The lido looks even richer tonight than it did on donor night.
My tray is full of warm wine, and my arms are already aching from holding it steady.
Justine: Careful with that tray, apprentice. Break one and Malcolm takes it out of your fucking rent.
The wives laugh into their glasses. I laugh too, because a smile is cheaper than a fight.
Malcolm taps his glass once, and the whole party shuts up for him.
Malcolm: Most of you know the girl with the tray. Mamie's daughter. She works this pool, and she works it for us.
Malcolm: She answers to all four trustees. Me, Abel, Cyrus, Baxter.
Malcolm: Every hour she works. Every penny she spends. All of it comes through us.
Every head at the lido turns to look at me at once.
My face goes hot from the neck up and my hands go cold on the tray.
Baxter: Say it for the table, Kira. Who do you answer to?
Kira: All four of you.
Baxter: Good. Now say it like you mean it, not like a scared little bitch.
Kira: I answer to all four trustees.
My voice holds. My knees do not. Bastards, all four of them, and the whole party heard it.
Trey: There she is. Smile, babe. You look like it's a funeral.
Trey's arm is warm and easy, and the phone cameras come up like a reflex.
I lean in and let him hold me. He is a door, and tonight I need one.
Across the pool, Malcolm lifts two fingers. It is not a request.
Malcolm: Coatroom. Now. And don't run, people watch runners.
The coatroom smells like wet wool and his cologne.
Malcolm: You stood out there like a kicked dog while I said your name.
He kisses me before I can answer. Hard, with his hand still wrapped around my arm.
My mouth opens for him like it has a habit. My fingers find his jacket and hold on.
His other hand pushes under my skirt and climbs my thigh. His palm is hot and rough.
I press into it before I can stop myself. A sound slips out of me that I will deny later.
Malcolm: You answer to four men, and not one of them is that microphone boy.
Kira: You said it in front of everyone.
Malcolm: I said it so you'd hear it. Now say it to me.
Kira: I answer to all four of you.
My voice comes out small. My thighs are clamped around his hand and he can feel that too.
Malcolm: Again. Like you mean it, or I'll say it twice as loud next time.
Kira: I'm yours to answer to. All four of you. Sir.
Malcolm: See. That wasn't hard.
His thumb drags once more up my thigh, slow and sure, and my whole body goes tight.
My phone buzzes against my hip, then buzzes again.
Malcolm: That'll be one of mine. Don't keep him waiting.
The text is from Abel. Bring the truth to my office. Tonight.
Abel: You took your time.
He lifts the phone so I can see my own name on the screen. Then he turns and walks toward his office.
I follow him, because the other choice is standing here and letting Malcolm watch me decide.