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Liz felt herself an awful combination of humiliation, regret, and anger. Her emotions bubbled to the surface. The stall was so small that Daphne switched places with her, passing closely enough that their chests touched. Daphne sat down on the toilet in order to keep the dress from touching the floor, pulled down past her underwear to her knees. A waxed bikini line.
Liz asked that she be allowed to undress in private. Daphne looked at her as if she were crazy and said, “There are fifty women out there, all waiting for a stall. Liz, please… now.”
“I can’t do this.”
“Don’t be ridiculous.”
She wanted to say: You slept with him. You were naked with him. I’ve had cancer. I’ve had two children. But she understood how petty and trite that would sound-especially aimed at a woman offering to take her place in a dangerous situation and one in which Daphne was to go unmonitored; Daphne was preparing to trick her own colleagues, risking all kinds of future discipline. She said nothing, but stood paralyzed by the situation.
“Undress. Now!” Daphne said sharply.
“That’a girl!” a stranger’s voice shouted from an adjacent stall.
Daphne sat down on the toilet in bra, tights, and shoes, working to get the tights off.
Liz turned around and asked Daphne to help with the Velcro to the various pieces that made up the nun’s habit, which Daphne did.
Daphne said, “You can bunch the top of your dress at the waist. The skirt is longer than yours, so you can wear the LBD under it.” Little Black Dress.
Liz got the habit off. She felt cold fingers as Daphne unzipped the cocktail dress for her, and helped her half out of it. She would need the dress for the reception. Lou had chosen it in part because it would hide underneath the Maria dress.
“Bras,” Daphne reminded.
Liz felt nauseated. She was being asked to bare her chest in front of Daphne as they switched bras in order to move the concealed tracking device. There was nothing left to her chest, wizened by nursing two children, flattened by gravity, corrupted by the starvation of cancer treatment. She turned her back on Daphne and then passed the bra back, wiggling her arm until Daphne claimed it. The one that was handed her was a bigger cup size. She swam in it, and she found this humiliating. Liz reached for some toilet paper mumbling, “This is embarrassing.”
Daphne struggled to adjust Liz’s bra straps. The undergarment barely contained her breasts, fitting uncomfortably. “Hand me the rest of the habit,” she requested.
“I get two dresses. You get none,” Liz said, turning now as she stepped into the Maria dress.
“That’s about right.”
“That thing-a couple Velcros is all to close it. You’re going to fall out left and right.”
“Luckily, it’s dark,” Daphne said.
“How can this possibly work?” Liz asked, having trouble with the zipper and once again needing Daphne’s help.
“We switch purses-the one thing that identifies you-and I find a seat and watch the movie. The hook is baited. Everyone, our own people included, are watching for a nun leaving the bathroom with your purse. I hide the purse and they’ll never confuse me with you. You’ll fail to show.” Daphne pulled a red-headed wig from her own bag. “We get you into this. You join John near the back. The two of you leave together at intermission. Two people leaving together, not a single. A Maria, not a nun. He walks you out, by which point you’re headed for the reception-better late than never. You’re in the bank while Special Ops continues sorting through nuns trying to find you. Lou looked at this thing from every way possible. It’s not perfect, but it’s as close as we’re going to get.”
“How do I get in the bank? We’re assuming the bank is being watched, aren’t we?”
“One thing at a time,” Daphne said. “John’s got that covered.”
“That’s all you’re going to tell me,” Liz said, sounding disappointed.
They exchanged purses. Liz placed all kinds of symbolism into this act and thought that as a psychologist Daphne could probably sort through it all, but had no desire to discuss it.
“And if my cell phone rings? If they give me instructions that go against this plan of Lou’s?”
“He worked this out with you, didn’t he?”
Liz felt deflated. He had, in fact, walked her through this a half dozen times, but she’d wanted to hear it again. She now realized the absurdity of this desire, given their current location.
Daphne instructed, “Go out there and find John. That’s all you focus on right now. It’s a zoo out there. Find John and follow whatever he says. He’s at the back of the theater.” She repeated, “The back of the theater.”
Liz felt inadequate, ashamed of her behavior over the past few minutes, responsible for people putting themselves at risk-all because of her past. But she could not find it within her heart to thank the woman. She helped Velcro Daphne into the habit. Skin showed, and flashes of underwear.
They transferred the contents of the purses, Liz making sure she retained the two bank IDs she carried-one supplied by Lou-her wallet, lipstick, and mobile phone.
“All set?” Daphne asked. Daphne looked good even with just the oval of her face showing. Jealousy brewed inside her once more.
She nodded.
Daphne added, “For what it’s worth: John and I are happy together.”
“It’s not worth much,” Liz said quickly and uncharitably. “But I’m working on it.”
“Good.” Daphne indicated the stall door, and the two women spilled out into the din and clamor of the rest room, among a dozen competing odors. Women’s voices crooned off-key, “The hills are alive… ”
Daphne joined in at the top of her lungs as if having the time of her life. The back of the habit hung open slightly, exposing her bottom. She never missed a step.
A clear, perfectly pitched voice on top of everything else. Liz thought she might be sick.
She stepped into a world where people lay in wait for her, and this thought terrified her. She wanted to be home. With him. She wanted another chance at whatever it was they now called their relationship. Marriage? Companionship? Parenting? She pushed away the thought that an organized band of criminals, perfectly willing and capable of submitting to violence, needed her services first and her lack of memory second. She held off the thought that Boldt believed Da
Liz pushed her way through the thick crowd, tolerating the close contact. Her claustrophobia began to work against her. She hated crowds.
She took up a rhythmic chant in her head, sca
There he was, waving a box of Milk Duds at her, his arm around the empty chair she would soon occupy, a gorgeous babe to his right spilling out of her dress while openly flirting with him: John LaMoia, in heaven. Liz felt a sense of dread sweep through her, as if a thousand eyes followed her down the row. She felt those eyes boring into her, studying her, looking to identify the face beneath the wig, and she regretted not having used the toilet while she’d had the chance.
Liz never sang a note. For an hour and a half LaMoia seemed to enjoy himself, an ear bud planted in his left ear as he monitored the surveillance team’s radio traffic. He crooned through the songs as if he’d rehearsed the parts, but she saw his eyes tracking the room like a Secret Service agent’s. Nothing got past him. He faked a few smiles for her, and she appreciated that, but he felt as nervous as she did. Lou was the only one who knew fully what was going on, and she found her trust in him the only comfort.