by E.R. York
Maxine looked at her watch. Thirty two minutes. She had been standing there at baggage claim for thirty two minutes. First the flight had been delayed out of Dallas nearly two hours due to “mechanical problems” and now it was taking forever for just to get her bag. What next? A thirty minute wait to catch a cab followed by a 45 minute ride to the hotel as the cabbie treated her to the “scenic route” of the burbs of LA? It had been a miserable 6 hour flight. The left side of her Armani suit still reeked of fat guy sweat, and she doubted that the dry cleaner would be able to do anything about the sour milk baby puke stain that now adorned her right pant leg. The mother hadn’t even attempted an apology, just laughed that self-absorbed “oh, isn’t my baby just oh so cute?” laugh. Why the hell did so many parents these days think that everyone must just adore their spoiled children as much as they do? Max had to sit there with the puke on her pant leg for the 20 minutes it took for the flight attendant to finally answer her page and bring her a couple of napkins.
Max’s internal rant was interrupted by the blap-blap-blap of the carousel warning siren. Loud and shrill, it grated on her nerves and she jumped. The turning red light notified the claim area that bags were about to descend. A hoard of worn-out looking travelers converged on the machine. The first bag rose to the top of the conveyor and paused, like a beauty queen preparing to stride down the catwalk. Then it slid forward and languidly rode the ramp down to take its place in line on the journey around the carousel. Another worn out bag joined it, followed by another. The owner had attached a bunch of sparkly curled ribbons to the handle, an effort to make it easy to spot among the flotsam and jetsam of the plane’s cargo hold.
Max had been one of the last people to check in for the flight. Maybe that would mean that her bag was close to the front of the baggage compartment of the plane and would be among the first few offloaded. The weight of her laptop caused the brief case strap to dig into her shoulder again, she shifted it to the left side for relief.
The plane was nearly completely offloaded before Max’s red bag finally made its appearance. She was about to reach for it when sweaty fat guy shoved her aside to reach for a battered duffle bag that had escaped his notice when it came past where he stood. Of course, had he not been texting at the moment, and paying attention, he would have seen it and been able to grab it. Being 5’2”, Max assumed that she had gone invisible -- Again. It happened fairly regularly – mostly when self-important people assumed that their needs outweighed any requirement to be polite or courteous to anyone else, let alone someone that they could look down on the top of their head. Max stood her ground, she was in no mood to be accommodating. Sweaty fat guy gave her a scathing look meant to belittle and demean but Max just kept her gaze trained on the carousel, watching for her bag to come back around. When it did, she pushed her way past a couple who were obviously in the midst of an argument, and grasped the handle. Pulling it off the carousel, she snapped the handle upward into place and rolled it out of the claim area, past the bag checkers and on out to the cab stand. All she wanted at this point was to check in to her hotel, change out of the stinking suit and get some work done.
Getting a cab turned out to be surprisingly easy, a blessing for which Max was eternally grateful.
“Millennium Biltmore, please” Max told the driver. The cab driver said nothing, just put flipped down the charge counter and pulled out into traffic. Max tried to make it obvious that she wasn’t much in the mood for idle chit-chat about what brought her to Los Angeles or how long she would be staying. She turned and watched the airport out the right side window. It grew small and disappeared.
The ride to the hotel was mercifully uneventful, traffic no heavier than the other times she had made this trek.
“Maxine Marcus, I have a reservation.” The hotel clerk took her credit card and ran it for the room charge. The card rejected on the first try. Running the card again, the clerk eyed her suspiciously when she came away a 2nd time with the same results. The knot in Max’s stomach tightened as the clerk ran the card one more time. Max knew she must have been close to her limit but she hoped it would let her have this one more charge. She would make the minimum payment when she got home. For now she just needed to get through this one trip and hold out till her next paycheck. The clerk was giving her that dubious look as she ran it again. This time, the card accepted and the clerk gave Max the keycard to room 1227. “Have a nice stay.” The clerk’s smile was less than genuine.
“Thank you.” Max took the keycard, grabbed the handle of her bag and rolled it toward the elevator. With a resolute sigh, she pushed the button for the 12th floor. She leaned against the back wall and watched the floors tick away on the LED above the door.
Once inside the room, Max threw the bags on the bed and went directly to the mini-bar, hoping to find something to take the edge off. That’s all, just a little something to reduce the tension of this miserable day. About to reach for a diminutive bottle of Bacardi, she caught a glimpse of the mini bar price list and reconsidered. The credit card fiasco had been embarrassing enough. She didn’t want to repeat it when she checked out and they added mini-bar charges to the total. She closed the mini-bar and crossed over to the window. Pulling the cord and opening the drapes, Max was treated to a lovely view of the parking lot. The sun was just beginning to set on this miserable day, the hazy overcast sky the perfect expression of her mood.
Max turned away from the window. She reached for her brief case and hoisted it up on the tiny desk that was supposed to mean the difference between “tourist class” and “business class” and for which the hotel could charge another $50 a night. She unzipped the brief case and pulled out the laptop, placing it on the desk. She opened it and hit the “on” button. It wasn’t the newest laptop on the market. It would take a few minutes to warm up. In the meantime, Max figured she would get out of this suit. She looked down at the baby puke stain. The Armani suit had been her one big purchase when she had been offered the job with A-ComTech. The salary wasn’t great, but it was enough to live on, if not lavishly. Max had found the suit at Ella’s Eclectic Emporium - Gently Used and Consignment Garments. It was out of style and smelled of mothballs, but it was clean and the fabric was good. Max was a skilled seamstress and a few alterations later the suit fit her curves nicely. It was the best outfit she owned. She wore it too often, she admitted. But she had read once that looking successful would lead to actually becoming successful, and she figured that if she worked hard she would eventually be rewarded with the six-figure salary and the office with the nice view. So far, this theory had yet to pan out. But she kept plugging away. She wanted to live a better life than one in which she had been raised. Her mother tried hard, but she was young, uneducated and unmarried, her options were limited. Max was determined that her life would be different.
Max unbuttoned the jacket of the her suit, slipped it off and placed it carefully on a hanger, taking a moment to brush some flecks from the collar. Then she retrieved her key ring from her purse and located the tiny suitcase key on it. Turning to the red suitcase, she inserted the key into the lock and turned. Nothing happened.
“Shit! What now?” Max pulled the key out of the lock, reinserted it and turned it again. Still nothing. “God DAMMIT” she slammed her fist on the top of suit case, then threw the keys on the bed. Pulling a nail file from her purse, she tried to pick the lock, first from the keyhole, then from underneath the latch. Finally, the lock gave way and Max was able to unzip the suitcase the rest of the way. Throwing back the lid she froze, her eyes wide.
Benjamin Franklin stared up at her from inside the suitcase, his tight-lipped knowing smile echoed exactly by hundreds of others, all the same. Two hundred similar eyes stared back at hers. She couldn’t venture a guess how many stacks of one-hundred dollar bills filled the suitcase but a quick scan told her there were at least a hundred stacks, all piled side by side like a grey and black brick wall.
“What the hell....?” Max turned the case around looking for the luggage tag. She was sure she had put one on the bag before leaving the house this morning. She hadn’t even noticed that the tag was missing when she picked the bag up and lifted it off the carousel. She just grabbed for the one she was sure was hers, and took off out of the airport. She had just been so desperate to get out of there.
Max backed away from the bag. When her weak knees felt the cool wood of the dresser behind her, she stopped, slid down to the floor and just stared, dumbfounded.
Chapter 2
Max stared at the gaping suitcase. Benjamin Franklin stared back. The knobs on the drawers of the dresser dug into her back, and Max stared. The rough carpet scratched into her butt, and she stared. Max’s heart pounded in her chest and she stared. Max realized that she was holding her breath - still she stared. Finally, Max blinked, took a deep breath and began to think.
