Chapter 5 - The Jacket in the Locker Room
The staff hallway smelled like steam and lemon polish and old carpet. The lights back there were flat and white, nothing like the warm glow in the corridor, and they made everything look harder. My shoes squeaked on the tile. I still had his gray jacket on over my uniform, the sleeves covering my hands, the weight pulling on my shoulders.
I pushed through the locker room door and the talk stopped.
Marisol was sitting on the bench re-taping her shoe. Denise stood by the open lockers with her tray tucked under her arm. They both looked at the jacket first, then at me.
"Well," Denise said. "Look who made it upstairs."
I went to my locker and turned the combination. My fingers felt thick. "I'm fine," I said. "They just sent me off the floor for a bit."
"Off the floor in that?" Marisol nodded at the jacket. "That's his, right? The guy from the corridor? Everyone saw him put it on you."
I didn't answer fast enough. Denise let out a short breath through her nose.
"Must be nice," she said. "I get yelled at by that redhead last month and I get a write-up. You get a suit jacket."
"It wasn't like that," I said. I folded the sleeves back so I could use my hands. The lining inside the left side felt heavier where something was stitched in, a small hard edge. I smoothed my hand over it and then stopped touching it. "He was just trying to stop a scene."
Marisol and Denise exchanged a look. That hurt more than what happened out front.
"You took her glass, right?" Marisol asked quietly. "That's what Rosa said. That you cleared something you shouldn't have."
I kept my eyes on my locker. Inside was my phone, face down on top of my bag. The screen lit up once with a preview I hadn't opened. An unknown number. I turned it face down again without reading it in front of them.
"I did my job," I said.
Denise laughed, but not mean exactly, just tired. "Your job doesn't come with a gray jacket. You know how this looks to the rest of us."
Before I could answer, Captain Hayes came in. He didn't have his clipboard, which was worse. He looked at me, looked at the jacket, and shut the door behind him.
"My office corner. Now," he said, jerking his head toward the back alcove by the ice machine. The others suddenly found reasons to check their trays.
Back there the machine hummed and dropped ice every few seconds. He kept his voice low.
"You've got two conflicting stories out there," he said. "Hers and yours. Hers is louder. The planner already called security to hold your station tray. Do you understand what position that puts me in?"
I pulled the jacket tighter around me. "Yes, sir."
"Then help me. Take that jacket off and give it to lost and found so I can log it. You walking around in it is starting talk about favoritism. I can't protect the staff if it looks like special treatment."
My throat went dry. If I handed it over, they'd log the lining, they'd see whatever was sewn inside, they'd maybe see the message on my phone if they asked for that too. And I hadn't returned it to him. He'd put it on my shoulders himself in front of everyone. It didn't feel like lost and found.
"I can't," I said. "I need to give it back to him personally. I promised myself I would."
Hayes stared at me for a long second. The ice dropped again.
"Listen to me," he said, even lower. "I like your work. You're careful. But that woman's family writes checks to this house. One more complaint about you, one more, and I have to pull you off the schedule. No banquet, no gala, nothing. You hear me?"
I nodded. My hands were shaking inside the sleeves, so I balled them into fists where he couldn't see.
"Yes, sir. I hear you."
He sighed and glanced back toward the lockers. "Stay back here until I call you. Don't talk to guests. Don't talk to press if anyone sniffs around. And keep that thing out of sight if you won't take it off."
I went back to my locker. Marisol wouldn't meet my eyes now. Denise zipped her bag hard and left for the floor without me. The room felt empty even with Marisol still in it.
May you like
I sat on the bench and slipped my phone into the jacket pocket instead of my apron, where no one would see the light come through. I ran my thumb once over that stiff spot in the lining and left it alone. Whatever it was, and whatever that message said, I wasn't ready to hand either one to people who'd already decided what kind of girl I was.
I kept the jacket on.
