Knees, Apologies, and Other Performances
Felicity looked down at her knees as if they belonged to someone else's joke.
A few people in the circle shifted, hungry for the punishment she had promised. Public cruelty, once released, rarely cared who fed it next.
"Well?" the man in the navy jacket said, trying to laugh again. "She did say it."
Elliot turned his head toward him.
The man stopped smiling.
"No," Elliot said.
Felicity blinked. For one strange second, gratitude nearly broke through her panic.
Then Elliot finished.
"I don't need anyone on their knees to prove I own a car."
The sentence landed differently than a threat would have. It took the theater away from her. It also took the entertainment away from everyone who wanted to watch her crawl.
Elliot looked at the useless fob in her hand.
"But you do need to explain why you had a key that wasn't yours."
Her throat moved.
"It was a mistake."
"No," Ravi said quietly from the pillar.
Every face turned to him.
Ravi swallowed hard. Elliot gave him one small nod, not permission exactly, but protection.
"She took it from the valet drawer," Ravi said. "When I told her she couldn't move the car herself, she said she would say I stole from her bag if I made trouble."
Felicity rounded on him. 'You little liar.'
"Careful," Elliot said.
One word. Not loud. Enough.
The young valet's shoulders lifted for the first time all evening.
May you like
Felicity searched the circle for someone to save her. The financiers avoided her eyes. The women near the railing became fascinated by the skyline. The man in the navy jacket took a sudden interest in his watch.
Status was useful only when it was shared. Hers had just been returned unopened.
