Pre-Approved Identity Theft

by Nellie K Neves

  “Yes,” I reply. “My name is Harper Sutton.”

  “Indigo Maxwell.” She tosses the name out with so much confidence I wonder what she is in this city. “She says you’re job hunting. What’s your background?”

  It’s an odd place for a job interview amidst the pounding music and swirling lights.

  “Bachelor’s in communications.”

  Indigo snickers with some snide sarcasm. “So, you’ll make a good mail room brat.”

  It pricks my temper, but I jam it down with the rest of the feelings I’m never allowed to feel. “I’m sure I can take on more than that.”

  Ice cubes rattle in her drink as she surveys the crowd. “Everyone starts at the bottom, honey. That’s how business works.” She catches someone’s eye and motions them toward us. “I’ll feed you potential employers all night, be charming. Hazel likes you, so let’s get you employed.”

  I meet eight different people over the next hour. Mr. Naragiri from Digital Displays, Allysyn Markel from Dance Elyte Studios, Teegan Montrope from Binwell Enterprises, and more that blurred together until my smile actually hurt. Through it all, I can’t help but wonder how on earth I can stay hidden from my previous life after filing a W-2. Uncle Jerry’s idea of under the table work sounds smarter, but working at something low level can’t pay much and I doubt I can sleep on a couch forever.

  The crowd thins as the night moves on. Every now and then I catch Hazel and Indigo watching me and I can’t tell if they’re evaluating me, or flat out gossiping. The quick looks I can steal between miniature interviews aren’t enough to tell me. By the time the last high-powered woman walks away, I’m exhausted. Craving the cool of the night I move to the patio. Only a few guests remain and as I walk out, they disappear into the house.

  The city is alive once more, a symphony of cars, horns, the sounds of the embarcadero and people, the thousands and thousands of people. Somewhere out there, beyond the glow of the city, beyond the miles that separate us, my mother is searching for me and the guilt is hard to ignore. No note, no clue where I’d gone. Maybe she’ll come around. Maybe it could be different now. It’s almost enough to make me pick up a phone and dial the number for the estate.

  “I don’t see it,” I hear Indigo whisper behind me. “I know you do, but I don’t think it’s enough.”

  “If her hair were darker, try to imagine that,” Hazel says.

  I don’t think I’m supposed to be hearing any of this and yet I am.

  “And she’d go for it? Do you think she’s smart enough to pull it off?”

  Hazel snickers a dry cutting laugh and it doesn’t please Indigo. “Are you kidding? You hardly show up at work anymore. That’s why you’re in this mess to begin with, isn’t it? If she shows up for a couple weeks, it’s an improvement on what you’ve done.”

  Indigo scoffs but I can tell it’s not serious. “Like I’m so easily replaced.

  I move further into the dark, away from them and their plotting and wonder what kind of world I’ve fallen into.

  Chapter 6

  It’s quiet on the drive back to Hazel’s apartment. She’s chewing on some bit of information she’s not willing to share. Meanwhile, I’m sitting on pins and needles trying to pretend I didn’t hear it.

  “Make any connections?”

  “I have a stack of business cards,” I say, “but I’m pretty sure they’re on Indigo’s side of the city and I don’t have a car.”

  “There’s always public transport,” she says. “Give them a call this week, see what you can find. And who knows, maybe something else will fall in your lap.”

  She leaves it at that. One little crumb for me to dissect and suck the life out of for the next day and a half. I think about it as I talk to local shop owners. I think about it as I call the contacts from the cards. I think about it as I ride the bus to a job interview and I’m sick of thinking about it as I’m passed over for the receptionist job I don’t really want.

  I’m at least nice enough to feed her every night when she comes home from work. Nothing spectacular, little thrown together meals with food I found in her fridge, but Hazel acts as though I’ve singlehandedly ended world hunger.

  “Indigo is coming over later,” she says between shoveling bites into her mouth tonight. “She’s got a job opportunity she wants to run by you since you still don’t have anything yet.”

  Too much anxiety floods my system and my appetite vanishes. I pick at my pasta. Indigo’s comment of everyone starting at the bottom is running on replay like a broken jukebox in my brain. I can’t help but wonder if she’s going to have me scraping the gum off the underside of conference tables.

  Hazel offers to do the dishes so I can relax and that only increases my anxiety. We haven’t been roommates more than three days, but my ability to do the dishes is only second to my ability to have dinner ready when she’s home from work. She wants me in a good mood and that’s nerve wracking.

  I don’t have to wait long, ten minutes or so, before Indigo’s rhythmical knock sounds at the door. Hazel drops the dish she’s working on and I swear for a second she considers throwing herself over the half wall that separates the kitchen from the dining area.

  “I got it!” she yells as if she has to race me, even though I’m still staring at her with wide eyes wondering if my mother might have had a heart attack watching her display. She rips open the door and they hug like we didn’t see each other 48 hours before.

  “Did you bring it?” Hazel asks and Indigo nods.

  “Is she on board?” Indigo asks as if I’m not eight feet away.

  “I didn’t tell her yet. I figured you’d want to handle it.”

  It doesn’t take much to see that it pleases Indigo. She moves past Hazel and plasters on the biggest, fakest, crocodile smile I’ve ever seen. And I should know, I’ve been wearing one most of my life.

  “Harper! So good to see you. I heard you’re still striking out in the job department, I hoped you might listen to a little proposition I have for you.”

  The words all glob together like a sticky mess of sweet dough, the kind that sucks you in before you know it and leaves you with nothing but a tummy ache.

  “Okay,” I agree because there’s no harm in listening.

  Indigo glances around the small apartment for somewhere suitable to sit and settles for the coffee table in front of me. Her palms clap on her bare knees then smooth out the length of her black pencil skirt. “Well, as a back story, I have this trip coming up. Twelve days, all-inclusive resort in Cancun and I have been looking forward to it for months. But,” her finger pops up as she says the word, “I may or may not have landed in some hot water at work lately, and when I asked for the time off, my request was denied.”

  Sounds like a reap what you sow kind of moment to me, but I keep my mouth shut just the same.

  “Here I am with this nonrefundable trip and no way to go without losing my job.” Indigo’s tone reminds me of the way my father spoke to me as a child, slow, deliberate and far too happy for the content of the words. I’ve never appreciated being patronized and I still don’t.

  “That’s where you come in,” Hazel interjects. She’s quickly silenced with a glare from Indigo.

  “Yes,” Indigo returns her attention to me, “Hazel pointed out to me that you and I have very similar facial features. With some work, we could actually look rather interchangeable.”

  I nearly laugh because we don’t look alike at all. She’s gorgeous, tanned skin, dark hair, exotic eyes and lashes that go on for miles. I’m not ugly, but I’m nothing like Indigo.

  “I brought some hair dye over in case you want to give it a shot.” The bag rustles as she pulls the carton free. “Don’t tell anyone, but it’s the exact color I use.”

  My feet are underneath me in an instant. Instinctively, my fingers tangle up into my bleached blonde hair. It’s not my real color, it’s the color Reg chose, but it’s my hair and my identity and is she really suggesting what I think she’s suggest
ing?

  “So,” I start slow because the thought is ludicrous, “you think I can take your place at work?”

  Indigo shrugs as if it’s normal. “I think there’s a chance, and for twelve days in Cancun, I’m ready to take the risk.”

  “There’s no way.” She’s talking about me slipping right into her life so that she never misses a beat.

  I can’t become her.

  I can hardly be me.

  “Wait.” Hazel’s fingers dig into my arm harder than she means to. Maybe she’s worried I’ll run. “Tell her what she gets out of the deal, Indigo.”

  Indigo’s eyes roll before she starts again. “Yeah okay, so you can stay at my place, take my paycheck, eat my food, wear my clothes, you know, the whole shebang. Hazel says you’re on the run from the law or whatever, so it seems like it’s mutually beneficial for the both of us.”

  “The law? No, I—”

  “I told her you didn’t want to be found so you might be willing to go along with it, at least for a bit,” Hazel interrupts.

  Indigo stands to close some of the distance between us. “Look, you’ll get some reception job before you know it, but they’ll want ID, they’ll want tax information and when that happens, you’re going to light up like sunrise over the bay, okay? This way, my way, buys you a couple weeks. I make good money. That means you’ll have cash in your pocket when you bail. That can buy you a new life somewhere.”

  She’s not wrong. It’s infuriating how right she is.

  “I need to think about it,” I say. “This is huge. I’m pretty sure it’s criminal. I mean, it’s identity theft.”

  “It’s not theft,” Indigo says. “Theft means you took it without permission. I’m letting you borrow my identity for a bit.”

  “So it’s fraud,” I correct her. I can hear my father in my voice.

  “Let us dye your hair. If it doesn’t work, if we don’t look enough alike, it won’t even matter.”

  “And I’ll have brown hair,” I say because it matters to me.

  “And it’ll be an improvement,” Hazel says as she hooks her arm through mine. “Come on, it’ll be great.”

  I’m pretty sure most of life’s worst decisions start with that phrase. But my hair has no choice and soon I’m slathered in deep brunette hair dye. They chatter on and on about Cancun and everything Indigo plans to do while she’s there. I’m invisible except for the clock on the bathroom counter that ticks away the time until I can rinse out my hair. It’s not that different from the estate. People making my decisions, telling me what comes next, who to be, how to act, how have I managed to land back here again?

  They insist on washing my hair in the kitchen sink because they don’t want to wait for me to take a shower. With my head deep in the stainless steel tub and blood rushing to my brain, I let them rinse the color from my hair, towel dry it, and stand back to take in the first sight.

  Hazel gasps. Indigo covers her mouth, and I worry my hair has all fallen out and I’m a bald as a cue ball.

  “It’s uncanny,” Hazel says without looking away.

  “I can’t believe it,” Indigo whispers through her fingers. “I mean the eyes are a little different, maybe the cheekbones, but a little makeup will solve that. I can tone mine down for the next couple days.”

  I’m sick of feeling like a side show attraction. I walk away in search of a mirror. The closet doors are the first mirror I find and the reflection stops me. The color has transformed me, maybe not identical to Indigo, but similar, and more importantly, far more striking than I’d ever been as Reg’s blonde. My blue eyes are crisp and alert like a frozen pond in winter. My face feels more slender, angular, and sophisticated. A little makeup and I really could look like her.

  “Do you think she’ll do it?” I hear Indigo whisper.

  “Maybe,” Hazel replies. “When do you leave?”

  “Five days.”

  I can’t decide tonight. There’s something I have to do, something I have to know before I can commit to this plan. I have to call my mother.

  Chapter 7

  It’s chilly on the balcony. My pay-as-you-go phone is warm in my hand because I’ve been squeezing it until my hand hurts. I bought it yesterday from a cranky convenience store owner who acted like I was going to steal something from the moment I walked in his door. I bought the phone and left, quickly abandoning my thoughts of asking for a job. What Indigo is offering me, it’s not a step up from work like that, it’s an elevator ride to the top.

  The breeze has the slightest breath of moisture that dampens my skin and elevates the bite of it. Or maybe it’s because I’ve dialed my mother’s number and it’s on the third ring and she hasn’t picked up yet. Why would she? She doesn’t know the number and it’s the dead of the night there.

  Voicemail.

  Never her voice, always the preset recording from the company.

  Beep.

  “Mom.”

  I never call her that, not anymore, it’s been mother for so many years now. Mom is too familiar.

  “It’s Harper. I’m calling to let you know I’m okay. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t marry Reg, so I took off. I know it put you in a bind, and I’m sorry about that, but I need some space to figure my life out. I hope you know I love you, and I’m safe.”

  I’m relieved to leave a voicemail. The words are easier with voicemail. I’d never have that kind of bravery if I actually talked to her. I stare into the glittering lights of the city. In the distance, cars light up the freeway, traffic still unrelenting even though it’s close to 8. I long for the quiet evenings of the estate, the fireflies and the crickets, for wet grass and the neighbor’s cow lowing in the distance. This city is harsh and loud, not at all what I need to soothe my broken heart.

  My phone buzzes in my hand and my breath catches. It’s her. She’s called me back.

  “Hello?” I answer.

  “Harper!” she exclaims and my heart soars because she’s happy to hear from me.

  My elation is short lived.

  “Harper, I can’t believe you did this to me! Left me with hundreds of angry guests and a bill to match! Of all the insensitive, bull headed, back woods, hillbilly thinking—”

  “Mother, listen for a minute. I couldn’t go through with it. I didn’t love Reg.”

  “So?” she blurts out. “Who said anything about love? You’re a smart match. You’ll learn to love him.”

  “No.” My voice sounds too much like a whimper. “That’s not what I want.”

  “And you couldn’t have managed to figure that out sooner?”

  “I tried to tell you,” I say. My hands are trembling. She’s wearing me down. “I tried to tell Reg.”

  “I sincerely doubt that. He’s been branded now, Harper. Left at the altar. You’ve ruined his life.”

  As one of the most eligible bachelors in the country that’s debatable.

  “It’s not like I’ve ever had a choice.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?” she flings the words at me because I’ve struck a nerve and she wants to hurt me back.

  “I mean you and dad have always controlled my life. Where I go to school, who I’m friends with, who I date, I haven’t had any choices.”

  “Oh,” her sarcasm thickens with her anger, “I’m so sorry we forced you to attend the best schools in the country. You poor child, the way you’ve grown up with your own horse, your Mercedes, and top notch schooling. Of all the ungrateful—”

  “I’m grateful,” I blurt out because I feel like a child again. “That’s not what I’m saying. You’re not listening to me.”

  “Tell me where you are. I’m arranging for Neil to come pick you up and bring you home in the morning.”

  “No.” Power surges behind my words. “No, that’s not happening.”

  “Harper, I won’t ask again.”

  It’s there in that moment that I hear the others. Breath on the line, chatter in the background, a soft whisper that says, “Keep her talking, we’
ve almost got it.”

  They’re tracing my call like a common criminal.

  “I’ve gotta go,” I say. “I love you and dad, despite everything.”

  “Harper Sutton don’t you dare—”

  I click the end button, drop my phone to the cement of the balcony where it clatters and spins, then I crush it under the heel of my boot until there is nothing left but mangled plastic. I carry the corpse back inside where Indigo and Hazel are waiting and drop it into the trash.

  “I’m in,” I say, and my new life begins.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  We have five days to transition between Indigo and myself. She begins by wearing her makeup differently, less cheekbones, thinner lips. It’s the reverse of what we’re trying to do, rather than making me look like her, she’s trying to look like me. Hazel was the mastermind behind that one. She also decided Indigo should contract a fake cold to help with the difference in our voices. Maybe when we swap for good no one will notice because her voice has been hoarse all week.

  Meanwhile, I’m given flashcards with co-workers’ names and short facts about them from Indigo’s perspective.

  For instance, Wanda Freeburg: HR, busybody, rude, straw hair, could use some time in the gym.

  Or Fynn Wilson who is listed as: fun in short doses, married (kinda), Marketing Consultant.

  Cathy Bastian is the accountant who apparently HATES, written in all capital letters, Indigo.

  Declan Thorpe is only listed as: NERD (again all capital letters), good for a confidence boost but nothing further, dad, boring, research analyst.

  The one she carves out in dark pencil is Stephen Garnet: Marketing Director and BOSS, written in bold letters that I can feel on the other side of the card.

  There are more and I feel like I’m back in organic chem class studying the periodic chart for an upcoming exam. I ask for pictures, but the already cranky Indigo isn’t willing.

  “What am I supposed to do? Catch a selfie with each one of them? I barely show up as is, they’d totally suspect.”