As she ate dinner in the coffee shop that night, she happened to glance at a newspaper someone had left on a table and was shocked to see her own DMV picture on the front as the ‘winner’ was ‘sought.’ She pulled the paper to her as she read the article speculating that Joy Louise Parker was ‘hiding’ now that she had won the largest lottery payout in Wisconsin history. She blinked as she realized she didn’t even look like that anymore. That second trip to the mall had shown her that a haircut made a huge difference, and the women who showed her how to use those expensive cosmetics knew what they were doing. She looked vastly different from the waif of a few days’ past. Her clothing, her looks, even her confidence had all changed that. The article made her feel hunted. She glanced around the coffee shop, but no one was taking notice of her at all. The waitress recognized her because she had come in so often and left good tips, but other than that, no one knew she was the ‘sought-after winner.’ She gulped. She needed to get out. It was only a matter of time before reporters or someone tipped the media. She realized the paper was from the previous day. She pawed through the pile and found today’s paper. She was not on the front page, instead she was a few pages in where ‘someone’ mentioned she had been shopping at the Bayshore Mall and was seen to be spending a lot of money. Suddenly, Joy felt paranoid and watched. Again, she looked up and around, as though everyone in the coffee shop was a spy. She left money on the table to pay for her meal, no longer hungry and not willing to wait. She made her way back to the hotel and up to her room. How long until they realized the Joy Parker they had staying there was THE Joy Louise Parker that people were looking for?
She started to pack, taking the time to remember how her mother had taught her to fold clothes neatly so long ago. “Your appearance matters,” she had explained, and the echoes of that advice given so long ago still resonated. She hadn’t thought about it when she shopped, but maybe that was why she had chosen nicer clothes rather than stick with the fashions a girl her age would be expected to wear. Her mother was still influencing her and she hadn’t even realized it.
Another voice echoed and she knew it was her father, “Slow and steady, Joy. Patience always wins out,” he had told her time and again as she attempted something new. She slowed her packing as she thought that over.
She didn’t know what was in her future. She had no plans other than to get out. But where? She needed a plan or they would hunt her. They would keep looking for her to get her story because that’s what sold newspapers. That was why people tuned into television to watch their news stories. She looked at the television in her room and reached for the channel changer. She had rarely watched it since she’d rented the room; the noise bothered her after listening to the sounds of the streets for so long. Now, she deliberately looked for the evening news. The national news was just finishing up, its familiar theme reminding her of her father as he listened to it as he read the newspaper. She sat down to wait for the local news. She was relieved she was not the lead story, but was further down the list. They flashed her DMV picture, the only one they must have of her, and then she was shocked to see pictures of her as a child. The reporter went on to say how concerned her ‘family’ was as to her whereabouts and how they had placed ads in the local papers looking for their ‘runaway’ sister. They said they were worried about her mental state and told how they had been looking for her for several years since she had run away from protective custody. The story went on for a good five minutes and Joy was in shock.
Her siblings didn’t give a rat’s ass about her and never had. How could they say that about her? How dare they share her childhood pictures with the media. She didn’t even have copies of those pictures. She thought rapidly and realized they just wanted to see if they could flush her out and get their hands on her money. That was it! It was the money! She was angry now and feeling trapped. She was tempted to finish packing and go away, far away. She had the money to do anything she wanted and with that in mind she continued her packing, but her hands slowed as she thought it out some more. It was the holidays. Where would she go? She could go anywhere she wanted in the world…but then she realized, no she couldn’t. She didn’t have a passport and she didn’t have any idea where she wanted to go.
Joy spent a restless night. She kept expecting someone to knock on her door asking for an interview. She didn’t know that an error had been made on her check-in at the hotel and someone had put her down under ‘Jay’ instead of ‘Joy.’ A simple typo was protecting her anonymity and she had no idea since she hadn’t seen her bill yet.
That morning she went to a fast food restaurant instead of the coffee shop. She kept looking around as though she were being hunted and people might be staring. She only relaxed when she realized people might look up curiously at her, but would go back to their own business. She was being paranoid. She headed to the library to look up some things. She didn’t have a library card, but as she was not checking out any of the books, she didn’t need one. She didn’t want her name out there any more than it was. She was certain someone at some point would point out she looked different than the pictures they were flashing of her, a much younger and definitely different-looking Joy Parker. It was only a matter of time before they realized the Joy Parker shopping in Bayshore or The Grand Avenue Mall looked different than the sixteen-year-old Joy Parker on her driver’s license or the childhood Joy Parker.
She looked up how to get a passport and realized she would have to go back to her hotel for her birth certificate then go down to the courthouse to apply. She could get an expedited one, but even that would take time. It also might alert someone that she was trying to escape. She couldn’t use the address on her license and wondered where she might have it sent. It was then she thought about the bank and the safety deposit box she had been contemplating. She could ask Mr. Mueller what address to use on the passport.
Joy knew she wanted to go back to school, but she didn’t know how. She’d gotten her GED and had those papers, but she knew the type of school she wanted to get into would probably sneer at a simple GED. She also knew she wouldn’t feel comfortable at the type of school she eventually wanted to attend; she didn’t have the confidence yet. She thought over the past few days and how she had felt so confident going back to Bayshore once she had the right clothes. Even though she hadn’t been wearing makeup, she had felt good in those clothes, as though she belonged there and could buy even more clothes with ease. The women who taught her how to use the makeup had ulterior motives; they showed her how to use it and hoped she would purchase from them. They had big smiles as she bought it all. She had used makeup since then as it gave her a mask of protection. No longer did she look like the homeless girl she had been. No longer did she smell from the streets or whatever she had slept in. No longer did she wear the same clothes two days in a row. It was because they were looking for the punk girl on her driver’s license that they had missed the well-dressed young woman she had become. Now, after the article from their ‘anonymous source’, they knew she had been shopping and would start looking for her differently.
It was then she thought of that long outdated idea of charm school. She wondered if those schools still existed. As she looked through the library, she got increasingly frustrated as the reference drawers she remembered using for projects in school were replaced by computers. She didn’t know how to use a computer. She finally asked a librarian, who looked at her astonished when she confessed she didn’t know how.
The librarian was used to elderly patrons coming in and not knowing how to use a computer, but this woman was young, she’d guess in her early twenties at the latest. It was amazing that she didn’t know how to use a computer, much less how to type. “What are you looking for?” she asked helpfully.
“I’m looking for a charm school,” Joy confessed.
“Are you joking?” she asked before she could help herself.
Joy was crushed. She had hoped the librarian would be of some help. Instead she was left feeling stupi
d and gauche.
Some of her feelings must have translated to her face as the librarian went on, “I don’t think they call them that anymore. I think they call them finishing schools.”
“Yes, do they have them around here?” she asked hopefully. She knew she needed polishing, her mother had taught her things without her even realizing it, but she didn’t remember it all and she knew she needed more.
“Well, let’s see,” she answered putting the phrase ‘Finishing School’ into the search engine and explaining it to Joy. It was obvious the young woman had no idea what ‘search engine’ meant.
The Final Touch was the name that came up. “It looks like this is the only one,” the librarian mused as she read it. “They specialize in Civility & Social Capital, Etiquette, Generational Differences, Personal Branding, Communication Skills, Technology Management, Emotional Intelligence, Image Management, Posture & Presence, Dining Etiquette, Customer Service, Travel Safety & Security, Leadership Coaching, Servant Leadership, Ethics, Presentation Skills, Career Development, Conflict Management, Assessment Tools, Health & Self-esteem, Corporate Culture, Life Skills, and much more!” she read aloud as though Joy couldn’t read—the woman suspected the girl might not be able to.
Joy was annoyed, sensing and hearing the disdain in the librarian’s voice. Still, she needed this information as she had the beginnings of a plan. She carefully copied down the phone number and information. “What’s that?” she pointed to a drop down list and read along as the librarian once again read it aloud to her: ”Social & Business Etiquette, Civility, Dining, Art of Communication, Posture & Presence, Wardrobe Building Blocks, Understanding Your Body Type, Social Media Manners, Personal Coaching, Building a Strong Self-esteem, Developing & Maintaining a Positive Attitude, Basics of a Great Complexion, Makeup Techniques & Color, Hair & Nails, Photo Techniques, Nutrition, Art of Entertaining, and Character Development.” That really appealed to Joy as she read it much faster than the librarian could condescendingly read it aloud. Still, the woman had helped her and she acknowledged it politely by saying, “Thank you,” with a smile and a nod.
Leaving the library, she was relieved to get out. That had been embarrassing, but maybe the woman didn’t realize what she had done. Still, Joy had the information she wanted and she hiked her way to the courthouse, annoyed with herself as it was too cold to be out and the winds were blowing the cold through her coat and bones. Her face was rosy as she stood in line for the forms for her passport. As she left, she considered getting a cab, but the bank was not that far away and she gritted her teeth against the cold as she trudged along. She soon regretted it as the snow coming down began to drive into her skin from the winds.
“Hello, I’d like to see Mr. Mueller,” she asked the teller who waited on her.
“Mr. Mueller is busy at the moment. Who may I say is asking for him?” the woman was not Betsy and obviously didn’t know who Joy was.
“Please tell him Joy Parker is here to see him?” she asked pleasantly, unwinding the scarf from around her neck and unbuttoning her coat as she pulled the gloves from her hands.
“Of course. Please wait,” she said as she closed and locked her cash drawer and went to the office behind the cashier counters. She was soon back, looking alarmed, and said, “Mr. Mueller will see you now,” and gestured Joy behind the counter.
“Ms. Parker,” he greeted her jovially, his hand outstretched. He was not only pleased to see her, but pleased to see her looking healthy and groomed. The haircut, the clothes…she had been busy and he was happy for her. “Please sit down,” he offered a chair across from his desk as he sat down.
“Thank you, Mr. Mueller,” she said pleasantly, remembering her manners and sitting upright in the chair, not reclined against the back. “I have a problem and I hope you can help me with it,” she began.
“Of course, what can I do for you?” he asked, eager to help their highest single depositor.
Joy explained that she wanted to apply for a passport, knew she could have it expedited, but didn’t want to use the hotel as her address. He immediately offered the services of the bank and helped her fill out the proper paperwork. “I’ll have one of my staff send this off immediately and I’ll call you when it comes in,” he told her helpfully. He tried not to sound too eager to accommodate her, but he couldn’t help himself. It was imperative they kept this depositor happy. “What’s your cell number?” he asked, ready to write it down on a pad of paper.
Joy squirmed a little. “I don’t have one,” she admitted.
“Well, that’s a new one in this day and age,” he admitted in return with a smile. “I could call the hotel when it comes in?”
“That would be fine. I’m not sure how long I can stay there anymore since they have my picture plastered on the television and in the papers.”
“Yes, I was wondering how long until they found you,” he lamented. “Is there somewhere else you can stay? Are you planning on leaving the country?” His heart worried that she would transfer her funds out of the country and they would lose the nest egg.
“I don’t know that I’m leaving, I just thought someday I might like to travel and see some of the world,” she admitted. She also hadn’t expected to find a finishing school in this country and had thought to use her passport to travel to where one was located.
He was relieved at her answer. “Well, we can help you with a safety deposit box for your things.”
“That would be good,” she agreed and he pulled out paperwork for her to fill out.
As Joy filled it out, she realized she would have to improve her childish scrawl. It looked horrible and was not at all the image she wanted to project although it was actually better than most. Still, it was adequate for now. Soon, she was shown to the banks of security boxes in the vault downstairs and was given a key and password that only she would know in the event she lost her key. “Thank you for your help,” she shook Mr. Mueller’s hand as she prepared to leave, buttoning her coat, winding the scarf around her neck, and pulling on her gloves.
“Please let me know if I can be of any further assistance,” he assured her, wanting to beg her to let him help invest that tremendous sum. He’d kept track of her purchases, he couldn’t seem to help himself. And he had already received the congratulations of his higher-ups over the bank’s windfall in landing this customer. He wanted to keep her happy.
She smiled. “I will,” she assured him gracefully and then left.
Mr. Mueller watched her leave, wondering what she was thinking. That she was thinking of getting a passport worried him, but there was absolutely nothing he could do about it. It was her money after all.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Joy didn’t return to her hotel immediately after she left the bank. Instead, she wandered a little downtown, looking at things, realizing not so long ago she’d done the same thing, but in different clothes, mostly ignored and anonymous. Now, in better clothes, she was still ignored, but if they happened to notice her they didn’t sneer, they didn’t wrinkle up their noses. Instead, she might receive a smile, a ‘good day,’ or even a nod. She found herself doing the same if she happened to make eye contact.
By not going back to her hotel, she missed the reporter who happened to ask at the desk after her. They were canvassing all the hotels, the motels, the inns, and the real estate offices, trying to track down one Joy Louise Parker. Had they found a Joy Parker staying at the hotel, it would immediately be staked out. They totally missed the well-dressed young woman who eventually came through the lobby, but it wouldn’t be long before someone pointed her out, a hand was greased, or someone was paid to tell who she was.
Joy called the number she had gotten at the library the previous day. She found out it was not really a finishing school, but merely a series of seminars. The next seminar, which was nearly full, was scheduled after the first of the year. She sighed, not wanting to wait, and then after more thought, signed up. It was to be held in San Antonio, Texas. She signed up for the
full two-day course, gave them her credit card, and was happy with the confirmation number she wrote down. She realized people used cell phones and computers now and she didn’t know how to use either, but someday she hoped to rectify that.
Joy carefully picked through her pictures and packaged them up again along with important papers like her social security card and her birth certificate. She took this bundle with her to the bank, again missing the reporter, but only because he’d stepped out to have a smoke and missed her coming through the lobby again. She first stopped at a drug store to have a picture taken for her passport and to make copies of her photos, then she made her way to the bank. Mr. Mueller took a copy of her birth certificate, the passport pictures she had had taken, and one of his people took the passport application down to the court house to expedite it. Then he personally led her down to the safety deposit boxes and left her alone to put her packet inside. She topped off her checking account, had them pay everything she had charged on her credit card, and her business at the bank was finished. She left him with a smile and made her way to the street again, feeling good about what she had accomplished.
There was no reason to stay in Milwaukee and as it was snowing again, she decided she would make her way to Texas for the holidays. It was supposed to be warm down there and she could just as easily wait in San Antonio as a hotel here in Milwaukee. Something was pushing her and she didn’t like waiting around anymore. What she didn’t realize was she was feeling the pressure of those hunting her. Going with her gut, she ate a meal and then made her way back to the hotel. She finished packing her suitcases, now fully using the set she had purchased, called a cab, and checked out of the hotel. She was just pulling out of the driveway as the reporter walked back from eating a late lunch at the very coffee shop that Joy had been in so much lately. He was disappointed to find she had checked out. The palm he greased explained about the Jay versus Joy error. Apparently, he’d missed her by minutes.
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