Page 50 of The Business Trip

We never spoke of it again. But I saw her giving me side glances in second-hour Spanish. She was trying to figure out whether to believe me, I could tell.

Two weeks later Señora Goldberg handed us a quiz on the geography of Mexico. She had put the major spots on there—Mexico City, Cancún, Puerto Vallarta, Tijuana—but there were smaller ones too: Guadalajara, Oaxaca, and a little fishing village called Puerto Escondido.

Raven leaned across the aisle from her desk to mine andwhispered, “If we ever get enough money, let’s run away to Puerto Escondido, OK? Just you and me. Doesn’t it sound like paradise?Puer-to Es-con-deed-oh.I’ll meet you there someday.” She grinned.

“Puerto Escondido, yes,” I whispered back, looking at the map and how the town nestled up against the ocean, picturing a white sand beach and endless sun. It couldn’t be further from Madison, Wisconsin, in my mind or from the nightmares that still kept me up at night.

Raven, Anna, and I continued to hang for the rest of the semester, but then Raven met an older guy at her waitressing job and suddenly she was busy with him, and that summer was when I started having unprotected sex regularly and found out I was pregnant from one of the going-nowhere guys in our high school group. Mom was forced to pay for the abortion. After that, Mom told me I would have to do cosmetology school on my own. I only lasted a semester.

Raven moved with the guy from the restaurant to Atlanta but spent time back in Madison too. Her life was as transient as mine, and she worked her way through a series of hustles, drug deals, and low-level work. She never mentioned Allison again, and neither did I.

Now, as I sat on the plane by this Stephanie woman, I was thinking that Stephanie was probably in the Allison crowd of her high school. The popular group with the moms who bought them rhinestone catsuits and had their daughters’ hair and makeup done at a salon just for a party. I bet Stephanie had mountains of friends in high school and tons of friends even now to go with her piles of money.

I looked at Stephanie’s fingernails as she rested: a perfect manicure, each nail a pale pink. I had never had a proper manicure in my life, couldn’t afford it. Had to paint my own nails,and they were always messy. I bet Stephanie had spa days all the time, getting full manis and pedis, sitting in saunas and steam rooms and lying on tables for massages with hot stones. I’m sure she enjoyed facials where experts worked to minimize any wrinkles.

Her ID in my bra poked at me again, reminding me that I had her driver’s license but not her money. I needed those credit cards, needed the chance to disappear into her life if I wanted to.

When we got to the gate, I said, “Well, listen, Stephanie, wish me luck in Denver! Have a great time at your conference!”

“Thanks—have fun visiting your friend. Nice to meet you.”

She pulled down the old lady’s purse and coat and handed them back to her.

“Thank you, dear,” the woman said. “You both have wonderful trips now.”

“You too,” I said with a smile.

We walked off the plane, and I waved to Stephanie, turning left, following the signs toward ground transportation, as she turned toward her gate.

But instead of going any farther, I ducked into a different nearby gate and pulled out my phone, pretending I was checking messages. I needed to give it a few minutes for her to get farther away and then see what time Stephanie’s flight left. I had to either get on that exact plane or another one soon after to follow her to San Diego. I would have to pay cash again.

Standing up and slowly making my way to where I could see the row of gates, I made sure she wasn’t unexpectedly coming my way. Seeing nothing, I dashed to the closest bathroom and into the handicap stall, where I’d have more room.

Unzipping my carry-on, I quickly pulled off my jeans andtop and changed into an entirely different outfit, including Glenn’s red flannel shirt. Then I stowed my John Lennon glasses in my purse, twisted my hair up as high as it would go, and put my Dodgers cap back on, tucking in all of the wisps of hair under it.

When I emerged from the stall and looked at myself in the mirror, I was pleased. It was as close to a total change as one could get without hair dye. For good measure, I grabbed my makeup bag from my purse and started applying dark eyeshadow and heavy strokes of blush.

Before I had dropped out of cosmetology school, one of my favorite classes had been Transformative Makeup, really making someone look different. We used contour sticks, foundations, and color to change the look of someone’s features. Although I couldn’t afford the expensive contour sticks now, I did a poor man’s version with what I did have, all Walgreens makeup I had purchased over the course of many years, some past their expiration point or cracked, but oh well, they wouldn’t kill me.

There was a tube of lipstick at the bottom of my purse too—an orangey color that really didn’t look very good on me. Someone had left it on the sink in the women’s bathroom at the bar weeks ago and never came back, so I kept it. Now it became an integral part of my disguise.

Swiping it on, I was further satisfied that anyone walking past me in an airport would not recognize me as the same person I had been just minutes before. Different clothes, different hair, hat on, glasses off, major makeup on my face now. The only thing the same was my fringed purse.

Going back into the handicap stall, I reopened my suitcase and pushed the purse into it, sitting on the top to squish itdown until I could get the zipper to close. The suitcase strained against the bulk but held up. There, now the purse was hidden too.

Slipping from the bathroom, I imagined myself as a stealth ninja, occupying the quiet corners of the airport where people wouldn’t be looking. I walked close to walls, kept my head down, and maneuvered behind crowds or in and out of spaces with no one taking a second glance. Moving quickly, I found the monitors where all of the departing flights were listed and located what had to be Stephanie’s San Diego flight, the only one leaving anytime soon. It was about a dozen gates down in that same concourse.

My next stop was the counter where a gate agent had just finished welcoming passengers onto a plane to Phoenix. She was tidying up the desk area as I approached.

“Hi,” I said. “I just had a change of plans. Can I buy a ticket to San Diego here? Whatever your next available flight is, please.”

“Sure, honey.” She began typing. After a few moments she said, “All I have left is the back row.”

“No problem.” I felt relieved. I could hide back there more successfully.

“Can I pay cash?”

“You sure can.”

---