Pre-Approved Identity Theft

by Nellie K Neves

  If they'd all stop staring, that'd be great. I realize that a bride on a plane in her wedding dress is not commonplace, but staring is rude all over the world. Have a little class, folks. I try again to tuck the tulle beneath me but like a hedgehog it keeps popping back up again. Okay, it's not the dress. It's the lack of a groom. I don't even have a story to lie about. Who am I kidding? I'm a terrible liar. My palms are slick just thinking about it. None of this is like me.

  The attendant starts her lecture, and I take a deep breath. The pulls back from the gate. I search my heart for regret, for any semblance of sorrow. But no. It’s not there.

  I gave Reg a chance. Last month I asked him point blank, “Are you actually in love with me, Reggie?”

  He looked at me as if I only had one oar in the water, clean out of my mind. “Where’d that come from?” Reg asked. “We’ve been together since high school, you’re wearing my ring, isn’t that enough?”

  “No,” I said, “and it shouldn’t be for you either. Reg, if you aren’t head over heels, gonna jump the moon, crazy over me, then why are we doing this?”

  “Because,” he said, “it’s expected of us. We’re a smart match.”

  Logic. That was the only comfort he could give me for the rest of my life in his arms, in his bed, raising his children, praying I never birth a girl because I could not sentence her to a life like the one I’d had.

  I warned my mother I didn’t plan on setting foot in that banquet hall. Her only response was to remind me of my obligations and duties. My final attempt had been to my father, Montgomery Sutton.

  “Please,” I begged, “I want to live on my own for once. I need to make a decision that’s mine. Don’t you understand that?”

  No. He hadn’t understood a word. One quick pat on my head and an assurance that it was all wedding jitters before he went back to his itinerary for the next board meeting.

  They’d forced my hand, given me the materials I needed to structure my escape and as the attendant straps in and the plane rushes the runway, I know I’m on my way.

  Chapter 2

  I land in El Paso and I head for the private airplane hangars. My dress is heavy. I’m sure Aria Borealis had never meant for all day wear. I had a second outfit to wear for the reception held in the gardens. Pencil skirt, loose flowing blouse, and a sweet little southern hat, complete with a face veil. The perfect picture to my picture-perfect life. I roll my eyes and hike the front end of my skirt a little higher to lengthen my stride.

  He’s standing near the entrance to the hangar gate. I haven’t seen my Uncle Jerry in at least ten years, but I swear he looks the same. A few days growth of stubble, wide set dark eyes like my mother’s, the same brown leather bomber jacket he’s always worn. His hand comes up in greeting, but there’s worry in his eyes.

  I can’t wait to ditch this dress.

  “Hi Jerry,” I say while still a ways off.

  It's been a long time. He's just as gruff, direct, and ill-tempered as I remember.

  “Come on then, let's getcha where yer goin'.”

  He may be my uncle, but there's not a lot of love there because of my mother. Before we go any farther, there’s something I have to know and I catch his arm to halt him.

  “Why are you doing this for me?” I ask. I haven’t even specifically asked him for anything, but I know we’re headed for his plane. He knows what I want before I can even give it a thought. My hand slips to his, soft petal against rough leather and he stops.

  He thinks about it a moment and says, “Always liked you, Max. Thought if I could get you outta that life your mother picked for ya, seems like I oughta.” Then completely out of character, he gives my hand a squeeze. “I was about to head to the city when you called, thought I’d hold off an’ see if you wanted to go for a ride, for old time’s sake.”

  “Sounds wonderful,” I say, though I have no idea which city he’s referring to. Does it even matter?

  “I thought you’d also like to know that Harper Sutton is booked on a trip to New York in fifteen minutes.”

  There’s a twinkle in his eye, an older brother full of mischief.

  I can’t help but grin and skip to catch up to his long stride. “What’d you do?”

  “Ehh,” it’s a noise he’s always made when he’s not sure what he should say, “I got a few friends in this airport. Stewardess paid me a little favor, that’s all. If your people look real close, they’ll see through it, nothing more than a mix up where they checked you in by accident, but it might buy you a peck of time.” He stops before we get to the plane and his face is serious again. “I can’t help you much more than this, you know that. I won’t say a word if they come asking, but past this, I’ve got nothing for you, Harper.”

  I nod. He used my real name, the name of the adult woman I’d grown to be. He wants me to see that these are real decisions, with real consequences, and I’m on my own.

  “I understand,” I say. “And I’m grateful for whatever you can do for me.”

  The door to his Cessna 421 creaks open and he helps me inside. I smash my hands against the skirt of my dress for what I hope is the last time and take one of the six seats in his jet. He went personal taxi in the skies about ten years ago. Technically, the plane is owned by the company he works for, but more than once as a kid I’d been able to fly with him to pick up his passengers, and then ride in the cockpit on the way back. That was all before life became serious, before a suitor had been chosen and the private school tutelage had started, back when I still believed my life was my own.

  Watching him run through his pre-flight check list is a fond memory to relive. The engine finally kicks on and I feel the plane shake once before he pulls free of the hangar. His deep southern accent is balm to my soul as he talks to the tower and prepares for takeoff. A green aviation headset is extended to me and I slip it on the same as when I was a kid.

  “In case you want to talk,” he says, and it echoes in my ears.

  It might not seem like much, but the gentle familiarity is more love than I’ve felt in years.

  “I do have a question,” I say as he points his plane to the runway. “What city are we headed for?”

  “San Francisco,” he says.

  The name might as well be Camelot, or maybe Oz, because it holds all the same wonder and enchantment for me. California, land of gold and glitz and perfection. A place where my every dream can come true.

  “San Francisco,” I repeat back to myself. That’s where I’ll build a new life. That’s where I’ll figure out who I want to be.

  ∞∞∞

  Uncle Jerry is as smooth as I remember. No turbulence, no issues, no bumps on the landing. My mother told me it was because of all his years raised in the south. It makes the men smooth as aged whiskey. I remember Uncle Jerry rolled his eyes and said the fifteen years he’d flown as a fighter pilot in the Air Force had done a lot more good.

  “Hey Jerry!” I hear a voice from across the hangar as he helps me off the plane. “You go get hitched?”

  It irks him that this miscreant would mistake his niece for a future wife. “Yeah, to your wife, last night. This is my niece, McDowell.”

  The other man waves him off but none of it is taken seriously. Strange to hear things tossed around like banter. In situations with my peers perhaps, but not with grown adults, not around my parents at least.

  “You might want to find something to wear real soon. You stick out like a porcupine in a bowl of marbles.” I watch his eyebrows jut up as if it’s all pretty dire. “I got some old jeans and a thick belt, maybe we can wrap it around you a few times, and find something in the gift shop.”

  For not wanting to help me much, he’s proving quite useful. He has a locker inside the hangar, and I’m in luck because he’s not only got a pair of ripped boot cut jeans, but an old button up that doesn’t smell too bad at all. Jerry thrusts them toward me and looks away as if this is wearing on his comfort level.

  “Restroom is back there, but I thi
nk the dress will fit better on the plane. I can keep watch for ya.”

  Southern gentleman beneath it all.

  My boots clunk against the stairs once more as we stuff me back into the plane. I move to the back of the six seats and happily peel myself from the Aria Borealis gown. Jerry’s jeans are stiff with dust and smudges of grease, and still about three sizes too big, but with the belt, it isn’t bad. I slip on the button up over my strapless corset and tuck in the tails before I tie it at my waist. Nearly fashionable.

  With great caution to keep the whiteness away from me, I tuck the bodice into the skirt and pull the skirt in over itself until I can tie it up like a Christmas package. I swear a few more hundred dollar bills fly away from the folds of fabric.

  “Ya decent?” I hear Jerry call from the stairwell.

  “Yeah,” I reply. I can hear my mother in my head correcting me to say, “yes”.

  “I got a big bag in case you need that thing to stay clean.”

  I smile because barely helping me at all goes a long way by Uncle Jerry’s standards.

  Chapter 3

  As we walk out to the parking lot it starts to dawn on me with the weight of an anvil that I have no plan. No plan at all. I’m following my Uncle Jerry around until he shoos me away like a stray alley cat. And it can’t be much longer now.

  But, he pulls open his jeep’s door and sets my bag full of overpriced tulle and satin in the backseat.

  “I’m meeting a friend for dinner, you oughtta tag along.” He turns the key and shifts the car into reverse. “I bet nobody has fed you in months by how skinny you are.”

  He’s not far off.

  “I needed to get down to a size two for the wedding dress to fit. I’ve been living on lettuce for about six months,” I say.

  I wish I was exaggerating. I fit a four, but my mother hadn’t liked the way it clung to me and “a corset can’t do all the work, Harper.”

  “How does steak sound?” Jerry asks as we merge onto the freeway.

  “Like heaven,” I confess with nearly all the drool of a half-starved honey badger. “What time is it?”

  “Four. Figured we’d catch an early dinner before I gotta pick up clients at six.”

  I’d only left the wedding at 11 AM. I’d been on planes for hours but had barely lost any time at all. Like the whole world had reset so I could get a clean start, or maybe, the life I’d left behind had ceased to exist when I left.

  If a tree falls in the forest… No, I could never be that lucky. They were all still there, and I’m sure that I’ve become public enemy number one by now.

  “You leave a note?” Jerry asks as the silence fills the car. “For the fella?”

  “No,” I confess, and I know I should feel bad. “I climbed out the bathroom window, ran for the barn, rode my horse to the airport, hijacked a golf cart, and bought a plane ticket.”

  His smiles are rare, but real. Jerry even manages to catch my eye as he says, “Nothing like an Irish goodbye. He’ll figure it out.”

  There’s a twinge of guilt burrowing into my heart. I don’t know if it’s because I didn’t even think to leave a note, or if I was brought up to be better than this.

  “Who’s your friend we’re meeting?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.

  “Caraline,” he says as if it’s enough. I wait and he doesn’t offer more. Apparently, it’s up to me to figure the rest out.

  With traffic it takes thirty minutes to go what I can estimate to be ten miles. There are more cars here than home, but we certainly have our share of traffic. Though I spend most of my time on the estate and have to admit I don’t have much experience in city living.

  Adjustments.

  I can do new things.

  Somehow.

  We pull up to a diner, and I’m glad we’re not exactly in the city. I’ve never been to California before. It’s not as if it’s a foreign country, but maybe compared to where I’ve come from, from my isolated social circle, it just might be.

  Jerry holds the door for me, and I only glance back once at his jeep and my wedding dress, not because I love it, but because if I lose it I have no hope left. Once inside, he flashes three fingers at the girl behind the podium and she nods her head and moves us beyond the lobby. It’s a fifties theme, old records on the wall, girls in poodle skirts and a manager in a leather jacket. They appear to know my uncle personally.

  She leads us to a corner booth and Jerry waits for me to take a seat before he slides in on the opposite side. He waits for her to leave before he says, “It’s not as much of a dive as it looks. I’ve gone to some real nice places in this city, but no one cooks a porterhouse like Raul does. Trust me, medium rare with garlic potatoes. Those pants might fit better.”

  I laugh and crack open my plastic menu. The edges crinkle when I run my finger over the pictures, but it looks like they cook with butter and my stomach is growling like a wolf in a sheep shack.

  Did I eat today?

  No, my mother told me it would make me look bloated.

  “Can’t have a bloated bride,” she said, then she laughed as if the alliteration made it funny, or appropriate. Was that when I finally decided I couldn’t take it?

  “Caraline has a daughter.” Jerry sets his menu down. “She’s usually hard up for cash, and I know she sometimes takes on boarders. I guess I thought you might…” He doesn’t finish it because maybe he’s realized how presumptuous this is, sending his niece he hasn’t seen in a decade off with complete strangers, like a carpet bag at a swap meet.

  “You know I’d take you in, but I’m the first place they’re gonna look when they figure out you’re not in New York. I can stand up for you, tell your mama to take a short walk off a tall cliff, but I don’t know how strong you are yet. Caged bird has to sing and all that, but you leave a hen in the barn their whole life, no matter how many times you leave that door wide, she’s gonna stay right where she thinks she’s safe.”

  My eyes drop to my lap because as much as I hate it, he’s right. I want the freedom as bad as I’ve ever wanted anything, but I know how easy it would be to believe her when she comes to find me and tells me everything will be different now.

  “Hello Jer-bear,” a sweet voice says from my right. The woman is tall, chunky, with silvered hair and sparkling glasses. Not at all what I was expecting.

  “Caraline,” Jerry pulls himself from the booth, “I want you to meet my niece. This is Harper.”

  Caraline pulls the glasses from her eyes and a tinkling chain of gold catches them in place around her neck. “Oh well aren’t you a delight!” She sticks her hand out to me and I shake it. “I can’t believe I finally get to meet some of Jerry’s family! This is lovely, isn’t it?”

  Jerry is smirking, and I’m not sure why. Is it the way I’m staring at this woman because she’s wearing high-waisted neon pink bell bottoms, and has peekaboo highlights to match? Or is it because he knows I never expected this in a million years from someone like him? Or is it because he’s happy to share someone important in his life, with someone else he cares about very much? For whatever reason, I love seeing him like this.

  “Did you order yet, my love?” she asks as she slides in to sit across from me.

  “Waited for you,” he says, and I can hear how smitten he is by the tender tone of his voice. Every word echoes his adoration.

  “Oh,” she pinches his cheeks together in her grasp until his lips look like they might burst and plants a hot pink pair of lips to his jaw before she waves down the waitress with a flailing arm. “Angie! Angie! Three Porters two medium rare, but keep mine mooing.” There is no shame in her voice as she calls the order across the restaurant and my uncle makes no move to shush her. “Oh you know the drill, honey, bring them on the fly if you will?”

  I’m trying to keep my eyes from opening wider than they should be, but I can’t remember what normal feels like. All I can imagine is my mother passed out on the aisle beside our table from the sheer shock of Caraline’s audacity an
d lack of tact. The nervous discomfort burbles up inside of me. Coupled with the mental picture of my mother sprawled on a dirty floor, I can’t keep my giggles from popping out of my lips like kernels of popcorn. My laughter sets off Jerry’s and his eggs mine on further. Meanwhile, Caraline shakes her head as if we’re the crazy ones.

  “Well, I’m afraid I don’t understand,” she says, “why on earth you’re both cackling like hyenas.”

  “I’m sorry,” I try to gather my decorum, “you’re quite bold. I’m not used to it.”

  “Well,” she says with a smirk, “thankfully my staff is.”

  I glance to Uncle Jerry who nods to confirm it. “This is her restaurant, Max.”

  It makes more sense at least. But my mother still would have passed out the second she walked in the door.

  Me, I love it.

  It’s easy.

  There’s no extra silverware.

  People talk in normal voices, instead of reserved whispers.

  I can smell the food and I’m ravenous enough that I might march on back and eat the first thing I find.

  “What brings you to town?” Caraline asks. “Jerry didn’t mention a thing when he was here last week.”

  “It was last minute,” I say.

  Years of playing everything close to my chest makes it hard to divulge any secrets. Uncle Jerry is thankfully well versed in blunt.

  “She ran out on her wedding this morning, and now she’s in hiding. I thought Hazel might let her sleep on her couch a couple days, until she gets her feet under her again.”

  If she’s feeling shock, she hides it well.

  “I’ll text her, pretty sure she’s hard up for cash. It’s near the end of the month, so you’ve got a shot.”

  She pulls out a phone from her purse, hot pink, covered in rhinestones. Something my mother would have thought tacky, and I can’t help but wonder where I can get one.