Charmed, I am sure. I have heard a great deal about your work over the years. How fascinating. I have heard absolutely nothing about yours. He turns to the next guest.
Whitney is dismissed. Catherine's jaw tightens. Edward Brooks, two feet behind Harrison with the guest list, closes his eyes for a long second. Whitney walks into the ballroom alone. Her heels click against the marble.
She finds her table. Table 22, far from the stage, near the kitchen entrance. The four guests already seated stare at her like she has wandered in from the wrong event. Good evening. May I join you?
Of course, one of them says without smiling. Whitney sits, places her clutch on her lap, and orders a glass of water. Across the room, Harrison is holding court at table one, third glass of Veuve Clicquot in hand. Did you see what walked in tonight, darling? He says to his wife, loud enough for two tables to hear.
Catherine has finally lost her mind. Harrison, lower your voice. People can hear you. Why? She cannot hear me from over there.
And even if she could, what is she going to do about it? Harrison, please. Relax, darling. Tonight is my night. Let me enjoy it.
The waiter approaches Whitney with her water. He sets it down gently. As he turns to leave, Harrison's voice rings out across the room. Careful with that glass. Wouldn't want to confuse it with the staff table.
Laughter. A woman at Whitney's own table snorts into her napkin. Thank you, Whitney says to the waiter smiling. This is exactly what I needed. Ma'am, I am so sorry.
I do not know what to say. You did nothing wrong. Please do not apologize for him. My mother is going to hear about this tonight. I promise you that.
Tell her you handled it beautifully. The waiter retreats. Whitney lifts the glass and takes a long, calm sip. Margaret Sullivan, a veteran business journalist from the Wall Street Chronicle, watches from table 14. Her phone is in her lap recording audio.
She has covered Harrison for 11 years. She has never had him on tape saying anything quite like this. Catherine leans toward her husband. If he says one more thing tonight, one more thing, I swear to God, Richard. Catherine, please.
Not here. Not now. He is humiliating her in front of the entire room. Are you blind or are you just choosing to be? And what do you propose we do about it?