Chapter 2 - The Long Walk Past the Glasses
The water kept coming off me in a steady sheet. It ran from my blazer sleeves down over my hands and made the black phone slick where I held it with both thumbs. I didn't look down again. I could feel the screen still lit against my palms, warm through the cold.
Behind me the pool lights hummed under the water. In front of me the terrace stretched maybe thirty feet to the service doors — high table, champagne tower, string lights, city past that. Every face had turned. I counted my breaths so I wouldn't shiver.
My name is Maya. I was twenty-four and on hour five of a temp catering shift. That night I understood running would make it true in a way walking wouldn't.
I took one step. My shoes squelched. The sound was too loud and I hated it, but I didn't stop. I held the phone low in both hands, tucked close to my stomach where my blazer had stuck to my shirt. The ID badge hung crooked and dripped onto my chin when I moved. I straightened my shoulders and kept my eyes on the towel station by the bar cart.
Someone laughed, short and nervous, then cut it off. Ice shifted in a bucket. The city hummed far below.
The blonde woman moved first.
She was still at the edge where she'd been laughing. Water beaded on her silver dress near the hem where I'd splashed her. Her earrings caught the patio light when she stepped sideways into my path. Up close her smile didn't match her eyes. It was fixed, bright, the kind I'd seen on brides posing for photos they didn't want.
She tilted her head. "Whoa. You okay, hon?" Her voice was light, amused for the table behind her. "That was quite a dive."
I stopped because I had to. She was close enough I could smell her perfume and chlorine. My wet hair dripped onto the stone between our shoes — hers dry, strappy heels, mine soaked flats. I felt the weight of everyone listening for what I'd say.
"I'm fine," I said. My voice came out steadier than I expected. "Excuse me."
She didn't move. The smile tightened. "You should be careful with that thing around water," she said, nodding at my phone. "Seriously."
It wasn't shouted. It wasn't a threat, not exactly. It was the tone women used at these events to correct staff without raising their voice. I felt my thumb press harder against the side button, just to know it was still there. I didn't lift it to show her. I didn't hide it either.
"Excuse me," I said again, quieter.
For a second I thought she would hold her ground. Then one of the men behind her cleared his throat and she shifted half a step, enough to let me pass but not enough to make it easy. My wet blazer brushed her dress as I went by. I heard her intake of breath.
The high table was next. Three men in suits stood around it with champagne glasses going warm in their hands. The gray-haired man in the navy suit was closest to me. He'd been holding his glass up near his chest. As I passed, he lowered it slowly to the table without drinking. He didn't speak. He just watched me, mouth still a little open from before, eyes moving from my face to my hands to the badge.
I wanted to look away. I didn't. I met his eyes for maybe two seconds. He looked shocked, yes, but also embarrassed, like he'd been caught staring at something he shouldn't have seen. He set the glass down too carefully and the stem clicked against the metal table. That small sound steadied me.
I kept walking. My legs felt heavy. Water sloshed in my shoes with each step and left dark prints on the stone. I could feel it squeezing out of my shirt cuffs. The towel station was just past the bar cart — a tall wicker basket with rolled white towels for the pool guests, nobody using them because nobody was swimming except me.
I reached for one with my left hand, which meant shifting the phone to my right. My fingers were numb. I fumbled the roll and almost dropped it. I wrapped it awkwardly around the phone first, then around my hands, tucking the ends in. The terry cloth stuck instantly to my wet skin.
"Hey! What are you doing?"
The catering supervisor came around the bar cart fast. Her name was Denise. She wore the same black pants and white shirt as me, but dry, with a headset pushed up on her short hair. Her eyes went wide when she saw me dripping onto the guest side.
"Jesus, Maya," she whispered, grabbing my elbow hard enough to steer me. "Come on. Now."
She pulled me past the basket, past the cart, toward the narrow door marked SERVICE with a brass plate. I let her. Behind me I heard the blonde woman laugh again, lighter this time, saying something to the table I couldn't catch. Glasses clinked. Someone restarted the music low.
May you like
Denise pushed the door open with her hip and pulled me through into the concrete corridor where the air smelled like bleach and hot food. The door swung shut behind us and cut the city hum to nothing.
"You are soaked," she said, staring at the towel in my hands. "Tell me you did not bring your personal phone onto the floor."
