“There are several airport hotels.”
“Does the airline cover one?”
“Not for a missed flight unrelated to airline operations.”
Cassandra nodded.
“Of course.”
She walked toward baggage services.
No bag.
Then toward ground transportation.
She booked a room at the Airport Grand for $289.
The hotel shuttle arrived fifteen minutes later.
Cassandra sat alone in the back.
Her phone had hundreds of notifications.
The livestream had been clipped.
Already.
One account had posted:
INFLUENCER DETAINED OVER $62 BAR BILL.
Another:
“YOU DON’T KNOW WHO I AM” AIRPORT MELTDOWN.
Cassandra stared.
She had said it.
More than once.
That was the problem with recordings.
They eliminated the version of events that memory wanted to create.
At the hotel, she ordered room service.
Then stopped.
She laughed to herself.
Instead, she walked downstairs and bought a sandwich from the lobby market.
She paid with a third card.
Approved instantly.
Cassandra stared at the terminal.
The cashier smiled.
“You’re all set.”
Cassandra almost wanted to cry.
She carried the sandwich upstairs.
At 9:18 p.m., her assistant called.
“Where are you?”
Cassandra sat on the edge of the bed.
“Still in Florida.”
“What happened?”
“I missed the flight.”
“Oh my God. Are you okay?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Cassandra looked at the sandwich.
“There was a payment issue.”
“With the ticket?”
“No.”
“With what?”
She hesitated.
“A restaurant.”
Her assistant waited.
“What kind of payment issue?”
“My cards got locked.”
“That happens. Why didn’t you call me?”
Cassandra froze.
Her assistant could have paid the bill in thirty seconds.
The thought had never occurred to her.
Not because she forgot her assistant existed.
Because calling her would have meant admitting she needed help with sixty-two dollars.
Her pride had cost nearly a thousand dollars between the missed flight, hotel, rebooking difference, ground transportation and other expenses.
“I don’t know.”
Her assistant said, “I would’ve sent it.”
“I know.”
Another pause.
“Are those videos you?”
Cassandra closed her eyes.
“Yes.”
“I wasn’t sure.”
“They’re me.”
“Do you want me to start reporting them?”
“No.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
Cassandra lay backward across the bed.
“Just reschedule dinner.”
“I already did.”
“What did you tell them?”
“Travel disruption.”
Cassandra smiled sadly.
“That’s accurate.”
The following morning, she arrived at the airport at 7:15.
No alcohol.
No livestream.
No oversized sunglasses.
Just coffee.