Hiding in Seattle

Finally, the first week at my new job is over. I didn’t think I would end up in Seattle but so far it’s been uneventful, just the way it should be. Terri appears and asks if I want to join the others for Happy Hour at Stoneburner’s. I pretend to consider it thoughtfully.

"Maybe next time." I lie and smile. She returns it.

"Ok, next time. Hope your first week was bearable." She turns before I respond. I look back at my cube. How long will I be able to stay here? One day at a time Jay, like mama always said. I grab my coat and head for the stairs.

Great, rain. I narrowly avoid soaking my shoe in a puddle. I guess I wasn't thinking about waterproof shoes in the few hours I had to pack before I left Arizona. Hopefully, this 20-minute walk passes calmly. I'm not sure I can handle any more excitement this month, or this decade if we're being honest.

Soon I'm standing inside the lobby, willing the water to slide off my coat. I check the mailbox finding nothing for me. Some ads, magazines, and a small manila envelope are all addressed to J. Alston. The landlord said J passed away and had no family so mail still comes.

Seven flights of stairs later I toss the mail on the counter and head for the couch. The last few months are wearing on me. It isn't long before I slip off to sleep.

Suddenly I wake up from a dream. It feels real but I remind myself that I’m in Seattle and not in Arizona. I paid all papa’s debts before I left, even though he paid with this life. I take a few breaths to slow my racing heartbeat. Shuffling to the hallway, I flip the switch and bathe most of my apartment in yellowed-light. I pad to the window; it's still raining. While stretching my tired limbs I catch sight of the clock: 4:14 am. I won’t be able to get back to sleep yet and it’s too early for coffee.

Standing in the kitchen, I look over my small stack of boxes. Well, at least it won't be hard to find a mug. I rummage through the three boxes and find a bowl. It'll do. I grab the stack of mail and head to the table. Thanks, J. Alston, for the furniture. I slurp water from my bowl and flip through the magazines, finding nothing of interest. The manila envelope is next. It doesn’t seem to be junk mail but there’s no return address and no other markings. I wonder if I should open it. Are there laws against opening someone's mail? I decide that no one is coming for J. Alston’s mail anyway so I slide my finger under the strip and dump out the contents: a little black book. I pick it up and flutter the blank pages. About halfway through some writing catches my eye. I almost miss it because the footer of each page has an inspirational quote. It's a small inscription in a woman's handwriting almost matching the size of the other captions,

Stoneburner's, Oct 16, 8 pm – Olivia.

I carefully review the rest of the pages but find no other notes. This invitation was meant for J but does Olivia know J passed away? October 16 is about a week away. Or it could be them. Sure, I paid what they wanted. It was everything I had. They killed papa, even though that's not what the hospital said. Stress, they said. The stress from being hunted by loan sharks for gambling debts is what they left out. I paid and ran, hoping they wouldn't miss me. No, they couldn't have found me here in my tiny one-bedroom. I stand and try to shake off the nerves that have consumed me. Perhaps I need a few more hours of sleep.

On Monday, my work is mundane and it gives me plenty of time to consider the little black book and the invitation. It was cleverly hidden. I decide I should tell Olivia about J. Alston or maybe find out what she wants. I’ll go to Stoneburner’s on Thursday and pray until then that it isn’t the sharks.

I arrive at Stoneburner's with two minutes to spare. The entrance is flanked by large windows that open during the warmer months when it isn't raining, whenever that is. It's situated at the base of a small boutique hotel and looks pretty full inside. I step inside out of the breeze and nod to the hostess. "Olivia," I say, nervously. I run my thumb over the book in my pocket. "8 pm," I finish, stronger than I feel.

The hostess gestures for me to follow and I do. We wind through the dining area filled with nicely dressed couples and groups all talking softly and drinking specialty cocktails under dimmed lights. Ahead I see a woman sitting alone in a long red dress. She's facing away from us with her left leg crossed over her right so that I can see she's wearing high-heels. She seems at ease sipping a martini. As the hostess approaches the table, she steps politely out of the way and gestures to the open seat at this woman's table before retreating. I watch her before dragging my gaze back to the table. The woman has set her drink down and is making eye-contact. She doesn't seem surprised, which is unexpected.

"J?" she says gently as if she doesn't know. I blink. She begins to rise, "I'm so glad you could make it, I can't believe you finally came. Please, have a seat." I do. I meet her gaze again and notice how relieved she is. Does she think I am J? I mean I am, just not J. Alston. I resolve to remain stoic, as speaking too soon and too much has been a downfall of mine in the past. I nod, deciding the gesture is appropriate as the waiter arrives. "Double," she says as gestures to her almost empty martini and he disappears. "My contact says you rarely indulge in public affairs. It's an honor to meet you. I'm Olivia of course."

"Olivia—" I begin but she starts talking again in a low whisper.

"My contact has advised me that the deposit box is no longer safe and we will need to make new arrangements." The waiter arrives with two martinis and exits. "Until an alternative is in place please accept this payment." She slides a thick envelope across the table under her napkin so discretely I barely notice.

I take a long sip of the martini. It's cold and the vodka stings as I swallow. This gives me a moment to confirm that Olivia is not hunting me from Arizona. It feels too late to tell her the truth now about my identity but I open my mouth to begin explaining when she starts again. "I'll send another invitation when it's safe." With that, she stands and smiles at me.

"Ok." I manage and she turns to leave. Her long dress dances around her ankles as she casually walks away. Grabbing a long black coat from the rack by the door, she exits the restaurant and turns right, vanishing from view.

What just happened? I think to myself. I look around and no one seems to notice me. I finish the last of my martini and the waiter arrives to collect the glass. "Have a pleasant evening" he states before whisking it off to the bar. I stand to leave and slip the envelope inside my coat as casually as I can. One more quick look around tells me I'm still unnoticed and I head toward the entrance as deliberately as I can, trying not to break into a sprint.

Once outside, I look around and turn left toward my apartment. I arrive in less than 20 minutes. With my back pressed against the door, I check the lock one more time and let out the breath I didn't know I had been holding. I place the envelope on the table and shrug my coat off. Taking a seat, I fold back the unsealed flap and look inside. Hundred-dollar bills look back at me. My fingers are no longer functioning and the bills pour out, wrapped in bands that read "$10,000."

There's a phone ringing in the distance and it drags me out of the trance I must have been in. How long have I been sitting here? What have I gotten into? What was J. Alston into? I review my options.

1. Continue with my new life

2. Find Olivia and confess

3. Run

It doesn't take long to decide. After all, I'm already on the run, aren't I? I open my tablet to search for a rental car when I realize I would rather leave my search history blank. I turn it off and rely on memory instead. I think there's a place around the corner. I stuff some money in my waistband and look out the peephole. No one is around so I open the door and head down the stairs.

I begin walking in the direction that I think I saw an Enterprise. "Welcome," says the older man at the desk, "I got one small SUV left, how long did you want to rent it for?"

"Just through the weekend," I say in a hurry. “Can I return it anywhere?”

"Yes'mm, you can pay through Sunday. If you need it longer you’ll pay when you return—"

"No problem," I say interrupting before he can finish.

"Ok then." He accepts two $100 bills from me and hands me the keys. I head out to the lot while deciding what to do next.

After parking near the apartment and ascending the stairs for what feels like the millionth time this week, I begin packing my things once again. I'm taping the third box when there's a knock at the door. I consider playing possum. A second, more urgent knock tells me that won’t work. I move toward the door and peer out to see Olivia. She's now wearing jeans and sneakers under her coat. She knocks again and I open the door.

"J, my contact says this apartment was given as an employee’s residence at an accounting firm in the city." I freeze. That's me. I'm the new junior accountant with the address of 7G. Olivia takes my shock as appropriate for the situation she thinks she's in and continues "You've got to go somewhere, don't tell anyone. Call this number in January when it's safe, until then—"

"Olivia, I—" I stammer. I've got to tell her, "—I'm not J. Alston."

"Of course not," she says matter-of-factly, "and I'm not Olivia. In this business, we're never who we say we are. Sometimes things happen and you've gotta take what you can get, you know what I mean? Look…J or whoever you are: go, okay?" She turns and hurries down the stairs.

I stand in the doorway and find myself reviewing my options yet again. It doesn’t take long to decide. I take one last look around my new—old—apartment and stack my boxes. I stuff the cash in my coat as I pull the door shut behind me. This isn't the first time I'm taking only what I can carry and leaving. I hope it's the last. As I head into the night, I glance in the rearview mirror, giving one last look at the city. I return my focus to my escape, not back to desert hell but perhaps somewhere warmer and east, far away from this and them. I think of J. Alston who somehow gave me a chance at a fresh start and silently say Thank You. I guess I'll take what I can get, for now.