Trading Places

“You don’t?”

Sharlayne shook her head.

“Then what?” Alice leaned forward, aware that Tabitha was doing the same. Whatever was going on, she wasn’t a party to it, either.

But Mr. Wilbert was. “Sharlayne, do you really think you should go forward with—”

“Shh.” Sharlayne kept her level gaze on Alice. “I won’t deny it hurt to learn that you, my trusted friend and employee, were making fun of me behind my back.”

“I wasn’t,” Alice protested. “Imitation is the sincerest form of flattery, after all.”

Sharlayne sighed. “I was not flattered. But you see, something’s come up where your knack for mimicry may come in handy.”

“I can’t imagine what.”

“It’s very simple, really. I need some space to finish my book and I can only think of one way to get it.”

“You mean there’s some way I can help? Of course. Name it.”

An almost cunning expression appeared on Sharlayne’s lovely face. “Oh, good,” she said. “That’s what I hoped you’d say. You heard her, Linden. You’re a witness, too, Tabitha.”

Tabitha let out her breath in a short hiss. “What are you up to?” she asked sharply. “What can Alice possibly do for you that I can’t?”

Sharlayne’s smile was beatific. “Alice can be me,” she said. “And now I know she will.”

DINNER WAS ANNOUNCED before Alice could do more than say a thoroughly confused, “Huh?” Sharlayne and Mr. Wilbert ate in the formal dining room; Tabitha had a tray sent to her room; and Alice grabbed a sandwich and took it outdoors to eat on the terrace overlooking a lovely formal garden.

What in the world was Sharlayne up to now? “Alice can be me,” she’d said, yet that must surely be a joke. No one could be Sharlayne Kenyon, but most especially not Alice Wynn.

For openers, Alice was relatively unsophisticated. A registered nurse, she’d spent nearly a decade caring for an invalid grandmother in her small Nebraska hometown. Only after her grandmother’s death had she been free to look around for a job—and a life—of her own.

Hooking up with Sharlayne had been a stroke of good fortune. Alice had gone to visit a distant cousin in California, and when she’d happened upon an automobile accident, had gone to the aid of the injured. One of the victims was Sharlayne, who’d suffered a broken leg and a terrible scare: she’d thought at first that her face might be scarred.

In her matter-of-fact way, Alice had reassured Sharlayne. When Sharlayne was released from the hospital, she’d hired Alice to tend to her at home on a temporary basis. That had quickly evolved into full-time employment, with Alice in charge of meal planning and the general health of the household. She’d set up an exercise schedule and saw to it that Sharlayne, who had couch potato tendencies, stuck to it. From the beginning, Sharlayne had also used her new employee for general gofer duty, which hadn’t bothered Alice in the slightest. She hadn’t spent ten years fetching and carrying for a crotchety old lady for nothing.

The job was fun, the surroundings elegant, but the biggest plus was a generous salary that helped defray the staggering hospital bills for Grandma’s final illness. With a light finally visible at the end of her personal tunnel, Alice settled in for a long run.

She’d never imaged being so close to so much glamour. For a little girl from Nebraska, it was dazzling. Through Sharlayne, Alice had met many beautiful people, among them a gardener with whom she’d had a brief but passionate affair. Strangely enough, perhaps, she’d never met any of Sharlayne’s rich and famous ex-husbands, although she’d heard many stories about them.

Yes, she definitely owed her boss. The method of repayment, however, eluded her.

When Sharlayne summoned Alice later that night, she went with some trepidation. Again, she entered the library to find the same three waiting for her. She sat down without invitation, her knees suddenly rubbery.

Sharlayne’s smile would set a garden statue at ease. “I’m sure you’d like an explanation,” she said gently.

Alice nodded.

“You know I’ve been trying to finish my book,” Sharlayne said. “It’s going quite well, actually, when I can find the time to work on it. That’s where you come in.”

Alice waited.

“I want you to pretend to be me so I can slip away to some hiding place and finish the manuscript,” Sharlayne said, as if proposing nothing out of the ordinary. “That’s all.”

“That’s all?” Alice and Tabitha said in unison.

Tabitha threw in a scathing glance. “You can’t possibly be serious.”

“I’m deadly serious,” Sharlayne said calmly.

“Nobody,” Tabitha said flatly, “will ever believe this Plain Jane is you.”

Alice sputtered, searching for words to defend herself that didn’t come. She’d be the first to admit she was no Sharlayne Kenyon but neither was she a Plain Jane.

“When I get through with her,” Sharlayne said with total confidence, “her own mother will believe she’s me. It’s not that big a deal, Tabby.”

Tabitha huffed and puffed, muttering “Hopeless” and “Ridiculous” and “Insane.”

Sharlayne laughed. “No, seriously.” She turned back to Alice, who sat speechless with astonishment. “This will work,” she said. “How tall are you?”

“F-five-eight.”

“Me, too. Our bodies are also basically the same. They should be—we do the same workout every day. I’m a bit more buxom—”

“An understatement,” Alice observed, looking pointedly at Sharlayne’s generous cleavage.

“That’s why God invented push-up bras, dear.”

“But—but—you’re blond.”

“Ever hear of bleach?”

This suggested she probably wouldn’t be swayed by the fact that Alice’s hair was twelve inches longer. That’s why God invented scissors. “Our eyes aren’t exactly the same color,” she stated as though she’d finally settled upon a valid difference.

“That’s true. Yours have less gray in them. But nobody will notice that unless they see the two of us together, which they won’t. Blue is close enough.”

“Okay, then—” Alice began again, grasping for straws. “My nose is shorter.”

“Again, unless we stand side by side, who’s to know? Besides, makeup will go a long way toward negating that.”

“Sharlayne.” Tabitha’s tone was agonized. “This is insane. She’d never get away with it.”

“She will if I put out the word I have laryngitis,” Sharlayne said triumphantly. “If I set her up in the New York apartment, there could be a problem. But we won’t do that. She can move into the new house in Beverly Hills, where nobody’s met me. You’ll be with her, of course. Everyone knows that where I am, you are, too, Tabby.”

“No!” Tabitha turned on Alice in a fury, as if the situation were her fault. “I should be with you, Sharlayne, wherever you’re going.”

Sharlayne shook her head. “Impossible. If you’re not with her, nobody will accept that she’s me.” Leaning forward, she squeezed Tabitha’s hand. “You’ll do this for me, dear. I can’t imagine you’d ever let me down.”

The uncharacteristically mute Linden said into the sudden silence, “I’m beginning to see how this could actually work.”

Alice turned to him, wide-eyed. “You can?”

He nodded. “There are certain basic similarities. If no one gets close enough—”

“Aha!” Alice gazed at everyone triumphantly. “There are always people around you, Sharlayne. How could I keep them away?”

“You won’t have to. I’m going to hire a bodyguard to run interference for you.”

“A bodyguard! I couldn’t put up with a bodyguard. Besides, how do you know you can trust him to keep the secret? Something like this could be worth a lot of money to a scandal sheet like the U.S. Eye.”

“He can’t sell information he doesn’t have. He’ll think he is guarding me, of course. Everybody will. You’ll put on that act you do so well for the help, then lay low until I finish the manuscript and come back. You’ll have the run of the whole house, the pool, the tennis courts—everything. You’ll live in the master suite and be queen of all you survey. It will be the experience of a lifetime.”

“She’ll never pull it off,” Tabitha reiterated.

“Damn it!” Alice was getting sick and tired of hearing that. She glared at Tabitha. “If Sharlayne thinks I can—”

“I know you can,” Sharlayne said quickly. “Do this, Alice. When it’s over, I’ll be very grateful.”

“You will?”

“So grateful that I’ll pay off the rest of your grandmother’s medical bills.”

Alice was stunned. She had no idea Sharlayne was even aware of those bills. “Be careful,” she said a bit uneasily. “You’re talking big bucks.”

“I’m aware of that. I know your debts to the penny.” She leaned forward, hand outstretched. “Let’s cut to the chase. Is it a deal?”

Alice looked down at the sleek hand, with its faultless manicured nails, then at her own competent hand, which resembled a paw next to all that perfection. Ever since she’d met this woman, she’d wondered what it would to like to be so beautiful, so famous, so sought after. Now, out of the blue, she had a chance to find out. Even so…

Tabitha gave a grunt of disbelief. “I’m warning all of you, this is a ridiculous idea. It will never work. Alice won’t be able to carry it off and disaster will—”

“It’s a deal,” Alice said abruptly, tossing in a hostile glance for her nemesis. “If you think it can work, Sharlayne, I’m willing to give it the old college try.”

“I knew I could count on you.”

Sharlayne’s relief was palpable, and a shock to Alice. Somehow she got the feeling that something else was going on here, but what could it possibly be?

“SHARLAYNE.” Linden took her hand between both of his, forgetting that she was more than an hour late for breakfast. “You’ve never looked lovelier.”

She smiled and patted his cheek, her touch lingering. “How sweet of you to say so.”

“Hardly sweet.” He drew her toward the table set up in the sunroom—at 11:00 a.m., to the cook’s horror.

Sharlayne settled gracefully into the chair he offered. “Did you sleep well?” she inquired, dropping the linen napkin into her lap.

“Not particularly. I was thinking of your double.”

“Alice kept you awake?” She reached for the silver coffee carafe and poured for both of them, an almost smile tilting those bewitching lips.

He would not be put off. “I’m not sure Alice understands what she may be getting into. I’m not sure you understand what we may all be getting into.”

Sharlayne’s beautiful face remained clear and untroubled. “You worry too much, Linden,” she scolded, simultaneously teasing and enticing. “None of us is getting into anything except a little plot to deceive the media and the busybodies of the world. It’s a little game, that’s all.”

“Be that as it may.” He offered her the basket of fresh croissants, now grown cold. “With your permission, I’ll arrange for the bodyguard right after breakfast. When do you want to leave for your hideaway?”

She considered. “Next Friday,” she finally decided. “That should give me time to remake Alice and get her set up in the new house.”

“All right. I’ll handle the arrangements.”

“No one is to know I’m not really being guarded,” she said quickly. “You understand that? Not the bodyguard, not the agency—just you and me, Alice and Tabitha.”

“I understand.” But he didn’t like it. “I only hope you understand what you’re doing.”

“Trust me, darling.”

When that dazzling smile fell upon him, what else could he do?

SEVERAL HOURS LATER, Linden dialed 1-800-HERO and waited patiently for the voice to announce, “S. J. Slade Insurance Agency,” then asked for Samantha Spade Archer.

“I’m sorry, sir, but Mrs. Archer doesn’t speak to anyone,” the woman said, sounding stunned that anyone would suggest otherwise. “Her daughter might be able to help you.”

“I don’t think so,” Linden said. “Mrs. Archer is a personal friend. Please tell her that Linden Wilbert is in need of a bit of insurance.”

“If you say so, sir.” She obviously didn’t believe him.

Mere moments later, Sam’s husky voice exploded in his ear. “Linden, as I live and breathe. Long time, no hear, sweetheart.”

“Too long.” He found himself smiling. He could picture the elegant Samantha, dressed in ankle-strap heels and tight little forties suits worn with pearls. “Tell me, how’s Mr. Samantha Spade?”

Her throaty laughter sounded indulgent. “That’s Mr. Wil Archer to you, buster—and he’s fine. So are the daughter and son-in-law and grandson.”

“Delighted to hear it.”

“Yeah, but it’s not the reason for this call.”

“True. I’m in need of your professional services.”

“Looking for a little insurance, are you?”

Insurance: her euphemism for bodyguard. Sam carried discretion to new heights.

“Not me,” Linden said. “A friend of mine. Perhaps you’ve heard of her? Sharlayne Kenyon?”

Sam gave a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I’ve heard of her. Who hasn’t? So what’s the story?”

“She needs someone to run interference for her,” he said. “Someone to keep the press at bay, to hold back the throngs—that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like she needs a press secretary, not one of my highly trained operatives.”

“She wants someone she can count on in an emergency,” he improvised. “Not that she expects an emergency, but you know how it is with a woman as famous as this one.”

“Yeah,” Sam said dryly, “I know how it is. When do you need this glorified errand boy?”

“Now, Sam, don’t talk that way. Sharlayne is a highly strung, artistic individual. She’s exhausted and needs peace and quiet, which is what she’s hoping your guy will help her get. Can you do anything for me?”

A long silence followed. Then she said, “Of course, sweetheart. Just tell me when and where and I’ll have your man standing by.”

THE QUESTION WAS, which man?

Samantha Spade sat at her desk, staring at two folders before her. The agency was overextended already. Business was booming and she didn’t have a whole lot of choice here.

Two operatives were available. One had just returned from a harrowing assignment that required him to spend several days piloting a desperate senior citizen through Florida swamps in an ultimately successful attempt to avoid his vengeful heirs, eager to collect sooner rather than later.

The other was brand-new, bright eyed and bushy tailed; he had just signed on and trained and was waiting for his first assignment.

She flipped open his folder. Jed Kelby, thirty-three. Heir to a winery in California’s Napa Valley. Six years an officer in the U.S. Marine Corps. Might have made a military career if his father hadn’t died, requiring his presence at home. When his younger brother had stepped forward to take over Kelby-Linus Wines, Jed had looked around for something to do that might offer a little adventure.

Samantha, who’d known the senior Kelby in the wild days of her youth, had been taken aback when Jed knocked on her door one day and asked for a job. Not that she’d found anything wrong with his credentials; far from it. The tall—six foot two—Jed, with his straight, short dark hair and piercing eyes, was a true poster Marine. He was eager for the opportunity and ready to work hard to deserve it.

Still, she’d had reservations that she couldn’t quite pinpoint. Maybe it was that he seemed too good to be true, too much a straight arrow. People in Sam’s business sometimes had to stretch a point or two, without being told officially that they should. If she had one real concern about Jed, it was that he might be too much by the book and not innovative enough to protect his life and that of his charge.

Would it be fair to make his first charge a man-eater like Sharlayne Kenyon?

“YOU’VE BEEN ASKING for it, sweetheart, and you’re about to get it—a chance to prove yourself.”

Jed’s pulse picked up, but he held himself at ease. “What’s the job?” he asked casually, as if it didn’t matter.

“Guarding a beautiful woman.”

“Anyone I know?”

“Someone everybody knows. You have heard of Sharlayne Kenyon?”

“Jeez.” He sucked in his breath. “What is it? Kidnapping threat? Blackmail? Stalker?”

Samantha laughed, but he didn’t think she looked entirely comfortable. “None of the above. She’s tired. She wants someone to fend off the press and public so she can get some rest.”

“She wants—” He stared at his boss, in the grip of bitter disappointment. “You’ve been saving me for this?”

“You might be the only man in America who’d object to being cooped up with Sharlayne Kenyon for a few weeks. Just don’t get too cocksure, okay?”

“Cocksure about what?”

“About your ability to treat her like just another client. Of course, that’d be a stretch for you, since she’ll be your first client.”

“If that’s your subtle way of telling me to keep my hands off, save your breath. I’m a professional.” He grimaced. “Okay, a new professional, but everybody starts somewhere.”

Sam nodded as if satisfied…or resigned. “Just remember the rules according to me. Thou shalt not get involved with thy client. It can get thee both killed.”

He gave her a thumbs-up. “I got it, Boss. Don’t give it another thought.” He grinned, determined to make the best of the task. “From what I hear, she’s too old for me anyway.”

Samantha’s great guffaw rocked the room. “Oh, you fool!” But she said it affectionately. “You don’t know women like this one. She’ll chew you up and spit you out if you’re not careful.”

“Naw,” he scoffed, “not me. I’m not a skirt chaser.”

“No,” she agreed, “what you are is an idiot if you try to match hormones with an adventuress like Sharlayne Kenyon. But what the hell. Boys have to grow up someday.”

She opened the file, all business again. “Now, here’s the deal…”

CHAPTER TWO

Sharlayne update:

Sharlayne Kenyon’s gone into hiding at her glamorous new digs in Beverly Hills, where, according to the smart money, she’s working on her autobiography. Half the rich and/or handsome men in California are expected to head for the hills, should this prove to be true….

Gina Godfrey, U.S. Eye

JED CALLED HOME Thursday before leaving for Los Angeles. He’d be driving down from the agency headquarters in San Francisco in his old Ford pickup, only a six-or seven-hour trek. Before he left, he figured he should tell his family where they could reach him.

His brother, Steve, answered. After the usual chitchat—they needed rain, Mom was still flitting around Europe with Aunt Margaret, their sister Dana was expecting her second kid in the fall—Jed finally got around to the reason for his call.

“Hey, great, man,” Steve said enthusiastically.

“I know you’ve just been waiting for that first assignment. Who and what?”

“I’ll be guarding Sharlayne Kenyon.”

“Say that again?”

“Sharlayne—”

“Jeez! You mean the one who’s been married about a dozen times? The one who’s been in movies and magazines and—”

“That’s the one, all right,” Jed confirmed dryly.

“You always did have all the luck.”

That surprised Jed, who didn’t think he ever had any luck. “How so?” he challenged.

“You’re gonna be guarding one of the most famous bodies in America. That’s not luck?”

“I’m guarding it, not making moves on it.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Steve, she must be ten years older than I am.” He figured the photos in his briefcase must have been taken fifteen years ago and extensively retouched.

“Fifteen years older and twenty years smarter,” Steve shot back.

“You think so? Look, little brother, guarding some flighty celebrity isn’t my idea of a plum assignment.”

“Everybody’s got to start somewhere, my man.”

“That’s what I figure, so I intend to make the best of it. The body of Sharlayne What’s-Her-Name will be guarded like never before, but that’s all—guarded. This is strictly business.”

“Knowing you, I believe it.” Steve sounded disgusted. “Good old straight-arrow Jed.” He sighed. “If it were me…”

“It’s not. If you need me, use my cell phone number. I’ll be at her place in L.A.—Beverly Hills, Bel Air, wherever.”

“Okay. Have a good time.”

“Fat chance. This is work.”

“Speaking of work…” A pregnant pause followed, and then, “We really could use you around the old homestead, Jed. If bodyguarding doesn’t pan out, you can always come home.”

“It’ll pan out. Give my love to Dana.”

“Will do, and you give my love to Sharlayne Kenyon.”

Jed hung up on a long, low whistle.

Steve must be losing it, he thought, tossing his sea bag into the back of the pickup. What did his brother know about this Sharlayne Kenyon that Jed didn’t? He’d seen pictures of her, read her file. She was just another glossy blonde.

Wasn’t she?

ALICE SAT AT the makeup table in the master suite of Sharlayne’s Spanish-style villa in Beverly Hills. Practically in a state of shock, she stared at her reflection in the lit mirror.

Her own face stared back at her, bare of makeup but topped with Sharlayne’s hair: a pale baby blond in a sexy, short cut. Sharlayne, who was also reflected in the mirror, tugged at a strand, testing the texture between her fingers.

“Well?” Alice inquired breathlessly.

“Not bad,” Sharlayne responded grudgingly. “Your hair’s finer than mine—less body. But Kathy did a great job, I have to admit.”

“It went just the way you said it would,” Alice said. “I asked for your hairdresser when I made the appointment, then gushed all over her about how much I loved your hair. I asked her to do mine exactly the same and this is the result.”

“And since you went in sans makeup, she’ll never put two and two together,” Sharlayne said with satisfaction. “Okay, time to complete the transformation. Show me what you’ve learned in the past week.”

Alice herself wasn’t sure what she’d learned. Sharlayne had bombarded her with information and instructions, including the art of makeup. Although Alice had painted her eyes, modified her lip line, shadowed her nose to make it appear longer and allowed Sharlayne to change the shape of her brows, she’d never done everything all at once.

This would be the acid test.

With trembling hands, she reached for the jar of Sharlayne’s custom-blended foundation. Picking up a sponge, she looked herself in the eye, took a deep breath and began.

Thirty minutes later, she was so racked with nerves that she really couldn’t see the forest for the trees: all the parts that went together to create Sharlayne Kenyon. Everything about Alice gleamed and glowed with color and new shapeliness, but did it add up to success?

She shifted on the bench and fixed a plaintive gaze on Sharlayne. “Well?” She held her breath.

Sharlayne looked…stunned. Stepping forward, she put her hands on Alice’s shoulders and turned her back to face the mirror. What Alice now saw was two Sharlayne Kenyons—two. For a moment, she didn’t know which one was her.

Sharlayne said in a strangled voice, “I’m the one who thought this would work, and even I don’t believe it.”

“Neither do I,” Alice gasped. “I never dreamed—!”

“I realized there were a lot of similarities.” Sharlayne had pulled herself together, although she still appeared rattled. “Do you suppose we’re twins separated at birth?”

Alice laughed. “Not likely, since I’m thirty-two and you’re—”

“Older. A tiny bit older.” Sharlayne grinned at her own intervention. “Actually, when I look closer I can see the differences. Your upper lip is longer…see?” She pointed to her own mouth. “Your nose is shorter, your cheeks fuller. That’s why I showed you how to contour. Your neck’s shorter, too.” She preened her head from side to side to demonstrate.

“I see it when you point it out,” Alice agreed. “Without all the camouflage we don’t look that much alike at all.” She rose. “Now what?”

“Now you get dressed. Wear that.” Sharlayne pointed to garments laid out on the silk-draped canopy bed and strappy high-heeled sandals sitting on the floor.