Anklets Ch. 01
Keywords: Ch., 01, Anklets,
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"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.
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Keywords: Ch., 01, Anklets,