Chapter 3 - Employee Badge Number 214
The service corridor was too bright and too narrow, and it smelled like bleach and hot metal. My heels squelched on the rubber mat and every step left a dark footprint.
A busboy holding a tray stopped dead when he saw me. Water ran off my blazer sleeves and pooled around my shoes. My shirt clung cold to my skin and my badge hung crooked, the plastic fogged.
"Jesus," he whispered. "Are you okay?"
I didn't answer. I couldn't get enough air to make it sound normal. Behind the steel door, I could still hear the party — low music, glasses, somebody laughing too loud. My hands were shaking so bad I tucked my phone tight against my stomach, under the fold of my blazer, where the towel the guard had given me was already soaked through.
Diane found me by the ice machine.
She was my catering supervisor, forty-something, hair in a tight bun, headset around her neck. She took one look at me and her mouth went flat.
"What the hell happened to you?" She kept her voice low, but it cut. "You're dripping all over the clean floor."
I swallowed. "I fell. By the pool."
"You fell." She glanced down at my chest. "Badge. Let me see."
I lifted it with wet fingers. Employee Badge Number 214. My photo stared back, dry and neat from that morning at the staffing office.
"Two-fourteen," she said, like she was memorizing it for a report. "Do you know who is out there? That's the foundation board. That's donors. If a client complains, I lose this contract. You understand that, right?"
"Yes, ma'am."
"Who saw you?" she asked.
I thought of the blonde woman in silver laughing, then going still. The gray-haired man with his champagne stopped halfway to his mouth. "A few guests."
Diane closed her eyes for half a second. "A few guests. Great."
The busboy edged past us with his tray. Another girl from our crew, Priya, came out of the kitchen with a stack of napkins and froze.
"Oh my God, Maya," Priya said. My name sounded strange in there. "Are you hurt?"
"I'm fine," I said. It came out too fast.
Diane held up a hand to Priya. "Not now. Go back to bar support." Then to me, "Give me your phone."
My stomach dropped.
"What?"
"Company policy. No phones on the floor. You know that. And if you took pictures —"
"I didn't take pictures of guests," I said. That was true, in a way that made my throat burn. My thumb throbbed where I'd pressed send out by the pool.
She stared at me. Water dripped off my hair onto the mat, tick tick tick. Somewhere down the hall a dishwasher roared.
"Is it even going to turn on after that?" she asked. "Let me see if it's damaged."
I pulled the towel tighter around it. Under the terry cloth, the case was slick and cool. I needed to know if it still worked, but I didn't want her to see the screen light up.
"It's mine," I said quietly. "I kept it for emergencies. I know I shouldn't have had it out."
"Maya." Diane stepped closer. The bleach smell was stronger off her apron. "If you caused a scene out there and then posted something, that is instant termination. Not just for tonight. For the agency. I'm trying to protect you here."
Priya was still hovering by the door, pretending to fold napkins.
Diane lowered her voice. "Did you send anything?"
That was the moment. I could feel the answer sitting right behind my teeth. Yes. I sent it. I didn't plan to, and then I did. But if I said it out loud in that hallway, she would have to act on it. She'd take the phone. She'd call the agency guy. I'd be walked out with security watching and no way to prove what had actually happened at the pool edge.
My blazer dripped onto my wrist. I thought about rent. I thought about the temp line at five in the morning and how they'd crossed my name off before for being five minutes late.
"No," I said.
It was one word and it didn't sound like me.
Diane studied my face. I made myself look back. A drop of pool water slid down my temple and I didn't wipe it.
She exhaled through her nose. "Okay. Then keep it that way."
She turned and unlocked the dry storage room with her key — a windowless box stacked with extra champagne flutes, linens, paper towels. The air in there was warm and smelled like cardboard.
"You're done for tonight," she said. "You sit in here until the party ends. Don't go back out. Don't talk to guests. Wring yourself out as best you can. I'll tell the client you slipped and we pulled you for safety. If nobody files a formal complaint, maybe we save your spot."
"Are you firing me?" I asked.
"Not yet," she said. "But Maya — two-fourteen — one complaint and I can't cover you. Understand?"
I nodded.
She hesitated in the doorway. For a second her face softened. "Are you sure you're not hurt?"
"I'm cold," I admitted. "That's all."
"I'll have Priya bring you a dry shirt from lost and found. Don't leave this room."
The door clicked shut. I heard her radio crackle outside: "Bar support to terrace, bar support to terrace."
I stood there dripping among the boxes. The fluorescent tube buzzed overhead. My socks were soaked through and my toes had gone numb.
Only then did I pull out my phone.
The screen was dark and spotted with water. I dried it with the corner of the towel, hands shaking harder now that no one was watching. I pressed the side button.
Nothing.
My chest tightened. "Come on," I whispered. "Come on."
I pressed and held longer. The screen flickered, went black, then lit up — dim, but alive. The lock screen showed 9:47 PM. A small water drop icon sat in the corner, but the bars were there. Service. Battery at 61 percent.
I didn't open the messages. I didn't open the photos. I couldn't risk the light or the sound or someone walking in and seeing. I just needed to know it hadn't died in the pool with everything on it.
May you like
It worked. The file was out of my hands now, wherever it had gone.
I slid the phone into the inside pocket of my blazer and zipped it shut, then wrapped the wet towel around my shoulders and sat down on a case of napkins to wait out the party I could still hear through the ceiling.
