Shadow of Sam

Call me Pat! Everyone else does, although my real name is Patricia. Pat suits me better. I’m short and round with spiky hair that unfortunately isn’t blonde, except in a particular light. 1

You’d think with looking the way I do and not finding a steady love I’d be depressed but my A personality type dooms me to eternal optimism. Not that I mind, I like my own company, I own my place and I have a good job that shows me that every dark cloud has a silver lining. Well actually, for me every dark desire has a gold lining. You see, I'm a sex worker of sorts. A beck and call girl you might say, and a good one. There was no sad tale that led me to this life. 2

It was simply a matter of convenience; of curiosity untamed. I'm always curious, that makes me willing to try anything once and some things more than once. I'm also a night owl; I prefer the softer shadows of the night to the harsh reality of sunlight. I have the best of both worlds in my work. And it's not as if my work's a risk or an inconvenience. I rarely have sex or cigarettes after because my specialty is bondage. Some men like the idea of being dominated by a small woman, although some discover, to their chagrin, that small doesn't necessarily equate with powerless. I've learned to use what assets I have and I'm happy with the results, even if the men cry. So happy in fact that I've squirreled away enough to be safe beyond the job.3

I have a soundproofed basement full of toys, a regular list of clientele, and a separate entrance to my work and play area. I have police immunity through some of the more publicly recognized clients that seek my services. During the day I become invisible as my stature and demeanor change drastically so that I can blend into my surroundings.  As far as my neighbourhood is concerned I am a quiet woman who is independent enough to not have to work and who keeps cats. Not interesting, not rich, with nothing to turn me into a target. All that changed when the Lord of the Rings was released.4

At first there were whispers about how much like Sam I was. I couldn’t see it. I looked nothing like Sean Astin, but people where I live are always more aware of characters rather than actors. I became "Sam" then "Samwise" and later when things were completely out of control "Samwise Gangee, hobbit of the shire and gardener to Mr Frodo.: That was around the same time my picture was in the paper saying I'd won a look-alike contest that I hadn't even entered.  Why would I want to? I was happy with anonymity.5

As my notoriety grew my business declined. I couldn't blame them. My business was dodgy enough without the threat of a photographer lurking in the background. I smiled through it all. Well it was more of a rictus in the mouth. The corners turned up and stayed there and it looked as if I was smiling. I drew on savings stashed for a rainy day and fretted inwardly.6

I knew there were another two pictures to be released and I worried about how I would cope through three, long, lean years. I could always move I suppose, but that would mean re-establishing my home, my place of business and my clientele. Why should I? I argued. I was comfortable here and I didn't want to move. However I couldn't go on like this. I had hoped to keep working until retirement age and then live simply with only a few regulars to supplement my income. Well LOTR had destroyed that dream. Since I wouldn't be frightened out of my home, I had to resort to drastic measures. 7

First I started the rumour that my sister, my twin sister was coming to visit.  I had grown my hair longer so that I really did look like Sam now. The fruit vendor started with his a sly grin and a "Hey Samwise." 8

"How did you know I'm Sam!" I gasped. "My sister Pat and I are identical twins and no-one's been able to tell us apart, but you do it easily. This is my first trip back home for years." I gushed. 9

John looked taken aback, he wasn't expecting that reaction, as my previous responses were restricted to surly grunts and short visits. From the look on his face it seemed a joke wasn't funny if the recipient was happy to go along with it. He hurried me through shopping and seemed happy to see me leave. I got the same reaction from almost everyone else throughout the day. I dawdled I gossiped, I handled goods and gushed but didn't buy anything. I acted so pleased to be called Sam that I even flirted outrageously with the vendors who had carried the joke too far.  No one knew how to take the change. I think all of them accepted the deception. I giggled like a chicken when I got back to the safety of my house. Oh this would be priceless. 10

After that I went out regularly, sometimes four times a day and I went out more as Sam than as Pat. The shopkeepers couldn't tell the difference, not surprising since my twin sister, oh yes I had one, had never left her property in England. Finally I decided that the short-term plans were working. Even if shopkeepers and those in my neighbourhood could still see the resemblance to Sam the hobbit, they were not prepared to risk the garrulous and costly response that Sam the sister brought. The furore died down as the film finished its run and people forgot. But I had one more thing to take care of before I could be safe and it coincided nicely with the revenge I had planned for my sister for putting my name and address into the look-alike competition in the first place. I let slip to the reporters that I was happy to double for my sister who was much too busy to be a part of the promotion. I also said as we were identical twins I shouldn't have a problem filling her shoes. Then I told them I was returning to England and gave out her private number and address where she could be contacted. She won't like that because she likes her privacy. She's a recluse like me but for different reasons. She writes and I could never see any point to her scribblings. Now though she would have ample fodder to write something spectacular.11

As for me I closed my business, locked my basement and rented the house for a year. I said I was travelling. My regulars promised to be available when I returned and I know they will because I'm a hard hobbit to break.12

Then I went on a diet, a strict diet. Not easy for me since I love dessert more than vegetables. I stayed at home until enough weight had gone so that I was no longer rotund, in fact to say I was buxom would be an overstatement. I could have gone the other way by using padding but it's uncomfortable to wear. More uncomfortable than my latex working clothes. I brought a wig, a long black one that went to my shoulders and kicked up at the ends to form a sort of Dutch girl cap. After that I moved uptown and rented space in an underground nightclub that was in financial trouble. In this persona I conducted business. Not with my normal clientele of course, but still the income was enough and the kicks were free. For some reason the police never questioned the activities that went on in the back room of the club. Perhaps because of the nature of the club. After all who wants to terrorize bikers and such. Perhaps also because of the reputation of the club, some high-powered people ran it.13

After a year I returned to my house and moved the tenants out. Then I resumed my business. At first business was slow but when word got around that I was back and better, bossier, sassier than ever, they all came back to receive their punishment for leaving it so long. 14

As for Sam, I heard she had to move to the country to get rid of the reporters and get back to writing. She let her blonde hair grow to till it was shoulder length and kicked up like a Dutch girl’s cap and then she dyed it dark. Just desserts for someone who'd played such a mean trick on me. I found out later that she too had lost weight from the worry. So if I wore my wig we were identical again, but not for long because I had a new game. With my black wig I made my men into slaves to my Cleopatra, they flocked back and I got just desserts, hand fed to me on a silver spoon.15