The Board Has a Sister

I hate that a doorman can make my own name feel like a costume. The coat covered the torn sleeve, but apparently it did nothing to cover the story people have made out of me. I keep wanting to know who told them what, and then I hate myself for wanting to know. Being discussed by people who think they are only whispering is worse than being looked at on a runway. At least there, I knew what the transaction was.

Mrs. Adler asking about her daughter's christening texts in front of the housekeeper made my face burn. I wanted to say that I am not a social ornament you can pass around your circle and expect to answer on command. I also wanted to know exactly what her friends have been saying about me. The second want is uglier, but it is louder.

The second card did not make anything clearer. It made the first card feel less like a strange piece of paper and more like a door with another person standing behind it. Hollis has a sister on the co-op board. I don't know what that means yet, and I resent how quickly my mind started arranging the possibilities like outfits.

I called my mother and kept Park Avenue out of it. I gave her the version that wouldn't make her worry or ask questions I can't answer. The four hundred dollars is in the drawer, and I keep thinking about the instruction to pay my debts first. I wish money could make a debt feel simple. Tomorrow's booking has me excited, which is embarrassing when I should probably be cautious. I still want to walk in looking like I chose every inch of myself.