Chapter 4 - The Suite With No Windows
I didn't find my supervisor. She found me.
I was halfway down the side hall with an empty tray pressed to my ribs, trying to look busy enough that nobody would stop me, when Denise stepped out of the service doorway and caught my elbow. Not hard. Just firm enough to steer.
"Come with me," she said. She didn't look at my face. She looked past me, back toward the ballroom where the music had started again.
I thought she was going to take me to the kitchen. Instead she turned left, past the stacked chairs and the linen cart, and unlocked the private dressing suite with the little silver key we all carried. The one for the rooms guests never saw unless something went wrong.
Inside it smelled like hairspray and cold air. A long mirror ran the length of one wall, ringed with bulbs. Someone had left a garment bag hanging on the rack and a pair of heels kicked under the bench. No windows. The door clicked shut behind us and the gala went muffled, like we'd stepped underwater.
Denise set her clipboard down on the counter. She finally looked at me.
"Sit," she said.
I didn't. I stood with the tray still in my hands because I didn't know where to put it. "Did Mrs. Romano say something about me?"
Denise exhaled through her nose. "Victoria says you were upstairs. Off the floor. Near the family rooms during the speeches."
My throat went dry. "I wasn't."
"She says you were where you should not be," Denise said. Her voice was flat, the way it got when she was repeating something word for word so she wouldn't get blamed for it. "She's upset, Mara. She made a complaint to the event manager."
I shook my head before she finished. "I was on the floor the whole time. I did the champagne pass at seven, then I moved to water for the tables by the columns. Then—"
"Stop." She held up a hand. "Tell it straight. No extra."
I put the tray down on the bench so my hands would stop shaking. The mirror showed me from three angles at once, pale and small in my black dress, my studs catching the light. I hated seeing myself like that.
"I started by the main doors with champagne," I said slowly. "Then Mr. Ellis waved me over to table six because they were out of water. I stayed on that side. I never went upstairs. I don't even know where the family rooms are."
Denise wrote something down. Just a line. I couldn't see what it was.
"Did you carry anything up for anyone? A bag, a glass, a note?" she asked.
"No."
"Did anyone ask you to go up?"
"No." My voice cracked a little. I breathed in and tried again. "Denise, I've been downstairs all night. You saw me by the bar at eight."
She didn't confirm it or deny it. She capped her pen.
"Listen to me," she said, lower now. "I believe you do good work. But this isn't about work right now. This is about a donor family at their own gala with two hundred people watching. You understand that difference?"
I nodded because my mouth wouldn't make words.
"Alessandro is handling it," she said. "He stepped in out there. He doesn't want another scene on the floor. Until he decides what to do, you're off the floor."
The bulbs buzzed faintly over the mirror. I could hear my own breathing too loud in the small room.
"Off the floor?" I said. "For how long?"
"Until I come get you. Stay in here. Stay invisible. Don't talk to guests, don't talk to other staff about this. If someone knocks, don't answer unless it's me."
"But I didn't do anything," I said. It came out smaller than I meant it to.
Denise's face softened for half a second. She reached out like she might touch my arm, then stopped herself and picked up her clipboard instead.
"I know you need this job," she said. "So do what I'm telling you. Sit tight. Let him sort it out with her."
She went to the door and paused with her hand on the knob. The muffled bass from the ballroom thumped once, twice.
"Leave the tray," she said. "You won't need it."
Then she slipped out and locked it from the outside. The click was soft but final.
I sat down on the bench because there was nowhere else to sit. The vinyl was cold through my dress. The heels under the bench were champagne-colored, beaded at the toe, and for a stupid moment I just stared at them because they looked like a smaller version of what Victoria was wearing out there.
I tried to replay my night in order. Doors, champagne, table six, water, bar at eight. I kept waiting for a gap to appear, some minute I couldn't account for where someone could have thought I was upstairs. There wasn't one. At least not that I could find.
May you like
But I was still in here, and the gala was still out there without me, and a man I'd never spoken to before tonight was now the person who got to decide if I kept my paycheck.
I folded my hands in my lap and watched the door.
