs, where his plastic surgery was to be performed. During the flight, he tried to get through the thick contract which Darla Palmer had given him to read on the plane. He was so stoked about the prospect of making some serious money as a stunt double that he only glanced through it. The print was very small, and a lot of the words he could not understand.
Sandy knew that they wanted him to do surfing scenes for Ashley Vaughn in a television series about a girl surfer, and he thought that was kind of cool. One of his buddies was still bragging about the bread he scored by putting on a bikini and surfing the big wave scenes in Blue Crush, and Sandy was looking forward to being surfer rich for a change. He was used to eking out an existence from tournament to tournament, and the idea of getting paid serious money to be in the water, surrounded by pretty actresses, was too good to pass up. He signed the contract in duplicate after struggling through the first few pages.
His surgery took place the next morning. Once again, he woke up with gauze wrapped around his face and a tube running out of his nose, only this time he was in a private room, with nonstop service and plenty of surfing magazines and videos to amuse him. The days passed quickly, until Darla Palmer showed up one morning with a nurse and a doctor in tow. "Ready to see the new you?" Darla asked.
"Sure, anything would be an improvement over the way I looked after Buster flattened me. Will I recognize myself?"
"I told you, Sandy, that we were going to make some changes to help you with your acting. Don't worry, if you don't like it, we can always change it again after we finish with the series. Right, doctor?"
"Of course. Let's see how we've done." The doctor and Darla watched as the nurse snipped the gauze with a pair of long scissors and gently began to unravel the bandage. When she pulled off the last of it, both Darla and the nurse gasped as the doctor nodded his approval.
"What is it?" Sandy asked in alarm.
"Oh my God, he's a dead ringer for that girl who's waiting outside," the nurse blurted out.
"What are you talking about?" Sandy asked.
The doctor produced a mirror. "See for yourself, Mr. Lane."
Sandy took the mirror and stared at his reflection in shock. He now had the cute, upturned nose of Ashley Vaughn. With his long blonde hair, he looked just like her.
"Of course, you'll look a lot better after we do something with your hair," Darla said. "Would you care to meet your twin?"
Sandy lay speechless in bed as Darla left, returning a moment later with Ashley Vaughn. "Ashley, meet Sandy," Darla said in triumph.
Ashley's jaw dropped when she saw Sandy's face. "Wow, he's perfect." She stuck out her hand and Sandy awkwardly took it. "This is going to be so cool."
"Stand up, Sandy, and let's get a good look at you," Darla said after the doctor left the room. Sandy was in a daze as he got up, feeling slightly self-conscious in his hospital gown.
Ashley walked around him slowly with her chin in her hands. "He's gotta go on a diet," she said matter-of-factly. "His legs are nice. Once he shaves them, he'll be just fine from a distance, don't you think?"
"Shave my legs?" Sandy asked. "Nobody said anything about that."
"Didn't you read your contract? If I'm not mistaken, it specifies full body waxing for the duration of the series." Darla knew she was not mistaken, since she had written the contract herself.
What else was in that contract, Sandy wondered, as the enormity of his predicament began to sink in. These people were expecting him to pass as a girl. At least it wasn't full time, he said to himself, as he watched them study him like a department store mannequin.
"Let me see you walk across the room," Ashley said. Without protest, Sandy walked a few steps and turned around to face her.
"He's gonna need some coaching," Ashley said.
1 2 3 4 5 6 Next
Keywords: Double, Take,