Stand-in

"Derek!" Cammy squealed excitedly over the phone. "I just won tickets to see Irony in concert!"

"Are you kidding me?!" Derek replied, his excitement nearly as high as his girlfriend's. "How'd you win them?"

"It was one of those radio call-in things," Cammy said, still excited but calming down a little. "I was caller five or seven or whatever. I never thought I'd have a chance, but I won!"

"That's awesome!" Derek said, genuinely impressed. "Her shows have been sold out for weeks. When are the tickets for, tomorrow or Sunday?"

"Uh, that's the thing," Cammy said. "The tickets are for tonight."

"Babe," Derek said, suddenly serious. "You know that we have that work dinner tonight. My boss is expecting you to be there."

"Just tell him what happened," Cammy said. "It's not like we planned for me to miss it."

"It's not that easy," Derek said. "I've told you how he talks about the importance of being supported by a significant other. I really need you to be there for me tonight."

"I'm sure it's not that bad," Cammy said.

"No, it really is," Derek said, panic creeping into his voice. "The last guy who didn't bring his girlfriend to one of these dinners was fired less than a month later. If you don’t come tonight, you're basically writing my pink slip."

"Okay," Cammy said, thinking. "Elly from my Thursday morning class told me about a service for just this sort of thing."

"What, fake girlfriends?" Derek asked sarcastically.

"Actually," Cammy said, "yeah. Elly was recovering from what she says was a sprained ankle but I'm pretty sure it was a calf reduction procedure and her fiancé had to meet with the minister who's going to perform their ceremony. She called up this place and said they sent a girl over to fill in for her."

"What you're describing is an escort service," Derek said a little condescendingly.

"That's what I said," Cammy said, ignoring her boyfriend’s tone, "but the girl who took her place was actually doing an impersonation. Like, she wore a wig and talked like her. Elly said that her fiancé was weirded out by how much this fake girlfriend acted like her."

"I don’t know if I'm comfortable with this, Cam," Derek said apprehensively. "My job could be in danger."

"It'll be fine," Cammy said dismissively. "I'll call them and set it all up. They need to interview me or whatever to know how to act and sound like me. I got Bethany to cover my classes, so I'm going home to get ready for the concert. I'll text you if there are any problems, but I'm sure it'll be fine."

"Okay," Derek said, still not really convinced but not seeing an alternative. "Who are you taking to the concert?"

"My cousin, Gina," Cammy said. "Babe, I need to go. I'll call you after the concert. Good luck!"

"Thanks," Derek said, accepting his fate. "Have fun." He hung up his phone. He sat at his desk, staring at his cell phone in his hand, not sure if the conversation he had just had was real. He decided to just get back to work, though his concentration was shot for the day. Still, he was able to approve a few budgets and write some emails before five o’clock.

As he was gathering up his stuff to leave, Derek got a text from Cammy:

The stand in is going to meet you at your place at 615
XOXO

"Stand-in" sounded better than "fake girlfriend," Derek thought. That's probably what the company calls their girls. It still seemed like an escort service, but a least one that's trying to look legit. He packed his laptop into his messenger bag and went home.

By 6:00, Derek was freshly shaved, dressed in his suit, and ready to go, which made the wait for the stand-in all the more nerve-racking. He sat on the couch, distractedly reading a news article on his phone. After what seemed like an eternity, the intercom buzzed at 6:11. Derek jumped up, walked over to the door, and pressed the button to talk.

"H-hello?" he said, lamely.

"It's me, Cammy," said the voice through the speaker. She must have forgotten something, Derek thought as he hit the button to let her into the building. Holding the button down, he realized that even if she had forgotten something, Cammy has a key to his apartment. Maybe she forgot her keys, he reasoned. She's done that before.

About a minute later, Cammy walked in, wearing a formfitting black dress that he hadn't seen before. Except, it wasn't Cammy. No, this woman was an inch or two taller and had hair that was a touch darker than Cammy's platinum blonde. On closer look, her blue eyes were slightly darker and closer together, her nose was a bit longer, and her lips were a bit thinner. Still, Derek had been fooled for a second and he and Cammy had been dating for nearly a year. It was probably close enough to fool his boss for the evening. He decided to test the stand-in.

"Hi, Cammy," Derek said, extending his hand.

"What are you doing?" the stand-in said in a perfect Cammy voice before hugging him and kissing him on the cheek. Derek pulled away from the kiss, but the stand-in held onto him.

"We need to act perfectly normal tonight, don't you agree, honey?" stand-in Cammy said pointedly. Derek moved back into the hug, but didn't kiss her back.

"I think I might be coming down with something and I don't want you to get it," he said.

"Good thinking," she said knowingly. "You're so sweet to think of me like that. Better make sure not to shake anyone's hand tonight then."

"Right…" Derek said, nodding. This might actually work, he thought. He pulled away from the hug again and this time, stand-in Cammy let him go. "Ready to go?"

"Absolutely," she said.

The car ride over was surprisingly pleasant. This stand-in Cammy seemed just like the real thing and more than once, Derek forgot that he wasn't talking to his girlfriend. While some of her mannerisms weren't exactly right, Derek was still impressed. What kinds of questions had Cammy been asked to gain this level of insight into her life?

Once at the restaurant, Derek used the valet service and joined stand-in Cammy where she was standing in front on the sidewalk. She wrapped her arms around herself, reacting to the cold night air. Derek put an arm around her shoulders, protecting her from the chill.

"Thanks, baby," stand-in Cammy said, turning towards him. "You're so thoughtful." He realized that her perfume was the same as the real Cammy's, though it subtler, as if stand-in Cammy hadn't bathed in it like the real Cammy often did. It was a nice change.

Inside, Derek took advantage of the cocktail hour and began introducing Cammy to his coworkers. Once again, he was impressed with how quickly she responded with accurate information. At least, it sounded accurate. For the first time, Derek realized that he didn't know that much about his girlfriend. Did she teach yoga or spinning classes? He knew that she spent her day at the gym as an instructor, but doing what? And he knew she was from somewhere near Los Angeles, but he couldn't recall the actual name of the city. Cerritos sounded like a real place, so if the stand-in was making up facts, she was doing a good job.

When stand-in Cammy talked to Alexis from marketing, she seemed to know an awful lot about camping. Was that how the real Cammy would have responded? Had Cammy gone on camping trips with her family before her parents split up? Derek was ashamed to admit to himself that he simply didn't know.

When they were all called into the dining room for dinner, George from accounting walked up beside Derek as they went inside. "Nice to finally meet Cammy after all this time," he said.

"Thanks," Derek said, a bit distracted—learning you don't know some as well as you thought takes time to process. "Where's Meredith?" he asked, snapping out of it. "I haven't seen her yet."

"She couldn't make it," George said, a little disappointed. "Her sister is visiting and the two of them are at the Irony concert."

"Wait," Derek said, suddenly worried, "aren't you afraid of losing your job if Meredith isn't here?"

"No," George answer, a little confused, "why would I be?"

"Saunders is always going on about being supported by his wife and how we all need to have someone in our lives who supports us," Derek explained. "Plus, Carlos got fired last year after he didn't bring his girlfriend with him to this dinner."

"That's why you think Carlos was fired?" George asked, "No, he slept with Bill's wife. At this dinner last year, I think."

"What?!" Derek asked, shocked. "Then why is Bill always going on about being supported by Carol?"

"Not sure," George said, shrugging. "Maybe he's putting on a good face or maybe he's trying to convince himself. Either way, I'm pretty sure he hasn't fired anyone simply because their spouse or whatever didn't come to some dinner."

Suddenly, Derek was aware of the fact that he had no idea how much he was paying for the stand-in. When his job was on the line, the price didn’t seem to matter, but now that he knew he could have come stag, the price of what amounted to a private performance by a skilled actress seemed like it would be awfully expensive.

Derek found the stand-in sitting at a table and took the seat next to her, leaning in he whispered in her ear, "I think you should go. You don't feel well."

"Babe, I feel fine," stand-in Cammy said, brushing him off.

"You should still go," Derek continued undeterred. "Your services are no longer required. I'll call you a cab."

This time, stand-in Cammy leaned in and whispered in Derek’s ear. "Won't it look weird if I leave right as we sit down to eat? Wouldn't it look much more believable if I suddenly don't feel well after eating?"

Derek had to admit that she had a good point. He nodded his agreement and leaned back in his chair, dreading his future credit card statement. The catering crew began distributing salad plates and Derek tried to at least enjoy the meal.

When the dessert plates were being passed out after the main course, Bill Saunders, CEO and President of Saunders International, stood up to say a few words.

"Thank you for coming," he said into the wireless microphone one of his aides handed him. "As you know, I strive for our company to excel in the many fields we're currently engaged. But I also know that it's important to be appreciated. That's why I make sure that we have this dinner every year: to let you know that I appreciate all of your hard work. And not just you, but your significant others, too. I wouldn't be the man I am today if it wasn't for my wife, Carol. And through it all, she's been by my side, staying faithful and true.

"I always go on and on about Carol's importance in my life," Bill continued, "so I'd like you all to hear from her now. Would you please give her a round of applause?" The crowd obliged and politely clapped as Carol Baxter-Saunders stood up and took the mic from her husband. Derek saw that instead of applauding, stand-in Cammy was on her phone. Was that like the real Cammy, Derek thought? She was on her phone a lot, he had to admit, but he thought that she would know better than to text during his boss' speech.

"Thanks, Bill," Carol spoke into the mic. "This has been a big year, both for this company and for the Baxter-Saunders family. For Saunders International, we experienced tremendous growth, including expansions into Singapore and Tunisia. For our family, our daughter, Brittany and her husband Joshua have expanded their family by adopting a baby girl, Carlotta. We have been blessed in so many ways and we're happy to be able to share our good fortune with all of you!" The crowd applauded and Carol passed the mic back to Bill, who kissed her gently on the check as he took it from her.

"And with that formality out of the way, let's dance!" The lights immediately dimmed and Irony's dance hit "Influential" started playing. While Derek enjoyed dancing—he had met Cammy while they were dancing at a club—he saw this as his opportunity to leave and avoid a potentially devastating bill. He leaned in to tell stand-in Cammy that they needed to go, but she was already leaning in to talk to him.

"Are you feeling okay?" she asked, speaking loudly over the music and pressing a hand to his forehead. "If you still think you’re coming down with something, maybe we should go?"

I forgot that I said that earlier, Derek thought. She's good.

"Yeah," Derek nearly shouted back, "I'm not doing terrible, but I don't want to push things, you know?"

"Of course," stand-in Cammy said sweetly, slinging her purse strap onto her shoulder.

Back in the car, Derek’s curiosity got the better of him.

"The date's over, right?" he asked rhetorically. "That means you're 'off the clock,' as it were. So, I have to ask: how did you get this job as a stand-in?"

"If I told you," stand-in Cammy said, her voice suddenly deeper and punctuated by a slight New Jersey accent, "you wouldn’t believe me."

"After tonight," Derek said, "I'll believe just about anything."

"Let me put it this way," stand-in Cammy began innocently, "if I told you, I'd have to kill you."

"Seriously?" Derek asked, one eyebrow cocked.

"Of course not," stand-in Cammy said, chuckling a little while digging through her purse, "but I'm not supposed to talk about me. The fact that I'm no longer in character is already breaking the rules. Mind if I vape?" she asked, holding up an electronic cigarette.

"Uh," Derek fumbled, caught off guard, "I guess?"

"Thanks," stand-in Cammy said, putting the vaporizer to her lips.

Derek, shocked again—though this time by how different the stand-in was acting from Cammy—and drove the rest of the way home in silence.

After pulling into his apartment's parking lot, Derek turned to the stand-in, not sure what the next step was.

"So, do you bill me or how does this work?" he asked, lamely.

"Your girlfriend gave the company your credit card information," she replied, her natural voice sounding so strange to Derek. "You'll get charged based on how long we were out and how elaborate the ruse was. I didn't have to wear a prosthetic chin or anything, so the 'elaborate' part won't be too bad."

"If I were to, um, need your services again," Derek said nervously, "how do I get in touch with you?"

"Your girlfriend has the number," the stand-in said, looking down at her phone, "and the company keeps records of all the clients, so just call and say you want the girl you were sent last time."

"Are you not allowed to give me your name?" Derek asked.

"That's up to me," the stand in said, looking up, "but if it's all the same to you, I'd like to keep things professional."

"I'm not going to come looking for you or anything," Derek reassured. "I'm just curious."

"Even so," stand-in Cammy said, putting her phone in her purse, "let's leave some things to the imagination. I just ordered a ride on my phone and they should be here any minute. If you don't mind, I'd rather not go from one car to another."

"Don't want to look too 'professional,'" Derek said.

"Something like that," the stand-in said, nodding. "Now, am I going to have to open my door myself or are you going to end this night like a gentleman?"

"Right," Derek said as he got out of the car and walked around to the passenger side. After opening the door, he extended his hand and helped stand-in Cammy out of the car. Once she stood up, she leaned in to hugged Derek, who didn't resist this time.

"I had a great time, Derek," the stand-in said in Cammy's voice into Derek's ear. "You're important to me, so it was nice to be able to support you."

After her ride picked up the stand-in, Derek walked inside his apartment. He kept thinking about the last thing stand-in Cammy said to him. The real Cammy was more concerned with attending a concert that she won tickets to at the last minute than keeping her promise to him. He almost felt like he preferred the stand-in to than the real Cammy, though having the curtain drawn back a little at the end was unsettling.

Although, Derek reasoned, he had been wrong about needing Cammy at the dinner that night. Still, she didn't know that when she bailed on him for the concert. It turned out that it didn't matter, but as far as Cammy knew, he could have lost his job simply because she wanted to go to see Irony perform. Not that he could blame her: Irony's shows sell out for a reason.

Derek decided to let it go, since his job wasn't in jeopardy. But his date with the stand-in proved that he didn't know Cammy that well. Were they only dating because it was convenient or did they really care about each other? He didn't know, but he wanted to. He pulled out his phone and sent his girlfriend a text.

I left the dinner early and Im probably going to go to bed soon, but I want to see you in the morning and hear all about the concert. Have fun!

I want to hear about more than the concert, Derek thought. I want to hear about everything.

Support Group

Moore walked into the room and quietly found a seat. The metal folding chairs were arranged in a small circle, allowing the attendees to face each other. A couple of young women were at a small table in the back of the room, helping themselves to the coffee and donuts. Moore had heard about support groups like this one before, but had never attended one until today. Life was hard for him, made all the harder from the feeling that no one understood what he was going through. Still, he felt a little silly being there; after all, how many millions of people suffered fates much worse than him? He started having second thoughts and considered leaving.

As he was eyeing the door, a man started speaking to him. The bespectacled man looked about forty with a long, graying beard that came about a third of the way down his chest. He held out a hand, which Moore took.

"Hi there," the man said, sitting in the chair next to him. "I'm Justin."

"Uh, hey," Moore said, snapping out of his thoughts. "I'm Moore."

"I don't recognize you," Justin said. "Is this your first time here?"

"Yeah. I heard about you guys from a friend of mine, Max."

Justin looked surprised. "Really? I remember Max, but didn't think he got much out of our little group."

"I mean, I don't know," Moore said lamely. "Maybe he didn't, but he said it might work for me."

"Well," Justin said, standing up, "it's great to have you." He handed Moore a pamphlet. "We'll be reading from this in the meeting. And feel free to help yourself to some coffee and donuts."

Moore nodded as Justin walked to the other side of the circle and called out to the other attendees that it was time to start the meeting. As everyone found a seat in the circle, Justin began the introduction.

"Thank you for joining us, everyone. It's always nice to see our little group grow and it's doing just that because we have someone new joining us today." Justin turned from talking to the group as a whole and looked directly at Moore. "Whenever we have someone new, we like to review how these meetings go. Candy, would you like to lead us?" Justin asked.

Candy was a woman who looked like she was in her late twenties or early thirties with platinum blonde hair. She was pretty, if a bit plain, and wore a pretty boring outfit: tan sheep skin boots, black leggings, and a loose-fitting, gray hoody.

"Sure," she said as she stood up, putting her hands in the single front pocket on the hoody. "Okay, so we're all here because our parents gave us stupid names. We meet mainly for two reasons: it helps to know that there are other people who know our struggle and that leads to us to better accept ourselves. We start by reciting our mantra, before moving to the sharing portion of the meeting. Everyone is invited to share, but nobody's forced to. If you do share, introduce yourself and tell us your stupid name."

"Thank you, Candy," Justin said. "And now, we'll all stand and say the mantra together, found on the inside fold of our pamphlet," he said, holding it up. "Alright, Killian, will you lead us?"

Killian nodded and stood up. Killian was chubby and looked like he was still in high school. He had a head of dark, bushy hair and smelled strongly of body spray. He cleared his throat before beginning, with everyone joining in.

"Our names are stupid, but we aren't. Our parents chose names that are stupid, but that doesn't mean that they are. New people in our lives will make jokes and comments that are stupid, but that doesn't mean they are. We cannot control how the world sees us and that's okay. Our names are a part of us, but they do not define us. We are more than just our names."

With the chant finished, most of the group sat back down, leaving Justin standing.

"And now," he said, "we'll move on to the sharing portion of our meeting. I'll begin. My name is Justin Tyme."

"Hi, Justin," the group said together.

"As many of you know, having a name based on a phrase is not easy. As a child, I struggled with people constantly making the same joke about my name: 'you got here your name.' It's happened so long that I don’t actually remember a time when it wasn't already old. But, having this stupid name has also helped. I learned to appreciate really clever jokes, even ones about my name. When my son was born, I even posted a picture of him on social media with the caption 'a little Tyme.' I just repeat the mantra and remind myself that I didn't choose this name and it doesn't define me.

"Okay, who'd like to share next?"

"I'll go," said Candy, who introduced the basics of the meeting. "My name's Candy Caine."

"Hi, Candy," said the group.

"I've met other girls who go by Candy, but it's usually short for Candace. My mom figured that I'd just go by the nickname, so that's what my birth certificate says.

"It was tough when I was a teenager. I'd tell people my name and get told that it was a 'stripper name,' nevermind the fact that my best friend at the time was a girl named Sinnamon with an S, which literally has 'sin' in it. But, no, Candy Caine was the stripper name. But just as our mantra says, I refused to let my name define me. I figured out that people telling me that I have a stripper name was a reflection of them, not me.

"I work in marketing now and just got promoted to junior VP at my firm. The VP above me said that one of the reasons I got the promotion was because I worked so hard on everything. As I'm sure you all know, when you have a stupid name, you have to work harder than everyone else to prove to people that you're not as dumb as your name. At first that was a burden, but now I see it as a kind of gift that my mom gave me. Thank you."

"Thank you, Candy," Justin said. "Who'd like to go next?"

The meeting continued, with members sharing how having a stupid name was a struggle, but how it also served as a blessing, forcing them to be more than just their names. The other attendees included Polly Ester Williams, who admitted that her name was only stupid if she included her middle name; Krystal Ball and Crystal Bell, who met in high school and often got confused for each other, despite being different races; Killian Smalls, the chubby kid who led the mantra and said he was named after a catchphrase from a '90s movie, which meant that the only people of a certain age knew how stupid his name was; a couple of guys who had the same first name as their last name: William Williams and Adam Adams; and Queenie Stephens and Julian Butts, the only attendees who had just one stupid name.

With everyone else having shared, Moore felt everyone's eyes on him. He knew that he didn't have to say anything, but he also felt like everyone expected him to, so he stood up.

"Hi," he said, his hands in his pockets, "my name is Moore Orless."

"Hi, Moore," everyone said back.

"Like the rest of you, I've been frustrated about my name my whole life, but I learned something recently that suddenly made having this name even harder. I grew up without my father in my life. I knew lots of kids growing up without dads, so I didn't think too much of it. What was different for me was that he left me with a stupid last name. My mom named me Moore after my great-grandfather, which I understand, but with my last name, it's a combination that's, well… stupid.

"I recently decided to track down my father and confront him for not being in my life and leaving me with a stupid name. I ordered a copy of my birth certificate and it turns out that my father's last name isn't Orless, it's Thompson. I asked my mom where my last name came from and she said that she just made it up. Made it up! I spent my childhood getting made fun of and even got beat up a few times because she wanted my name to be a stupid phrase.

"I was telling all of this to a buddy of mine, Max Powers, and he told me about this group. He only came a couple of times, but he said I might get something out it. I guess it helps to know how many other people have stupid names, but it's still tough because my last name was just made up, you know? I spent a long time being mad at my dad and learning that he's not to blame for my last name, it really shook me. Like, you go your whole life knowing something only to learn that it's a lie.

"Anyway, I want to forgive my mom, but I'm not ready yet. Maybe coming here will help me let it go and move on. I don't know, but I figure I'll try. Thanks."

Moore sat back down, feeling a little better to get all of that off his chest. Justin stood back up.

"Thanks for sharing, Moore," he said. "I can't speak for everyone, but it took a while for me to forgive my parents for my stupid name. But I was able to forgive them. If you need someone to talk to, just one-on-one, let me know and I can set you up with a sponsor.

"And with that, we'll adjourn. Thanks for coming and I hope to see everyone back here next month."

On Matters of Fashion

"Gentlemen," Worthington said, gently swirly the snifter of brandy in his hand, "thank you for meeting me here."

"Here" in this case being the local gentlemen's club to which the gathered members belonged. They were in the library, which meant they were surrounded by shelves upon shelves of books. Despite being a library, the books were for show and were rarely (if ever) read. No, the library was simply a place to gather and sit while indulging in tobacco or alcohol with other men of similar means and tastes.

While some men owned businesses or were retired, Worthington was the son of a textile magnate. He was college-educated, but many of those gathered with him saw him as little more than a child allowed to associate with the adults due to the insistence of his father. Still, Archibald Worthington was a respected man, so his son’s invitation was honored—or more likely, humored—albeit begrudgingly.

"There is time for pleasantries later," Dickson said lighting his pipe as he leaned on the mantle above the fireplace. "Get to the point of this gathering."

"Efficient as always, Reginald" Worthington said flatly. He put his drink down on an end table and walked to stand in front of a bookcase on the northern side of the room. "We are here because there is an untapped market that is begging to be exploited." At the word "market," the group groaned quietly.

"If you had told me this was a business matter," Hornsby said from his overstuffed armchair, his jowls trembling as he spoke, "I would have sent my steward, as he is responsible for such things."

"And that is why I concealed the nature of this meeting until now," Worthington replied, a smug grin creeping across his face. "And besides, while this may be about a potential business venture, I feel with certainty that you will want to hear this firsthand."

"Very well," Fitzpatrick said, cleaning his monocle with a silk handkerchief, "get on with it. The sooner you finish your proposal, the sooner we can tell you 'no' and be on our way."

"We shall see," Worthington said, his smug grin still firmly in place. "Now, what is the one item most difficult to purchase at a haberdashery?" Various responses came from the crowd:

     "Genuine ivory tobacco pipes"
     "Mollusk silk handkerchiefs"
     "Peruvian mustache wax"
     "Polar bear fur coats"

"Perhaps I should have phrased my question differently," Worthington said thoughtfully. "What I mean to ask is what is the most embarrassing item to purchase?" Again, various responses were offered:

     "Leather softened by the toothless gumming of Indochinese women"
     "Icelandic necropants"
     "Opium"

Worthington became visibly uncomfortable by some of the items mentioned and tried to quickly regain control of the meeting.

"I am referring to undergarments," he said over the group, who had continued to reply to his earlier question. "Undergarments can be quite embarrassing to purchase, especially when other customers are in the shop with you."

"And what is your plan to solve this?" Dickson asked incredulously. "Underclothes are not meant to be discussed. They are meant to be purchased with subtle glances and hand gestures while the cost is added to the bill under 'accessories' or some such."

"But why is this so?" Worthington asked rhetorically. "It would be one thing if women were present, but the fairer sex cares little for clothes shopping, so the risk of that is nearly nonexistent. And the haberdasher already has intimate knowledge of our various measurements, so any discomfiture cannot be because of him. No, society has taught us to be ashamed of the male form. In ancient Greece, men regularly exercised nude, but today even a trip to the seashore requires extensive covering.

"I say no longer! I say that we embrace our masculinity and establish our own haberdashery dedicated exclusively to undergarments."

There was quite a bit of muttering from those gathered. Worthington, not wanting to lose his momentum, pressed forward.

"I am so confident in the need for a place where men are able to openly purchase the most intimate of apparel, that I will put my name on the business: Worthington's."

"To be clear," Fitzpatrick said, reaching in his waistcoat pocket for his snuff tin, "I think this concept is foolhardy. However, if the most personal of clothing is to be sold at this proposed shop, why not use your Christian name? Or are you hoping that customers will associate the business with your father?"

"And it should sound more mysterious," Hornsby added, playing with the curled end of his mustache. "Imagine if a man were expecting a traditional haberdashery and walks in to find only breeches on display."

"Very well," Worthington said. "Are we in agreement then? We shall establish as the first intimate apparel haberdashery and finally make shopping for undergarments not only a shameless experience, but an enjoyable one! Here’s to Victor’s Secret!"

One Dark Night

Todd looked at the text message on the cell phone, confirming that he had the right address. All these warehouses look the same, he thought as he pocketed the phone and pulled off his backpack, walking around to the back of the building. He pulled out another phone, this one with a cable attached, though the cable had been cut, exposing bare wires. He wired the adapter into the alarm system, rerouting its signal—if he just cut the power line, the security company would know something was wrong and send the cops. With the alarm disabled, he pulled some small wire tools from his back pocket and began picking the lock on the door.

Todd was a low-level crook and this wasn't his first breaking and entering, but it was the first time he did it for someone else, a client. It felt weird, like he was working at an office job or something. Come to think of it, the whole thing felt weird.

He was at the gym last week and when he opened his locker to grab his stuff before going home, there was a brown paper bag with ten grand in cash and a prepaid cell phone. The phone had an unread text message waiting for him. It said that the money was a "retainer" payment and if Todd took it, he'd need to be willing to take a job. It didn't feel right, but with the cops sniffing around his pawn shop that he used as a front, he needed the cash. When he got a text a few days later with an address and instructions to "get inside and wait for text," it made about as much sense as anything else had so far.

With the lock picked, Todd walked inside. It was nearly too dark to see inside, but there were a few skylights scattered across the ceiling that let in moonlight, which allowed Todd to walk across the warehouse without bumping into anything. He nearly made it to an adjacent office on the far side of the warehouse when he heard someone speak.

"Decent work disabling the alarm," a slightly nasal baritone voice said. "Too bad 'decent' isn't good enough with me on the job."

"What the crap?" Todd said, turning to face the voice. All he saw was a blur of shiny fabric as the speaker leaped from off a large wooden crate below a skylight and into the darkness. Just then, the prepaid phone in his pocket vibrated, alerting him of a new text message. Instinctively, Todd pull out the phone and read the text.

Having fun?

"You set this up?" Todd shouted into the darkness. "That's entrapment!"

"Actually," the unseen voice said, "only government officials can entrap someone. Also, I didn't set up anything."

The phone vibrated in Todd's hand. He looked down.

He's right

"What's going on?!" Todd screamed, nearly at a panic. Weird he could handle, but everything was getting downright insane.

Suddenly, a man jumped into view. He wore a yellow and gold spandex body suit that covered everything but his eyes, ears, mouth, and chin. A cape hung from his back and he wore glasses over his mask. The man was thin but athletic looking, like a gymnast or diver. He stood in front of Todd in what looked like karate pose: slightly crouched with hands in "chopping" form held up in front of his face.

"Oh, great," Todd said sarcastically, "a friggin' superhero."

"Actually," the other man said, "I have no super powers, though I am a vigilante, operating outside the law."

"Look," Todd said wearily, "I don't want any trouble. I just needed the cash and they said to come here."

"Being destitute is no excuse for breaking the law," the spandex-clad man said condescendingly.

"Who are you supposed to be anyway?" Todd asked. "The Incredible Know-it-all?"

"I'm sure it's hard to see in this lighting," the masked hero said, "but I have a stylized capital letter P on my costume, for I am the Pedant!"

"What, like a pedophile?" Todd asked, backing away slightly.

"Why does everyone keep asking that?" the Pedant asked rhetorically. "A pedant is someone who is focused on details and righting wrongs."

"Or to put it another way," a different, though still nasally voice called out of the darkness, "he's anal retentive!"

"It can't be!" the Pedant said, turning around as he tried to find the new speaker.

"Now what?" Todd asked, his worry replaced with annoyed confusion.

"It sounds like my arch-rival," the Pedant said, continuing his frantic search in the darkness, "but that’s impossible! He's currently under house arrest with a tracking ankle monitor; if he left, it would incur the wrath of county judge Davis!"

"And what if I never left home?" the voice called out in a near laugh.

"But that would mean—" the Pedant started.

"Indeed!" the voice said as all of the lights in the warehouse turned on. Both Todd and the Pedant had to squint under the bright lights. Todd, shielding his eyes, looked around. The front of the crate that the Pedant had leapt off of earlier opened downward, drawbridge-style, revealing a large television screen inside. It turned on, revealing what looked like a man in front of a web camera wearing clown makeup.

"The Annoyer!" the Pedant shouted at the screen.

"The very same!" the man on the screen cackled. "I bet you weren't expecting such an elaborate ruse, now were you, Pee Dance?"

"You know that's not my name, Greg!" the Pedant shouted at the screen.

"You've got to be kidding me," Todd said to himself. "Was this job just to tick him off?" he asked the Annoyer, pointing at the Pedant.

"And you've performed admirably!" Greg exclaimed. "You'll find another ten thousand dollars in the top drawer of the desk in the office just behind you."

"I'm sure gramps would be so proud of how you're spending your inheritance," the Pedant sarcastically said as Todd walked towards the office.

"I'm not the one going around beating up people and saying that I'm making the world a better place," the Annoyer said, rolling his eyes. "And at least I picked a name that makes sense, Alan."

"I've explained my title to you," the Pedant said, annoyed (appropriately enough). "You know it makes sense."

"If it makes sense," Greg said, "then why do you need to constantly explain it to people?"

"That's just because people are undereducated," Alan replied.

As the two grown men wearing either a costume and makeup continued to bicker, Todd walked out of the warehouse, another stack of hundreds in his backpack. Once outside, he took the prepaid phone he had been contacted on—apparently by a guy named Greg who just wanted to annoy his brother or cousin or whatever—and chucked it as far as he could down the street. When he heard it crash a block or so away, he started walking back to his car in the opposite direction.

Lesson learned, Todd thought. There’s no such thing as "easy money."

Name and Address

Darryl the deliveryman walked up to the house and rang the doorbell. This was his last delivery of the day and he was anxious to get back to the warehouse so he could clock out and go home. Beyond just wanting to relax, his girlfriend, Joslyn, was making lasagna for dinner tonight and he'd been looking forward to it all day.

After a short wait, a tired-looking woman holding a baby answered the door. She was dressed in sweatpants and an oversized, stained t-shirt, with her greasy hair tied in a loose ponytail. The baby in her arms smiled at Darryl, all the while drooling on to the bib that made up the only clothing it was wearing, apart from a diaper.

"Yes?" she yawned, a look of weary indifference on her face. "Can I help you?"

"Hi there," Darryl said politely. "I’ve got a package here for a … uh, a Muh… Muhbil… aw, geez. I’m sorry, but this one is a tough one."

"The name’s Stromberg," the woman said flatly.

"Wow," said Darryl, "I would not have guessed that from the spelling." He scanned the package’s barcode with a handheld scanner, tucked the cardboard box under his arm, and turned the scanner around so that the screen faced the woman. "Please sign here."

She took the stylus and distractedly signed her name. A crashing sound came inside the house. "Jeffery! Knock it off!" she shouted behind her without taking her eyes from off the scanner. "Sorry about that," she said as she finished signing her name. "My husband’s on a business trip and I’ve been all alone with the kids for nearly the whole week."

"Don't worry about it," Darryl said, taking the scanner back and pressing a few buttons. "You just yelled at your kid. I didn't have to run from a dog or someone with a weapon, so I still count this as an easy delivery." Having marked the package as delivered in his scanner, Darryl handed the woman the cardboard box. "Just out of curiosity, how do you pronounce your first name?"

"Gretchen," Mrs. Stromberg said, a little confused.

"Huh," Darryl said, surprised. "Well, you've got some creative ways to spell your names. Have a nice day!" Darryl started walking back to the delivery truck as Gretchen read the label on the package.

"Hold on a second," she called after him, her eyes still on the box. "This isn't for us."

"Really?" Darryl asked, one foot already inside the truck.

"Yeah," she said, the annoyance in her voice intensifying. "We're the Strombergs, not the Mmm… Muhbellawannas," she said less-than-confidently. "And this isn't even our address. We're on Elm Street, not Elk."

Darryl paused. He considered just driving off and letting someone at the distribution warehouse worry about it, but since he already scanned the package, it would eventually get traced back to him. He took his foot out of the truck walked back towards the house and Gretchen.

"Sorry about that, ma'am," he said, his voice flavored with irritated disappointment. "Mistakes like this are rare these days, but they do happen. Lucky us." He scanned the package a second time, pressed some buttons, and took the box back from Mrs. Stromberg. "Sorry to bother you," he apologized.

"That's okay," Gretchen said, a slight smile creeping onto half of her face. "If I'm being honest, it was just nice to talk to someone about something other than dinosaurs or princesses."

"Well," Darryl said, grinning, "I'm glad I could give you a couple of minutes of human conversation. Have a nice day."

Gretchen waved as she stepped back inside and closed the door. Darryl got into his truck and typed in the address from the package into the GPS mounted on the dashboard, mentally kicking himself for not catching the typo. When the route loaded, he breathed a sigh of relief when he saw that his destination was only eight minutes away.

As he drove away, Darryl laughed ironically to himself. He must have really been thinking hard about lasagna if he thought Gretchen Stromberg could somehow be spelled "Ayo Mbelewana."