pants. A tie identical to Jason’s peeped out at his neck. Like Jason,
he carried a leather briefcase and black laptop computer case. In the
hand holding the computer case he also held a white envelope.
Jason quickly rose and walked to the men’s room. It had just reopened
after having been cleaned.
Entering the last stall, Jason locked the door, hung his overcoat on the
door hook, opened the leather briefcase and extracted a large
collapsible nylon bag. He pulled out a four-by-eight-inch mirror.
He pushed it against the wall of the stall and it held due to its
magnetized back. He next pulled out a pair of thick black glasses to
replace his wire-rimmed pair, and a paste-on black mustache. A
short-haired wig matched the inky darkness of the mustache. The tie and
jacket came off, were stuffed in the bag and replaced with a Washington
Huskies sweatshirt. The baggy pants came off, revealing matching sweats
underneath. Now the tennis shoes did not look so out of place. The
overcoat was reversible and, instead of camel, it became dark blue in
color. Jason checked his appearance again in the mirror. The leather
briefcase and the metal case disappeared into the nylon bag along with
the mirror. He left the hat on the hook behind the stall door.
Unlocking the door, he stepped out and walked over to the sink.
After washing his hands, Jason studied his new bespectacled face in the
mirror. In the reflection the tall blond man he had seen earlier
appeared in the doorway, moved over to the stall Jason had just exited
and closed the door. Jason took a moment to carefully dry his hands and
swipe at his new hair. By that time the man had emerged from the stall,
Jason’s hat perched on his head. Without his disguise Jason and the man
could have passed as twins. Leaving through the exit door, they
momentarily collided. Jason quickly mouthed an apology; the man never
looked at him. He quickly walked away, Jason’s plane ticket
disappearing into his shirt pocket, while Jason tucked the white
envelope into his coat.
Jason was about to return to his seat when he looked over at the bank of
phones. Hesitating for an instant, he hurried over and dialed a number.
“Sid?”
“Jason?” Sidney was simultaneously dressing and feeding a struggling Amy
Archer and stuffing files into her briefcase. “What’s wrong? Is your
flight delayed?”
“No, no, it leaves in a few minutes.” He fell silent as he caught his
altered reflection in the shiny face of the telephone. He felt
embarrassed to be talking to his wife while disguised.
Sidney struggled with Amy’s coat. “Well, is anything wrong?”
“No, I just thought I’d call, to check on things.”
Sidney let out an exasperated grunt. “Well, let me give you the
rundown: I’m late, your daughter is being uncooperative as usual, and I
just realized I left my plane ticket and some documents I need at work,
which means instead of having thirty minutes to spare I’ve got maybe ten
seconds.”
“I’m … I’m sorry, Sid. i …” Jason’s hand tightly gripped the nylon
bag. Today was the last day. The last day, he kept repeating to
himself. If anything were to happen to him–if for some reason, despite
the precautions, he didn’t make it back–she would never know, would
she?
Sidney was seething now. Amy had just spilled her bowl of Cheerios all
over her coat and a good part of the milk had made its way into Sidney’s
crammed briefcase as she struggled to hold the phone under her chin.
“I’ve gotta go, Jason.”
“No, Sid, wait, I need to tell you some–”
Sidney stood up. Her tone allowed for no compromise as she surveyed the
damage wrought by her two-year-old, who now stared defiantly up at her
mother with a chin sharply reminiscent of her own.
“Jason, it’s going to have to wait. I’ve got a plane to catch too.
Goodbye.”
She hung up the phone and snatched up her writhing daughter under one
arm. Cheerios and all, they headed out the door.
Jason slowly put down the phone and turned away. He let out a deep