Chapter 6
Ricardo's text came at four that afternoon. Two lines. Foundation gala tonight. Need you in the dressing suite with Leo from seven to ten. Paid.
I stared at it on my break at Il Verano. The private ballroom on the east side wasn't my world. I'd bussed charity galas before, cleared champagne towers for women in dresses that cost my rent. But I'd never been hired to stay behind a closed door. I typed back yes before I could talk myself out of it.
The dressing suite was on the second floor, above the ballroom. It was meant for brides, probably. Cream carpet, a vanity with bulbs, a rack for coats, and a couch where someone had left a folded foundation banner. Leo sat on that couch in a little navy blazer that made him look even smaller. His cream sweater was gone, replaced by a white shirt with a collar that kept poking his neck. He kept tugging at it.
Ricardo opened the door just enough to check us. He was in a tux now, hair combed, watch catching the light. Downstairs, the ballroom was filling. I could hear it through the floor, the swell of a string quartet and two hundred people talking at once, that particular roar that builds when everyone has a drink in hand.
"You'll stay up here," he said to me quietly, not to Leo. "If he needs anything. I'll be back between speeches."
I nodded. Leo didn't look at him. He was holding the arm of the couch.
When Ricardo left, I knelt so I was level with the couch. "Hey," I said. "This tie bothering you?" Leo nodded. I loosened it and slipped it off, folded it on the table. He let out a breath I hadn't realized he was holding.
For the first twenty minutes it was okay. I brought crayons and a small stack of paper from my bag. Leo drew circles, hard, pressing so the paper tore. Below us, applause broke out, then more talking, louder. A microphone screeched feedback. Leo's shoulders came up to his ears.
Then the band started. Drums.
Leo froze with the crayon in his hand. His eyes got wide the same way they had at the restaurant, that glass-of-milk look. He slid off the couch and stood in the middle of the rug, hands fisted.
"It's loud, huh?" I said, keeping my voice low.
He didn't answer. His breathing went quick and shallow.
I did what had worked before. I got down on my knees on the carpet, even though my knees hurt, and opened my arms a little, not grabbing. "It's too loud, isn't it? Nobody's angry with you."
He came to me. That was the difference now. He came. I held him against my chest, one hand on his back, and breathed deliberately so he could feel it. In, slow. Out, slow. He was trembling. Downstairs, the drums kept going and someone laughed too loud near the ballroom door beneath us. I didn't try to talk over it. I just held him and breathed.
A knock came at the suite door and it opened before I could answer. A man in his fifties in a tux stepped in, the kind of man who'd been on the foundation board for years. He stopped when he saw me on the floor with Leo asleep-looking against me. Ricardo was right behind him.
"Ricardo," the man said, not unkind but with an edge. "We have donors asking where you are. And you're —" He looked at me, at Leo in my arms. "You brought your son to a gala and left him with the restaurant girl?"
Ricardo's jaw tightened. I could see the color rise in his neck. He didn't move to take Leo. He stood there and took it.
The older man kept going. "My grandson has a certified nanny. Night like this, you need someone credentialed. Not —" He waved a hand at me, not cruel, just dismissive. Like I was part of the catering.
Leo stirred against me at the raised voice. I adjusted, kept my hand on his back, kept breathing. I didn't argue. I said, very quietly, "He doesn't need to leave the building. He just needs the volume down."
Ricardo looked at me then at the man. "He's had a hard month," Ricardo said, and his voice was rougher than I'd heard it. "Since his mom —"
He didn't finish. He didn't have to.
The older man exhaled through his nose and looked again at Leo, who had settled, his face tucked into my shirt, breathing with me now. His little blazer was bunched up. For a second nobody said anything except the muffled ballroom below.
"That work?" the man asked me, nodding at Leo.
I nodded. "He gets overwhelmed by the noise. If I hold him like this and keep my voice down, he comes back. It just takes a minute."
The man watched another ten seconds. Leo's hands went slack. The trembling stopped.
"Huh," the man said. He looked at Ricardo. "All right. Keep your suite. But come down for the award photo. Ten minutes." He left the door open on his way out.
Ricardo stayed a moment longer. He didn't thank me in words. He just looked at Leo, asleep-ish and calm against me, and then at me on the floor in a dress I'd borrowed from my roommate, and his shoulders dropped a fraction. The same softening I'd seen at the restaurant.
May you like
"I'll be back after the photos," he said.
I nodded. The door clicked shut. The band kept playing downstairs, but in that small room with the vanity lights, Leo kept breathing with me, steady and even, and I didn't move until he did.
