Free Belonging by Nancy Thayer

said he’d pick her up in an hour, and since she was the one who had asked him—implored him—to give her this evening, she didn’t want to keep him waiting.
    She stripped off the sleek silk and wool trouser suit she’d worn to work. Tossing it onto her bed, she hurried into the bathroom for a quick shower. Then, wrapped in a towel, she packed. Setting her overnight case on the bed, she approached the chest of drawers in which she kept the apparel for her alternate personality. She took out a new black negligee tarted up with red ribbons, a pair of orange leggings, and a V-necked oversized magenta thigh-length sweater for the trip home on Saturday. A black satin push-up bra, black satin bikini panties. She folded them into the suitcase. There.
    Back in the bathroom, the steam from her shower had finally disappeared, clearing the mirror, and she took out one of her makeup bags and set to work, painting her face with skillful exaggeration. Not even on her television show in front of all the cameras did she use this much makeup: blue eye shadow, gold shadow with sparkling flakes for the area beneath her brows, rouge, lipstick, navy mascara.
    But it was the wig that made all the difference. Her heavy blond hair slanting down over one eye signaled her identity clearly. When Joanna went out to dinner or to the opera or a play, it was the smooth burnished curtain of hair that caught people’s eye, made them look twice, made them stare, then whisper to one another, “It’s Joanna Jones.” While she rather enjoyed this minor celebrity, she understood how Carter would feel uncomfortable with it. He was afraid a photographer would snap their photo and print ashot of them together at a restaurant or country inn when he’d told Blair he was in the city working. He didn’t want to risk that; he asked Joanna to disguise herself when they went out in public together, and she agreed.
    First she had tried pulling her hair back into a chignon or a low twist at her neck, but her hair was too heavy, too straight, and immediately began sliding out of place. She decided to go with a wig, and after much experimentation, she’d settled on one of black curls bouncing in a party-girl shag, which obscured the strong lines of her face and made her look young and rather cheap. That had led easily to a certain style of dress: flamboyant, alluring, even provocative. Perhaps a bit tacky. Low-cut, high-hemmed, skintight outfits and dangerously high heels. Cheap flashy jewelry.
    For a while this disguise had been only a great deal of fun, bringing an element of play into their relationship which hadn’t been there before. It made it possible for Joanna and Carter to go out into the city at night, lingering over brandy at a restaurant, or even escaping New York for brief hidden weekends together.
    “I can’t believe you’re doing this,” Tory had scolded Joanna. “It’s obviously a power play. Carter’s not afraid you’ll get snapped by a society photographer and Blair will find out. He’s just afraid that if you’re recognized all the time and he’s not, you’ll realize you’re important and he’s not.”
    “I don’t think so, Tory,” Joanna disagreed. “In any case, I’ve promised Carter I’d wear the disguise, especially when we go out of town together for … pleasure, instead of work.”
    Recently Joanna had been surprised and amused and then vaguely disturbed by Carter’s response to her disguise: this particular camouflage really excited him sexually. More and more often these days, when they made love, Carter asked Joanna to leave the wig on.
    Well, if it made him happy, she’d wear the wig, she’d wear two wigs, she’d cut off her hair, she thought now in a frenzy of abandon. What was a wig now? She pulled it on and adjusted it; in an instant she was transformed. This woman would wear the skimpy scarlet satin dress that made swishy sounds whenever she moved. Joanna did a quick pirouette in front of the mirror to be