Chapter 5 - Gold Sequins Under Bright Lights
The dressing suite was too bright. That was the first thing I noticed when the manager closed the door behind us. No sconces, no soft gold wash like the ballroom. Just white overheads that made my sequins look cheap and showed every crease in Jonathan's shirt.
My name is still ringing in my ears from out there, from the way she said it like she owned it.
The manager set my clutch on the vanity counter. A small black case, barely big enough for my phone, lipstick, a bobby pin. He pulled on gloves like he'd done this before, or watched it done on video. "Ma'am, I'm going to open this in front of everyone. Is that all right?"
I nodded. My throat was too tight to speak. Jonathan stood by the door with his hands in his pockets. She stood by the garment rack, arms crossed, apron still tied straight. She hadn't looked away from me since the ballroom.
"Go ahead," I said.
He unzipped it slowly. The sound was loud in that little room. He laid everything out in a line: phone, lipstick, a folded tissue, my driver's license in its plastic sleeve, one mint. No envelope. Nothing folded, nothing hidden in the lining. He turned the clutch inside out and held it up. The satin caught the light.
"Nothing else in here," he said.
I breathed out. I hadn't realized I'd been holding my breath until it shook on the way out. My hands were trembling, so I pressed them flat against my thighs. The sequins scratched my palms.
Jonathan didn't move. He looked at the line of my things like he was waiting for more of them to appear.
"Check the pockets," she said. "The dress pockets. And the purse she had earlier."
"I didn't have another purse," I said. My voice sounded thin under those lights. "This is it. This is all I carried tonight."
The manager glanced at Jonathan. "Sir?"
Jonathan rubbed his jaw. "Do it. Just get it done."
The manager stepped closer. I hated how careful he was, how he didn't quite meet my eyes while his gloved fingers patted the seams at my hips. The gown had no real pockets, just decorative slits at the sides. He checked them both, turned them out. Empty. He ran his hands lightly over the bodice seams, over the sleeves, and stepped back.
"Nothing, Mr. Whitaker."
I looked at Jonathan. "Did you hear that?"
He nodded, but he wasn't looking at me. He was looking at her.
She didn't flinch. "I told you she wouldn't keep it on her. Not with all those people watching."
"Then what are you saying?" Jonathan said.
"I'm saying check where she was earlier." She shifted her weight. Her voice stayed level. "The service hall. Past the kitchen. The staff locker area. I saw her back there before the cake was brought out."
The air left the room again. "What?" I said. "I was never back there."
"You were," she said. "By the lockers. Right before service."
I turned to Jonathan. "I was in the lobby with your mother. Ask her. I was getting my tiara fixed. I never went near the kitchen."
My eyes were watering from the lights. I blinked hard. I could feel the drop earrings swinging every time I moved my head, too heavy, pulling. I put one hand to my temple to steady myself and the tiara tilted. I fixed it without thinking, fingers shaking against the metal.
Jonathan finally looked at me. His face was gray under the fluorescents. "Were you near the back at all tonight?"
"No," I said. "Jonathan, no."
The manager cleared his throat. "Sir, do you want us to proceed to that area? I can have security meet us. No guests back there."
For a second nobody spoke. The overheads hummed. I could hear the muffled bass of the band through the wall, still playing for a room we'd left hanging.
Jonathan looked down at my things still lined up on the counter — the lipstick, the mint, the tissue going soft at the edges. Something in his shoulders dropped.
"Not now," he said.
She straightened. "Jonathan—"
"Not now." He cut her off, sharper this time. "We've searched her purse in front of you. There's nothing. If we march back to the lockers now, with everyone filming through the doors, this night is over."
"So we just stop?" she said.
"We go back out there," he said. "We stop the scene. We thank people. We get through the next hour." He looked at me, then away. "We'll deal with the rest after the guests leave."
I picked up my phone off the counter and put it back in the clutch with hands I tried to keep steady. The zipper caught twice before it closed.
The manager nodded. "I'll hold the room. No one comes in."
May you like
She didn't agree. She just watched Jonathan open the door, watched the ballroom light spill back in, warm and loud after that white box. My sequins caught it again, gold instead of washed out.
I followed him out with my clutch pressed hard against my side, and her footsteps right behind us.
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