Chapter 1 - Dirt on the Marble
The marble was cold enough to burn. I felt it through my feet first, then up through the thin cream fabric of my dress where it pooled around me on the floor. A small pile of dark dirt sat less than a foot from my right knee, crumbling at the edges, leaving grit on the polished white tile. Every recessed light in the ceiling seemed pointed straight down at it, and at me.
Above me, she stood with her clipboard held tight against her chest like a shield. Slicked-back dark hair, gold hoops catching the light, black double-breasted blazer with gold buttons sharp over a black skirt. Her breath was controlled, her eyes moving slow over my bare feet, my dress, the dirt, then back to my face. She didn't look away when I looked up. She leaned in a little closer, her mouth tight.
My name is Elena.
That morning I had parked two blocks over and walked in without shoes.
I hadn't planned the part on the floor. I had come in just after ten when the daylight was still pushing through the entrance glass and the backlit shelves were glowing with handbags. I wanted to see how the store breathed before noon, how the glass counter got wiped, how the staff spoke when they thought no one important was listening. The dirt was already on my soles from outside, from the planter by the curb where I'd stopped. I remember the texture of it, damp and loose, and the way it scattered when I stepped inside onto the marble. I remember the sound my feet made, soft and sticking, and then her heels, fast across the floor toward me.
She stopped a few feet away and stared down. The other women went quiet near the entrance, their black and neutral dresses still, their quilted handbags held close. I could smell perfume and new leather and cleaning spray. I tucked my feet under the hem of my dress and kept my gaze downcast and waited to see what she would do with a girl sitting barefoot next to a mess.
"Stay away from my store, trash."
Her voice cut straight across the sales floor. It wasn't loud, but it landed hard enough that I felt my shoulders pull in. My breathing stayed even. I didn't answer. I kept my hands in my lap and looked at the dirt and the white marble around it, at the tiny pebbles bleeding color into the polish.
Behind her, someone shifted. A purse strap creaked.
"Such a cruel woman. People like you ruin this brand."
The words came from the group by the entrance. I didn't look up right away to see which one had said it. I heard the disapproval in it, and then the small ripple after it, a breath, a whisper, shoes moving on marble. I knew without looking that phones would be out soon. The manager didn't turn. Her grip on the black clipboard tightened until her knuckles went pale, but her stern expression held. For a second something flickered at the corner of her mouth, surprise that anyone had challenged her in her own store.
I stayed where I was. The cold kept seeping up through my dress. The dirt sat there between us, unexplained, doing all the talking I wouldn't do yet. I thought about standing, about brushing it up with my hands, about saying I would clean it. I thought about saying why I had come. I did none of it. I counted my breaths and let the tension hold.
May you like
Then the door chimed.
Light footsteps turned. Daylight widened across the floor from the entrance, bright against the warm spots overhead. I heard the mechanical chime fade and heavier footsteps start across the marble, steady and coming toward me, and I kept my eyes down while every head in that boutique turned to see who was walking in.
