My husband, she said slowly, does not invite people like you. People like me? Don't play dumb. You know exactly what I mean. The three people nearby had stopped pretending not to listen.
A woman in a red gown turned her whole body toward the conversation. A man with silver hair lowered his whiskey glass. The bartender's hand froze on a bottle of Perrier. Terrence said nothing. He simply extended his right hand.
My name is Terrence Cole. I believe we haven't been formally introduced. Victoria looked at his hand like he'd offered her a dead fish. She didn't take it. She didn't even blink.
I don't shake hands with the help, and I certainly don't shake hands with someone who wandered in off the street wearing a suit that belongs at a funeral home. Terrence lowered his hand slowly, calmly, the way a man does when he's already decided how this story is going to end. He's just waiting for everyone else to catch up. Ma'am, I'd like to enjoy the evening. I don't want any trouble.
Then you should have stayed where you belong. Victoria raised one hand and snapped her fingers in the air. The sound cracked through the murmur of conversation like a gunshot. Security, can someone please come deal with this? We have an uninvited individual who refuses to leave.
Heads turned, dozens of them. The string quartet didn't stop playing, but the violinist's bow hesitated for just a fraction of a second, the musical equivalent of a stutter. Conversations within a 15 ft radius went quiet. Champagne glasses paused halfway to lips. Two security guards began moving through the crowd, both of them large, both of them fast.
Terrence didn't move. He stood exactly where he was, water glass still in his left hand, his right hand resting calmly at his side. His heartbeat didn't change. His breathing didn't quicken. He had been in rooms full of hostile people before.
Boardrooms where competitors tried to bury him. Courtrooms where lawyers tried to break him. Conference halls where people questioned whether a black man deserved to sit at the head of the table. This was just another room. The first security guard arrived.
Young, broad shoulders, an earpiece curled behind his right ear. He looked at Terrence, then at Victoria, then back at Terrence. Sir, is there a problem? Before Terrence could answer, Victoria cut in. Yes, there's a problem.
This man is not on the guest list. He's been harassing me and refusing to leave. I want him escorted out immediately. The guard turned to Terrence. Sir, do you have an invitation or confirmation?