The Baggage Handler

by David Rawlings

  She wandered the second floor, looking for the right guest bedroom. Each room she peeked into was a window into perfection. The billiard room, with the half-moon walnut minibar presiding over it. Her brother-in-law Brent’s study, his sports trophies lining one wall, his guitars framed on another. Another five minutes of searching and she found her suitcase on a king-sized bed in a guest bedroom bigger than her own. Through the windows, she could see a team of workmen assembling a white marquee on the back lawn.

  Her phone beeped again. Rick. Glad to hear you’ve made it. Look forward to seeing the house. I know it will be hard for you, but we love you. Will check in tonight when the boys are home and after I’ve fixed the starter on the car. That darn car. A mechanic’s retirement plan on wheels.

  An almost primal need struck Gillian—to improve herself, to dress up to the standard of this colossal house. She was so out of place in this perfect life. The whisper started again. She was used to its constant hints of her inadequacy, but the whisper grew into a roar.

  Gillian unzipped the bag, and a flash of gold set off a subconscious warning that made her furrow her brow. Instead of her blue dress—the one Rick had insisted she wear to the wedding reception—the suitcase was full of men’s clothes, along with what looked like school certificates and a sports trophy. She checked the baggage tags on the handle, her brain already answering the next unasked question. While the baggage tags were red, they weren’t from her travel agent.

  I wish I’d picked up my own suitcase.

  The front door slammed. “Let’s go, Gilly!”

  Gillian stood on the horns of a dilemma. I have to get back to the airport. She looked down at her creased blouse and dress pants, damp from sweat. She sighed as she lowered the lid on someone else’s baggage. She’d need to go back to the airport and sort out the mess her sister had created. She padded down the stairs. “Becky, I’ve got the wrong suitcase.”

  Becky raced past her, her head down. “Mmm?”

  Gillian sighed again as she reached the foot of the staircase. She tried one more time. “When you grabbed my baggage at the airport, did you check the baggage tags?”

  “What was that?” Becky called from the kitchen.

  “You picked up the wrong suitcase. I need to go back to the airport.”

  Becky marched back to Gillian with a theatrical sigh. “Can’t we get your suitcase later? You can’t just go to lunch like that?”

  Gillian looked down at her creased blouse and slacks. She would be comfortable, but her fragile self-esteem would be no match for the highbrow standards and tutting sideways glances of Marcellinas. “I can’t go like this.”

  Becky looked her up and down and huffed. “You’re right. Call the airline. We have to go back to the airport.”

  7

  David leaned his forehead against Julian’s office window, the sweat from his brow trickling past the view. The city rushed around below him, unaware and uncaring that his life was evaporating in front of him.

  Why is my life always ruined by the mistakes of others?

  “I don’t care if you’ve had a major mix-up,” David shouted into his phone. “I don’t have time to go to the airport. Yes, I suggest you talk to someone. Fix! This! Problem!”

  David breathed ragged and hard as the airline pushed him back into a holding pattern. He was going to lose his job because Baggage Services couldn’t manage the only task they existed to perform.

  He was going to lose his job, his purpose—other than Caitlin, his sole source of happiness as he and his wife drifted apart. As Sharon had turned to another man while he worked long days to provide for his family.

  David’s heavy breath fogged the window, partly obscuring his reflection of Julian, who stretched behind the polished mahogany desk and checked his Rolex. “Ten minutes. What’s happening?”

  David shook his head and paced the office, aware of the snarl on his face, held in place by the airline’s automated customer service robot. “Thank you for holding. Your call is important to us—”

  Right. It’s so important you refuse to take it.

  With a glance, David could see Julian’s eyes following him back and forth across the office. “Can’t you wing it?”

  David turned on his heel. “Sure, I’m second to none when it comes to thinking on my feet, but my financials paint a clear picture of the exact reason we shouldn’t be closed. If I don’t have them, all it takes is one question I can’t answer, and we’ll be dead in the water. The board will be looking for any reason to justify a decision they’ve probably already made.”

  Julian cocked an eyebrow. “We’ll be dead in the water?”

  David glared at his boss. The distance he placed between himself and David’s fate was becoming more infuriating by the minute. David strode back to the floor-to-ceiling windows before he said something that would make Julian’s decision so much easier. He glared at the city instead.

  The robot was back in his ear. “Our passengers are our number one priority—”

  “Like heck they are!” David thumped his fist on the window.

  His breathing accelerated, and panic threatened to burst through his chest. He needed to get back in control, and there was just one way to do it. He closed his eyes and pictured his happiest memory—the day of the ferry cruise just twelve months ago, with Caitlin in pink princess ruffles and Sharon by his side. A rare day off with the wind in his hair and a smile on his lips. On all their lips. David’s heart slowed its pounding, unbalanced rhythm, and his breathing resumed normal transmission.

  He spun around to Julian. Was the desperation he felt flaring in his eyes? “What chance is there we can move my meeting to later this morning? Or this afternoon?”

  David detected the hint of a smile from Julian. Yes, his job would be easier with this monumental mistake. “Very little. We’ve got another eleven branches to fit into the day. I’ve stacked them around the building like an air traffic controller so they don’t run into each other. They’re just as anxious as you are about saving their branches.”

  “But they’ll have everything they need. Can’t you at least try?” David succeeded—just—in keeping the pleading out of his voice.

  Julian stood and shook his head. “It will be nearly impossible, but as a friend I’ll see what I can do. It’s the least I can do for one of my guys.” And with that, he charged out of his office.

  My guys? One minute it’s “we” and “us” and now it’s “my guys”?

  A click and a whir chirped down the phone line. “Thank you for holding, sir.” This young man sounded a lot calmer than the other frazzled disembodied voices David had reduced to tears.

  “Well?” David’s panicked impatience resumed its simmer.

  The guy stayed calm, in contrast to his colleagues. “There appears to have been a mix-up with your baggage—”

  “So I’ve heard three times from you people. Tell me something I don’t know.”

  The young man paused. “Well, you need to deal with your baggage, but you’re fortunate. We can arrange for it to be at our city depot inside the hour. You’ll need to bring with you the bag you’ve got. Do you have a pen and paper for the address?”

  Heat flashed through David as he slammed his hand again against the window. “Fortunate? I have to make a life-or-death presentation in ten minutes, so no, I can’t go to some depot somewhere else—”

  But the young man was cool and collected. “With respect, sir, it appears the wrong baggage was taken from the carousel, so some part of this situation has to be your responsibility. But let’s not argue about fault or blame. It would be good if you could—”

  Julian charged into David’s conversation, forcing him to mute the call. “Here’s the deal: I can slide your presentation back by two hours, but that’s it. If you aren’t back by then, the leadership will make a decision about your branch without your presentation or your financials.”

  David unmuted the call. “Give me the address.”

  As the youn
g man dictated the depot’s location, David searched Julian’s desk for a Post-it note and then scribbled it down.

  “Once again, I apologize for this mix-up, sir. I will see you at the—”

  David cut the call as he moved to the door. “I’ve got to find this baggage depot. They said it was in the Docklands development. That’s not far, is it?”

  Julian shook his head. “It shouldn’t take you long to get there.”

  David stormed out of the office, wheeling the suitcase behind him, muttering under his breath about incompetent airline staff, self-interested corporate shills, his wife, and just for the sake of it, the universe itself. As he marched toward the elevator, Julian’s voice echoed down the corridor after him. “You’ve got two hours, and that’s it! You owe me!”

  I owe you? It took everything in David’s power to keep walking. He mashed the elevator button and stepped back as his phone rang.

  Caitlin.

  “Daddy!”

  He smiled at her high-pitched squeak. “How’s my princess?”

  “We’re going to see the princess show, and I’m going to be a princess, and it’s going to be the funnest thing to see all the princesses.”

  A promise was a promise, even if he’d had to fly across the country to keep the job that would pay for the Disney on Ice tickets.

  “That’s right, darling. When I get back home after my big trip.”

  Still no elevator. Anxiety clawed at his neck.

  “We’re going today, Daddy!” David imagined the set of her tiny jaw. She was definitely his little princess.

  “No, honey, when I come back we’ll buy the tickets.” David again mashed the elevator button.

  She giggled. “And I want to buy a princess tiara, and we’re going to have chocolates.”

  David stifled a laugh before the shadow of panic swooped over his momentary sunny spot on a gray day. “I promise I’ll buy the tiara when we go.”

  The elevator dinged its arrival, and David pushed his way past some exiting suits as he hammered the ground floor button.

  “I’ve got to go, Caitie. I need to find my suitcase for my meeting.”

  “Bye.” Click. In an instant she was gone.

  David’s breathing sped up as the lights slowly flashed his descent. He just had to save his job.

  8

  Gillian could feel Becky fuming as they got into the Audi. Her sister clenched the steering wheel and breathed through her nose like her mother used to when Gillian knew she was in real trouble.

  Becky drummed her gloved fingers on the wheel. “So where is this place?”

  “In the Docklands development.” She recited the address.

  Becky unclenched and clenched her grip on the wheel and breathed hard again as she pulled out of the driveway.

  Gillian alternated her gaze between the window and the folded hands in her lap. “I’m sorry for this delay, but to be fair, you were the one who grabbed the suitcase off the carousel.”

  When it came to criticism, Becky was Teflon-coated. “I’ve never had any problems with my baggage before. Anyway, let’s not let your lost baggage bring down our day. We’ve got to stay positive. It’s all planned. We’ll still go to lunch at Marcellinas, and we must do the manicures and facials tomorrow afternoon. I’ve got to look fantastic as the mother of the bride. This will be the third wedding in our tennis club this month.”

  Gillian looked out the window again, needing just a moment to breathe. “You didn’t answer my question about how Brent is doing. Isn’t he involved in any of the wedding arrangements?”

  Becky again paused, her brow furrowed as if she were measuring careful words. “No, he’s not doing much, but he’s working. We’ll see him at the rehearsal dinner. Anyway, how’s Rick’s job? Going well, is it? He’s making lots of money?”

  Gillian took a deep breath, relieved at getting a second chance to share. “At the moment, he’s doing a great job. He’s under a lot of pressure, and his bosses are always talking about the possibility of cutting jobs, but he’s still there. Coming here for the wedding will be just the break he needs. In fact, we all need it.”

  “I’m glad you raised it, Gilly, because I wasn’t sure how to raise it without offending you, but you’re looking a bit tired and you’ve put on a bit of weight.”

  Gillian rolled her eyes. “Thanks very much.”

  “Well, you are, and you have, and I’m worried about you. You haven’t looked happy since I picked you up, and I would have thought Jessica’s wedding would be a happy occasion for us all.”

  Gillian choked down any reaction before it escaped and just gave her another problem to fix—another one that wasn’t her own doing. “If you’d prefer that I hadn’t come early—”

  “That’s not it at all.” Becky peered over her designer sunglasses at her reflection in the mirror. “Look, let’s get your baggage fixed up first, and then we can have a proper talk over some good food at Marcellinas rather than out here in the middle of nowhere.”

  The landscape outside Gillian’s window became sparser with each passing minute. For a new development, it didn’t have much to inspire a purchase. Block after block was a dustbowl, dotted with knee-high weeds and occasional construction equipment, abandoned and succumbing to the ravages of time and salty air. Huge cranes stood tall and unmoving, a still life of steel giraffes on a dusty savannah. The only life was the occasional seabird that sailed on the wind and squawked its hunger to no one.

  Becky slowed as they approached a lonely bright-white warehouse, standing alone in this urban wasteland. She pulled up outside the building. “Well, this is the address. Are you sure it’s the right place?” She grabbed her phone. “Give me the number and I’ll check for you.”

  “No, this is the address they gave me.” Gillian was adamant as she hopped out of the car and into the heat.

  Becky lowered Gillian’s window by an inch. “Well, I’ll just wait out here. It shouldn’t take too long, I hope.” Becky could make her voice sound like it was rolling its eyes.

  “No, I hope it doesn’t.” Gillian took the suitcase from the backseat and crossed the deserted street to the only disruption in the brilliant white facade: a set of glass double doors recessed into the front of the building.

  They slid open for her, and she stepped into a reception area that looked like it belonged in a hospital. The room was nothing but white. White pictures in white frames on white walls. White lounge chairs. White vases holding white foliage. A white clock on the wall. And on the white counter, a small white bell, which Gillian rang. It sounded a note like champagne glasses touched for a toast.

  As the note dissipated, nothing happened.

  “Hello?” She rang the bell again.

  A blue sign broke the sheer white in the room: Baggage Services. It hung on the wall, next to a single white door to one side of the white counter.

  Gillian could hear movement behind the door, and then its handle turned.

  9

  David dug into his wallet for more cash to ensure he wouldn’t be left stranded in this deserted industrial area.

  The cab driver extorting money from him clutched the bills in a sweaty hand. “That buys you twenty minutes.” He gave an oily smile, and David’s suspicions ratcheted up. He just knew this guy would be gone the minute he went into this strange building.

  David pulled out his phone and took a photo of the driver and then his ID number, printed on the dashboard for a passenger’s peace of mind.

  “Just making sure my extra cash will buy me twenty minutes.”

  The viscous smile oozed from the driver’s face.

  David stepped out of the cab, and the humidity again enveloped him like a wool blanket. He pulled the crumpled Post-it from his pocket. This was the right address, but there was no way those he’d conversed with earlier worked here. This part of town was abandoned—empty streets and building sites echoed with bird noise, and wind whipped across the industrial plains. As the cab had approached and the buildings
had thinned out, David’s heart had resumed its pounding rhythm, and the sweat, drawn out of him by baking in the backseat of an un-airconditioned taxi in summer heat, just as he feared, ran in rivulets down his temples. He winced as the reflection of the sun off this sheer white building burned bright in his eyes. What sort of tin-pot airline had a depot out here in the middle of nowhere?

  He charged across the street and scoured both ends of this warehouse, whose white facade stretched wide in both directions. To the left, no doors. To the right, no doors. Both ways, no windows to be seen.

  David stomped to one end of the building and whipped around the corner. He stopped in his tracks. Nothing but more unbroken brilliant white and an empty street that led to a fenced dead end and the dockside beyond. And no sign of life.

  He stomped back along the building’s frontage to the other intersection, sweat now pouring from his brow and down his back. He was walking miles, someone else’s suitcase careening behind him in tow, burning time he didn’t have. He marched around the corner, confident there would be a door, an entrance, anything. This side of the building, too, stretched down a side street to the docks, but halfway along was a simple garage door, also white, recessed into the building. Next to the roller shutter—a sleek metal curtain of gleaming white, shut tight against the outside world and him—was the only color on the whole building: a dark-blue sign whose white letters announced with pride, Baggage Services!

  Finally.

  David half sprinted to the roller shutter, now uncaring about the sweat. He looked for a bell, a switch—anything—so he could summon someone to fix this mess. He had less than two hours to get back on track and save his future before a range of faceless men signed his death warrant.

  But there was no bell. Except for the sign, there was nothing on the wall at all.