“Please, I’m not feeling well. Where is the ladies room?”
“The ladies room for this floor is out the main entrance and at the end of the hall.”
“Please, I don’t think I can make it that far.”
“I’ll get my supervisor.”
“No! I mean, please, don’t leave me alone. I feel very lightheaded.”
“Then I should get my supervisor.”
Marisol swayed, and the woman grasped her to hold her up.
“Okay, I’ll bring you to the employee’s room, but you mustn’t tell people I did this okay? I’ll get in trouble. A little water on your face is what you need.”
“Oh no,” said Marisol, “I need more than water.”
“Drinking, eh? That will do it to you.”
“No,” said Marisol. Her impossible situation struck Marisol again, and she began to cry as the waitperson led her down a narrow hall. The woman pushed open a narrow door and led her in a room with rows of lockers and benches between the rows.
“You sit here while I get you some water. I’ll be right back.”
Marisol sat, feeling alone and without friends, incongruous and ridiculous sitting in a room for the workers of this hotel. An unfamiliar feeling settled around Marisol, one she never experienced before. It was hopelessness.
The woman returned with a clean, damp towel and a bottle of water.
“Here, this should fix you up, somewhat.”
Marisol pressed the cool cloth to her face and drank some of the water.
“Thank you.”
“I’m Shayna, by the way.”
“Marisol Duvaingnon.”
“Yeah, I know. Your arrival was on the news.”
“It was?” She didn’t think her father and her merited that kind of attention from the press.
“Sure. You’re marrying that Russian prince?”
“Tristan Vattakov.” Without trying, she spoke his name with contempt.
“Yeah, that one. Sounds like you don’t like him.”
“I despise him.”
“Yeah, then why are you getting married?”
“Our parents arranged it.”
“Yeah? Wow. I can’t even imagine. We don’t do things like that here. Well, mostly. There are some parts of the city where that happens, but that’s minimal. Even the Asian girls pick their own boyfriends.”
“Well, that’s not how it can be for me,” said Marisol bitterly.
“Why not? This is America. We do what we want here.”
“I’m Dalyasian.”
“Yeah? But wait, let me remember that news report. Wasn’t your mother American?”
“Yes. She was a dancer on Broadway.”
“Well, that makes you American too. A child of an American is an American citizen.”
Marisol shook her head. “I don’t think it works that way.”
“It doesn’t matter. New York City is what’s called an amnesty city. It doesn’t matter where you’re from, because immigration can’t make you leave as long as you don’t commit a crime.”
“They can’t?”
“Nope. My boyfriend Francois is from Jamaica. Came here illegal. They’d love to get their hands on him, but they can’t.”
“Francois is my father’s name.”
“See, we have something in common. In any case, you don’t like how things are? Then leave. It’s America. The home of the free. Heck, you can even get a driver’s license with ID and a residence.”
Marisol clutched at her bag where she kept her passport and her phone. Her father always made her carry that document in case, he said, they got separated unexpectedly. Freedom. It was something she’d never contemplated. For an instant the prospect of casting off the shackles of her position illuminated her mind. She could do what she wanted. Maybe she could even find her mother’s family.
“How do I get out of here from the back way?”
“Hold on, Princess. You can’t leave looking like that. They’ll spot you from a mile away, plus some might think you’re a hooker in that get-up.”
“A hooker?”
“A prostitute.”
Marisol recoiled. She was dressed like a prostitute? Her father would be mortified to know that he spent hundreds of thousands to make her look like a whore.
But what am I really when I can be bought by another family to be brood mare to a prince?
The thought fueled her desire to flee.
“But wait. I keep an extra set of clothes in my locker. Just in case, you know?”
Shayna opened her locker noisily then rummaged around it, producing jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of running shoes.
“Here,” she said offering the musty smelling clothes to Marisol. The princess looked at them doubtfully.
“But hey,” said Shayna pulling them back. “If you don’t want them.”
“No, but I have nothing to give you.”
“I like your shoes,” said Shayna.
“Okay,” said Marisol. “You can have the shoes.”
Shayna grinned.
“Get ready. And when I come back, I’ll show you out.”
“Wait. You aren’t leaving me?”
“Have to. I’ve been gone too long. Besides I’ll check things out for you. I bet if you’re gone too long, your people will have a fit too.”
Shayna bounced from the locker room with a wave and “I’ll be back soon.”
The waitperson was right. Father’s security and probably King Vattakov’s would look for her soon. She didn’t have long. Marisol shed her dress and put on the clothes, leaving all her underwear including the silk stockings since she had no socks. She took
off her wig and pulled the necklace off it and all the jewelry the front pocket of the jeans. She took her passport, her credit card and her phone and put them in the other pocket. Then she remembered something from watching movies, and took a minute to pry the backing off her phone and removed the battery. She didn’t want to be tracked.
Marisol placed the heels, the purse and the wig inside of Shayna’s still opened locker.
“Please, God, help me,” said Marisol as she stole from the locker room in search of her freedom.
***
Finding her way of the hotel wasn’t hard, but finding her way around the city was.
Not daring to use her phone to navigate, she was forced to wander. At the first bank she came across, she attempted to use the credit card to get cash. She knew she was going to need it, but frustratingly the automatic teller refused to give her any.
“Hey,” said a woman rudely behind her. “Can you speed it up? It’s not safe to stand here long.”
Marisol looked over her shoulder. “I’m sorry. I’m having a problem.”
The woman peered over her shoulder and whistled.
“Five thousand dollars? I’ll say. Most ATMs only allow five hundred to be withdrawn in twenty-four hours. For that amount, you’d have to go inside and the bank is closed now.”
“Oh. Thank you. I didn’t know. Do you know where I can find a person’s address?”
“What?”
“I’m new in town and looking for some people.”
“Well, I suppose you can try the library. They have all sorts of directories there, and computers for the public to use, but it closes in a couple hours, so you’ll have to hurry.”
Marisol took the cash and flagged a cab.
“Take me to the library, please.”
“Which one? There are over fifty of them in the city.”
Fifty? She couldn’t imagine.
“The closest one.”
***