Privilege 1 - Privilege (7 page)

Back door. Please let there be a back door.

She stumbled on her way across the threshold, slammed her hip into a wooden chair at the kitchen table, and grasped for the door

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handle just as the front door opened. Ever so quietly, Ariana slipped out into the warm night air, letting the door click closed behind her. For the second time that night, she ran for her life.

***

Less than an hour later, Ariana stood in front of a bored, elderly teller who sat behind the window at the Arlington, Virginia, bus station. Her hair hidden under the Orioles baseball cap, Ariana was surprised at how calm she felt. But then, she had covered her bases. By now, Kaitlynn had to have found the note. By now, no one would be looking for her. At least not this far out of the facility.

"Help you?" the man said, barely lifting his eyes from his horse racing form.

"One ticket to Dallas, please," Ariana said, sliding the cash into the dip below the window. The dip that reminded her suddenly of the ditch Rambo had dug for her. The thought made her smile.

"What're you so happy about?" the man asked, not unkindly. He slid her ticket and change over to her.

"Nothing," she said, the smile widening. "You should bet the six horse."

For the first time his heavy eyelids raised a fraction of a centimeter.

"Yeah? Why's that?"

Ariana placed her ticket in the inside pocket of her backpack along with what was left of her money. Right next to the box of auburn hair dye she had purchased at the drugstore down the street.

"It's my lucky number," she replied.

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She checked the schedule on the screen behind the man's head and saw that she would have just enough time to dye her hair before her bus began to board.

"Oh?" he asked, glancing down at the sheet again. "You feeling lucky today?"

"Very," Ariana said with a nod. "Trust me. It can't lose."

The man raised his bushy white eyebrows and circled the six horse on his racing form. Ariana turned and headed off for the private handicapped bathroom with a bit of swagger in her step. She had just done her good deed for the day.

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SNAP DECISIONS

"Those colors really suit you," the perky blond Chanel cosmetics clerk said, grinning from ear to ear.

It was Friday morning and Ariana was staring at her reflection in the magnifying mirror that sat atop the gleaming glass counter at the Dallas Neiman Marcus. The gray shadows and black mascara that the girl had expertly applied really made her blue eyes pop. After looking at her eyes sans liner and mascara and only in mottled mirrors for more than a year, Ariana had forgotten how gorgeous they could be. The auburn hair was, of course, throwing her off, but the clerk had swept it back in a headband, and if Ariana tilted the mirror just so, she didn't have to look at it. Then she could see only herself.

And she looked beautiful.

Not bad for a girl who had just spent hours and hours on a Greyhound bus trying in vain to sleep as the loudmouthed man across the aisle gabbed on his cell phone. Unable to get a single moment of

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peace, Ariana had occupied herself with daydreams of what her life would be like now that she was on the outside. After securing her financial future, she would go back to Virginia and get Kaitlynn out of the Brenda T. Then the two of them would flee to Australia and lie low for a while before building a dream home near the water and living their lives as beach bums. It meant giving up the original dream--the Princeton, New Y ork, Vanity Fair dream--the thought of which made her heart ache. But at least she and Kaitlynn would be together. At least they would be free.

Once she had the whole plan solidified in her mind, the jerk with the phone had finally passed out in his seat, but it had been too late for Ariana to sleep. The bus had pulled into the station ten minutes later, and Ariana had trudged into the Texas sunshine feeling exhausted and cranky. But with each passing moment under the soft lights of Neiman Marcus, surrounded by all the opulence and luxury, she was growing more and more comfortable and calm.

This was the moment she had been longing for all those months. The moment she began to feel herself again.

"Well? What do we think? Should I wrap it all up for you?"

According to her name tag, the clerk's name was Kelsi, which totally fit her annoyingly in-your-face demeanor. But Ariana had chosen her for a reason. The eager ones were always the most gullible.

Ariana looked down at all the tiny black lacquer compacts and tubes the girl had assembled before her. What she wouldn't have given to just whip out her old Neiman's credit card and buy the whole lot. But that wasn't an option. Instead, she was going to have to play the

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game. She leaned forward to avoid a group of gabbing girls her age, all laden down with packages. Still, one of them managed to whack Ariana in the back with the corner of one of her bags. She winced as her cut burned.

"I'm just not sure," Ariana said with a sigh. "I don't know if I'm ready to change my entire color palette."

"Oh, well, you don't have to change everything," the girl said quickly, brightly. "Sometimes a new gloss and a blusher do just the trick!"

"I don't know. I have to think about it. I've never been good at snap decisions."

Ariana pushed herself up off the cushy leather stool she had been sitting on for the past half hour. She knew that the girl didn't want to lose her sale. All that time she had spent making over Ariana would have been wasted if Ariana walked away with nothing. The desperation was evident in the girl's eyes as Ariana shouldered her backpack.

"Thanks for your time," Ariana said.

"Wait!" the girl hissed as Ariana turned to go. "I can give you a few free samples."

Ariana smiled to herself, but when she turned to face the girl, she was all interest.

"Really?"

Kelsi checked over her shoulder to make sure that none of her colleagues were listening in. They were all busy with other clients. Kelsi stepped out from behind the counter in her black smock. Ariana's eyes instantly flicked to her shoes. Black sling-back Michael Kors knockoffs. It figured.

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"If you're not so good at snap decisions, maybe you'd like to try a few of these things out on your own," the girl whispered. "Then, once you're convinced, you can come back and purchase whatever you like. Just ask for me."

Ariana pretended to be relieved. "That would be perfect."

"You promise you'll be back?" Kelsi asked.

"I promise," Ariana said solemnly.

"Then I know I'll see you again!" the girl said brightly. "You have a very honest face!"

As Ariana hid a smile, Kelsi walked back behind the counter and opened a small paper Neiman Marcus bag, into which she deposited the samples she had used for Ariana's makeover--a trial-size mascara, a tiny compact of powder, a pot of cream blush, and a small lip gloss. She handed the package over to Ariana like a spy passing off some secret documentation.

"I predict you'll be back before the end of the day," she said confidently.

"Thank you so much," Ariana gushed.

Then she turned and sauntered off toward the escalator with a triumphant grin. This was going to be even easier than she'd hoped.

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SHOPPING SPREE

The dressing room was large and plush, with mirrors on three walls and classical violin music playing at an unobtrusive level through speakers overhead. Ariana kicked off her too-small hiking boots and pressed her callused, blistered feet into the thick, soft carpet. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and let out a sigh. It had been almost two years since her feet had touched anything so soft.

Of course, even the carpeting wasn't quite as exciting as the prospect of new clothes. With a giddy zeal, Ariana attacked the selection of items she had snagged from the impeccably organized racks out on the floor. First, the underwear. She used the cuticle scissors she'd purchased at the drugstore to cut a tiny hole around the sensor on a Calvin Klein bra and a pair of La Perla panties and pulled them on. Her whole body shivered in delight. So nice to be wearing undergarments that didn't smell like roast beef. Then she pulled on a pair of Rock & Republic jeans and checked her reflection from behind.

69 There was her butt. She had forgotten what it looked like in the baggy denim she'd been wearing for the past year and a half. Topping off the jeans with a silky, light pink Marc Jacobs top, Ariana fastened the tiny pearl buttons, savoring the tickle of the luxurious, lightweight fabric against her skin. She lifted her blue eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair might have been a new, unfamiliar color, but her eyes welled with happy tears nonetheless. She sat back on the velvet bench along the far wall, indulging her overwhelming emotions for just a moment.

For the first time since she had busted out of the Brenda T., Ariana was starting to feel like herself again.

Fifteen minutes later, the sensors were gone from the jeans and top along with a wispy Thread dress, a few Three Dots tees, a pair of DKNY shorts, and a Chloe skirt. Ariana rolled the clothes up as tightly as she could, grateful that summer wear was so thin and manageable, and stuffed it all into her backpack along with a few more sets of underwear.

She quickly whipped out the Chanel lip gloss from the little Neiman's bag and reapplied. Then she slipped a leather Michael Kors clutch from under the pile of clothes on the bench, removed the sensor from that as well, and popped the lipstick inside. Admiring the purse in the mirror, Ariana sighed. She couldn't wait to finally ditch the bulky backpack and carry this sleek little bag instead. But for now, the backpack was serving its purpose.

Placing the tight hiking boots back onto her feet was like torture, but Ariana managed to get through it by daydreaming about her next

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stop--the shoe department. She opened the door to the dressing room and strode out with her chin held high, pausing to check out a colorful blouse some other shopper had left on the rack by the dressing room door.

If she just acted casual, no one would be the wiser.

On her way to the gleaming walkway between departments, Ariana's left foot twinged in pain, and she remembered that she wasn't done yet. If shoes made the woman, then she was still nothing but a grungy fugitive. She paused to check the store directory and was nearly knocked over by a pair of brassy ladies in huge flower prints carrying half a dozen bags each. The summer sales were on and the store was jam-packed with designer-hungry bargain-hunters. Normally not one for crowds, Ariana smiled as she realized her luck. The shoe department would be a madhouse.

Twenty minutes later, Ariana had gathered several pairs of sandals, sling-backs, boots, and flats and found one of the very few unoccupied seats in the center of the shoe department. All around her women jammed their feet into shoes from the sale racks, boxes and boxes piled up next to them. Ariana waited ten minutes, a totally unacceptable period of time, before one of the salesladies finally noticed her. She rushed over, all harried, with her curly hair floating out around her head like brown cotton candy, and heaved a sigh.

"So sorry, miss," she said, grabbing up the shoes Ariana had gathered. "Size?"

"Six," Ariana replied. "And please, don't worry about it. It's crazy here today."

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"Tell me about it!" the woman said, taking a breath. "Thanks for understanding."

Ariana smirked as the woman scurried away. As long as you understand when I deprive your department of a few hundred dollars' worth of shoes.

As she waited, Ariana watched a tall woman across from her try on several pairs of expensive sandals without even bothering to put peds over her gnarled, callus-ridden toes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and looked away.

"Here you go!"

The saleswoman returned and dumped ten shoe boxes at Ariana's feet. Instantly, three more shoe-wielding shoppers descended upon her, demanding sizes. She made a few notes and rushed off again without a second glance back at Ariana.

Perfect. Slowly, deliberately, Ariana opened each of the boxes. She didn't even need to try the shoes on. She had owned several pairs of shoes from these designers in her former life and knew that she was a perfect size six on their size charts. Quickly checking to make sure that none of the other shoppers were looking, Ariana slipped a pair of Coach flats into her bag. She followed them with a pair of leather Michael Kors sandals, black sling-backs, and some cute Kenneth Cole sneakers. Then she paused. The bag was full to bursting. If she tried to get anything else in there, it was either going to tear, or someone was going to notice the shape of a heel sticking into the vinyl and she'd get snagged.

Decisions, decisions.

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Ariana eyed the rest of the shoes with longing. Finally, she decided on a pair of sensible black D&G sandals, which would go with almost anything. She pushed her feet into them and sighed. Not one of her painful blisters was aggravated by the straps. They were like heaven for her toes.

Quickly, Ariana placed her hiking boots inside the sneaker box, closed it up, and put it on the bottom of the stack. She then closed all the other boxes and looked around. Her saleswoman was helping a middle-aged woman with leathery skin strap on a pair of four-inch heels. Taking a deep breath, Ariana shouldered her now quite heavy backpack and strolled away from the shoe department.

On the way back through the women's clothing department, one of the saleswomen gave her an admiring smile--the sort of smile Ariana had been used to before her stay at the Brenda T. Ariana felt a flutter of pride. She was back. Really and truly back.

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A SCARE

Ariana strolled the mall in her new sandals, heading for the exit at a deliberate pace. She knew that sooner or later that saleswoman was going to find all those empty boxes along with her crappy boots, and sound the alarm. Hopefully she wouldn't be able to pinpoint the nice girl with the auburn hair as the culprit, but one never knew. Her stomach growled as she passed by an upscale bar and grill. What she wouldn't give for some real food....