Things aren’t always what they seem to be. Take, for example, a hot burner in the kitchen. To the naïve, it’s beautiful, red hot shimmer is inviting. It almost seems to have a magic to it; it almost seems to cry out, “Touch me and all your wildest dreams will come true.” Its power draws the sucker in until he reaches out and touches it. But instead of all of his dreams coming true, (unless getting burned is his wildest dream), he feel a surging pain attack him. He pulls away, but the damage has been done, and he will probably receive permanent, blistering scars as his sole party favor.
With that graphic intro in mind, we take you to a much more pleasant scene, a scene in the midst of Beverly Hills, California, where everything is always perfect—perfect streets, perfect houses, perfect view, perfect weather . . . and we must not forget all the perfect people—people who have so much money and prestige that everything they do and say becomes the guideline for the rest of the world. Galileo may have proved that the universe does not revolve around the world, but Beverly Hills certainly proves that the world does, in fact, revolve around Southern California.
Although you’re probably thinking of all the perfect stories that could be told of all these perfect households, we’re only going to focus on one household for now. And the name of the head of this household is Toby Farnsworth Rutherford III, though we’ll just call him Toby from here on out to save ink. Toby is a man of inherited wealth, for his grandfather had had a corner on the silent movie market back in the early 1900’s. By the time talking movies had been instituted, Toby I had sold his shares and had enough money to feed a small village in Africa for three generations. You see, Toby I knew when he was about to get owned and had the brains to get out at the opportune moment. If the same could be said about our Toby, this story wouldn’t be getting told to you right now.
Our story begins when Toby’s son Ernst drives his Mercedes up the steep driveway to visit from USC. Ernst comes at his dad’s request, for his dad has been dating this girl for awhile and has decided to marry her. Due to the busyness of school, Ernst has not yet had the opportunity to meet his dad’s love, and so he is coming up so he can be introduced and get to know his future stepmother.
“Son,” Toby calls out jovially as Ernst screeches to a halt and jumps gingerly out of the car. “It’s good to see you. I was hoping you’d be able to make it up here before the wedding.”
“Yeah, I’m glad I did. It’s only in what, a week?”
“Yeah, and I hope you’re counting on camping cuz that’s how I want to spend my last week of single life this time around.” Ernst smiles weakly at the thought. Toby has been married three times before, and though he grew older each “time around”, the wives all mysteriously stayed the same ages. This “time around”, however, is the first “time around” in over ten years and a lot has changed since the last “time around”. At least, that is what Ernst thinks.
At this moment, a young, extremely attractive female walks out from the back yard dressed in a stylish and rather expensive looking summer dress. Ernst is once again reminded of his issue with dresses like that. Don’t be mistaken. His issue isn’t the same issue that Berverly’s perfect neighbors in West Hollywood have. The truth is she looks good in it, a little too good to be decent. Rather his issue rises from his overly logical brain, for he is a math major. Life in Beverly Hills has revealed to Ernst the all too obvious inverse relationship between the price of a dress and the amount of material the dress contains. A logical man, such as himself, would think it would be opposite.
Ernst will find out, though, that he has bigger fish to fry, for at that moment he says to his father, “Who’s this dad? Did you get a new pool girl? She doesn’t seem properly dressed for work.”
The pool girl in the expensive dress does not say anything, but approaches the two and flauntingly puts her arm around Toby. “No, son, we have a pool guy now on special request from my fiancée.” Toby motions to the girl latched on to him, destroying all of Ernst’s hopes that his dad is only living up the last week of his single life this “time around”. “Ernst, this is my fiancée, Melissa VonDinero.”
Ernst suddenly feels like he is going to wretch.
The party of three walks into the grandiose corridor and then into the posh living room of Toby’s perfect house. “I’m going to go change really quick if you don’t mind,” Toby says. Ernst, seeing he’ll be left alone with his super-attractive future step-mom, does mind yet doesn’t mind at the same time. “That will give you two a little time to get to know each other.”
Soon, the door of Toby’s room shuts and Ernst is left alone with Ms. VonDinero. She wastes no time in moving to talk to him, because on first glance, she noticed he is a strapping, well-chiseled individual in a stylish turtleneck sweater, not unlike the individuals she likes to be seen surrounded by at all the popular clubs in Hollywood. For a second, she mildly regrets having to play the role of stepmother to this strapping young pup, but then, realizing that Toby has money and Ernst hasn’t, she is okay with it again.
Everything is silent for a few moments. Ernst doesn’t know what to say. Feebly, he tries to start the conversation with what he soon finds out is one of the worst conversation starting lines ever. “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you Ms. VonDinero.”
“Missy,” she corrects. “You can just call me Missy. Ms. VonDinero,” she continues in a sarcastically proper voice, “makes me sound like an old mother.”
“Oh, okay.”
More silence. More awkwardness.
“You know,” she starts, “You remind me a lot of someone.” She thinks a moment. “I know! It was a boy I dated in high school. His name was Ricky Wembley. People called him Slick-Rick.”
Ernst raises an eyebrow. He’s heard that name before. “Slick-Rick?”
She nods.
“I remember a Slick-Rick. Did you go to the high school just up the road here?”
She nods again. “Class of ’02.”
Ernst is feeling progressively more and more sick to his stomach. Still, he continues making himself sicker by forcing this awkward, light conversation to continue. “So you must be . . . what . . . twenty-four then?”
“In October, yes. And how about you? How old would you be now?”
“Uh . . . twenty-one. I just turned twenty-one last month.” He doesn’t want her to know that he is actually a year older than her.
Her face lightens up. “Wow! So have you gone to any of the clubs down in Hollywood?”
Ernst is not a big liar, and he is not a big partier either, so he is able to truthfully answer no.
“Oh, well how about any bars at least? There are some kickin’ bars down there as well.”
Ernst truthfully shakes his head to that as well.
“Well, I’ll have to take you to one tonight before you and your dad do that camping thing tomorrow. I won’t let you say no.”
“I won’t let you say no either,” Toby says, appearing suddenly in the doorway. “The club is a perfect place for you to get to know each other better. Besides, it’ll be good for you, Ernst. You’re too caught up in studying and need to have more fun. That’s what life’s all about—for people like us, that is.”
Ernst has been engrained with the philosophy that he is never to go against parental authority when under his parents’ roof. And it looks right now as if they are agreed on the issue, and so there’s no way to play off their different opinions. He concedes to go, but only in a midst of panic. He is a thinker, not a partier. Then an idea strikes him—an idea that will solve all of his problems. Ernst smartly whips out his cell phone and proceeds to start texting.
The next part of the story finds our poor Ernst with his future step-mom sitting down to the bar at one of Hollywood’s premier clubs. The untold events in between are not important. Suffice it to say, during those painful hours, Ernst found himself caught between familial loyalty and hormonal overload. There is no better way to describe the awkwardness, for it is a unique feeling understood only by those unlucky suckers who find themselves in the same position as our friend Ernst.
However, now that Missy and Ernst are at the club, Ernst feels much more calm, believe it or not. Missy orders a few drinks.
“You know,” he confesses, “I don’t think it’s a good idea for me to drink. I doubt my tolerance for alcohol is high and I’d rather not drive drunk.”
“Don’t worry about it,” she chides and drinks her martini in one gulp. She orders another one. “I can handle it. I’ll only drink as much as you and I’ll drive.”
Ernst shrugs and drinks his martini in the same manner. He hides the reaction he wants to give at the severe burning in his throat. Missy orders him another one and Ernst decides it is a good time to go to the bathroom. He yells this to Missy, since yelling is the only way she’ll hear him, and she loudly promises to wait on him so they can remain even on drinks.
And Missy does, indeed, wait until that strapping, well-chiseled individual in a stylish turtleneck sweater returns. Only this time, he is not wearing the turtleneck. Instead, he is carrying it to his side. For a second, she mildly regrets that he did so because she liked that sweater, but then, realizing that his muscles are more defined without it on, she is okay with it again.
“Had to shed my identity if you know what I mean,” he says, holding it up.
Missy giggles. “Yeah, I’m glad you did.”
The night progresses and gets more and more misty for Missy. She cannot remember how many drinks she has had, but she doesn’t care. She is having a good time with her future stepson. He is taking the alcohol surprisingly well, and ends up being quite the dancer. The next morning, as she finds herself waking up safely in Toby’s guest room and thinks back on the night, she cannot remember much of the second half, but she does remember how good it felt for those muscular arms to hold her when they were dancing close. For a second, she mildly regrets not being a big outdoorswoman, because she won’t get to feel those muscular arms around her again for a whole week, but then, realizing that she will get hugs from those arms every holiday and vacation for several years to come, she is okay with it again.
Of course, minds change, especially the simple ones like Missy’s.
So Ernst and Toby go on their camping trip for a week, and despite that first day, Ernst is feeling pretty good. He and his dad are up in the mountains, enjoying nature, enjoying getting away from it all. The time they spend up here in the mountains is a nice break from the awkwardness he not only experienced that first day, but will be sure to experience upon their return. Still, he feels much calmer about the situation now than he did at first. As they begin driving back home, his father turns to him and says, “Well, thanks for being such a good sport with my marriage. I hope that that night at the club helped a certain future wife of mine start establishing a proper relationship with a certain son of mine.”
Ernst simply smiles and assures him that such was the case.
They pull into the driveway at last. Ernst tells his dad to go inside; that he will get the bags. Toby concedes, thanking Ernst for his kindness, for being such a good son. He walks inside, and Ernst follows a minute later. As he walks into the grandiose corridor he hears Missy’s voice from the posh living room. “Toby, I have a confession to make.” Ernst stops. Missy continues pitifully. “I don’t know how to say this, but I can’t marry you.”
Toby stares at her. “Why not?”
“Because I’m in love with your son. And,” she adds, “he is in love with me.” Ernst smiles at his dad’s speechlessness, drops the bags, and runs into the posh living room. As he enters, his dad’s continued speechlessness is drowned out by Missy’s sudden scream and thump as she faints and falls on the posh carpet.
This is where it all comes together, so don’t fret if this story seems holier than Swiss cheese to you right now. First of all, don’t worry about becoming disillusioned about Ernst, because he is still the same thinker that you knew at the beginning of the story. Second of all, don’t think that he, or anybody, including the narrator, has told any lies, (except, of course, Ernst lying about his age—it was a mistake made in a moment of weakness, and don’t think yourself any better, because you would have done the same thing in the same situation). Everything else is, in fact, true. It’s true that Ernst cannot handle drink well. It’s true that Missy’s future stepson danced with her and held her close with his muscular arms. And it’s true that Missy changed her mind and decided she’d fallen in love with her fiancée’s son while he was camping with his son.
It is obvious that the Swiss cheese is coming back to your mind so I will waste no more time in explaining why exactly Missy screamed and faintly. The truth was that she was seeing double, and though that had already happened at the club, it had been for a different reason then. The shock of that was too much for her. After she hit the posh carpet, we find Toby rushing over to revive her, and Ernst rushing over to embrace his twin brother Toby IV, though known as Tank to his friends.
You see, Toby III had lost track of Tank since he had gone through a fairly nasty divorce with his first wife—Tank and Ernst’s mother. Tank had naturally turned out differently than Ernst and, instead of going to college, had become every Hollywood club’s favorite guest. He is the premier body-building, 100-proof drinking ladies man. It is actually shocking that he and Missy hadn’t met before, since they frequent the same sphere. Ernst, on the other hand, was just the opposite. He lived in such a different sphere than Tank that the two would have never met if they hadn’t have gotten in a car accident on the 101. It had not been hard to figure out they were long lost twins, and all anger that had initially arisen from the collision was immediately squelched.
Since Toby would have taken away the Mercedes if he had found out Ernst had gotten it in a wreck (the wreck was Ernst’s fault), Ernst never told him of his encounter with his other son. Since Toby had had no contact with the twins’ mother since the divorce, he remained completely ignorant of his other son’s state in life. That is, until now, when Toby finds his fiancée being stolen away from him.
The rest of the day, just like the first, is understandably awkward, but for an entirely different reason. Right after Tank meets his father for the first time that he can remember, he has to explain how he has spent every waking moment at the house with Missy. “I’m sorry Toby, but I fell in love with her when Ernst and I made the switch in the club. She has thought all this time that I’ve been Ernst.”
It takes a little more than that to cool Toby’s temper, especially since his long lost son calls him by his first name. In the end though, everything turns out correctly. Toby remains single, Missy cannot steal Toby’s money, and Ernst and Tank continue their brotherly correspondence using their matching, beeping walkie-talkie style cell phones and a wide array of radio jargon.
“Hey, thanks for doin’ that pal,” Ernst begins to say into his phone at the end of our story, “I think Pops owes us a big one. We just saved him from getting involved in a horrible marriage. Over.”
“Copy that,” Tank answers. And copy that Tank does. Sort of. Missie and Tank continue dating for a while until Missie gets thrown in the slammer for credit card fraud. Apparently, Tank’s “love” only goes as far as the iron bars. He feels that it is a little bit more unfitting for a body-building, 100-proof drinking ladies man like himself to have a prison relationship than it is for white trash girls. It just isn’t him, and so he ends it.
You’re probably hoping that Toby and his first wife get back together. Well, sometimes stories don’t end so perfectly, even in Beverly Hills. The truth is, at one point, she and Toby decided to speak again, but after only a five-minute conversation, they realized that they had absolutely nothing in common, that they had married when they were young and stupid. So that was the end of that. Toby does, however, have another “time around” which ends up being his last. She is a woman more his age, who has had one daughter that is grown and already out of the house. For a second, she says she mildly regretted shedding the married name of her lately departed husband, because he had been good to her, but then, realizing she would be taking on the name of the person she loved most, she was okay with it again. Rutherford sounds more regal than VonDinero anyway.
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