Marnie
Lou and I emerged to the sound of Constance screaming our names.
Lou had drool dripping down the side of her mouth. She saw the bag of food on the floor and shook herself awake.
“You’re the best,” she said, reaching for it.
Meanwhile, Constance looked like, well, she looked like she’d just seen a man die all over again. She put her phone on the floor in between the three of us.
“You need to see this,” she said.
It was a “Get Ready with Me” video taken by a makeup artist in a suite at Martinez—the kind reserved for the biggest celebrities.
There was the hairstylist, pausing to smile for the camera, a large brush in one hand and a hairdryer in the other.
To the left, an impressive collection of makeup brushes.
To the right, the outfit of the night on a mannequin patiently waiting its turn.
The dress was black velvet, off the shoulder, with a bedazzled sash around the waist.
The camera panned to the woman who deserved this level of attention.
Lou gasped. “So that’s what hallucinating feels like.”
My blood had turned to ice. “There’s no way.”
But it really was Odetta Olson, all smiles, in the middle of her glam up. She winked at the camera without saying a word. The makeup artist spoke off-camera, “Getting ready for her biggest night. A perfect French Riviera moment to go for gold.”
“She’s going to the closing ceremony.”
As if I needed to spell out the obvious.
Lou nodded, her mouth full, seemingly unaware of the crumbs falling onto her lap.
“She just killed a man, and she’s wearing Chanel,” Constance said.
“You can tell this is Chanel just from this?” Lou said, shoving another cookie into her mouth. She clocked the fumbled look on both of our faces. “What else is there to say? The woman’s clearly a psychopath.”
I got up and stretched my legs. My back was sore, my shoulders tight.
“We can’t let her get away with it.”
We should never have been at that party. We should never have seen what we saw. We would never be as successful or rich or famous as someone like Odetta Olson, especially not now that our names would be tainted forever. We would be paying for our mistakes.
And by “we” I meant all of us, including Odetta Olson.
“We should go,” I added.
Lou was still munching away. “Where?”
“To the ceremony,” I said. “We need to talk to Odetta Olson. She needs to know she can’t just go to a party after what she did.”
Lou shook her head. “I’m not going anywhere near that woman. Let’s start with the police.”
“I’m with Marnie,” Constance said. “She doesn’t get to parade in Chanel for another minute.”
She was already heading toward the door.
“And if she tries to take us down with her,” I said, “we have the perfect insurance policy.”
I picked up the necklace, which was resting on the wooden stool. How many people were looking for it now?
“Let’s go before it’s too late,” I added.
Constance looked at each of our wrinkled, and all too casual, outfits and made a sad face. Then she nodded, reluctantly. Lou grabbed the last packet of cookies and followed us out.
When we arrived at the Martinez, the crowds were the thickest they’d ever been, people screaming some of the most famous names in the world, all except for Dorian Fisher’s.
It took some elbowing to reach the door of the hotel. Luckily, I had my festival pass with me so we got in without a hitch. The lobby was buzzing, the air thick with glamour. This was the night to go all out, to wear the most beautiful gowns, to aim for the most jaw-dropping moments.
Soon, screens around the world would fill with snippets from the closing ceremony, the best-dressed list, the surprise wins.
Or losses. For now, every smile on display was further proof that the news of Dorian Fisher’s death wasn’t public yet.
Maybe they were still looking for him. But in the meantime, the show would go on.
Pushing through the crowd was a feat. There were so many photographers, cameras everywhere, ready to record it all.
When I glanced at the girls, all I saw were their ashen faces, the fear in their eyes, the dread they breathed.
You might think someone would have noticed the way we looked, how little we belonged there. But we were invisible.
“We’re really doing this?” Lou said.
I nodded, almost imperceptibly. We were too far gone now.
“She’s there!” Constance said suddenly, her voice laced with terror.
Indeed, Odetta Olson was making her way across the lobby, shielded by a dozen people. Maybe up close she looked exhausted, but from where we stood she was still the powerful, magnetic woman she projected so well.
I felt my good intentions dissolve, like sugar in a teacup, but I couldn’t let them. Not now.
“Excuse us!” I said, clearing a path.
We were less than five feet away when a security woman in a black suit stopped us.
“I’m going to need you to step back.”
I put on my brightest smile. “We have to talk to Odetta Olson. It’s very important.”
She was unfazed. “I can’t let you through. Please give Ms. Olson some space.”
“Trust me,” I said between gritted teeth. “She wants to talk to us.”
“Please step back,” the security woman said. “Now.”
A voice came through her earpiece and she listened while keeping a firm eye on us. That’s when Odetta Olson spotted us, or, more accurately, she saw Lou.
The two locked eyes, something unspoken passing between them.
“We’re here to deliver something,” Lou said to the security woman, her gaze not leaving Odetta’s.
Lou slipped the diamond necklace out of her tote bag and handed it to the woman, who barely flinched at the display of so many diamonds.
“Will you please pass this to Ms. Olson?” Lou said.
Her polite tone betrayed nothing, but her hands were shaking. Constance and I held our breath. Wherever Lou was going with this, we had no choice but to follow along.
“Please let her know it’s a gift from Dorian Fisher,” Lou continued.
Odetta wasn’t missing a beat of this. The security woman seemed confused. It can’t have been every day someone handed her a multimillion-dollar necklace out of a battered tote bag.
Constance was wound so tight I thought she might snap. She swallowed hard before speaking.
“And please let Ms. Olson know Mr. Fisher expressly required she wear this necklace in memory of last night. It’s an incredible piece of jewelry to commemorate the moment they shared.”
There would be many times, from this day onward, when I would deeply admire the girls. I would recognize their talent, their strengths, their skills. I would learn from them and be grateful for the option to lean on them, too. But never have I been so in awe of them as I was in that moment.
We would let Odetta Olson go to the ceremony. She could grasp the spotlight one last time, but with the heaviest of anchors around her neck.
I forced a smile. “And please let Ms. Olson know we’ll be waiting for her right here when she returns. We hope she enjoys the ceremony, and we can’t wait to discuss it with her.”
The security woman nodded and walked over to Odetta Olson. We stood still, drinking in the moment our message, and the necklace, made its way to her.
A minute later, we were whisked away to Odetta’s suite. We didn’t watch any of it. We didn’t see her win, listen to her speech, or admire the stunning piece of Clapard jewelry around her neck.
The most important part was still to come.