Chapter 8 - Badge Off Until Further Notice
The event manager didn't raise her voice. That was what made it worse. She held out her palm, flat and steady, and looked past my wet hair to the wall behind me like I was already not in the room.
"Badge," she said.
I didn't move right away. My blazer was still damp and cold against my arms, and my shirt clung at the collar. Water had dried in a faint ring around the plastic sleeve of the ID. My photo in the corner was curled from the pool. I could hear the air conditioner humming above the makeup mirror and the faint clink of glasses out on the terrace through the closed door.
"I'm still on shift until eleven," I said.
"Not anymore." She wiggled her fingers once. "Badge off until further notice. Hand it over."
The blonde woman sat in the corner chair with her legs crossed, silver dress catching the light. She'd wrapped a towel around her shoulders but she wasn't cold. She was watching me the way she'd watched me at the pool edge, amused until it wasn't funny anymore.
I unclipped the badge. The clip stuck. My fingers were still a little swollen from the chlorine. I had to work it off the blazer pocket, and when it finally came free it left a small wet mark on the gray fabric. I set it in the manager's hand.
She slipped it into her jacket pocket without looking at it. "Company policy. Any disruption involving guests, we pull you off floor."
"I didn't disrupt anything," I said. "I fell in the pool."
The manager glanced at the blonde woman, then at the gray-haired man standing by the door with his champagne glass. He hadn't drunk any of it. The bubbles had gone flat.
"Sir, do you need anything else before we clear the suite?" the manager asked him.
He shook his head once. He didn't look at me directly. He looked at the black phone in my hand. I held it in both hands still, screen down against my palm. The case was damp around the edges.
The security guard by the door shifted his weight. He was younger than the other one, early forties, with a radio on his shoulder turned low. He wouldn't meet my eyes either.
"Change out of the wet uniform," the manager said to me. "There's a staff tee and pants in the bathroom. Leave the blazer and shirt to be laundered. Then you'll go down the freight elevator. Darren will walk you out."
I stared at her. "The freight elevator?"
"It's standard," she said quickly. "We don't send staff through the gala after an incident."
It took me a second to pick up the bag from the bathroom doorway. Inside was a gray foundation event tee, too big, and black drawstring pants. The tile in the bathroom was cold under my heels. I changed with the door locked, peeling the light blue shirt off my skin. It made a soft sucking sound. My bra was damp underneath. I left the shirt and blazer folded on the counter and put on the dry tee. It smelled like storage plastic.
When I came out, my hair was still wet and stringing down my back. My phone was tucked in the front pocket of the pants. I could feel its weight against my thigh.
The blonde woman stood up. The towel slipped off one shoulder and she caught it.
"Can I say something?" she said to the manager. "Just so we're clear."
The manager nodded. "Keep it brief."
She turned to me. Up close her earrings swayed a little. One of them had caught a piece of her hair.
"I don't know what you think you have on that phone," she said. Her voice was low, even. "But I know how these things get twisted. You were drinking? You slipped? That happens. If you start telling people I pushed you, or that it was on purpose for laughs — that's a false accusation. You understand how serious that is?"
I felt the air leave my chest. "I never said you pushed me."
"You didn't have to say it," she said. "Holding up a phone like that says it."
The manager stepped between us slightly. "Let's not do back-and-forth."
"No, she needs to hear it," the blonde woman said, not looking away from me. "I have a family. I sit on two boards. A catering temp with a video clip can do a lot of damage before anyone checks the facts."
My hands were shaking. I pressed them against the sides of my pants to stop it. The phone pressed back against my right hand through the fabric.
"I just got out of the pool," I said. "I checked my phone."
"For what?" she said.
I didn't answer. I looked at the gray-haired man. He was still by the door, holding the champagne glass by the stem. He watched the whole exchange without moving. His mouth was a thin line now, not open in shock like it had been on the terrace. Just closed. Careful.
"Sir?" I said before I could stop myself. "You saw—"
The manager cut in. "Don't pull guests into this."
He didn't lift a hand to stop her. He didn't nod or shake his head. He just looked at me, and then down at his glass, and set it on the small table by the door like he was done with it.
"Time to go," Darren said quietly from the doorway.
I picked up my wet shoes. I didn't put them back on. The hallway outside the suite was narrow and bright, lined with stacked chairs and a rolling rack of linens. The carpet changed to concrete after the fire door. My socks made soft wet sounds as we walked.
The manager walked ahead with my badge in her pocket. She didn't speak until we reached the freight elevator, which smelled like grease and cleaning spray. A service cart with empty champagne bottles was already inside.
She held the door while Darren and I got in. "Staffing agency will call you tomorrow about the rest of your shifts," she said. "Don't contact the client directly. Don't post anything from tonight."
She meant the phone. We both knew she meant the phone.
May you like
The doors started to close. Through the narrowing gap I saw the suite door open again down the hall, and the blonde woman step out with the towel tight around her. The gray-haired man stayed inside. I couldn't see his face anymore, just the navy shoulder of his suit in the doorway.
Then the doors shut and the elevator dropped.
