Then she pushed outward with both hands to create space.
Marjorie staggered.
Camille backed away.
That could have ended it.
Marjorie came forward again.
She reached for Camille’s braids.
Camille caught her wrist.
She turned with the momentum rather than pulling straight backward.
Marjorie lost balance completely.
Her heels slid.
One hand reached for a chair.
Missed.
She fell sideways onto the pavement beside the café table.
Her structured beige handbag dropped with her.
Camille immediately released the wrist.
She stepped backward.
No kick.
No punch.
No movement toward the woman on the ground.
Her hands stayed raised for half a second.
Then lowered.
The crowd had become almost completely silent.
Marjorie sat on the pavement stunned.
One shoe had partly slipped from her heel.
Her sunglasses were crooked.
The beige handbag rested beside her knee with the top pulled open.
Camille breathed hard.
“You attacked me.”
Marjorie stared upward.
“You assaulted me.”
Camille shook her head.
“You grabbed me first.”
“You pushed me.”
“After you kept putting your hands on me.”
Diane stood frozen.
Several witnesses began speaking at once.
“She grabbed the girl.”
“We saw it.”
“She dumped her bag.”
“That woman started it.”
Marjorie looked around.
The crowd had turned.
For nearly ten minutes she had operated as though other people were background.
Now they were witnesses.
Sirens sounded faintly beyond the parking structure.
Somebody had called police rather than only shopping-center security after the physical fight started.
Camille looked toward her belongings.
She wanted nothing more than to gather them and disappear before officers arrived.
Then a sound came from near Marjorie’s feet.
A phone ringing.
At first nobody reacted.
The ringtone repeated.
Diane looked downward.
Her face changed.
Marjorie stopped moving.
The sound was coming from the open beige handbag.
Nobody spoke.
Another ring.
Camille looked at the purse.
Marjorie looked at the purse.
The phone’s screen glowed between a café receipt and rose-colored lipstick.
10:33.
Incoming call.
Diane stared at her friend.
“I called it.”
Marjorie’s face drained.
The phone kept ringing.
Camille stood absolutely still.
For all the anger in her body, the moment felt almost unreal.
The missing phone had not been misplaced across the plaza.
It had never left Marjorie’s bag.
Diane whispered, “Oh my God.”
Camille looked at Marjorie.
“You dumped my entire backpack.”
Marjorie said nothing.
The phone stopped ringing.