When I say I feel like a new woman, it’s usually because I’ve replaced a few parts. Think about the way you look. How much of what you look like grows on your body? Well, for me, it’s more like a blank canvas waiting for paint.
12:00 Noon
Maizie and I got to the office early this morning. For once we beat Cinnamon there. She was surprised when she came in. We went over the new case and she got on the phone. I had only the sketchiest of details about when Georgia McFearin came to Seattle, what company she worked for, and what she did for a living. I got Cinnamon to start putting together a profile for me. It will be good for her to do some actual detective work, even if she thinks she’s just office help. I started pulling together the notes from Grover and making my travel arrangements to go to Savannah. I think I had put this off with the vague hope that there wouldn’t be a flight available or something, but after a moderate amount of hassle, I got a flight. I was going to be miserable. The flight was at 6:10 in the morning on Saturday but got in before dinner. It meant I’d have to be at the airport by 5:00 at the latest. And I had a date Friday night! I seriously considered calling Tom and telling him that I was going to have to bag it, but—damn—a date!
I figured I’d just have to bite the bullet and get a vanpool ride to the airport which would mean I’d be leaving the apartment at about 4:00 a.m. Then a rather evil plan came to mind, and the object of that plan walked through my door at that very moment.
“Sugar?” Cinnamon said as she came in. “I got some bad news.” My plan kind of flew out the window.
“What is it?”
“Georgia McFearin didn’t work at Allied—at least not recently,” she said.
“What? Grover said that’s why she came out here to Seattle.”
“Well, it was, I guess.” Cinnamon was looking at her notes, but I could tell she was just trying to look diligent. “HR won’t give out more than name and employment dates. They said she was employed at Allied from April of 2002 to November 2002. That’s it.”
“No references, new job referral, reason for leaving?” I asked.
“Nothing,” Cinnamon confirmed. “They said all they were allowed to do is give out the period worked unless the employee specifically requested other information be forwarded.”
“Well, this babe isn’t going to be forwarding any requests,” I said. “I wonder if a request from the executor of the estate would get additional info.”
“Want me to check on-line to see if she’s listed anywhere?”
“Yeah. Google her and see what comes up. You never can tell when a company lists an employee on their Web site or something,” I said. “Dig in and let me know what you find, but don’t expect a miracle. It’s more likely that we’ll find some mail or something at her house that gives us information.”
“You want me to run over and take a look?”
“Sure, but Cinnamon…”
“Yes?”
“I need a little favor.”
“Shoot sugar, you know you can count on me.”
“I need a ride to the airport Saturday morning,” I said.
“Morning?” she asked. “Like before noon?”
“Yes, way before noon. It’s actually official business. I have to fly out to meet my client on a six o’clock flight.”
“Six o’clock? In the morning? On a Saturday?” Cinnamon was looking at me like her new boss had just grown horns. “I kind of have a date Friday night.”
“Yeah, I assumed so,” I said. “I do, too. I thought we could come home together after the game and whatever and you could just stay overnight. That way you won’t have to worry about not being able to get up in the morning, and neither will I.” The expression on her face was precious, but after a few seconds it started to soften and the mischievous grin I’d come to expect from her crossed her face.
“Well, well. My new boss just invited me to spend the night with her,” she said. “What might come of that?”
It was my turn with the precious expression!
5:00 p.m.
I headed out for lunch and told Cinnamon I wouldn’t be back this afternoon. Tom called at about 12:15 and confirmed that he’d pick me up at 6:30 tomorrow night. We don’t have to worry about dinner since we’ll be eating in Geoff’s skybox.
My afternoon was spent with Stevie. You have to know a little about Stevie in order for all this to make sense. She runs marathons, power-lifts 180, and dresses hair. She spent a few years as a theatrical makeup artist in New York and then came out here to do cosmetology in Seattle. She specializes in women who are in the midst of or have undergone appearance trauma. I don’t mean a bad hair day. I mean chemotherapy, mastectomy, stroke, disfiguring injury. Yeah.
I met her years ago after spending a year at college always being afraid that my wig would blow off my head or my penciled-on eyebrows would run in a a rainstorm. I had a little money from my inheritance and my doctor gave me a referral to Stevie. What a Godsend. She worked miracles with my blank canvas of a body. She gave me confidence and taught me a whole slew of makeup tricks and techniques. What’s better is that because my baldness is a medical condition, my health insurance covers a portion of my sessions with Stevie and a new wig budget each year. As I’ve been able over the years, I’ve supplemented the collection with different styles and dos for the different aliases in my repertoire.
I called Stevie a few days ago and told her I needed a make-over, which she greeted as if it were the best news she’s heard in years. She promised to have a new look ready for me today. And what a look!
What’s important to me is that my everyday look is kept easy. I need to toss my wig on, know it won’t come off, and with a reasonably small amount of make-up, be ready to go. This look is all that and very sophisticated as well. I have curls. I have new eyelashes. I have new makeup. I’m afraid Tom won’t recognize me tomorrow.
Yes, when I get a new look, I replace everything. You can get away with penciled on eyebrows. I even know a girl who had hers tattooed on. But people freak out if you don’t have eyelashes. When Stevie got done with me I felt and looked like a new woman!
Then we dealt with Peg Chester. I developed this alias as a part of my undercover class with Lars. Each student in his class (there were six of us) had to fully develop three aliases during the year. A fully developed alias has everything necessary to function in the real world. Each of mine have a driver’s license, passport, social security number, bank account, address, and credit card. Peg Chester is 48 years old. Technically, that is a little younger than Georgia McFearin, but Georgia is about to become Peg’s cousin from Cleveland, not her classmate from Savannah.
I was sad to take off my new look in order to have Stevie work on my alias, but she insisted. I brought out my Peg wig, lashes and brows. Stevie tutted over my care of the things, but they’ve been in my Peg suitcase for months. When you put on an alias, it has to be complete and real. It can’t just be a costume unless you want someone to figure out who you really are. When I put on Peg’s clothes and hair, I started to become Peg.
Disguise is also about keeping it simple. I’ll be older than I am now, but every wrinkle has to be in the exact same place every time you put it on. It’s better not to create readily identifying marks that people can use as reference points, too. No warts or moles or scars. An alias is someone you have to slip into repeatedly and not have people thinking something is different. Once they start to think that, they start to look too deep and you will get caught. Stevie gave me a hand cream that changed the texture of my skin, accented the circles under my eyes slightly, and I put in my brown contacts. I let my body relax down into itself slightly. Most people can change their height by two inches just by standing up straight. This is the opposite. Peg always wears flats and one of her shoes has a pebble in it which makes me favor that foot slightly. Peg doesn’t walk much. When we were finished Stevie turned me to look in the mirror.
I gasped. It wasn’t that I didn’t recognize myself. I recognized myself all too well.
I was my mother.
10:00 p.m.
Stevie insisted that I wear my alias home. I caught a cab rather than drive my car with someone else’s identity. The driver was polite, if brusque. He dropped me at the bottom of the hill, in front of a house that I told him was mine. I paid him with a modest tip. I tried to wait for him to leave, but he kept talking on his phone parked in front of the house until I finally had to go to the side gate of the fence around the house and slip through to wait until he finally left. As soon as he was gone I left and walked up the hill in my painful shoes to my little apartment above Mrs. Prior’s house. Maizie came bounding up the stairs as soon as I walked in, gave me a single sniff and went to lie down in Dag’s chair. Just being in these clothes and in this alias exhausts me. Peg Chester is a sad and tired woman.
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