I think that weekend may have been our happiest time together. I know it was for me.
We spent Christmas together at a small out-of-the-way inn on the Mendocino coast. I gave her a $300 pair of gold earrings, heart-shaped, with pendants of amethyst—her birthstone. Her presents to me were a yachting cap, not the fancy commodore type with gold braid but a functional Gill sailing hat, and books on sailing for beginners and on cruising the Virgin Islands and Lesser Antilles.
New Year's Eve we spent apart, by mutual agreement, to maintain the pretense that we were actively dating others. She accepted an invitation to a party from one of the men she'd been seeing. As for me, there was a plain, friendly secretary in Amthor's design department, whose smiles in my direction I'd interpreted as wistful little signals that she was interested and available. I seem to remember that her name was Joan, but it could have been Jane or Jean. I'd been invited to a party by the newly married Jim Sanderson, and in turn I invited the secretary. We danced, drank champagne, kissed and sang "Auld Lang Syne" to ring in the new year. And every time I looked at her I saw Annalise, only Annalise.
I dated Joan or Jane or Jean four more times over a period of seven weeks. On the last of these she made it plain that I was welcome to stay the night at her apartment, but I couldn't have had sex with her if my life depended on it. I tried to let her down easy—she was a nice person and pleasant enough company—and she took the rejection well enough, but I could tell that she was hurt by it. Alone in the world, hungry for affection . . . a female version of the old Jordan Wise. That Jordan Wise might have learned to care for Joan or Jane or Jean, allowed a relationship to develop. Not the reborn version. Not the faithful and committed married man, Richard Laidlaw.
Establishing a new identity requires more than just paperwork and the altering of a few physical characteristics. You can't simply pretend to be somebody new and different. You have to shed your old personality in layers, the way some snakes shed their skin. Learn how to wear your new one. Change the way you think as well as the way you walk, talk, act in public.
Jordan Wise was an accountant with simple tastes; quiet, passive, uncomfortable in large groups. Richard Laidlaw was a successful executive with expensive tastes, self-confident, aggressive when the need arose, at ease in social situations. Polar opposites in attitude, expectation, mind-set. The first thing I had to learn was how to switch back and forth seamlessly; then, when the time came, I would be able to shed Jordan Wise once and for all. That meant practice, and plenty of it.
Alone at home I worked on a more erect posture, on demonstrative hand gestures, on holding my head at an angle that gave a forward jut to my jawline, on deepening my voice and speaking in terse sentences sprinkled with mild to moderate profanity. The first couple of times I tried out the package on Annalise, she made suggestions for improvement that I incorporated into the Laidlaw personality. Whenever we were together after that, I remained in character until we parted—like an actor perfecting the most challenging role of his life. Now and then she would catch me in an inconsistency. Alone, I worked on correcting it until I was sure it would never crop up again.
None of this was easy, but by the first of March, when the time came to put the second phase of the Plan into operation, I was no longer acting the role of Richard Laidlaw, I was Richard Laidlaw.
On a Saturday morning I drove out to Walnut Creek, looked up optometrists in the telephone directory, found one that was open, and called ahead for an appointment, using an assumed name. When I got there I had myself fitted for a pair of inexpensive contact lenses that matched the prescription for my glasses. I asked for the tinted kind, brown. The optometrist commented that I was the first blue-eyed person he'd ever known who wanted brown-tinted contacts. I told him my wife was always needling me, saying she didn't know why she'd married me because she preferred brown-eyed men, so I'd decided to give her a surprise and see what happened. He laughed and dropped the subject. All he really cared about was making the sale. And a cash sale, at that.
At a costume shop in Oakland on the way back, I bought a dark brown theatrical mustache, the can't-tell-it-from-the-real-thing kind that attaches with spirit gum. Not too large or bushy, but thick enough to cover my rather broad upper lip.
It was necessary for Annalise to be in on the rest of phase two. I requested and was given three days off from work, citing personal reasons; she made a similar arrangement with Kleinfelt's. I withdrew $2,000 in cash from the Darwin Electric account and $1,000 in cash from each of the other five dummy accounts. I gave her $2,500, to pay for a round-trip airline ticket to Chicago and to cover a $2,000 cashier's check made out to R. J. Laidlaw, which she obtained at her bank. I also paid cash for my round-trip ticket to Chicago on a different airline.
We flew back there on a Sunday afternoon. I'd picked Chicago for two reasons: it was the largest city in the Midwest, and there were daily flights from O'Hare to Puerto Rico and other Caribbean islands. Mr. and Mrs. Richard Laidlaw were booked into one of the larger, older hotels off the Loop. I took a taxi there as soon as we landed. Annalise rented the car we would need, using her real name and California license—a negligible risk for her.
She had a surprise for me at the hotel. She'd had her hair restyled, the long feathery Farrah Fawcett look replaced by a close-cropped shag cut that changed the shape of her face, gave it a gamine quality.
"Why?" I asked her. "It wasn't necessary."
"I know," she said, "but you're going to change your appearance and I thought I'd do the same. A new look for our new life together. Don't worry, I had it done in Marin County and I bought a wig to match the old style. Nobody in San Francisco will know."
"I'm not worried. Just a little . . . overwhelmed."
"You don't like it," she said, sounding hurt.
"No, no, it's not that. I need to get used to it, that's all."
"Well, I think it's sexy. You can pretend you're making love to a hot new babe tonight."
"I don't want a hot new babe. All I want is you."
We sent down for copies of the local Sunday papers, combed through the ads for mail receiving and forwarding services similar to the one I used in San Francisco, and made a list of half a dozen candidates. From the phone directory, we copied down the addresses of a downtown branch of the Mutual Trust Bank, the U.S. Passport Office, and the nearest office of the department of motor vehicles.
In the morning, first thing, we performed the physical change of Jordan Wise into Richard Laidlaw. She'd brought a bottle of dark brown rinse that would alter hair color but could be easily washed out. I used the rinse, put on the brown-tinted contact lenses and the dark-brown theatrical mustache. Annalise completed the transformation by using a blow dryer and brush to restyle my hair, erasing my usual part and making it appear fuller.
When she was done, we stood side by side in front of the mirror. "It's really amazing," she said, "how much different you look."
"The best disguises are the simple ones. Subtle differences, nothing elaborate."
"I like the new you. You know, now that I see us together like this, I think the Laidlaws are even better looking than Bonner and Wise."
"No question in my case," I said.
The second mail-drop place we went to was just right. Street address rather than a box number, no questions asked, mail to be held on the premises indefinitely until picked up in person by either Mr. or Mrs. Laidlaw. From there we went to the Mutual Trust branch, where we opened a joint checking account with the $2,000 cashier's check, giving the local mail-drop address as our own. We also rented a safe deposit box, into which I put the remaining cash I'd brought along.