…
You know how you see these people on the street selling raffle tickets for unbelievable prizes? The ones that you decide are a scam because the prizes quite simply are unbelievable or because the person looks suspect.
Or you know that it’s an email address gathering exercise, but still, everyone gets sucked into it because of the unbelievable prizes, only realising later that the people will sell the address a hundred times over, which is why you should give them a throwaway email address.
And then you make that decision that, what the heck, the person might be getting something out of it, and you’re feeling charitable that morning.
After all, what is $5 these days in the greater scheme of things?
Then, instead of throwing the ticket away, you put it in a dark corner of your wallet, thinking the next time you see it, years will have passed.
It was Wednesday morning, the train arrived on time, and I was feeling charitable.
It wasn’t a year. It was a few months. An email arrived in my inbox, one of which was a few of very few because it was the throwaway email that usually was filled with scams.
It was from the name of the charity. I’d pulled out the ticket when I saw the email and checked.
The subject line said, “You are a winner.”
There was the first red flag. I never won anything.
On the back of the ticket was the list of prizes. The first prize was a holiday house in the Caribbean, worth $500,000. I doubted you could get a house in the Caribbean worth that unless it was a shack.
At the other end of the scale, 100 prizes of a ticket in the next raffle. That was more my speed.
So, I opened the rest of the email. I read and read until I got to the bottom where it said, your prize. ‘Congratulations, you are the lucky winner of the Caribbean holiday house’.
That’s when I decided it was a scam, particularly after it said that I would soon receive an email telling me how to claim the prize. No doubt it would end up with me paying a large sum of money to secure the prize.
Me and about a hundred others.
The next day, the second email arrived from the charity, and it was a debate whether I bothered. I left the inbox on the screen, and the message was left unread while I had a cup of coffee.
Then, curiosity got the better of me.
The email was simple. Attached was a boarding pass and a voucher for a 3-day hotel stay in Kingston Jamaica. The plane was leaving in three days.
I went onto the airline site and, using the booking code, checked to see if it was real.
It was.
I also checked the hotel and called them.
It, too, was real.
It simply made me very wary. In three days, when I turned up at the airport, I fully expected to be told it had been cancelled.
When I handed over the boarding pass document, the lady behind the counter gave me one of those looks, the sort that told me she knew what this was about.
“What?” I asked.
“You’re a prize winner. There are a few this morning. You’re going to be surprised, and then you’re not.”
“Can you tell me if this is a scam or not? It’s not much point going if it’s a scam.”
“Go for the three-day stay in a great hotel.”
“Were you a winner?”
“No. But I know someone who was. Go, lap up the stay. It’ll be worth the $5 you paid for the ticket.”
That’s all she would say.
At the gate waiting for boarding, I wondered if there were any other ‘winners’ in the hundreds waiting to get on the plane. That conversation with the boarding clerk had not filled me with confidence, and more than once, I almost got up and walked away.
But when the boarding call was announced, I joined the queue to get on the plane, and when I reached the gate, I got the first surprise.
“You do realise you’re travelling business class and didn’t have to wait in this queue.”
I said I didn’t, that I didn’t fly very often, and certainly not business class. I was usually down the back of the place with the families with miscreant children.
This would make a pleasant journey.
When I reached the plane, I was directed in the opposite direction, to a cabin where there was plenty of space and a bright welcoming smile. I could get used to travelling in business class.
Could. I shuddered to think what it was costing.
I sat in my seat, in what was like my only little world. Yes, there was another passenger next to me, but she was behind a wall that made her appear as though we were completely independent.
Or would be when the plane took off.
In the meantime, she looked up as I flopped into the seat and gave me a cursory glance, one that told me I was a pretender and didn’t belong there, which was probably true.
And then, if I thought I was going to ignore her, I was wrong.
“It’s rather good up this end of the plane, don’t you think?”
“What makes you think…”
She smiled. “The look on your face. Don’t worry, I had the same gobsmacked look when I got here.”
The steward offered me a drink, either of water, orange juice, or champagne. It wasn’t a hard choice.
“See,” she said, after the steward moved on, “the pretenders always go for the champagne. I’ve been on long enough to realise the real people drink orange juice.”
I shrugged. It was French champagne, not the bubbly I usually had. I knew the difference, as I also knew I could not afford it.
She left me alone to savour the drink and settle. The rest of the cabin filled up, and then, with everyone on board, the main door was closed.
There was time for one more drink, and the glasses were collected.
Once the plane was in the air, I noticed from time to time that she glanced sideways at me while I was immersed in the entertainment system. When the plane had levelled out, the steward was asking for lunch orders.
It was a hard choice. Usually, I avoided airline food like the plague, but the choices in this class were interesting enough to want to try them.
When he moved on, she took a moment to ask, “What are you having?”
I looked over to her side of the seating. Her cubicle was a mess. And now I took the time to look she had messy hair, and rather interesting if not matching clothes, though that might have been a trend I missed.
“Fish.”
“Me too. Safest option. I’ve never travelled in this class, and I guess it shows. Even the posh kids give me funny looks. “
“Then they’ll grow up missing out on discovering what wonderful and diverse people there are out there.”
She smiled again, and it made a difference. “Wow. No one has called me wonderful, let alone diverse. My name is Judy, by the way.”
She held out her hand, and I shook it. I hope she was not expecting anything else.
“Ian.”
“Going to Jamaica for a holiday?”
“A three-day adventure. Perhaps.”
“So am I. In a manner of speaking. I won a raffle, a holiday house, but my dad says it’s a con and I should’ve stayed home. He’s fretting that I’m going to be kidnapped or worse.”
Another winner. There couldn’t be more holiday houses than one, so it was a scam.
“As it happens, so am I. I don’t believe it either, but three days in a posh hotel and this flight. I nearly didn’t come.”
“Neither did I, but you’re right about the hotel. Post isn’t the word. Perhaps you and I should stick together until we find out what this is about. More people are so-called winners on this flight. I heard them talking back in the lounge. I didn’t see you in the lounge.”
“Didn’t know about it. I don’t fly business class, or very often at all, and when I do, it’s down the other end.”
“We must have that sort of face. It’s where I end up with the naughty children.”
The steward arrived with the food, brought individually to us and not on a trolley or with the possibility our choice was no longer available. ‘If I were rich, this would definitely be the way I would travel.
They just managed to clear away the dishes when it was time for the plane to come in for a landing. It was a relatively short flight, and time seemed to pass very quickly. Judy had something to do with that.
We didn’t say much after lunch was served. I got the impression she might have decided talking to strangers on planes was a possible health hazard, and I didn’t push it. After all, the notion we would find out about the scam together made sense, but then how did I know if she was an axe murderer or not?
She smiled at me before joining the queue to get off the plane. Being in first and business, we were first off before the others, but when I came out into the terminal heading for immigration and customs, I couldn’t see her. I decided against buying some duty-free alcohol on the way past. It would be too much to carry.
I thought I saw her at the head of the immigration line but was probably mistaken. Then it was my turn, a pleasant welcoming expression from the officer and the return of my travel documents. Then it was straight to customs because everything I needed was in my backpack, which I had brought on the plane with me. A few minutes while an officer decided to search my bag, I didn’t ask why, just waited patiently until it was done, and they sent me on my way.
It was, in a way, far smoother and less painful than arriving back at JFK. Fewer people, I suppose. I wandered out of the terminal building in search of a bus that would take me to the hotel.
I heard my name, probably for someone else with my name, but I turned anyway. Judy.
How did she, with a suitcase, get through immigration and customs so fast?
She caught up. “Sorry, I had to see a man about getting immigration sorted. My dad knows people everywhere. I’m sorry I didn’t wait, but I didn’t want the guy telling my dad I was with a guy off the plane. And that sounds as bad out loud as it did in my head.”
“I get it. My mother, on the other hand, would be astonished if I got off a plane with a girl, so I guess that makes us even.”
She used her smile to smooth the waters. She seemed very happy to be here. “Share a taxi? My Dad hates buses.”
I shrugged. Why not? “OK.”
The taxi ride took about half an hour, and I think we got the almost grand tour getting there. Again, Judy thought it was our faces that got us into trouble. I could also see that her father had weighed her down with endless instructions on what and what not to do, and it wasn’t going to be fun.
The hotel was the Terra Nova, and I had been reading up about it. Old world charm, which to me, made it more interesting than staying in the concrete and glass Hilton or Marriot. I’d also see several of the reviews that said to get as far away from the nightclub as possible. Somehow, I got the impression that would be high on Judy’s to-do list.
When we arrived, there was no one from the plane, and I suspect we managed to get there before the others. We gave our names, and then spent ten minutes convincing the desk clerk that we were not together, and eventually got our rooms, as it turned out, next to each other.
When the porter tried to wrest the case from her, she resisted. Another of her father’s rules is never to let your case out of your sight.
She went to her door, I went to mine, and we disappeared into our rooms at the same time.
The hotel did not disappoint, nor did the room as it was in a remote place from the nightclub. I had three days of this, after whatever was going to happen tomorrow, and, of course, so long as my continued stay wasn’t dependent on having to spend wads of money for something that was supposed to be a prize.
I guess I’d find out in the morning.
An hour passed before two things happened. The first, an envelope appeared from under the door from an invisible delivery boy, or girl, because when I opened the door just after it appeared, there was no one in the passage. The second, ten minutes later, Judy knocked on my door rather than using the bell.
She ignored my greeting, walked over to the bed, and sat cross-legged on the end, almost as if it was her room, not mine.
She had brought the envelope with her, but hers was open. Mine was still sitting on the bench.
“You got anything in the bar?”
I shrugged. I hadn’t looked. She got off the bed, opened the door, pulled out a bottle of beer, and after removing the lid went back to the bed.
Thanks for the offer of one of the others I thought.
“It’s a fucking timeshare.”
I knew she would tell me what she had on her mind, eventually. I’d heard of them but hadn’t quite put two and two together. Perhaps by morning, I would have. I also wondered if she had realised she swore. Perhaps, because it seemed to roll naturally off a lot of younger people’s tongues.
“Damn,” I said, after a minute. “Here I was thinking it was a ticket to a portal to another world.”
She looked long and hard at me, perhaps to see if I was joking or telling the truth. People told me I had a warped sense of humour, and it wasn’t a good thing.
She looked at me oddly, then curiously. “You a science fiction freak?”
“Not sure about the freak part, but I do like a good story with a scientific background. Mostly though I just wish I could step through a portal to a better place.”
She got off the bed, went to the bar, took out another bottle of beer, took the lid off it and handed it to me. “Sorry. I can be a little self-absorbed. And it is your beer, I should have asked.”
“I should be flattered that you would feel safe enough to come into a room with a man you’ve never met before and feel that comfortable as to sit on his bed and drink his beer. Just exactly who are you?”
That look of curiosity just got a little more wide-eyed and elicited another smile. “I can be a little too forward, my father says. You seem a nice guy. Besides, we’ve got a situation.”
“Not really. I’ll admit it’s an odd way to get customers to look at a timeshare, but I’m guessing if the people who brought us here get a ten per cent hit rate, then it pays for the airfares and accommodation, and they get the ongoing benefits.”
“You know about timeshares?”
“I went to a hotel once, and it was a timeshare. When you check in they try to stitch you up for a permanent week, and use of the resort facilities for an annual fee. It can be quite expensive, but I’m guessing some of the resorts might be quite exotic. This is the Caribbean so it might be quite good.”
“I can’t afford it.”
“Neither can I, which means you and I might be out on our asses this time tomorrow. Or not. Maybe if we can pretend that we’re interested until the three days have passed…”
“And act like we’re a couple, then we’d only have to listen to one pitch. We could act all bratty and ask ridiculous questions. I mean you just about told me everything that was in the envelope, which is not bad since yours is still sealed. It didn’t have a fee, but it did say I would get a week which I could use at this resort, or another anywhere in the world, once a year. it’s at Montego Bay and sounds impressive. We’ll know tomorrow. Tonight, there’s a bar downstairs, and interesting cocktails to be had. I don’t want to go on my own, so if you have nothing else to do…”
How could I refuse after being asked so nicely?
If I was one of those people who attached labels to their fellow humans, I would have called Judy crazy. More than once in the ensuing five hours I was with her, she showed plenty of signs that she could be trouble and could also be very easily misunderstood.
She drank too much and got tipsy, but not drunk. Although it was not my problem, I thought it was a good thing to keep a close eye on her in case she got into trouble. She liked talking about herself, and several of her friends, who, if the truth was known, were not friends as such. She didn’t travel much outside her hometown and was not inclined to live in a big city.
She said her mother left when she was younger, she had two sisters, older and restrictive, and a father who tried to let her live her own life. It was no surprise to learn her father was a policeman.
I tried not to tell her about my non-existent life, the boring job I had, or the miserable circumstances of where I lived. Better she just thought I was a nice guy. I bought her drinks and watched her dance, and once or twice tried not to make a fool of myself. The noise was very loud and followed us along the passageways on our way back to our rooms at an ungodly hour of the morning.
At the door to her room, she kissed me on the cheek, told me I was nice to make sure she was safe and then disappeared.
I shrugged. It was easy to be with her, better than any other girl I’d known and remembered that come the end of the three days she would be gone, and life would go back to the way it was.
…
