Page 46 of The Business Trip

I brought my purse off the floor and back onto the middle seat. The stranger did the same. I could see her more clearly now that no one was between us. They say you can size someone up in seven seconds, and my read was: wealthy. She had on a nice sweater and low leather boots, and I could smell a hint of a floral perfume now that mothballs and baby powder were not between us. I was surmising that this person going to San Diego was one of those businesswomen I had always wanted tobe, someone like my sister. Her watch was the kind where she could answer emails or check her heart rate. The pearls in her ears seemed real. I imagined someone gifting them to her in a velvet box after a meal with champagne, maybe for a birthday or holiday.

I thought of the unfairness of life. Why did she get to jet around the country in lovely clothes when it took me over a year to save up enough for just this one flight? I wanted to feel her life for a few moments, so I decided to initiate further conversation.

“My name is Jasmine. Are you from Madison?”

“I’m Stephanie,” she responded. “And no, I mean, not from Madison originally. Indiana. I’ve been there about ten years, though. You?”

From there, we got into a long conversation. She told me she was a news director at the CBS TV station in Madison. I didn’t know what a news director actually did until she explained it. It was crazy to imagine that she was in charge of all of those anchors and reporters and everyone else. And it was extra fascinating as I had just been watching that channel for weather to plan this trip. I told her I thought the weather guy was cute. She laughed and said he was just voted Madison’s favorite in a local magazine.

I turned to what she did outside of work: Did she have kids? What would she do in San Diego? I just wanted to chat with someone, to distract myself, and I was fascinated by her world. The conversation kept going, and she cracked open like an egg. I learned she had an adult son. She was divorced. She talked about owning a cat and said her neighbor was cat-sitting. She told me how she always got her neighbor a little trinket in the city where she was—a mug or a magnet, that kind of thing.

Listening to her, I felt jealousy rising up. What a life. Ahigh-paying job but no man around to tell her what to do or drag her down. A woman in charge of a TV station and seemingly in control of her own destiny too.

When she asked me what I did, I blurted out the first thing that came to mind. I was surprised that it involved my mom: “I’m a nurse’s assistant at a retirement home.” I hoped Stephanie had no knowledge of the nursing industry that she would press me on, but she didn’t seem to.

She asked me if I had a husband or boyfriend. The question startled me, although I had just asked her the same thing, so it was only fair. Still, it took me a second to respond. I didn’t feel I could properly voice it without emotion showing through, so I just shook my head and averted my eyes.

Meanwhile, my story about the weekend away grew. It was an old high school friend, I fibbed, named Allison. “And what are you going to do in Denver?” Stephanie asked, and I responded with the only thing I was pretty certain every Coloradoan did: “Hiking.”

“I’ve never been to San Diego,” I sighed, taking a bite of a pretzel from the little bag the flight attendant had handed out. “Are you staying by the ocean?”

“No,” she said. “That would have been nice. It’s a Hilton five miles from the beach, and I probably won’t even have time to see the water.”

As we talked, something began to occur to me. It started as a tiny germ of an idea, but the more she divulged about herself, the more it blossomed. I studied her face. We did have similar features. Not exactly the same, of course, but if I had her hair and fancy clothes and took off my John Lennon glasses, I could reasonably pass for her. The little old lady had been right.

My eyes flashed to our two purses sitting in the middle seat, and I thought of her wallet in there with her ID and creditcards. Could I steal those when she wasn’t looking? Could I take on the identity of this stranger sitting next to me on a plane? It was ridiculous, ludicrous, right?

But was it? Maybe the universe was trying to give me the break I had been craving, that I had been deserving for so long, that I had literally prayed to my grandma about before I got on this plane. I mean, I had to have been placed near this particular person for a reason, right?

I had thought of my escape for so long, nibbling my fingers to the nubs and trying to figure out what I would do with my freedom from Glenn once I gained it and how I could live. This woman had to have tons of money in her bank account. If I had her ID and her cards, maybe I could drain her account and be off to Mexico or somewhere else south of the border that felt even safer than Denver. I started to imagine cutting my hair and dyeing it. I could easily pass for her at a bank or in a store if I did so. I kept asking her questions, and I tried to memorize her mannerisms, the way she paused at times and slightly tilted her head, the way she smiled, just in case there were security cameras where I went.

If I could get my hands on her money, I could dash off immediately and it would be enough time for me to be home free. If she noticed anything missing, she would be racking her brain for how it disappeared, but she would never suspect the person on the plane with her, would she? Orwouldshe? If she started yapping to the police, my whole story might blow up.

I needed to use the bathroom and get to a space where I could think for just a moment.

“Do you mind if I slide by you and go to the restroom?” I asked. “I’ll just leave my purse here.”

“Of course,” she said and stood up to let me pass.

In the bathroom, locking the door, I was panting with nervous energy. If she got up to use the restroom as well and also left her purse, I would have full access to it. I already knew a ton about her from our airplane conversation. Her job, her background, her family and friends. I even knew where she was staying. If I wanted to follow her, I could easily do so. Imagine if I showed up at her hotel out of the blue? The thought gave me jitters. What could I do if I found her there? What would she do if she saw me?

Another thought moved in, like an approaching thunderstorm, dark and full of lightning bolts. What if I took this one step further and actuallybecameher? How would that look? What would that mean? If she disappeared and I became Stephanie, the high-powered, rich TV executive, even for a few days, I could truly disappear. Because then I could have her entire wallet, her laptop, her clothes, whatever else I wanted, and I could hide in plain sight until I hid out of sight. A beach in Mexico, a tiny out-of-the-way town no one bothered to look at.

I imagined the little beach cottage I could buy: just enough for one person, decorated in shabby chic, the way I had done my apartment in Madison before I moved into Glenn’s place and was forced into his style, which was what I would call a true bachelor trailer. He had zero interest in decorating and didn’t like the knickknacks, hooked rugs, plants, and brightly colored furniture I wanted to bring along.

“Let’s sell it all, babe, and go on a trip together with the money,” he had said when we first started living together. “I’ve got stuff, we don’t need more.” And in the cloudiness of early love, I had agreed, thinking about a romantic getaway somewhere, but he pocketed the money and kept putting off the trip until he told me that “household expenses” were getting to be too much, blaming the president for rising inflation.

Now I stood in the tiny airplane bathroom, fantasizing abouthow I might decorate this fictional beach house in a fictional Mexican beach town with the fictional money I was going to steal from the real woman seated back in row 17. Squeezing my eyes shut, I slowly counted backward from ten until my breathing steadied.Just be natural, Jasmine, I said to myself.Maybe Stephanie won’t even need to use the restroom and this whole little fantasy will disappear.

Walking back to our row, I felt lightheaded, almost sick to my stomach waiting to see what would happen. I knew it was now or never as the first tiny dip of the plane descending a notch had started. TheFASTEN YOUR SEAT BELTsign was soon to go on, I was sure.

When I got to the edge of our row, Stephanie stood up to let me in, but then said, “I’m going to use the restroom too.”

My adrenaline shot up.Keep it cool. Jasmine, keep it cool. Don’t look happy or surprised or anything.

“Sure,” I said in as natural a voice as I could. She turned and went down the aisle. My hands started to sweat. Her purse was just inches from me, a Kate Spade in a robin’s-egg blue. It looked wildly different from my purse with the tassels and fringe, worn down from so many years of use.

Wait, I told myself,be patient, not yet.I snuck a peek behind me toward the restrooms. She was just going in.

---