‘This is my box,’ he explains nonchalantly.
A man hands me a glass of champagne and leads us over to our seats. I make out four figures as I arrive, each one rising to greet Johann with a loud and mildly obnoxious familiarity. They turn to face me and immediately look back to Johann, perplexed in a way that makes me want to throw myself off the railing, but Johann stands firm. He cradles the small of my back and introduces me proudly to all of his friends. They nod back politely before going back to their seats, lips puckered with the words I can tell that they’re holding back.
I settle in, sitting myself next to one impeccably dressed lady who looks me over from head to toe.
‘Nice dress,’ she says, holding back a laugh.
I try to block their othering through the first act, fixing my eyes on the stage and trying to make out the story. Most of it goes over my head, but the melodies are beautiful so I lose myself in their angelic voices. Our box buddies rise to their feet in a crescendo of applause as the first act winds to a close. I hear a bottle pop in the distance and suddenly there’s a new glass in my hand as we meander to their private bar for interval chit-chat.
‘Are you having fun?’ Johann asks me as he pulls me to the side.
His hand is placed lightly on my arm and there’s a soft smile on his welcoming face that puts a small plaster on the wound his friends’ hostility has gnawed at.
‘Yeah!’ my voice comes out in a squeak. ‘I’m not sure your friends like me, though.’
I felt their stares and their whispers, and their small side-glances. They don’t think I should be here and they sadly might be right. I don’t feel comfortable. Not with all of them ogling when they think I’m not looking. But he shakes his head.
‘What? They do! They all think you’re lovely,’ he says.
‘Did they tell you that?’ I ask him.
He tuts. ‘They don’t have to.’ He reaches his hand to my face, twisting a loose tendril of hair between his fingers before tucking it behind my ear. ‘We should take some pictures, but, first, you should freshen up.’
‘Oh, sorry . . .’ I start to panic.
‘No need to worry – you have time.’
He nods towards the direction of the bathroom, prompting me to leave him and make my way back out the box. I release a deep sigh as I enter the hallway, my ribcage relaxing at the notion of finally having a moment to myself. I lean over the bathroom sink once I enter, looking at my flushed face in the mirror. My make-up thankfully looks mostly intact, which is surprising. Johann made me think I was walking into a disaster. I readjust a few strands of hair and fish my lipstick out of my clutch, blotting on a fresh new coat, before actually making my way to one of the cubicles before I endure the inevitably lengthy stretch of the second act.
The main door swings open as I hover above the seat, followed by the clatter of two pairs of heels.
‘I cannot believe him!’ a shrill voice sounds.
‘Would you expect anything less? It’sJohann,’ another says.
I hold my breath and freeze in place, mid-squat over the seat as I brainstorm possibilities in my head. Maybe it’sanotherJohann and maybe Idon’trecognise the voices from the box the way I think that I do. Either way I stay still, ears pricked for what they say next.
‘Yes, but evenJohanndoesn’t usually go this far,’ the first voice says. ‘He didn’t even give this one a free dress for her time; she’s in H&M. I peeked at her label as she sat next to me.’
They both snicker cruelly and I feel my stomach fill with bile as I look down at my evidently cheap-looking satin dress.
‘And don’t get me wrong, she lookssweet– precious, even. But we’ve to be serious. I mean, look at her – his motives have never been clearer,’ the voice continues.
I lean slightly forward, ensuring I’m hearing right.
‘It is rather suspect,’ her friend says.
‘It’s further than suspect,’ the first woman says, her voice muffled as if applying lipstick. ‘I mean, let’s face it, they’ve all done it. Luke couldn’t get serious about me until he got into all that deep water for his old anti-Aussie tweets just before the merger.’
‘But that was different. You two had dated in college and it’s not like your family came from nothing – your dad owns one of the biggest banks out there,’ her friend says.
‘I know, my point is that Johann’s taking this to the next level. I mean... what? One minute he’s in hot water in the media for a terribly worded, apparently racist statement, and the next he shows up withheron his arm? He couldn’t be more obvious if he tried,’ she scoffs.
I no longer have to hold my breath because her last words knock it clean out of me completely. I silently reach for my phone, searchingJohann Vienna racist commentand find article after article, plastered with his face. I scan through them, bile rising in my stomach with every second I read.
I play back the last twenty-four hours – the way he stared at me in the club, his eyes alight like he had hit the jackpot. The knowing nudges he gave to his friends, the selfies he took as we spoke... It’s all starting to add up to something far more sinister. The walls of the cubicle start to close in around me as I feel my chest tighten. I can’t stay in here. I can’t be here, in this cubicle or building.
I still haven’t actually used the toilet yet, but I don’t bother. I pull the lock open and run to the sink for a quick handwash before speeding out the door, paying no mind to their aghastfaces as I barrel past them. I wobble slightly in my heels, but the adrenaline pushes me through as I leg it through the maze of hallways until I reach the stairs. I tumble down them frantically, not quitting until I reach the pavement and feel the slap of the cold night air.
