Privilege

by Kate Brian

  "I predict you'll be back before the end of the day," she said confidently.

  "Thank you so much," Ariana gushed.

  Then she turned and sauntered off toward the escalator with a triumphant grin. This was going to be even easier than she'd hoped.

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  SHOPPING SPREE

  The dressing room was large and plush, with mirrors on three walls and classical violin music playing at an unobtrusive level through speakers overhead. Ariana kicked off her too-small hiking boots and pressed her callused, blistered feet into the thick, soft carpet. She tipped her head back, closed her eyes, and let out a sigh. It had been almost two years since her feet had touched anything so soft.Of course, even the carpeting wasn't quite as exciting as the prospect of new clothes. With a giddy zeal, Ariana attacked the selection of items she had snagged from the impeccably organized racks out on the floor. First, the underwear. She used the cuticle scissors she'd purchased at the drugstore to cut a tiny hole around the sensor on a Calvin Klein bra and a pair of La Perla panties and pulled them on. Her whole body shivered in delight. So nice to be wearing undergarments that didn't smell like roast beef. Then she pulled on a pair of Rock & Republic jeans and checked her reflection from behind.

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  There was her butt. She had forgotten what it looked like in the baggy denim she'd been wearing for the past year and a half. Topping off the jeans with a silky, light pink Marc Jacobs top, Ariana fastened the tiny pearl buttons, savoring the tickle of the luxurious, lightweight fabric against her skin. She lifted her blue eyes and looked at her reflection in the mirror. Her hair might have been a new, unfamiliar color, but her eyes welled with happy tears nonetheless. She sat back on the velvet bench along the far wall, indulging her overwhelming emotions for just a moment.For the first time since she had busted out of the Brenda T., Ariana was starting to feel like herself again.

  Fifteen minutes later, the sensors were gone from the jeans and top along with a wispy Thread dress, a few Three Dots tees, a pair of DKNY shorts, and a Chloe skirt. Ariana rolled the clothes up as tightly as she could, grateful that summer wear was so thin and manageable, and stuffed it all into her backpack along with a few more sets of underwear.

  She quickly whipped out the Chanel lip gloss from the little Neiman's bag and reapplied. Then she slipped a leather Michael Kors clutch from under the pile of clothes on the bench, removed the sensor from that as well, and popped the lipstick inside. Admiring the purse in the mirror, Ariana sighed. She couldn't wait to finally ditch the bulky backpack and carry this sleek little bag instead. But for now, the backpack was serving its purpose.

  Placing the tight hiking boots back onto her feet was like torture, but Ariana managed to get through it by daydreaming about her next

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  stop--the shoe department. She opened the door to the dressing room and strode out with her chin held high, pausing to check out a colorful blouse some other shopper had left on the rack by the dressing room door.

  If she just acted casual, no one would be the wiser.

  On her way to the gleaming walkway between departments, Ariana's left foot twinged in pain, and she remembered that she wasn't done yet. If shoes made the woman, then she was still nothing but a grungy fugitive. She paused to check the store directory and was nearly knocked over by a pair of brassy ladies in huge flower prints carrying half a dozen bags each. The summer sales were on and the store was jam-packed with designer-hungry bargain-hunters. Normally not one for crowds, Ariana smiled as she realized her luck. The shoe department would be a madhouse.

  Twenty minutes later, Ariana had gathered several pairs of sandals, sling-backs, boots, and flats and found one of the very few unoccupied seats in the center of the shoe department. All around her women jammed their feet into shoes from the sale racks, boxes and boxes piled up next to them. Ariana waited ten minutes, a totally unacceptable period of time, before one of the salesladies finally noticed her. She rushed over, all harried, with her curly hair floating out around her head like brown cotton candy, and heaved a sigh.

  "So sorry, miss," she said, grabbing up the shoes Ariana had gathered. "Size?"

  "Six," Ariana replied. "And please, don't worry about it. It's crazy here today."

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  "Tell me about it!" the woman said, taking a breath. "Thanks for understanding."

  Ariana smirked as the woman scurried away. As long as you understand when I deprive your department of a few hundred dollars' worth of shoes.

  As she waited, Ariana watched a tall woman across from her try on several pairs of expensive sandals without even bothering to put peds over her gnarled, callus-ridden toes. She wrinkled her nose in distaste and looked away.

  "Here you go!"

  The saleswoman returned and dumped ten shoe boxes at Ariana's feet. Instantly, three more shoe-wielding shoppers descended upon her, demanding sizes. She made a few notes and rushed off again without a second glance back at Ariana.

  Perfect. Slowly, deliberately, Ariana opened each of the boxes. She didn't even need to try the shoes on. She had owned several pairs of shoes from these designers in her former life and knew that she was a perfect size six on their size charts. Quickly checking to make sure that none of the other shoppers were looking, Ariana slipped a pair of Coach flats into her bag. She followed them with a pair of leather Michael Kors sandals, black sling-backs, and some cute Kenneth Cole sneakers. Then she paused. The bag was full to bursting. If she tried to get anything else in there, it was either going to tear, or someone was going to notice the shape of a heel sticking into the vinyl and she'd get snagged.

  Decisions, decisions.

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  Ariana eyed the rest of the shoes with longing. Finally, she decided on a pair of sensible black D&G sandals, which would go with almost anything. She pushed her feet into them and sighed. Not one of her painful blisters was aggravated by the straps. They were like heaven for her toes.

  Quickly, Ariana placed her hiking boots inside the sneaker box, closed it up, and put it on the bottom of the stack. She then closed all the other boxes and looked around. Her saleswoman was helping a middle-aged woman with leathery skin strap on a pair of four-inch heels. Taking a deep breath, Ariana shouldered her now quite heavy backpack and strolled away from the shoe department.

  On the way back through the women's clothing department, one of the saleswomen gave her an admiring smile--the sort of smile Ariana had been used to before her stay at the Brenda T. Ariana felt a flutter of pride. She was back. Really and truly back.

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  A SCARE

  Ariana strolled the mall in her new sandals, heading for the exit at a deliberate pace. She knew that sooner or later that saleswoman was going to find all those empty boxes along with her crappy boots, and sound the alarm. Hopefully she wouldn't be able to pinpoint the nice girl with the auburn hair as the culprit, but one never knew. Her stomach growled as she passed by an upscale bar and grill. What she wouldn't give for some real food...."Ariana Osgood."

  Ariana stopped in her tracks. Her heart fluttered so rapidly it made her cough. Who the hell did she know in Dallas? How had they recognized her? What was she going to do? Her fingers curled into fists as her vision prickled over. She was not going back. Never going back. Instantly, her mind started to concoct scenarios. There was an exit to her left--a small one, kind of dark and unused. A maintenance cart was parked off to the side. If she could lure whoever it was down

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  there, she might have a shot at getting rid of them. There had to be something on that cart she could use. A plastic bag for suffocation, a stepladder as a club.... There were always ways. Ever so slowly, Ariana turned around, ready to do whatever it took to maintain her freedom.

  But there was no one there. The voice was not coming from a person. It was coming from the TV behind the bar.

  Her own smiling face stared back at her from the screen, a photo taken back at Easton during a schoolwide charity event. Ariana started to tremble
as her empty stomach clenched. She hadn't eaten anything other than pretzels and water for the past two days--all she could afford on her meager stash--and suddenly she felt weak. Stepping forward, she leaned her hand on the back of one of the tall bar stools for support.

  "... body of Atlanta socialite Ariana Osgood has yet to be found, but we have now learned that the convicted murderer attempted suicide just days before her disappearance. When a new suicide note was found by her cellmate on the night of July fourth, a full-scale search of the facility was conducted. That was when prison officials found a hole beneath the fence surrounding the facility, which seems to have been dug out by a dog owned by one of the employees."

  The camera focused in on the ditch. It looked so small in the light of day. Ariana's heart constricted as the memories of that night assaulted her, and she started to sweat.

  I'm okay.... I'm okay.... It's over. I'm not going back. Never going back...75

  Her grip on the bar stool tightened and she forced herself to breathe.

  In... one... two... three...

  Out... one... two... three...

  She glanced around, expecting to see a crowd forming around the television. Dozens of people rapt with interest. But the shoppers in the mall just kept right on about their business, window shopping, chatting on their cells, maneuvering their strollers onto the escalator. No one here cared. No one had noticed her.

  "That same employee is now under investigation for his role in Miss Osgood's apparent suicide," the reporter continued.

  The news feed flipped to footage of Dr. Meloni with his head bowed, ducking away from reporters as he headed for his Jag in the Brenda T.'s parking lot.

  Never going back... Never going back...

  "According to sources within the facility, Dr. Meloni was Miss Osgood's assigned psychiatrist, but after her last suicide attempt, he allegedly urged her to 'try harder next time.'"

  Ariana's mouth twitched into a strained smile, despite the unflattering mug shot from nearly two years ago that now filled the screen. Even in her state of high alert she was able to appreciate this bit of news. Kaitlynn had done well. And Dr. Meloni was clearly being hounded by the press--a satisfying little development.

  Suddenly Ariana felt a nudge at her shoulder. The lump of fear in her throat hardened, choking off her air supply. Someone had recognized her. Of course they had. She was standing right there, not ten feet

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  from the television, staring at her own face. Her fight-or-flight reflex told her to drop everything and run. But then a little voice in her mind told her not to overreact. She had come too far to just run now. Controlling her rapid heartbeat, she turned around. A very cute, very scruffy twentysomething guy sat on the stool next to hers, nursing a beer.

  "Crazy story, huh?" he asked, looking right into her eyes.

  Her eyes. Her eyes. Ariana had to get her hands on some colored contacts. What if this guy recognized that the light blue eyes staring at him now were the same ones staring out from the TV screen?

  "It really makes you think," he added.

  Ariana took a breath. He didn't recognize her. Her mug shot was right in front of him, and yet this guy had no clue.

  This was going to work. It was already working.

  Suddenly Ariana realized how close she had come to the edge. When she had first heard her name, she had been ready to do anything to silence the person who had recognized her. Ready to kill. And the thought scared her. She had to squelch that side of herself. Had to make a new start now that she had a second chance. Taking lives was not an option. She knew that it was wrong.

  Plus, where there was a dead body, there was usually a murder investigation. And she couldn't have that.

  I will not lose control, Ariana promised herself right then and there. I will not hurt anyone.

  "I know," Ariana said smoothly, making sure to keep her Southern accent buried. She glanced up at the picture of herself just before it was pulled from the screen. "Totally, totally insane."

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  A moment later he got up to go to the bathroom, leaving his credit card on the bar to pay for his drink. Southern men. So trusting. With the bartender's back turned, Ariana slipped the card into her pocket and casually strolled away. There had to be a quickie eyeglass place in this mall somewhere. Hearing her name and seeing her own face broadcast on national television had been enough to put a bit of a scare in Ariana. It was time for another change. She was not going to risk someone looking into her distinctive blue eyes and seeing Ariana Osgood.

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  NEW FRIENDS

  Wearing her new skirt and a crisp white T-shirt, her auburn hair pinned back from her face to highlight her new green eyes, Ariana walked up to the gates of the Walker Country Club and sat down on the clipped grass next to the drive. Seeing a golf cart zooming toward the gates from the direction of one of the surrounding PGA-level courses, she cupped her ankle with both hands. Furrowed brow, concerned frown, shoe tossed carelessly on the grass: Clearly she was a girl in need of assistance.The golf cart slid to a stop right in front of her, making the zipping noise Ariana recognized so well, and two older, distinguished-looking gentlemen in khaki pants and tasteful pastel shirts stepped out.

  "Are you all right, miss?" the taller one asked. His lined face was red from the sun, save where his sunglasses sat on the bridge of his nose. He wore a white mesh golf hat, but it clearly had done nothing to shield him from the elements.

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  "I think I may have sprained it," Ariana replied, grimacing through her Southern drawl.

  The second man, whose skin was smooth and had just a touch of a healthy tan, glanced up at the gates, still locked. "Were you coming or going?"

  A warm breeze rustled the trees around the gates and Ariana's heart skipped an excited beat. She was going to get inside. This was going to work. Amazing how one day all she could think about was breaking out of a place, and a few days later all she could think about was breaking into another.

  "Coming," Ariana said. "I was supposed to meet my friend by the pool half an hour ago." She gave them an endearing, embarrassed smile. "I'm afraid I'm a notorious latecomer."

  The two men laughed and each offered her a hand. Ariana couldn't help but notice their exclusive Tag Heuer watches. Very nice. "Well, don't worry. We'll get you to her."

  "Really? Oh, thank you ever so much," Ariana said, laying it on thick.

  She let the taller man pull her to her feet and leaned into him as he helped her over to their cart. He grabbed her overstuffed backpack and placed it next to their golf bags on the rear rack. Ariana had come straight from the mall.

  "All settled?" the tall man asked as Ariana carefully slipped her foot into the cart.

  "Yes. Thank you. Really. Y'all are such gentlemen."

  The two men glanced at one another, all puffed up and pleased

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  with themselves. Ariana smirked as they took their seats and the cart jolted to life. Two minutes later they had entered their pass code into the keypad by the gate, and Ariana was in. She leaned back and enjoyed the view as they wound their way toward the main clubhouse. The grounds inside the exclusive club were impeccably kept, with beds of blooming flowers, towering pecan trees, and cacti dotting the cart path. Ariana thought of Kaitlynn and how much she appreciated good landscaping. She sighed, missing her friend. If Kaitlynn had known where she was headed right then, she would have been shocked off her prison bed.

  A pair of security guards in white uniforms glanced at the cart as it drove by. Ariana's heart skipped a nervous beat, but she kept her expression placid, bored. One of the two young men nodded at her in acknowledgment--and appreciation--as she was whisked on by, and Ariana smiled the moment her back was to him.

  She belonged. It was obvious to him that she belonged.

  The cart pulled to a stop near the edge of an outdoor patio that overlooked one of the club's resort-style pools. Indigenous stones surrounded a huge, burbling waterfall and an in-pool b
ar. Ladies in wide-brim straw hats and designer loungewear sat around glass-topped tables, sipping ice water and picking at crisp salads. Ariana noted the large handbags, some carelessly yawning open at their owners' sides as they gossiped obliviously. These women were, of course, safe in their country club environment, surrounded by their own ilk. Ariana tucked a loose strand of auburn hair back into her bobby pin. That blind trust could be a girl's best friend. Ariana's white knights helped

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  her to a thickly padded lounge chair under a wide umbrella near the edge of the water and ordered her an iced tea from the hovering waitress.

  "Would you like us to look for your friend?" the doctor asked solicitously. "What's her name?"

  "Oh, no. You've been kind enough. To be honest, she's probably not here yet," Ariana lied smoothly. "She's usually even later than I am."

  The two men chuckled and said their good-byes, warning her to stay off her ankle for the day. Two minutes later Ariana was sipping iced tea and focusing on the task at hand. She hoped she had been deposited at the right pool. According to Kaitlynn's accounts, there were two on the grounds. Feeling a sharp pain in her arm, Ariana realized she was digging her fingers into her flesh, and she told herself not to stress. If it didn't happen today, there was always tomorrow. Tomorrow she could flag down another pair of gullible old men and start all over again.

  Settling back into her seat, Ariana tipped her face toward the sun, looking every bit the bored teenage socialite, and tuned in to the group of girls a few chairs away. They were gabbing on about the latest Hollywood hookups and who was taking whom to the next cotillion. Wishing she had thought to swipe a pair of sunglasses at Neiman's, she tried to watch them without being obvious. None of them exactly matched Briana Leigh's description, but then Kaitlynn had been on the inside for more than two years. In that time appearances could change. Drastically.