The cold wind bit at Graciela's exposed skin. She wasn't wearing a jacket. She stood on the gleaming marble, beneath a velvet sky and indifferent stars. The dress was red. Cheap velvet, found at a secondhand store, it cost thirty dollars. She felt its weight. She felt its shame.
Inside, the laughter of a hundred strangers floated over the grass. An icy laugh. They shone. She felt dull.
She had just been escorted out.
Patricia, the hostess, had slithered up to her like a silver snake. Patricia's dress, her gaze suggested, was worth more than her car. More than her marriage.
"How quaint. Second-hand? It shows, my dear."
The word "cheap" wasn't spoken. It hung in the air, heavy.
Graciela felt a burning sensation in her cheeks. She wanted to respond with dignity. She only managed a whisper. “I came to support the charity.”
The other woman, Jessica, let out a sharp, shattering laugh. “The contribution starts at five thousand. Does that fit in your budget, honey?”
The circle closed. People were watching. The scene slowed down.
Patricia leaned forward. Her perfume was expensive and overpowering. “You’re embarrassing your husband. This isn’t a place for charity shoppers. You don’t meet our standards.”
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