Chapter 4 - The Suite Off the Ballroom
The security guard's radio crackled too loud in my ear.
I hadn't noticed how many phones were up until I saw the little red lights reflected in the champagne flutes. Two girls at the next table had theirs held sideways. An older man in a tux had his angled over his wife's shoulder. Everyone was trying to be discreet about it and nobody was.
The guard stopped three feet from me. He looked at Ethan, then at Vanessa, waiting for a signal about who he was supposed to remove.
"She's with our table," Vanessa said. Her voice had changed. The shock was gone. It was smooth now, fundraiser smooth. She smiled at the guard, then at the people closest to us. "A misunderstanding. We're going to step aside for a minute so everyone can enjoy dinner."
Ethan shifted his weight. "Vanessa —"
"Smile," she said under her breath, without moving her mouth. "They're recording."
That was the moment I understood what she was most afraid of. Not the phone. Not the photo still folded tight in my left palm. The cameras.
I bent down and picked up the rhinestone case. The video was still looping on the marble, Ethan crossing the ballroom with that thick white envelope flat against his side. The screen had a hairline crack now from the fall. It still played.
"Don't," Ethan said, and reached.
He didn't ask that time. His hand shot out fast for the phone in my right hand. I pulled back on instinct and his fingers caught only the edge of the case. It slipped, and I caught it against my apron with both hands. The folded photo crumpled a little in my fist.
"Don't touch me again," I said. My voice shook, but I got it out.
The guard took a half step forward. The blonde girl with the sideways phone whispered something to her friend. I could feel the whole room leaning in.
Vanessa put her hand lightly on Ethan's forearm. A restraint disguised as affection. "Stop," she murmured. "You're making it worse."
Ethan jerked his arm once but didn't pull away. "She stole that video. Give me that phone."
"No," I said.
I looked at Vanessa because she was the only one thinking clearly. "I'm not leaving these with anyone. The phone stays with me. This stays with me." I lifted my left hand just enough that she could see the folded edge of the photo. "If you want to talk, we talk where they can't film it."
For a second I thought she'd argue. Her eyes flicked to the crowd, to the guard, to the double doors at the side of the ballroom where the catering staff went in and out. Near those doors was a smaller door I'd used earlier to get ice, marked Private. The dressing suite where the speakers waited before the program.
"Fine," she said. She turned to the guard. "We'll use the suite for five minutes. No one comes in. Tell Marcus to keep the program moving."
The guard hesitated. "Ma'am, I should hold the —"
"Nothing leaves with anyone," Vanessa cut in. "That's the point."
Ethan stared at her. "You said nobody knew."
Vanessa didn't look at him. "Not here."
She started walking, her gold sequin sleeve catching the light with every step. It was the kind of dress that made people turn even when they were trying not to stare. She nodded and smiled as she passed the head table, as if this were all planned, as if she were taking a staff girl aside about a spill.
Ethan fell in beside me, too close. His breath was quick. "Where did you get that?" he said low, nodding at the phone. "You knew the whole time someone was filming?"
I didn't answer. The marble was slick under my work shoes. My apron pocket was flapping loose. I shoved the phone deep into it and pressed my hand over it, feeling the heat of the battery through the fabric. The photo I kept in my fist.
"You knew the whole time," Vanessa said over her shoulder, but she wasn't talking to me. She was talking to him. Her eyes were fixed on Ethan. "Didn't you?"
He didn't answer her either.
The side door was heavier than it looked. The guard held it open and the noise of the ballroom dropped by half the second we stepped through. Cool hallway air hit my face. It smelled like hairspray and clean towels instead of champagne and flowers.
The dressing suite was small. A mirrored vanity with bulbs around it, two chairs, a garment rack with a spare tux jacket, a couch against the cream wall. A crystal water pitcher sweating on a side table. The door clicked shut behind us. I heard the guard's shoes settle outside it.
Vanessa turned the lock herself.
Suddenly it was just breathing. Mine. Hers, fast through her nose. Ethan pacing to the mirror and back, his bow tie crooked now.
May you like
Vanessa looked at my apron pocket where the shape of the phone showed, then at my closed fist.
"Nobody will bother us in here," she said. "Show me what you have."
