STOWING AWAY ON an airplane was a lot easier than I thought it would be. Really, some would say it was stupid easy.

Maybe it was because I looked like the other girls. Maybe it was because of my dress. Maybe it was because I kept my mouth shut. Who knows? What I do know is that I would have thought somebody would have wanted to see my ID, or boarding pass, or something that documented my presence on board.

Fortunately for me, nobody did. Was this normal? I made a mental note to ask Jenny when I saw her next.

As for the three flight attendants, only Tandy spoke to me, and boy, did she did she have a lot to say. That Tandy. She could talk a leg off a cow.

I figured she was lonely. The other two flight attendants had Do Not Disturb written all over them, and Tandy was clearly a girl whose identity rested in verbal self-expression.

Tandy prattled on about everything... the weather, the trip, shopping, coupons, Banana Republic, Soul Cycle versus Peloton... but despite her loquaciousness, she never once asked anything about me, my life, or even hey, do you even work here? It was fascinating, amusing, and extremely convenient. All I had to do was nod, and every now and then say, that's awesome.

I started listening mid-story.

"So, I've been in this relationship," Tandy was saying, "and it's, like, so intense. I'm, like, so-ooo exhausted thinking about." She sighed dramatically. "He's a pilot, which would be cool, except that he's based in Miami." She made a face. "You know. Miami."

I nodded. I didn't know, but whatever.

Tandy looked relieved. "Right. You get it. Anyway, so we're on this layover in Buenos Aires, and it's gorgeous out, and we end up in this amazing restaurant, I don't even know, all I know is that I gorged myself, and we got back to the hotel, and—" she paused and started studying the ends of her hair "—well, I might have let myself indulge a bit too much in sins of the flesh that trip, if you know what I mean."

She smirked and winked.

This girl. Jeez. I nodded and played along. So Tandy got liquored up and did the nasty down in Argentina with a pilot. Is that bad? Maybe I would have done it, you know, if the guy was hot and I was liquored up, too. Who was I to judge?

"So, we get back to Miami, and he's, all, I really like you, and I'm, like, I really like you, too." She glanced at me. "Because I don't do that on layovers, you know? It's, just, not me."

Sure, Tandy. Sure. I nodded sympathetically.

She looked relieved. "So, anyway, Bob's, like, this single parent, and he's totally raising his son by himself because his ex is a crackhead junkie." She shuddered. "Can you imagine? He's so brave, right? I mean, how brave is it to be raising your son all by yourself?"

"So awesome," I replied.

"I know? Right! You're so right!" She nodded vigorously. "And his ex, I mean, apparently, she's got emotional issues --" she finger quoted "-- or something, because he's all, don't call, because my son might pick up, and I don't want to put him in a position to have to lie." She turned to face me. "He's such a good father."

I nodded. "He's amazing," I replied. Dollars to donuts the guy was still married.

"Right? You totally get it." She undid her bun and started finger combing it. "But then I was like, well, how are we supposed to meet, and he was, like, the timing is so-ooo bad right now, and it's not because I don't want to be with you, because I do, but I've got to raise my son. He's my world, you know." She dropped her hair and sighed. "He said that. It was so. Freaking. Beautiful. We haven't spoken since, but you know, I know he's thinking about me." She clasped her hands to her chest. "I can feel it in my heart."

"That's so beautiful," I replied.

"It is." She nodded wistfully, then twisted her hair back into a bun. "Our love, is, like, so intense, I don't even know."

She suddenly sat up, eyes wide. "Omigod. I totally forgot. There are sandwiches up front. I wonder if the boys want any." She got up and went to the front. I heard a door open and a loud laugh. "Hi, guys! I'm so-ooo sorry! No! How could I forget about you! You're all way too good looking to forget!"

The door slammed.

I looked over at the other two flight attendants. They ignored me. The one by the window gave me the stink eye.

Okay, then. I can take a hint. I went up front, grabbed a sandwich and a bottle of water, then walked to the back of the plane.

It was pitch black, except for a random reading light every now and then. I took a seat in the last row. There was something weird and cool about being the only person in the back of a huge aircraft.

The weight of my decision come down on me like a Styrofoam-painted fake cement block. I shouldn't have gotten on the plane. I should have gone to New York and figured it out there. Nothing good was going to come from this.

I couldn't regret it, though. I mean, I probably should be scared. Alex would be melting down by now. When he found me... eesh.

He'd beat the crap out of me.

Maybe. If I was lucky.

Why did I do this? I'm so stupid.

I unwrapped the sandwich—turkey, and surprisingly good—and scarfed it down.

Random thoughts bounced through my mind.

My arm throbbed.

I needed a bath.

This day sucked.

I took out the enveloped and counted the money. $3,000. I put it back and pushed it into my bra.

The sandwich was good. I wanted another one, but the thought of dealing with the bitches up front made me change my mind. My eyes landed on the information card in the seat back pocket. It said Airbus 520.

I pulled it out and started reading. There was something about Airbuses...

Jenny and me, sitting in a bar on Rush street, last spring, right before the weather broke and it got too hot. "Oh my God, Siobhan, you should see this new aircraft the company just bought. Airbus A520. It's crazy, it's got so many hidey holes. Like, they put the galley downstairs in cargo, like the old DC-10 did, but apparently, there's space big enough to sleep in! People are putting air mattresses and shit in there. There's a lot of—" she made a graphic hand gesture "—you know. Mile-High Club."

Jenny had this thing where she talked to me like I understood what she was saying.

"The best part is that you can get to it from the lavatories in the center of the plane." She giggled, then burped. "It's a total design flaw."

Funny what you learn when you let other people do the talking. I shoved the card back into the seat back pocket and went to the lavatories in the center of the plane.

There were three in the center and two on the sides. I figured a secret access passage made more sense using the side lavatories than the center ones, so I went into one and started feeling around the back wall by the sink and mirror.  By the mirror was a small latch. Easy to overlook.

I pressed on it, and the wall panel swung out. Behind it was a rope ladder attached to the wall.

Blackness greeted me. "This is stupid, Siobhan," I told myself as climbed down. "You're a freaking idiot."

The cabinet door swung shut. There was a little bit of light creeping through the crack, enough to let me know where up was.

My feet touched something that felt like blankets... I let go and landed on something soft.

I bent down and felt blankets and pillows. Gross? Maybe. But I was exhausted. The drugs had worn off. My arm ached and felt like it was swelling. All I wanted was to lie down. I collapsed and buried myself in the blankets and pillows.

Little things, like where we were going, or what was I going to do once I got there, were the farthest things from my mind. I was asleep before my eyes shut.

___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___

I WOKE UP because my arm was screaming and I had to pee like a racehorse.

Where was I?

Utter and complete panic. Why was it so dark? Were my eyes even open? Was I dead?

I felt a scream bubbling up, when light burst in and a person grabbed something by my leg... female voices, laughing... then there was a loud slam, a click, and I was back in darkness.

It was enough to trigger my memory.

My trust fund.

Patrick.

Leland and Daniel.

Alex.

Tandy.

I was on an airplane, taking a nap in a hidey hole I'd found by opening a panel in a lavatory. Shit. People were probably wondering what happened to me.

I started to sit up when I heard stowaway.

Double shit. I laid back down.

"So, let me get this straight. Tandy Newhouse let a stowaway on? What a dumb bitch. You know about her, right? Such a homewrecker."

There was light coming in from a crack between the panels. I scooted a little closer to see into the galley.

"True that," said a woman who was fixing her ponytail. "You know, I flew with her once, and she was, all, I'm marrying a captain, I'm marrying a captain." She rolled her eyes. "So pathetic. Anyhoo, so when they landed in Dallas, the FBI and everyone was there, on the jet bridge, waiting for them. Searched the plane and everything, but the girl completely disappeared."

"No. Shit." The speaker was a woman who was carefully reapplying her lipstick. "Where did she go?"

"Who knows?" Ponytail girl shrugged. "They searched everywhere, but they couldn't find her. The FBI wanted to search with dogs, but the agents were freaking out because they needed the plane to go to L.A. Management came down, and there was this huge fight." She grinned at her co-worker. "I guess one of the F.B.I. guys even threatened to put the base manager in jail!"

"No!" The other girl giggled. "How funny!"

"I know, right? The Company won, because, I guess they didn't have a warrant, or something."   Ponytail girl helped herself to a bottle of water. "They never found the girl. I figure she probably climbed out through the cargo hold and escaped onto the ramp."

"How?" The lipstick girl tossed the lipstick in her purse and pulled out a bottle of Evian spritzer and started misting herself. "Did she pop a slide?"

"No." Ponytail girl gave her a duh look. "Probably climbed down on a catering truck."

"But was there catering--"

"I don't know." Ponytail girl flashed her a look. "You know, Didi O'Bannon thinks she was a ghost. Apparently, she didn't talk, didn't eat, and after they took off, disappeared in the back." She paused dramatically. "They never saw her again for the rest of the flight."

"Didi O'Bannon's crazy. I mean, why would the F.B.I. have been there, if she was a ghost?" Lipstick girl made a skeptical face. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Didi says they weren't F.B.I. at all." Ponytail girl girl slung her bag over her shoulder and pressed a button on the wall. "Didi says that their IDs weren't right. She used to date that F.B.I. guy, so she would know."

"Nah." Lipstick girl rolled her eyes. "Didi's so extra."

"Doesn't mean she's not right. Didi thinks the girl was murdered, and the video showed her ghost getting on the plane." Ponytail girl opened a door. "You know it came from McIver, right? All those mobsters. It would make sense." She looked around. "Is everything locked?"

"Looks like it." Lipstick girl picked up a bag and got into the cabinet. Her voice was muffled.

"It is weird." Ponytail girl followed her and shut the door. Must be an elevator.

I felt around for the ladder and climbed to the top.

Relief was in sight. I whimpered and almost opened the panel, when a shadow blocked the light peeping through where the panels didn't exactly line up. Dammit. There was someone in there.

I held my breath. Try not to think about how badly you have to pee. Try not to think about how your arm is throbbing. Think good thoughts... like how I'm here and not arrested.

Wait. Where was my money?

I patted my bra... oh, good. There you are. The envelope was still there, safely tucked in my favorite personal vault.

The toilet flushed. The person left. I moved to open the panel when someone else stepped inside.

Oh, for the love...

"Ladies and gentlemen, we'll be landing in Chicago momentarily. Please return to your seats and fasten your seatbelts..."

Chicago? Now that was good news. Maybe I had a chance after all. I said a prayer of thanks.

The person flushed and left the lavatory. I waited a beat. Another beat. A third beat. Then I opened the panel and stepped inside, then carefully locked the door.

After taking care of my comfort needs, I looked in the mirror and winced. I looked rough.

I tossed some water on my face and fixed my hair the best I could. The dress was polyester, so it hadn't wrinkled, but it didn't look fresh. I needed a shower... no, I needed a spa day.

The cabin pressure changed. My ears felt like they would explode... I grabbed a handhold and tried to protect my bad arm. We were landing... one... two... three... we were on the ground.

It was so loud! How did I sleep through this?

The noise and the pressure stopped.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to Chicago. Flight attendants, prepare for arrival."

Lots of voices. Someone tried to open the door. I unlocked it and scooted out with a broad smile. "Pardon," I said.

The person frowned, confused, but didn't say anything as they went inside. The door slammed shut.

I leaned against the wall, surrounded by strangers who didn't pay any attention to me.

We started moving slowly to the exit. Slow. Sleepy. Yawn a little.

Ponytail girl was standing by the door. I smiled at her "Thank you for a great flight!"

"Thank you for flying TransNational!" she replied with a perky smile. "Have a great day!"

___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___ *** ___

HOME AGAIN, HOME again. I could go back to South Bend and start over. I could pretend none of this ever happened.

Patrick...

Don't think about it. First things, first. Food. Coffee. Food.

I stopped at McDonald's. One large coffee, a Filet-O-Fish, and supersized fries later, I made a beeline for the crowded food court. I found a seat in a corner, away from people, and swam in saturated fat heaven, completely blissed out of my mind. 

Wait... did someone say my name? I stopped eating and looked around.

Oh, crap. I was on t.v.

"Authorities are looking for socialite Mary Siobhan McIver... known as Chevon... in connection with her brother Patrick McIver's recent death."

There was my face on the CNN monitor across from me. I dropped my sandwich.

The picture on television transitioned to my society debut when I danced with Patrick. "McIver's body was found in his office yesterday ago under suspicious circumstances."

Next was film of my brother's body being taken out by paramedics.

"Chevon McIver was reportedly acting out of character when she was seen at the Home Office around the time of McIver's death."

Next was footage of me going in the service entrance. Okay, why was that so weird? They were taking things out of context.

"Chevon is the youngest child of Ned McIver, a well-known defense attorney." Next was a picture of me on my horse during a riding competition with Daddy holding the bridle. I'd come in first; I was grinning from ear to ear and was holding a trophy and a blue ribbon.

"This summer, Chevon was in the company of Alexander Livingston, an heir to the Livingston fortune and a billionaire in his own right." The picture disappeared to a film of me and Alex at a Vanity Fair party on Long Island last summer. "Over the summer, Chevon earned a reputation as an It girl on the New York social scene." A picture of me walking down the street in Nolita, New York City.

I had? I was an It girl? Huh. I had no idea.

This segued to film of Alex getting into a helicopter. A reporter shouted a question at Alex's back. "Do I what?" He whipped around, feigned anger on his face. "Did you ask if I think Siobhan is guilty? Absolutely not! She loved her brother. Who do you work for?" He scowled. "Oh. Fake news. You're all fake news." One of his security personal turned him back to the helicopter.

That was followed by security footage of me going down the jet bridge at McIver airport.

"Flight records show Chevon McIver stowing away on a TransNational ferry flight out of McIver, Iowa that same evening. Authorities recommend not approaching Miss McIver directly, as they suspect she might be dangerous."

I wiped my face and shoved my unfinished sandwich and fries back into their bag. Okay. So that's how they want to play this? Fine. I can play this, too.

I was getting looks from people sitting near me, but so far no one was screaming in horror. Plus, none of my pictures showed me having a broken arm. I rolled up my sleeve, so it would be more prominently displayed.

At the same time, I shouldn't dawdle. I tossed my trash and headed for the El.

I was in Chicago. I had options.

_____ * _____ * _____ * _____ * _____

Could someone actually stow away by pretending to be a flight attendant? Unlikely. But this is fiction, so here she can. :) I also throw some bigger words at you in this chapter because this version of Siobhan is a bit bratty. Don't worry, Jason will help with that. :)

Thank you so much for staying with the story. I would love to hear from you, so please feel free to leave a comment. Also, if you liked it, please remember to vote.

©Copyright Liz Charnes January 2020

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