Chapter 1 - Pool Water in My Shoes
The water was lit blue from underneath and it made her laugh look brighter. She stood right at the edge of the rooftop pool in a silver one-shoulder sequined dress, her long blonde hair dry and perfect, one hand up near her mouth while she laughed. Two men in suits stood behind her with drinks, laughing with her, and the city spread out black and gold past the glass rail. I was under that same blue light, soaked to the skin, my shoes already gone to the bottom.
That was the contradiction I couldn't get past even while my lungs were still burning. She was dry and shining and I was the staff. My gray blazer clung to my light blue shirt and my employee ID badge floated up for a second before it plastered itself back to my chest. Water ran off my pulled-back hair into my eyes. She didn't step back from the edge. She leaned closer.
My name is Elena Ruiz, I was twenty-six and working my third catering temp shift that week.
It was just past ten on a Saturday night on the rooftop terrace. Patio heaters ticked around a high table crowded with champagne glasses. Bass from the speakers vibrated through the pool ladder when I grabbed it. I pulled myself up rung by rung. My blazer sleeves poured water. My pants suctioned to my legs. I kept my face down and breathed through my nose so I wouldn't cough in front of them.
On the concrete I got my knees under me first, then my feet. The night air hit my wet shirt and I started shaking. I could feel grit from the pool deck sticking to my bare feet. My tote with my towels and my check-in sheet was somewhere by the service door, too far to reach without walking past her. I didn't look at her. I looked for the one thing I knew I'd kept zipped.
My black smartphone was in my blazer pocket. I fished it out with both hands.
The case was slick. Water beaded and ran off the screen. I cupped it, thumbs on either side, and tilted my body to shield the glow from the patio lights. Drips fell from my chin onto the glass and I wiped them away with the heel of my palm. I pressed the side button with my wet thumb. The screen lit. For a second all I could see was my own blurred reflection and the badge clipped crooked on my blazer underneath. My fingers were shaking so bad I had to brace the phone with all eight fingers to steady it. I swiped, tapped, held.
Across the terrace the laughter stopped.
May you like
I felt it before I saw it, that cut in the noise when a whole group turns at once. The blonde woman in the silver dress had stopped laughing and was staring at me now, her mouth tight, her earrings catching the light when she turned her head. The men by the high table with the champagne glasses turned too. One of them, a gray-haired man in his sixties in a navy suit, held his champagne halfway to his mouth and forgot it. His mouth fell open.
I didn't run. My thumb found the arrow. I pressed send.
