Chapter 7

She grabbed the fabric at the shoulder, tugged it hard. The beading rattled."Feel that? Cheap. The real one had hand-sewn crystals. This is plastic and glue."She was wrong. Every bead on that dress was hand-sewn. Every crystal was real, because it wasn't a replica; it was the original. But Lorraine didn't say that. She just stood there, eyes steady, back straight."You should be ashamed," Victoria hissed, "coming into my home wearing a costume, pretending to be something you will never be." She turned to her friends. "Can you believe this? The maid wore a Halloween costume to my gala."They laughed. Of course they laughed. Every single one of them. And Lorraine stood alone beneath the chandelier, wearing a dress that was worth more than every piece of jewelry in that room combined.She said nothing. But inside, somewhere deep, a fire that had been out for fifteen years was starting to glow. The night was just getting started.Victoria didn't stop at the dress; she was only warming up. She looped her arm through Lorraine's—not out of kindness, but to steer her the way you'd handle a dog on a leash. She paraded Lorraine through the crowd, introducing her to every cluster of guests she passed."Everyone, this is Lorraine. She cleans my toilets."She said it the same way each time: bright smile, loud voice, eyes glittering with cruelty."Lorraine, say hello to the Hendersons. They own half of Connecticut."Lorraine nodded politely. "Good evening."The Hendersons stared at her dress, at her shoes, at her hands—rough and cracked from years of scrubbing grout.Mrs. Henderson leaned toward Victoria and whispered, "Is she really your maid?"Victoria didn't whisper back; she wanted everyone to hear. "Three years. She scrubs my floors twice a week. And tonight she decided to play dress-up."Laughter. Always laughter. She led Lorraine to the next group, and the next. Each time the same introduction; each time the same punchline.

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