Walker Thomas is nearly late for work, again. Standing in the lobby of the busy office tower where he is employed, he waits impatiently for the crowded elevator to clear, before boarding and ascending to his thirteenth-floor office. Something tumbling to the floor catches his eye, as the tide of people begins to change from disembarking to boarding. Walker--people often mistakenly call him Thomas Walker, instead of Walker Thomas--smoothly scoops up a cellphone off the floor just outside the elevator doors.
Stepping briskly into the crowded elevator, Walker scans the crowd, looking for a candidate for owner of the orphaned phone among the throng of people getting on, and, to a lesser degree, briefly, before the doors close, those getting off. Seeing nobody looking about in distress, he turns his attention to the phone itself. It must have just been dropped that instant, as it was still unlocked. Someone's going to be unhappy. Suddenly realizing a time-limited opportunity, Walker swiftly and expertly disables the keyboard locking feature, then casually pockets the device, leaving it until he gets settled in his own cubicle.
After briefly scanning the call history, Walker checks out the text-messaging history of the phone, and discovers that the texting is virtually all to and from a Miranda or an Andi. A quick, further survey suggests that most, if not all of the phone's business communication was done through emails. "So," Walker breathes, like someone having completed level one of a complicated strategy game, "let's see what we can glean from the text-messages." As he begins to peruse the contents, part-way through the first, cold reading of the texts, he realizes that they--Miranda and Andi--must be the same person. Mir-AN-da → Mir-AN-di → AN-di → Andi. Yesss! He congratulates himself--super-pleased he's figured that out--before he put his foot in his mouth, as it were--and fucked up the possibilities of some devious--or nefarious, if you will--fun.
Indeed, the possibilities for a wee bit o' harmless mistaken-identity correspondence-deception seem endless. Walker begins to survey the text correspondence--backwards--starting with the most recent. Andi is quite obviously the fiancée. The very last posts are them--the betrothed couple--saying good-bye.
[Andi]
See you in a week. Miss you already. Text when you can
[You]
Remember, I'll probably be incommunicado for the next several days but I'll text when I can. Love you! XXOXOXOOOX
The fiancé--Kirk or Kirkland--she seems to use those names interchangeably--has already explained that he is going out of town, on an incredibly busy--stupidly intense--flying field trip to a variety of facilities.
But Walker sees there is an earlier part to that last conversation:
[Andi]
Missed you last night ☹
[You]
Missed U 2 How was the stagette, anyway?
And with that Andi launches into a diatribe--or, probably more precisely, a serious complaint about her bachelorette bash.
[Andi]
Don't know what I was expecting, but it was something more than I got.
They took me on a bit of a pub-crawl, and made me wear a silly hat and a dumb sign. They were intent on getting me drunk, so, we all drank too much. Bunch of lightweights, though--I was still raring to go, when they all packed it in early. I actually got home before 1:00.
It was, really, rather lame--Rather lame? It was incredibly lame!
Walker doesn't even know this woman, yet he feels he can almost hear the disappointment and derision, bordering on contempt, virtually dripping through her texted words. So, he texts back--as the owner of the lost phone, Andi's fiancé:
[You]
You certainly deserve a better send-off than, it would seem, that old group of broads could manage. Keep in mind that the goal of a good stag--or staggette--should be more titillation than embarrassment; even if what is titillating is sometimes embarrassing, and what is embarrassing is sometimes titillating.
Walker can't possibly have known, but his remarks scratch at and expose hidden desires Andi doesn't even recognize as hers own. Dark fantasies she's had buried deep enough to have completely forgotten. Andi had never told anyone about the fantasies she harboured; not a soul. Never shared any details, not even the slightest hint. Not with her BFF as an adolescent, nor her closest confidante as an adult. But recollections of the salacious vignettes embarrass her. It has been an awfully long time since she has entertained any thought of them. Still, surprisingly--or maybe not so much--they had surfaced shortly after her announced engagement. Something in her realized it was almost too late, already. Even now, vaguely remembered bits bring a rush of heat to her cheeks. Surprised by the erotically vivid memories, she realizes that those dark desires aren't, perhaps, as well stowed as she had thought.
Andi assumes, of course, that it's her fiancé that she is communicating with. Still, it seems a rather odd thing for him to say; rather more socially-astute than she might have expected; however, she is so naïve, so innocent, that, if she is a bit puzzled, she isn't even the tiniest bit suspicious.
[Andi]
Where are you texting from? Thought you'd already be in the air.
[You]
Would have been. Mechanical delay. Waiting in the departure lounge in Denver. Missed connection. Got some time to play. Nudge, nudge.
He knew he was taking a bit of a chance with the 'nudge, nudge' remark, but figure most people were familiar with it by now, even if they hadn't heard of Monty Python.
[Andi]
Hang on a sec. Let me try to call.
"So far, so good, eh! But now... I gotta decide pretty quick whether to answer her call when it comes, or not. But WTF! No guts; no glory!" And Walker elects to take the gamble on being recognized--or, rather, NOT being recognized.
Before picking up, when the fiancé's cell chirps, he covers the mic with a couple layers of hankie, he tries to imitate a poor connection--weak signal distortion--crinkling cellophane for radio static. As he talks, he sporadically drops his voice to a whisper, then blows on the mic, or wanders by some noisy machine.
"Kirkland?"
With a drawn out drawl, he replies, "Yeah?"
"You all right? You sound different. Really muffled."
"Different phone. Getting cracked screen repaired," he explains, still trying to imitate weak-signal-distortion.
"When did that happen?" Andi queries, sounding just a bit puzzled.
"Dropped it, just as I was leaving. Stopped at repair shop, on the way. Got an older loaner-phone." He rushes to add, "but I'm using my own sim card."
Changing the subject, his mind going nineteen to the dozen, "Anyway," he casually asks, "can you get off work a bit early, this afternoon?" Following, a brief stop, during which he contrives to have the signal sound like it's breaking up, he says, "I wanna play a sexting game."
"Sexting? That sorta like phone sex?" Andi, chuckles, her surprise showing in her voice. The suggestion seems rather out of character for Kirk.
"Sorta. I'm going to give you a series of tasks set to get you in the mood. I wanna make up for your lame bachelorette party." Then he adds, deliberately mysteriously, "Try to be ready to start right away. We'll start with one task at a time--as soon as you're off work." Faking the static of a weak signal, he says, "'...kay? Text... off work... Bye...," and, 'click! He disconnects. "Shit! I think I actually got away with it--for the moment."
Giving his head a relieved shake, he mutters, "Nice girl, but...." He is flying by the seat of his pants, but possible tasks are already rising up in his mind. By the time Andi texts that she is just leaving her office, Walker--the false Kirkland--has a tentative plan formulated. "Omigod! You are such a scoundrel!" he silently berates himself.
[Andi]
Just left office. What now?
[You]
OK First we gotta set ground rules.
Andi thinks, "Omigod, what's come over you, Kirkland;" but something glowing in her gut, stops her from asking. "Let's just go with the flow. For the time being, at least," she whispers to herself.
