Chapter 3 - The Hallway Behind the Music
The landing was too quiet. Downstairs the band kept playing behind the closed doors, muffled brass and laughter, but up here the carpet swallowed everything. I could hear the ice shifting in a water pitcher left on the banister table and Lily's shoes scuffing as she pulled my hand.
The woman in magenta tried to smile again. Up close her lipstick had bled a little at the corner. She touched Marcello's sleeve and then pressed her right hand low on that round belly.
"Honestly, this is silly," she said. "Sweetie, do you need the restroom? Mommy can take you to the ladies' room down the hall."
She said it to Lily, but she looked at me. A quick flick. Come on, handle her.
Lily didn't even glance at her. She shook her head once, hard enough that one of her dark blue bows slipped.
"Not there," she said. "This way."
She tugged me left, away from the wide hallway with the sconces and the framed portraits, toward the narrower cut where the wallpaper stopped and the paint turned flat white. I knew that cut. I'd pushed carts through it that afternoon during setup.
My name is Maya. I was working that gala with a tray in my left hand and my daughter supposed to stay in the break room.
Marcello saw where she was pulling. "Let her go," he said quietly.
The blonde laughed, a little breath in it. "Marcello—"
"Let her go."
We followed. I shifted the silver tray up higher to keep it steady. My shoulder ached. Lily's fingers were sweaty around two of mine, but she walked fast, like she had it memorized.
The service hallway was colder. The air conditioner vent hummed overhead. One of those long fluorescent tubes buzzed at the far end by the freight elevator. Someone had left a catering cart abandoned mid-hall, angled against the wall. A white cloth hung half off it, one empty champagne coupe tipped on its side, a smear of melted butter on the steel rim.
Past the cart, a door stood open about six inches. The linen closet. I remembered stacking extra tablecloths in there at five o'clock. Now the light inside was on, a bare bulb, and a folded stack leaned crooked like someone had shoved it in a hurry.
Lily slowed when she saw the cart. She stared at it for a second, then kept going.
Behind me I heard the blonde's breathing change. Shorter. She had both hands on her belly now, cradling from underneath, fingers spread. Marcello noticed too. He glanced down at her hands, then at her face.
"You okay?" he asked.
"I'm fine," she said too fast. "It's just — stairs. You know how it is."
He didn't answer that. He watched her adjust her grip, thumbs pressing into the magenta satin. The fabric pulled tight over the curve and then released.
"She's confusing tonight with something else," the blonde said, turning it lighter. "They had a costume party at daycare, didn't they? With dress-up bellies? Pillows? Lily, did you see pillows upstairs?"
Lily stopped walking.
"No," she said.
She didn't yell it. She just said it flat and pointed down the hall toward that open linen closet door. The bulb inside threw a thin line of yellow across the gray carpet.
I felt my stomach drop. The tray wobbled in my grip and I caught it with my right hand. Ice water sloshed in the glasses I still hadn't cleared.
"There," Lily said. She looked up at Marcello. "Open it."
The blonde stepped forward. "Absolutely not. That's staff only—"
Marcello put his hand up, not touching her, just stopping her. He looked at the cart, at the open door, at Lily's finger still steady in the air.
May you like
He looked back at the blonde's hands locked around her belly.
"Whose closet is that?" he asked me.
