Bonus Fiction: Impostor Syndrome
This month's flash fiction prompt draws from previous characters
At the Fictionistas May Let’s Write Together prompt, Nicole Rivera and
shared this prompt:A detective disguises himself as a celebrity to enter an elite club of criminals.
Use these words in your story: clue, fame, fortune, intrigue, elite, class, bouncer, gatekeeper, imposter, poser, newcomer, initiation, key, insider, trust
Another side note, I connected this story to the fictional world set in my short stories. Rob was featured in my novel Friends in Low Places and in the short story The Bright Lights of Cornhole. Vic Taylor was introduced earlier this month in Rock Star Treatment.
By Vince Wetzel
“I don’t see it,” Rob said, looking in the mirror.
“The key will be attitude. We put on a big fur coat, you wear shades into the party, and folks will think you’re him,” said Gary, the attorney enlisting him into this thankless job.
True, as an ex-football player himself, Rob wasn’t a poser. He had the build. And he also had a full brown beard that only had a speck of gray. But he was at least 10 years older than the Kansas City tight end who was dating a musical superstar.
Gary needed someone to serve Vic Taylor, who came to fame and fortune as a pop and social media star bad boy. Last month, he terrorized Las Vegas with a rage stunt that blew up social media, TMZ and Entertainment Tonight. The viral videos showed Taylor toppling six active casino tables, denting a display Range Rover, knocking several drink trays out of the hands of waitresses, and pushing an 86-year-old grandmother of fifteen out of her wheelchair onto the casino floor.
Now the elderly woman, Esther Daniels, was suing Taylor and her attorneys had no clue how to get past Taylor’s several layers of security to serve him papers. Therefore, they entrusted Gary and Rob’s firm to try to serve him during a party Taylor was hosting, forty miles West of Reno in Lake Tahoe. Security was going to be even tighter, but Gary’s plan apparently involved Rob impersonating a celebrity.
“I don’t know. I’m pushing 45 and he’s, like 30,” Rob said. “Plus, will they even let him in if he’s not with her?”
“She’s finishing up another tour or an album or something,” Gary said. He was beside him in the mirror now, though mostly hidden by Rob’s bulk. “Besides, he’s got enough cred to get in on his own now.”
Rob still didn’t look convinced.
“You got a better idea?” Gary asked, taking his own sunglasses out of his suit and placing them on Rob’s face. “Worst case scenario, you get kicked out. And what a story to tell Becky and Leslie.”
Rob smiled at the mentioned his wife and daughter, respectively. “Becky maybe. Michelle’s more Nirvana and Pearl Jam.”
“You’ve initiated her into Gen X quite well.”
Rob smiled and when he did, he finally saw a resemblance. Did that mean he needed to smile the entire time at the party? Maybe, as long as he wore the big fur coat and shades, he wouldn’t feel like such an impostor.
Two nights later, on the ninety-minute drive to Lake Tahoe from Reno, Rob kept checking the mirror. They didn’t have a long fur coat, but they found a sweater with a fur collar that matched one they saw in a paparazzi photo. He also wore similar jeans and Jordans. Rob admitted to himself, he might pull this off.
He drove up to the driveway of the lakeside mansion in the rented Range Rover, the irony not lost on Gary nor Rob. He breathed deep. As a private investigator working for one of Reno’s top law firms, Rob had faced intrigue and pressure situations before. He’d been on stakeout observing Reno’s underbelly, many of whom shot first and asked questions later. But he hadn’t tried to pass himself as a well-known football player and boyfriend to worldwide icon.
As he pulled up, he noticed there were two security personnel checking guests, two more twenty feet down running scanners underneath the vehicle, another four within the compound walls milling about the parking area, and another two plus the check-in hosts at the front door. He’d better find Vic Taylor soon and serve him quickly.
But first, he had to get through the gate.
“Yes, may I see your invitation?” the gatekeeper said. He flashed a light inside the driver’s side and into the cabin. Rob squinted through his sunglasses.
“Oh man, I don’t have mine with me.”
“No invitation, no entry.”
The guard shined a flashlight inches from Rob’s face. Rob wanted to knock that flashlight from this dude’s hand, grab his shirt and pull him close to teach him some etiquette. But he played the affable superstar athlete he was pretending to be.
“C’mon man,” Rob tried to play himself as an insider. “I just flew into Reno from Paris, you know where she’s playing, and I didn’t remember to bring it with me. Vic and I were talking about it and he’s looking forward to seeing me.”
The guard squinted, a slight smile coming across his face. But then it returned to a solemn scowl.
“You know I shouldn’t let you in on principle,” the guard said. “Being a Chief and all that.”
“What are you, a Raider fan?”
“Born and raised in Oakland baby.”
Rob smiled. He was in. Just needed to seal the deal.
“Man, tell you what, give me your name and I’ll leave some tickets the next time we’re in Vegas, ok? And I won’t tell anyone.”
The guard smiled like he was just let in a deal. He reached out and Rob grabbed his hand in a bro handshake. They were linked now. Well at least until Rob served Vic Taylor papers. Then the guard may need a ride home.
Rob moved through the next checks with ease. After all, he had no contraband, nobody trying to sneak in by hiding in the trunk. With each check, Rob’s unease lightened and by the time he got to the door to check in, he had his story down.
“Hey,” he said when he got to the door where two young women, either brought directly from the high-class strip club or the lingerie fashion show, sat at a table. Both of their breasts were professionally enhanced and while he had seen his fair share, they were still admirable.
“Hey there, you got Jason on there? Taylor’s not coming though. I mean not Vic. You know, Taylor.”
He smiled, hoping he played it off for the recognition to sink in.
Their faces remained blank. Oh crap, he thought. He got this far and these two were so spaced out they were oblivious to the power couple of the year. As their stares lingered, the bouncer on the other side of the door began to approach.
Crap, the plan is disintegrating. Think. Think of something. Think of anything.
He breathed deeply. His best plans came when he breathed. As he exhaled, the door opened and out poked a recognizable face.
“Hey Vic. Sorry she couldn’t make it” Rob said and came to give a bro hug to the newcomer Vic was too in shock and too small to rebuff Rob’s advancement and accepted the hug. As he came out of the hug, Rob reached into his back pocket. “Getting in here was hard, right? I’ll have to tell her about your setup. She may call you for some pointers.”
A wave of recognition came across Vic Taylor’s face. The ruse worked. He smiled.
“Yeah, I have to keep security tight these days.”
“Yeah, you don’t want to have some process server getting in here and presenting your papers. Vic Taylor you’ve been served.”
Rob turned on his heels and walked toward his Range Rover, turned back through the gate and listened to The Tortured Poets Department all the way home.
Copyright 2024. Vince Wetzel and OT Press
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, events, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. Like more stories like this? Check out my Fiction section.
A whole different world ... like how you set the scene and very believable (in a fictitious kind of way 😁). Well done, as always!