Synopsis: Did you go to your high school prom? If you needed a date for the prom, what would you do? Desperate times call for desperate measures.

 

High School Confidential

by Laurie S. aka l.satori

 

While waiting for Britney to show up, I looked over the menu. It was the same old same old, so why was I bothering?

Sloopy's had been our hangout since we had begun dating in September. Just around the corner from West Beverly Hills High, it attracted a lot of students at lunch and even after school for its juicy momma burgers, earthquake 'shakes and trans fat-free fries.

So when Karen, the waitress, asked for my order, I settled on a tall, cold glass of ice tea, with lemon and sugar, 'cause here in Socal, the regular ice tea comes tastelessly unadorned and undrinkable.

"Hi Jeff," Britney chirped. "Sorry I'm late, as usual."

"It's okay," I replied. "You're worth waiting for."

As Britney alighted on the seat opposite me, her smile changed to a more serious look.

I leaned over to kiss her, but Britney suddenly moved her head to the side so that I kissed her cheek.

Britney looked upset. "Jeff, I don't quite know how to say this, so I might as well just get it out as quickly as I can."

"What's going on?"

"Jeff, I want to break up with you. I want to end our relationship."

Britney's expression was dead serious. She didn't look like she was joking.

I didn't know what to say.

"I know this sounds like it came all of a sudden," Britney said, "but it's something I've been thinking about for awhile."

"Really?"

"Yes."

"Is there another guy?"

Britney paused. "Uh huh."

"Anybody I know?"

"Yes, but that's not important. For the past month or so I was feeling like our relationship wasn't going anywhere. And with you going to Stanford next fall and me going to UCLA, I just didn't think things would work out very well."

It sounded like she had rehearsed her lines. "So who's the other guy?"

Again Britney paused. "Okay, I guess I might as well tell you 'cause you're going to hear about it anyway. It's Darren Jackson."

Darren Jackson was the star player on our basketball team. He was the 'Steve Nash' type point guard of the West Beverly Hills Bruins.

Just then, Karen came back with my ice tea. "Hi Britney. Can I get you something?"

"No thanks, Karen. I'm about to leave."

"Anything else for you, Jeff?"

"No thanks."

After the waitress had moved on, I looked directly at Britney. "So when did this happen?"

"I've been out with Darren just two times. We hit it off right away when he took me to see a Lakers game. And last weekend, we went dancing at a hip hop club on Santa Monica."

I had been up to Palo Alto checking out Stanford University the previous weekend. And the weekend before that, I was in San Diego visiting UCSD.

"I don't know what to say, Britney."

"There's nothing else to say. Goodbye Jeff."

Britney stood up and started for the exit.

I looked at her mane of long auburn hair and her curvaceous bod as she held up her hand and waved without looking back.

I sure was going to miss that sexy girl. "Bye Britney," I mumbled as she walked off onto Sunset.

2

A few days later, I was hangin' out at my 'cousin' Jamie's place in Palos Verdes. Down in the family room, we were trying out an illegal copy of the Revenge of the Sith game.

"I suppose I should've seen the signs, but quite honestly, I didn't."

"You mean you couldn't read her thoughts?" Jamie asked. "Well duh."

"Okay, when a girl tells ya we don't talk enough, how do you respond to that?"

"Dude, they're always trying to tell ya something."

A few lines from an old Police song jumped into my brain. 'And when their eloquence escapes you…De do do do, de da da da, That's all I want to say to you.'

"So, I guess it was my fault. Maybe I coulda been more sensitive to her needs. Maybe I coulda gone shopping with her more often. Maybe I coulda complimented her more often or stroked her fabulous bod more often. Actually, come to think of it, I don't think that coulda been possible. Well, maybe I coulda given her more space. Whatever!"

"Woulda, shoulda, coulda."

No matter how many times I replayed the scene in my mind, I still came out with the short end of the stick. And Darren Jackson was one lucky bastard!

The more I thought about it, the angrier I got.

"Jeff, that's tough," Jamie said. "But, as they say when you fall off a tauntaun, you gotta dust off that snow, get right back on that tauntaun and ride her."

"Thanks for the encouragement, noble Jedi, but right now I don't think I can get back in the same saddle. And Britney won't let me ride her. Believe me, even before we broke up, I tried."

"Flamed out, huh, Yoda breath."

"Yup."

"Erotically challenged you are."

"Degrading it is," I admitted.

"At least, in the game you were."

"Hmm. Getting back to the present time frame, to work for Richard Branson I should go."

"Why is that?"

"Right at home working for Virgin Records and Virgin Airlines I'd feel."

"Oh."

"Yes, losing my virginity on prom night I was hoping."

"Who knows? You still might. Although, if you keep up the Yoda speak, a virgin Star Wars nerd will you remain."

"Then give up the Yoda speak I must."

Jamie was trying to cheer me up, as he knocked off another Jedi Knight on the Playstation 2 screen. Then, there was a loud explosion.

"Darn! I just can't get past this level."

"Here, let me see if I can do better," I said as I grabbed the controller.

"I gotta admit, from the picture you showed me, Britney was hot!"

"Fer sure. My loins ache just thinkin' about her."

"I feel for ya, cousin."

"You know, I'm really stuck here, Jamie."

Jamie looked at the Playstation screen.

"No, I don't mean this Revenge of the Sith game. Because Britney left me high and dry, I don't have a date for the prom."

"Man, that's tough."

"Yeah, during the past two weeks, I've asked five other gorgeous gals at school and they all turned me down. They all had dates already. I even asked two plain Janes, real nice girls, but they were taken too. I don't want to miss the prom, but I don't want to go alone either. Especially since Britney is going to show up with that hotshot Darren Jackson."

"Man, that's too bad."

"That hot shit, Darren, is going to find out Britney's a real heartbreaker. A ball-breaker. I just can't believe she could be so cold."

I was all thumbs. I couldn't work the controls any better than Jamie. "Sorry dude. No luck," I said as my lightsaber skills failed me. I felt like poor Obi-Wan Kenobi being betrayed by Anakin Skywalker.

A little later, we were enjoying cold drinks while we lounged by the backyard pool. Actually, Jamie's family owned a great place on 'the hill' overlooking the Pacific.

"So what's your sister doing?" I asked.

"She's still in New York. It's the place to be if you're a model."

"Do you miss her?

"Of course, but we talk occasionally on the phone."

"Yeah, I guess she lives a hard life. Flyin' off to the runways of Paris or Milan."

Suddenly a rubber ducky whizzed through the air and bounced off my noggin.

"What did you do that for?" I said with a laugh.

"Don't ever diss my sister."

Jamie's sister, Regan, was one hot chick. She was already in the supermodel stratosphere after a year in New York with the Ford Agency.

"I'd never diss your sister. Hell, if she wasn't my 'cousin,' I'd ask her to the prom."

"Yeah right, you know you're a redneck when you go cruisin' fer chicks at a family reunion."

"If I had a date for the prom who looked as beautiful as your sister, Regan, I'd be the envy of the whole senior class."

"Well, you're shit outta luck 'cause Regan's not coming back to accompany you to the prom. Not after the way you used to kid her about her big boobs when you were younger."

"They were big! But, I guess, in retrospect, I was the big boob."

"Got that right."

There was a lull in the conversation. Regan the goddess! Confidentially, when I was younger, I worshipped the ground she levitated above. The only reason I made fun of her was because I couldn't think of anything remotely intelligent to say to her. So I teased her about her awesome looks. Oh, if only I could go back in time and change all those dumb things I said to her.

"So what's going on at your school?" I asked.

"Nothing much. Palos Verdes isn't like West Beverly Hills. The prom isn't as big a deal."

I thought Jamie was underplaying its importance. "Are you going?"

"No. I didn't plan to."

Jamie wasn't exactly a lady's man. He had a really thin build and was not the most virile guy. Sometimes other kids bullied him and made fun of him 'cause he used to take dance lessons.

"You're SOL too, huh?"

"Yup."

I reached for my ice tea. "Life sucks." Then, after sipping my drink, I closed my eyes and leaned back on the chaise lounge.

"You know," began Jamie, "it's too bad we can't help each other out."

"What do you mean?"

"If you hadn't noticed, we're two lonely guys without dates."

"Unless your sister comes back to town with two supermodel friends, I don't see a solution to our problem."

"Well, remember that Halloween when I dressed up in that Catwoman costume?"

My jaw dropped. "You can't be serious?"

"Remember how you said I looked incredible?"

"What have you been smoking?"

"Well, okay, forget it. It was just a thought."

There was another lull in the conversation.

I thought back to when we were kids and I had come over to Jamie's place one Halloween. My parents were outta town, so I had to spend the whole weekend with Auntie Emily and Uncle John. Actually, to tell you the truth, Auntie Emily and Uncle John weren't really my uncle and aunt. They were really close friends of my mom and dad. So, when I was a wee little guy, rather than have me call John and Emily by their first names, I always called them Auntie Emily and Uncle John. The names stuck. But, I digress. Anyway, Jamie and I must have been about twelve years old that Halloween. Regan was fourteen, just in her first semester of high school.

"Yeah, I remember that Halloween very well," I said.

"You dressed up as Batman."

"And since you didn't want to be Robin, you donned the Catwoman outfit."

"Yes, Regan said she didn't think Catwoman should be taller than Batman, so she gave me her Catwoman costume."

"Right, then Regan just walked with us through the neighborhood without a costume."

"She was a little old for trick or treating anyway. Besides, the Catwoman outfit was a little too tight for her—proving one size doesn't fit all."

"Well, I don't get it. You want to dress up as Catwoman again?"

"Duh. Do I have to spell it out?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, you may have noticed, I do look a lot like my sister."

"Uh huh."

"And she's a supermodel."

"Yeah, but you are not your sister. And if you want to look at yourself in your birthday suit, you might notice you are not a girl."

"But, what if I told you I could look almost as beautiful as my sister?"

I stared at Jamie. "Are you for real?"

"Yes. I could do it."

"As I said before, what have you been smoking?"

"Look, when my sister was doing modeling locally, I went with her a few times. You know, she'd get her makeup done before some of the shoots. She introduced me to some of the people involved."

"Like who?"

"The photographer, the makeup artist, the hair stylist, the wardrobe people and whoever else was around."

"So what. Hangin' around a fashion shoot doesn't make you a supermodel by osmosis."

"No, but," Jamie said, "give me a minute. I'll show you what I mean."

Jamie got up from the lounge chair and put on his flip-flops. "I'll be back in a few minutes."

He must've been crazy. It was the most ridiculous idea I'd ever heard, although in his Speedos, Jamie was one skinny dude. Okay, to dress as Catwoman is one thing. Yes, in the tights and shiny black latex boots, mask and gloves, Jamie had filled out the costume very well. Actually, it had been really funny. That Halloween, no one had guessed that slutty 'sex on heels' Catwoman wasn't a real girl.

As Jamie walked toward the sliding glass doors leading into the family room, I noted that Jamie's booty actually was kinda like a girl's wide ass. And he had a natural girlish sway to his walk.

Then Jamie turned around. "You were checkin' me out," accused Jamie.

"Are you nuts?"

"I could see the reflection in the glass, you little pervert."

"I'm a pervert?"

Jamie laughed.

After he disappeared into the house, I lay back on my chaise lounge, closed my eyes and drank in the warmth of the sun.

Perhaps five minutes later, I suddenly jumped up as I felt a handful of ice cubes being jammed down my back.

It was Jamie playing another little annoying trick on me. I tried to ignore his juvenile attack. If I showed no emotion, it would lessen the enjoyment of his antics.

With a self-satisfied smirk, Jamie said, "Hey, big guy. Here's a photo of my sister. That was taken two years ago at a photo shoot down in Malibu." Jamie handed me the top 8x10 from a packet he was holding.

"Yeah, she looks gorgeous, as usual." And she did. Regan was wearing a glamorous looking multi-colored caftan. In the background were the sands of Malibu and the breakers of the Pacific Ocean.

Then, his expression changed. "You better not breathe a word of this to anyone."

"Not a word," I said, as I held up my hand in a three-finger salute. "Scout's honor."

"I didn't know you were a Boy Scout."

"I wasn't."

Jamie stroked his nose using a subtle one-finger salute.

"Hey! I caught that."

"Well, you deserved it. C'mon, promise!"

"Okay, okay, but I really didn't know you were a Girl Guide."

There was a look of resignation on Jamie's face.

"I'm just foolin' with ya, Jamie."

"All right. Because it was one of those days with intermittent clouds, we were sitting around waiting for the right light. So, the makeup guy, Jean-Michel, made a comment about the resemblance between me and my sister. He said that, with a little makeup and a wig, he could make me look just like my sister."

"He was out of his gourd, right?"

"Well, look at the next photo."

"Uh huh. It's your sister again, in the same outfit."

"Are you sure?" asked Jamie. "Look again."

I looked at the second photo. Then I flipped back to the first photo. The legs, where they emerged from the lower part of the caftan's folds, looked long, slender and shapely. The waist was thin and the upper body looked to be filled by Regan's C cups. As for the face, the eyes, with the false eyelashes, mascara and the various eye shadows, looked too similar to tell apart. Maybe the chins were slightly different. In both photos, the long golden blonde hair was blowin' in the wind.

"They look pretty similar to me."

Jamie shuffled the packet of photos he had in his hands a few times as if he was playing a card trick on me.

"Half of these are pictures of me. The others are of Regan. Guess which is which."

I stared at the mixed up photos one by one. They all looked to be of Regan in different poses and with caftans in various colors. "You've got to be kidding." I looked at the pictures again, then at Jamie. "I can't tell the difference."

"Do you believe me now?"

"Well I'll be damned." Who'd have thunk it? Jamie looked like his sister the supermodel.

Still, I had a bad feeling about this.

3

Whenever I saw Britney in school, it was always difficult for me.

In the Math and Science classes we took together, we decided it would be best if we no longer sat beside each other. Actually, that was her decision. I still held out hope that we could get back together. But, Britney made it clear to everyone that she was happy going out with Darren Jackson. And most of all, Britney made it clear to everyone that she had dumped me.

Then there was that detestable Darren Jackson. He was one of those white guys who wished he were black. A Lakers hat, worn backwards, with the price tag still on it and baggy shorts that hung like they were going to fall down and expose his ass cheeks. Rap and house music were always blaring from his iPod. You know, he acted, just 'cause he was on the basketball team, like he was from Compton. Okay, Darren had been to Compton. Yeah right, he might have driven right through it – at seventy miles per hour on the elevated Interstate 710. Darren and his posse hung in the 'hood? What a laugh! Did you know West Beverly Hills High was 80% white?

And he always said this annoying expression. "Buck up, man. Buck up." I guess that was supposed to mean try harder or something. But it just made him sound like a total asswipe.

All right. Maybe I was nitpicking here, but that piece of Vanilla Ice just stole my girl.

I tried to roll with the punches the best I could. But, so what if I was suicidal? So what if I felt like I had just been kicked in the balls? So what if my heart ached like it had just been pounded on by Celine Dion? My heart must go on. And on.

For a while, I felt like I was wandering through the hallowed halls of West Beverly Hills High with the sign "LOSER" stamped on my forehead.

Every time I sat in the cafeteria, and some love song blared over the sound system, I got up and left. I was miserable.

My heart must go on.

And, to top it all off, those two plain Janes I had asked out and been turned down by, felt pity for me. It was the ultimate letdown. Yeah, I couldn't stand the looks of pity that I got from both Jane Cavanaugh and Janet Evans!

It was too much!

I think girls can just sense when a guy is desperate. They can smell that desperation as a guy grasps for straws and ends up with the short one. 'Loser, loser, loser' became my unbearable mantra.

Turned down by Jane Cavanaugh and Janet Evans! That was mind numbing.

And yet the May 27^th prom date at the Beverly Hilton Ballroom was fast approaching. My chances of winning Britney 'Spearchucker' Baker back were looking slimmer and slimmer.

But, what could I do?

Well, I needed to take action. So I walked toward the Student Counter at the office. I was required by the school administration to register the name of any non-West Beverly Hills High School student as my guest for the prom. Should I give the name of Jamie as my date? Could Jamie really pull it off? Would he pass as a beautiful girl?

I still had a bad feeling about this. My willingness to go to the prom with Jamie was probably the result of one of his Jedi mind tricks.

But if I didn't go with Jamie, I went solo.

So, just as I was about to open the office door, one of my old buds, Rory Carson, spotted me.

"Hey Jeff, how's it hanging?"

In teenspeak, that means, well, you know what it means. I hadn't seen much of Rory 'cause he had a different lunch period from me in the second semester.

"Fine." I didn't want to burden him with my true feelings. "How have you been, Rory?"

"Long time no sniff. So Jeff, what's up between you and Britney?"

"Nothing's up between Britney and me. That news is so last millennium." Just like Rory to pick at old scabs.

"I heard she dumped you."

"That's right."

"Too bad. With the prom coming up next week, I hear you're still looking for a date."

"Who'd you hear that from?"

"Jane Cavanaugh."

"Well, that's not true anymore. I have a date lined up."

"Really? Anyone I know?"

"No, she doesn't go to this school."

"So, what's her name?"

"Jamie Anderson."

"Cool. Is she hot?"

"As hot as Gwen Stefani."

"All right!" Rory extended his clenched fist and we rapped knuckles.

"And who's your date?"

"Jane Cavanaugh."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know," I stumbled for words, "when I asked her out."

"That's okay. As you say, you didn't know."

"She's the best."

Rory nodded in agreement. "Later."

"Later."

I guess I was committed to Jamie now.

4

I phoned my kissing cousin later that night. Okay, he wasn't my real cousin, as I explained before. But, as close family friends, the Andersons had replaced my real extended family 'cause all my real blood relatives lived out of state.

I had grown up regarding the Andersons as if they were my kin. For example, on Christmas day, we always spent it with the Andersons. As I said, they were like family.

"Hello."

"Hi Jamie."

"Hi, what up, Jeff?"

"I'm just phoning to let you know that I've registered your name with the school's office as my date for the prom."

"Unreal!"

"Yeah, it is unreal. I must be insane."

"Well, I'm glad that you did what you did."

"I still have a bad feeling about this. But, I couldn't miss the prom. It's a once in a lifetime thing."

"I guess so."

"Unless you flunk your senior year."

"Yeah, but I don't think that's a good reason to fail. Hey, did you know Regan missed her senior prom?"

"Really?"

"Uh huh, she got some big modeling assignment that week and had to fly off for a Vogue magazine cover shoot."

"I guess she couldn't turn that down."

"No. That was her big break. It took her into the world of high fashion and French couture."

Regan, what a babe! She could make me forget all about Britney Baker real fast. "So, will you be ready for the big night?"

"I'll get onto it right away. I have to buy a gown. I already made an appointment, just in case, with Jean-Michel and his salon to get my hair and make-up done."

"And he's going to turn you into a double for your supermodel sister?"

"That's what I'm hoping for."

The truth is, I had an enormous crush on Regan Anderson. But, even at a young age, I remembered that her beauty turned me into a blithering idiot. No matter how much I wanted to impress Regan, I could never be at my best with her. Somehow her beauty intimidated me. I just could never feel totally at ease around a girl as gorgeous as Regan.

"Listen, Jamie. I made the arrangements for a tux and a limo months ago when I thought I was going with Britney."

"Good."

"And I still have a reservation at the Beverly Hilton for that evening. Since it was paid for in advance and is non-refundable, there's little point in canceling it."

"Great. We won't have to worry about drinking and driving - or wardrobe malfunctions."

I laughed. "Honest to god, I hadn't thought of that."

"I have. Most prom gowns are low cut. So I need to be able to show some cleavage. And you never know what might pop out."

"Jamie, you're as flat-chested as me. How are you going to create cleavage?"

"Leave that up to Jean-Michel and me."

Now I had a really bad feeling about this. I suddenly had visions of that movie White Chicks. Those really were the Wayans brothers behind those scary white masks and girls' clothing, weren't they?

"Is there anything else you need?"

"Some shoes, jewelry, perfume and stuff guys don't normally see."

"But what about your voice?"

"Oh, Jeff darling," Jamie said in a breathy, sexy come hither whisper. "I've been imagining how I would seduce you the night of the prom. I can't wait to wrap my arms and legs all around you."

"Whoa there, Jamie. I've never had sex with a guy and I'm not about to start."

"We'll see, lover boy. When you see me on prom night, I will be irresistible."

Then, Jamie made smooching and sucking sounds into the phone. Then, I heard giggling. I could swear that the giggling was taking place at the same time as the smooching noises.

"Is anybody there with you, Jamie?"

"Are you crazy? Of course not."

What an airhead! "Well, don't be disappointed if I don't find you irresistible, but when I think back to the photos of you and Regan in that caftan, I guess anything is possible."

"You've got that right, lover."

"Now cut that out, Jamie."

"C'mon Jeff. We have to have some fun on prom night. After all, you do want to impress Britney Baker, don't you?"

"Yes, absolutely."

"So we have to put on a good show for your school pals, right?"

"Jamie, let's make it memorable. We'll play it for all it's worth."

And so we talked on and on.

Jamie wanted to know more about the tux I was renting. So I told him I'd send a photo of it by email. Jamie thought it would be nice to know 'cause he didn't want our outfits to clash.

We discussed getting together on the weekend to practice our dancing. Jamie had taken dance lessons since he was a kid, so I knew he'd be graceful on the dance floor. And I was no slouch either when it came to dancing. After all, when you attend West Beverly Hills High, you've got to learn all the moves. The dance ones too.

5

Since I was committed to going to Stanford University in the fall, it was absolutely essential that I maintain high grades.

Unfortunately, for my last major assignment, I had to write a critique of the play Pygmalion for my Drama class. It took me the better part of the weekend to reread the play, do the online research and write the analysis. As a consequence, I couldn't get together with Jamie to practice our dancing.

On Monday, I handed in the critique of George Bernard Shaw's work. Pygmalion, better known as the Hollywood musical My Fair Lady, was undoubtedly Shaw's most popular play.

It struck me that while proper speech was important in determining one's social status in England almost a hundred years ago, one's appearance today seemed to be just as important. In Pygmalion, Eliza Doolittle learned how to be a proper lady under the tutelage of Henry Higgins. The current reality television shows, such as The Swan and Extreme Makeover, emphasized the benefits of plastic surgery in ensuring the physical and mental well being of the transformed participants.

In Greek mythology, the sculptor Pygmalion created a beautiful ivory sculpture of the female form that no living woman could surpass. Pygmalion admired his perfect maiden so much that he fell in love with her.

Being sleep deprived, I more or less coasted through my morning Drama class and Science lab.

At lunch, as I sat in the crowded cafeteria minding my own business, the president of the student council, Wayne Grant, approached me.

"Hi Jeff, how's it going?"

"Good, Wayne. What's up?"

Normally I didn't talk to Wayne very often. It's not that I didn't like him or anything like that; it's just that the student council reps usually hung together. Wayne was part of the popular crowd.

"I heard you were looking for a date for the prom."

"Word gets around, huh?"

"Yes."

"Everyone in the school must know that Britney dumped me."

"Not true. The people in the lower grades don't know and don't care."

"That's a relief."

"Well, this could be your lucky day, Jeff."

"How so?"

"Do you know Christine Summers?"

"The cheerleader? The blonde one with the long legs and the to-die-for figure?"

"Yes."

"What about her?"

"Her boyfriend, Howard, just had an emergency appendectomy."

"Ooh, sounds painful."

"That's true. But, it also means that poor Christine has no date for the prom."

This was manna from heaven! My lucky day!

"Christine asked a favor of me," Wayne continued. "She wanted to find out if you'd be willing to escort her to the dance."

I almost blurted out "I'd love to."

"So, you're the matchmaker, are you?" I asked.

"That's right."

"Why me?"

"Why not you. You're smart, good looking and you're available."

"Actually Wayne, I have a date lined up already. If you had come to me last Friday, I probably would have said yes."

"Howard's appendicitis wasn't aware of your schedule."

"Bummer."

There was a look of incredulousness in Wayne's eyes. "Do you know what you're doing? It's a date with Christine Summers!"

Christine Summers was a babe! How could I turn her down?

"Wayne, I may regret this decision later on, but I can't very well back out now. It wouldn't be fair to my friend Jamie."

"This must be one amazing girlfriend."

"Yes, more amazing than you know," I said.

"Jeff, I admire your loyalty. I'd probably do the same thing if I was in your shoes."

"Thanks."

Wayne Grant was a prince of a guy. Principled even.

So why did I still have a bad feeling about this?

6

Now, my parents and Jamie's parents are pretty liberal, but on the night of the prom, I didn't want them to freak out.

So, we both lied. We didn't tell them about our plans. I mean, how do you explain you're going to the prom with your male 'cousin' - in drag, dressed in a beautiful prom gown in a wig, full makeup, sexy underwear and high heels.

Having promised to be ready to be picked up in the limo at 7:00, Jamie took the day off from school. He went straight to Jean-Michel's salon at 4:00 in the afternoon.

While Jamie was getting beautiful, I went to the formal wear shop. I picked up the tux. It was a classy outfit in a style called the Gerard. The jacket was white. The flared pants were black. The white shirt had black buttons. And there wasn't any vest. However, I had to be shown how to do up the bow tie. I didn't want to use a cheap clip-on tie. But, I must admit, after being shown how to knot the tie, I only loosened it after that. I didn't want to go through the embarrassment of showing up to the prom without the tie done up properly.

So, after dropping off luggage for both Jamie and me in our luxury suite at the Beverly Hilton, I stepped into the shower. I was so looking forward to the evening's activities, I couldn't tell you how long I stood under that cleansing cascade. It might have been two minutes. It might have been ten. My mind was so cluttered with details; I wanted everything to go exactly right. After drying off with one of those huge, fluffy white bath towels, I shaved and put on my antiperspirant. Then I donned my briefs, my wife-beater undershirt, black dress socks, the white shirt with the white-on-white stripes, flared pants, patent leather shoes, elegantly cut white jacket and then my bowtie. Hell, when I stood in front of the hallway mirror, I looked like a model for a tuxedo advertisement.

The limo picked me up at 6:30 p.m. By 6:55, I was waiting outside of Jean-Michel's Salon on Pacific in Santa Monica.

Promptly, at 7:00 o'clock, out of the salon's front door stepped a vision of beauty and elegance. Jamie's golden blonde hair was styled in a fabulous updo with many wisps of curly hair and ringlet tendrils, held together with a rhinestone bow clip.

The makeup was impeccable. Where did she get those high cheekbones? And those lips. Glossy and inviting, like Angelina Jolie's on the big screen. And Jamie's eyes were mesmerizing! Her azure blue eyes were like windows to the Playboy Mansion.

Dressed in a black shirred halter bodice with a deceptive plunging neckline, Jamie looked absolutely stunning! The large gap between her breasts was covered partially by glittery rhinestones. There were multiple layers of sheer chiffon that led to a leg flattering hi-low skirt that made me want to reach out and hump her. Then Jamie gave me a slow turn to reveal the low cut, skin-revealing back. Jamie looked sexy, sassy and sinful.

I put my fingers in my mouth and let out a loud wolf whistle.

There was lust in my heart and a hard-on in my love pole. Or something like that.

I grabbed Jamie in my arms and we kissed.

It was magic! It was like no other kiss ever in my life! Absolutely ELECTRIFYING! Maybe it was the fact I hadn't even touched a girl in over a month. But what a kiss!

"You know, Jamie, you look every bit as beautiful as your sister the supermodel."

Jamie smiled. And we kissed again.

Forget Regan! There was real heat in Jamie's touch. I wanted to rip the clothes off her right then and there.

"Ahem." The limo driver, Charles, opened the door.

"Oh, before I forget," I said. "I have something for you."

I reached into the back seat of the limo. Then I gathered the colorful corsage into my hands.

"It's beautiful," Jamie said in that breathy voice she had practiced all week.

I looked to the spaghetti strap of Jamie's gown and then down to her ample chest for a proper place to put it.

"Hmm. I was afraid of this. Fortunately, I came prepared."

There was a puzzled look on Jamie's face.

I reached back into the limo. When I turned back to face Jamie, I had a wrist corsage in my hands. Then I slipped the delicate flowery decoration over Jamie's left wrist.

"Thank you, Jeff. You certainly think of every last detail."

Then Jamie leaned over and thanked me with a little peck on the cheek.

I simply couldn't get over how radiant she looked. I could swear it was really Regan and not Jamie in drag.

Then I helped Jamie into the back seat of the limo. After closing the door, I ran around to the other side. Then I hopped in. Within a few moments, the driver was all set to go and off we went.

"To the Beverly Hilton, Charles." Then the glass barrier between the driver and the passengers closed.

Jamie snuggled up to me in the back seat. As her head came to rest on my right shoulder, I put my arm around her and held her tight.

7

There were lots of people milling around the front entrance to the Beverly Hilton as our limousine pulled up.

As soon as I got out, I hurried around to the curb side. Then I opened the door and helped Jamie out.

She was like a Hollywood starlet arriving at the Academy Awards. As Jamie stepped onto the red carpet, I grasped her hand in mine. She smiled at me and she rewarded me with a delightful kiss.

"Hey Jeff!" I heard from somewhere in the throng of people. "Looking good!"

I saw Rory and Jane standing nearby. I gave them a thumbs up.

There were many others standing around near the main doors. And there were many envious looks as I proudly accompanied my pseudo supermodel through the entranceway.

We followed the crowd and headed to our right.

Lots of familiar faces greeted me as we made our way to the International Ballroom.

Everyone was dressed in their finest evening wear - glitzy evening gowns and tuxedos.

West Beverly Hills High was reputed to have the best-looking girls of any school in the Los Angeles area. There was lots of glorious eye candy. But none of the fabulous babes were better looking than my date.

I suppose people are wondering how one could get into West Beverly Hills High as a student. Well, there are probably three desirable attributes. Did it help to have artistic talent? Yes. Did it help to be good looking? To fit in it did. Did it help to have a PHD IQ? Yes, when that stood for Parents Have Dough in Quantity.

Before even entering the International Ballroom, Jamie and I got in line for an Official Prom Photograph. Undoubtedly Jamie and I would both look back at this event as a unique and truly memorable experience. And did I mention that Jamie looked really hot?

"Hello Jeff," said a familiar female voice behind me.

It was Britney. Attached to her bare arm was that scoundrel Darren Jackson.

"Hi Britney, Darren."

Darren nodded back.

Britney looked like a fox! Her red, beaded, floor length evening gown really emphasized her auburn hair, which for tonight, was a mass of wild curls. Her war paint emphasized her cute features. Britney's gaze shifted immediately to Jamie.

"Oh," I began, "Britney and Darren, let me introduce my girlfriend, Jamie Anderson. Jamie, you may have heard me talk about Britney Baker before and her beau Darren Jackson."

"Not that I can recall," Jamie said in a slightly bitchy tone. She seemed to have conveniently forgotten that Britney was my ex.

Both Britney and Darren stepped forward to shake Jamie's hand.

"You look rather familiar," Britney said. "Haven't I seen you in some fashion magazines?"

"Perhaps."

"Vogue?"

"Maybe."

"You're Regan Anderson, aren't you?" Britney gushed.

"Shhh. Not so loud."

"What are you doing here at the West Beverly Hills Prom?"

"I am here to dance with my boyfriend Jeff."

"Jeff, how do you know Regan Anderson?"

"Shhh," Jamie warned again. "Please don't say that name so loud. Actually I'm going by the name of Jamie tonight. I don't want to attract attention, so please do not mention the name Regan again."

Britney fixed her gaze back on me.

"I've known Jamie for quite some time, but our relationship has taken on new dimensions of late."

Jamie wrapped her arm around my waist and hugged me tight. "I've been such a fool. All this time, this gorgeous hunk has been right in front of me and I guess I took him for granted. It wasn't until I hadn't seen him for awhile that I realized how much I missed him, if you know what I mean?"

"Uh huh," Britney nodded.

"Well, dude," Darren began, as he looked at me with new respect, "It's good to see you landed on your feet. We'd heard that you were bringing a mystery date, from some other school, but had no idea who."

I looked at Jamie with admiration. "It just took me awhile to come to my senses."

"Jeff, it's our turn," Jamie said as she tugged at my arm.

We turned our attention to the middle-aged photographer who, undoubtedly, was going to make a fortune tonight. Cha-ching! He greeted us with a friendly smile. Perhaps it was my imagination, but I swear to you that I could see dollar signs in his eyes as he complimented us on how fine we looked tonight.

Confidentially, that chance meeting with Britney absolutely delighted me. I couldn't have scripted it any better if I tried. The fact that Britney believed Jamie was her supermodel sister, Regan, had me turning mental cartwheels.

As we posed for the camera, I noticed that Jamie had this devilish smile that she usually had after playing some trick on me. It was nice to derive some satisfaction out of Jamie's deceptive antics this time. Jamie hadn't actually said she was Regan. But she hadn't denied it either.

Then, playing to Darren and Britney, Jamie gave me the world's longest kiss as we posed for our last photo.

When we finally detached lip from lip, I was stunned. Jamie must have had Superglue in her lipstick.

In a lovestruck daze, we waved goodbye to Darren and Britney and headed to the International Ballroom.

Even though it was early, the dance floor was in full vibe. Everyone was caught up in Gwen Stefani's Hollaback Girl.

Jamie and I immediately swung into action.

And I must admit Jamie was a fine dancer.

Even though we hadn't practiced as we had hoped to on the weekend, I still thought we would move well together. And we did. It was like magic. Jamie was so inventive. She'd show me variation after variation.

When the DJ switched to Britney Spear's Toxic, we didn't miss a beat.

Although there were all sorts of people around us, a lot of people noticed Jamie. Not only for her dazzling looks, but because she had this air of confidence on the dance floor. She really knew how to sell each move. Each pirouette, every flash of the hand, each kick ball change, every slide step into another new wrinkle, her inspired motions seemed wonderfully choreographed.

Cher's Believe got everybody up and dancing. And Jamie kept moving and flowing in rhythm to the music.

Then, for a change of mood, on came an old classic – Lionel Ritchie's Three Times a Lady.

When I held Jamie close, she wrapped her arms around my neck and practically pulled my face down to her bosom.

Hell! Her falsies sure felt like the real thing. They were soft and warm and inviting.

I hoped that Jamie wouldn't feel my stiffening love tool, but a smile on her face betrayed the fact that she had felt it. In fact, she ground her lower body into mine to make it perfectly obvious that she knew the effect she was having on me.

Thankfully, the love song wound down. "Once, twice, three times a lady…"

Was Jamie a lady? Or did all guys in drag behave so brazenly?

The love song did end eventually. I couldn't take too much more contact with Jamie's seductive body without blowing a gasket.

I needed to take a break to cool off.

We paused at the punch bowl and I poured a drink for Jamie.

Playfully, with one hand on her glass and the other on my bum, Jamie leaned over and whispered into my ear. "I told you I wanted to be irresistible. And judging by your reaction, I'd say I succeeded."

"The proof is undeniable," I admitted. "Don't rub it in."

Then she squeezed my bum once again.

"Now cut that out, Jamie."

"You do want me, don't you?"

"You are hard to resist."

"Well, tonight is your lucky night."

"My lucky night?"

"Remember, you planned on losing your virginity at the prom."

"But that was when I was going with Britney."

"But you aren't here with Britney."

There was a look of anger and disappointment on Jamie's face.

"What's wrong, Jeff? Am I not good enough for you?"

"That's not the reason."

"Then what is it?"

"Jamie," I whispered into her ear. "You look very beautiful tonight. Undoubtedly, you are as sexy as any girl here. Nevertheless, you aren't a real girl."

"Well, how about if I announce that to the whole world right now?"

"Shhh. Are you out of your mind?"

"Would you like me to take off my wig, falsies, dress and underwear and embarrass you in front of all your teachers, friends and fellow students?"

"Jamie, please don't do that."

"Then you must promise to make love to me later tonight or this will suddenly turn into your worst nightmare."

I just wanted to shrivel up and die. "Okay, okay. I promise to do whatever you want when we retire to our suite later on."

Things had been going so well. Who knew that Jamie would be so unreasonable?

That sweet punch suddenly tasted like poison. And the talons squeezing my rear end felt like equal parts of heaven and hell.

A minute or two later, Cyndi Lauper's Girls Just Want to Have Fun started up. Jamie pulled me back to the dance floor.

In spite of the reluctance I felt at the prospect of sex with Jamie, I tried to throw myself into the music.

Would sex with Jamie be so bad? She did look fantastic tonight. She certainly made me extremely horny. She certainly knew how to push all my buttons. And every guy who saw her tonight wanted to jump her bones.

Cyndi Lauper's song was infectious. Everybody was moving and grooving to the music.

"Girls just want to have fun!"

As I looked around the jam-packed dance floor, there wasn't a sour expression anywhere.

Wouldn't you know it? There was Christine Summers! What a babe! She was dancing with a guy named Walt Fergus. He was one of those behemoth football players. They looked liked they were having a good time. No, make that a great time!

Next came Abba's Dancing Queen. I grabbed Jamie and we jived to the music. We did a cuddle. I spun her out and did a reverse cuddle. Then I spun her back to the basic position, we moved side-to-side, backward and forward, then I dipped her.

Jamie knew instinctively how to respond to my lead. She was a fabulous dancer!

But the irony of having Jamie as my date was brought home with The Killers song Somebody Told Me. You know the chorus. "Well somebody told me, You had a boyfriend, Who looks like a girlfriend…" Of course, Jamie broke out in hysterical laughter. The other dancers all around us must have been wondering what was going on.

The DJ selected some great songs - a little Janet Jackson, Beyonce, Dirty Vegas, Kylie Minogue, Norah Jones and Luther Vandross.

When I dance, I swear I get caught up in the lyrics, the melody and rhythm of the music, in the touch of a girl's sexy body and in the energy of hundreds rocking to the beat. It's an unexplainable, pleasurable, magical high.

So, before I knew it, the hours had flown by.

As the evening was coming to a close, the music was stopped for a few minutes. The Principal, Mr. Kramer, interrupted the dance to announce the selection of the Prom Queen and Prom King.

Thankfully Mr. Kramer kept the speech short. He praised the students, the student council, the parents, the maintenance staff, the teaching staff, fellow administrators, the school board, the Beverly Hilton, the hotel staff, Paris Hilton, Governor Schwarzenegger, President George W. Bush and United Nations Secretary-General Kofi Annan.

Towards the end of Mr. Kramer's speech, I noticed that some people were looking at Jamie and me. I could swear I heard murmurs of the name Regan Anderson. But I knew Jamie, as beautiful as she was, could not win the Prom Queen title. She wasn't a student of West Beverly Hills.

Not wanting to beat about the bush, Mr. Kramer proudly announced Wayne Grant, the president of the student council, as Prom King. That was a popular choice. Not only was Wayne an enthusiastic leader, he was a top student too. He was one of those rare people who seemed to have it all.

The choice of Vanessa Harris, the leading lady in the school production of The Sound of Music, was met with a rousing ovation. Everybody thought Vanessa had a bright future ahead of her in show business. Many of the West Beverly Hills alumni had gone onto fame in motion pictures, stage and television.

I guess I could tell ya that Vanessa was one of the magnificent seven who had turned me down for a date to the prom. Ya can't blame a guy for aiming high. So what if I crashed and burned.

All right. Behind that fragile exterior, I admit it hurt. A lot.

As Wayne and Vanessa, in the spotlight, were poised to lead everyone back onto the dance floor, the DJ showed a sense of humor by playing Who Let the Dogs Out by the Baha Men. What a laugh!

Everyone was expecting Wayne and Vanessa to be excellent dancers. And they didn't disappoint. Vanessa and Wayne coulda been John Travolta and Olivia Newton John, Fred Astaire and Ginger Rogers or Rupaul and Elton John.

Then, as if by a magic signal, all the other students joined the Prom Queen and Prom King on the dance floor.

Jamie and I spun into action. She showed me moves I hadn't seen before. So when I reached into my bag of dance tricks and came up empty, I copied Jamie's footwork and arm movements. I guess there's a fine line between fakin' it and being in synch with your partner. But I could sell the in synch jive by merely lookin' into Jamie's eyes.

After awhile, to tell you the truth, I wasn't fakin' it.

At one point, Wayne Grant and I almost collided on the dance floor. When he saw Jamie, I could tell Wayne was impressed. And, was that a look of envy in Vanessa's expression?

Some Alicia Keys, Usher, Christina Aguilera, U2, Eminem and Shakira got the crowd hopping and bopping to the beat.

"Whenever, Wherever, We're meant to be together," Shakira sang.

I loved dancing with Jamie. I was having so much fun that I didn't want the prom to ever end. When Lionel Ritchie's All Night Long blared over the speakers, I think it captured the spirit of the moment. We wanted to dance the night away.

But then that ancient classic Stairway to Heaven started up, I knew this fantastic evening was all but over.

I looked into Jamie's eyes once more. I thanked her for a fantastic evening. We held each other close. I could feel that electricity again that I felt at that first touch of the evening. Jamie, I must admit, had won me over. Call it lust, call it love, call it whatever, I wanted her! She was totally irresistible. Now I felt absolutely no reluctance at having sex with her.

A spontaneous rousing cheer went up as all the lights came on. A blitzkrieg of balloons floated down from the ceiling! The Prom was over!

People grabbed the balloons as they fell to the floor. As soon as the students could, they popped the balloons. There were small souvenir prizes in them!

After corralling two balloons, I pierced them. One balloon had a West Beverly Hills High keychain. The other had a WBHHS embroidered emblem.

Amid this frenzy of bursting balloons, many people wanted to linger to say final goodbyes and to savor the moment.

But I had more pressing matters on my mind. I grabbed Jamie by the hand and we headed for our suite. The elevator might not have been the Stairway to Heaven, but it did take us to possible heavenly delights waiting within our room on the top floor.

Before entering the suite, just for the hell of it, I picked up Jamie and carried her across the threshold.

This brought on an attack of giggles.

Then, while still in my arms, Jamie responded with an amazing, passionate kiss. We did that Superglue thing all over again.

But I wasn't ready to toss her onto the bed just yet. We took some time to open the bottle of champagne (secreted in my luggage) that I had put on ice much earlier that night. But by now, the ice had melted. Nevertheless, we popped open the champagne and poured it into some crystal glasses that I had also brought from home.

We walked over to the balcony with our champagne glasses in hand and my arm draped around her shoulder.

Below us was a view of the swimming pool. Off to the east was the downtown skyline of the city of Angels. To the southwest were the beaches of the Pacific. And somewhere, among the twinkling lights in the distance was Jamie's home in the Palos Verdes Peninsula.

"I want to thank you for a wonderful time, Jeff."

"I will always remember tonight. For so many reasons, Jamie."

"By the way, I'd never hold you to that threat I made earlier tonight."

"Thanks Jamie, but I think you know that I really do want you, no matter what."

Jamie had such silky smooth skin. Her tantalizing touch was so alluring and her eyes so enticing.

We kissed again. She melted in my arms.

I couldn't wait any longer. We retreated from the balcony's splendiferous view to the ever-beckoning bed. Jamie stepped away from me for a moment. She undid the thin straps of her magnificent evening gown and faced me. There was a whisper as the black chiffon fabric fell into a puddle on the floor.

I could see her magnificent breasts in the dim light.

She reached down to her panties and slipped them off.

Her bush was neatly trimmed.

I looked directly into her eyes. "Regan, I want to thank you for making this the greatest night of my life."

There was a look of shock on Regan's face.

"You knew. You knew all along?"

"From the moment I first kissed you outside of the salon. There is only one Regan Anderson."

"How did you know?"

"Regan, don't underestimate your beauty. Ever. You are a supermodel for a reason. You are the essence of womanhood. And your brother could never come close to emulating you."

"So you just played along with this joke?"

"You seemed to be having so much fun trying to seduce me. And I enjoyed being seduced by you. So why would I try to deter you in any way. I absolutely loved it. You did everything but rip my clothes off."

With that, Regan got really down and dirty. She grabbed my white shirt at the chest and ripped. Off flew the buttons! Then she undid my belt, whipped it onto the floor and practically pulled me outta my pants and briefs – penis first.

Then Regan threw me onto the bed and jumped on top of me.

We were the elemental cavewoman and caveman.

Foreplay? Forget that.

I rolled her under me into the missionary position. I prayed long and hard. I worshipped at the Temple of Regan's perfect body.

I thought the goddess Regan might only be a moaner and a groaner. But then Regan answered my prayers.

She screamed like a banshee!

Hallelujah! Hallelujah! Hallelujah!

We made love ALL NIGHT LONG! ALL NIGHT LONG!

8

Prom night was the best thing that ever happened to me. I am so thankful that Regan came to my rescue.

Regan had not been back home for a visit since Christmas. And she missed her family and friends. It's hard to believe that she sometimes felt lonely in New York, a city of eight million people. But Regan's a California girl.

Plus, she had missed her own prom because of work commitments.

So when Jamie made up that bogus story of transforming into his sister's body double, he was setting me up for a prom date with his sister. Another one of his dirty little tricks.

For that, I am truly thankful.

As for that conniving liar Jamie? He went to his own school's prom. Jamie, the poor miscreant, went with one of Regan's model friends. It was an offer he couldn't refuse.

When I woke up the next morning, I kissed Regan for the umpteenth time. Her eyes opened. I kissed her again. She responded lovingly by returning my kiss.

"I love you," I whispered.

"I know," she murmured. Then she closed her eyes and pretended to go back to sleep.

It was like the scene in The Empire Strikes Back between Princess Leia and Han Solo.

Then Regan started to giggle.

I picked up my pillow. "I'll get you for that." And I started whacking her with my pillow.

Whap! "Right back at you."

Amid giggles and laughter, we walloped each other and thwacked each other 'til we couldn't do it anymore.

When we collapsed on the bed from exhaustion, we fell together in a loving embrace. We kissed once more and started our amorous adventures all over again.

In a galaxy far, far away, a virgin Star Wars nerd I was.

May the farce be with you.

THE END

  

  

  

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