Chapter 5 - The Dressing Suite Smelled Like Soup and Hairspray
The door didn't knock. It opened because Carol had a key to everything in this building, and she used it like she owned the air inside too.
Daniel had just walked out. I could still hear his shoes on the tile outside, that quick angry tap fading down the service hallway. I was standing in front of the mirror in the private dressing suite with a damp towel pressed to the front of my gown, watching the champagne satin darken where the water hit. The tomato stain wouldn't lift. It just spread thinner, pink at the edges.
Carol came in wiping at her sleeve. The sheer fabric of her dark green dress clung to her forearm where she'd tried to clean it. There was still a smear of red near her wrist. She didn't look at me at first. She looked at the mess on me.
"Jesus, Maya," she said. She closed the door behind her and locked it.
I dropped the towel in the sink. My hands smelled like soup and cheap soap. "He left."
"I told him to leave," she said. She set her clutch down on the vanity with a hard click. Powder, lipstick, mints lined up in front of the mirror like she needed order to talk. "The board table is three feet from where you threw that bowl. Do you understand what that looks like?"
I leaned back against the counter. My back ached from standing in heels all night, and the baby was pressing low. I put a hand under my belly without thinking about it.
"It looks like I threw soup on my husband," I said.
"It looks like a scandal," Carol said. "Margaret Hale was right there. So was the reporter from the Ledger. Everyone had their phones up before Daniel even wiped his face."
I could still hear the room if I closed my eyes. The laugh first, then the quiet. Then Daniel's voice, low and mean. I didn't repeat it. I didn't have to.
Carol pulled a makeup wipe from a packet and scrubbed at her sleeve harder. "Here's what's going to happen. We're going back out there together. You and Daniel will say it was a misunderstanding, too much wine, pregnancy hormones, whatever they want to hear. You'll apologize to the donors for the disruption."
"No."
She stopped wiping. "Excuse me?"
"I'll sit for photos if you need me to," I said. "I won't apologize for something I didn't do. And I'm not calling it hormones."
Carol stared at me in the mirror. Her short blonde bob was still perfect except for one damp piece stuck to her neck. "Maya. I'm trying to protect you. You think anyone out there heard what he said? They heard you screaming at him. They saw you throw food. That's the clip."
"I told him to take it," I said. My voice shook. I hated that. "He called me—" I couldn't finish it without crying, so I stopped.
"I know what he said," Carol cut in. "And it was stupid and drunk. But you don't fix an insult with an assault in front of two hundred donors."
I turned to face her. "Don't call it that."
"What would you call it?"
"Self-respect," I said.
For a second neither of us moved. The chandelier light from the hall bled under the door. Somewhere beyond it a microphone squealed and a band started playing too loud, trying to cover the hole where dinner was supposed to be.
Carol threw the used wipe in the trash. She opened her clutch and pulled out her phone. Her hands were steady. Mine weren't.
"You think this stays in the room," she said. She held the phone up so I could see the screen. A paused video. My arm mid-air, the white bowl tipped. Daniel's face red underneath. "It's already out. Richard just texted me. Two board members sent it to him before dessert was cleared."
My stomach dropped. "Sent it where?"
"To him. To each other. To God knows who next." She slipped the phone back in. "By morning it'll be on every local page. Pregnant wife attacks husband at charity gala. Do you know what that does to the foundation? To Daniel's job? To the pediatric wing we're trying to fund?"
I gripped the edge of the counter. The marble was cold through my fingers. "Are you asking me to lie so they keep writing checks?"
"I'm asking you to be smart," Carol said. She stepped closer. I could smell her perfume under the soup. "Smile. Sit next to him for ten minutes. Let them take the picture of you both laughing. No one has to know what was actually said."
I looked down at my dress. The stain covered my stomach now, right where anyone looking would see I was pregnant. I thought about sitting out there with tomato on me, holding Daniel's hand while people pretended not to stare.
"I won't say he didn't say it," I said quietly. "I won't say I misunderstood. I heard him."
Carol's mouth tightened. "Then what will you do?"
"I'll walk back in with you," I said. "I'll sit for the photos because I said I'd support the event. I won't do a joint apology. I won't lie about the insult."
She studied me like she was deciding if I could be moved. I could see her calculating the donor table, the photos, the board texts.
"Silent," she said finally. "You sit. You don't speak to press. You don't cry. You let me do the talking."
"Yes."
"If anyone asks, you nod and let me handle it."
"Yes," I said. "But I'm not holding his hand."
May you like
Carol picked up her clutch again. She glanced at my gown one last time, at the wet spot I'd made trying to fix the unfixable.
"Then wipe your face," she said. "We're going back out in two minutes."
