Chapter 3
They told me to wait in the service corridor and not to move. I did.
The hallway was narrow and too bright, the kind of fluorescent light that made everything look yellow. A cart with folded table linens sat against the wall and the air smelled like lemon cleaner and hot coffee from the kitchen. My apron was still in my hands. I had folded it once, then unfolded it, then folded it again because I didn't know what to do with my hands.
The dressing suite door was three feet away. It was white with a brass handle and it didn't latch all the way. I could hear them through the crack.
At first it was just a low murmur, Daniel's voice and another woman's, someone from the foundation I didn't know. Then Lauren's voice cut through, clear and high and tearful.
"She was so rude to me," she said. "I just asked her to move and she put her hand in my face. She was completely disrespectful. I didn't — I didn't know what to do."
I stared at the grain in the door. My chest got tight. I hadn't said a word to her before she came at me. She'd come off the dance floor fast, her gown catching the light, her mouth already open. I had stepped back. I had raised my hand because she was right in my face and I thought she was going to hit me first.
My breath was shallow and I tried to make it even. I could feel the polish from the ballroom floor still on the soles of my shoes.
The door to the ballroom opened behind me and Mrs. Alvarez came into the corridor. She was head of housekeeping and she'd been there twelve years. She had her keys on her belt and her clipboard against her chest.
She looked at me, then at the dressing suite door, then back at me.
"Emma," she said quietly. She stepped closer so no one else would hear. "Listen to me. Don't say anything. Not a word until the deputy and Mr. Ellis get here. Do you understand?"
I nodded.
"I mean it," she said. Her voice was low and firm, not unkind. "They are going to ask you what happened and you will tell the truth, but you don't do it in the hallway to anyone who asks. You wait for the right person. People will try to get you to talk before that."
She meant Lauren. She meant Daniel. She meant anyone who wanted me to make it easier for them.
"Are they saying I was rude?" My voice was barely there.
Mrs. Alvarez glanced at the door again. The muffled talking had started again inside. "I heard what I heard out there," she said. "But right now my job is to make sure you don't get walked over. Keep your hands still. Keep your eyes down when they look at you. Don't volunteer."
She put her hand briefly on my forearm, just for a second, and squeezed.
"I'll be right outside the kitchen entrance if you need me," she said, and stepped back toward the ballroom, but not far. She stood where she could see me and the dressing suite both.
A minute passed. Then the brass handle turned.
Daniel came out alone. He didn't look like the guy in the tuxedo photos they had on the foundation website. His bow tie was loosened and his face was flushed. He saw me against the wall and stopped. He looked surprised, like he hadn't expected anyone to be there.
He rubbed the back of his neck. "Hey," he said. His voice was soft. "Are you okay?"
I didn't answer right away. Mrs. Alvarez's warning was still in my ears.
He took a step closer and kept his voice down. "I — listen, I've just heard one version in there," he said. He glanced back at the closed door, then back at me. "No one has asked you. What happened? For real."
It was the first time since I dropped to hold the linen cart that anyone had asked me that. Not the guests who stared, not the manager who told me to wait, not the woman inside crying about being disrespected. Him.
I looked up at him. I could feel my heart beating in my throat.
"I didn't say anything to her," I said. "She came at me and I put my hand up so she wouldn't hit me."
One sentence. My voice shook on the last word but I got it out.
Daniel's mouth opened a little. He didn't argue. He didn't say I was lying. He just stood there for a second breathing, his eyes on my folded apron.
"Okay," he said finally. It was barely a whisper. "Okay."
He looked at the door again, like he didn't want to go back in there, and then he did anyway. He turned the handle and slipped back into the dressing suite, pulling it closed behind him. Through the crack I heard Lauren's voice rise again, asking him something sharp, and his lower answer I couldn't make out.
I stayed against the wall. My hands were sweating into the white fabric.
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Then the far door at the end of the service corridor opened and a cold draft came in from the lobby. A sheriff's deputy stepped into the hallway, his radio crackling low on his shoulder, his boots loud on the tile. He looked down the corridor toward me and toward the closed dressing suite door, and lifted his hand.
"I'm looking for the manager on duty for the ballroom," he said.
