"Then perhaps you should have kept the receipt," she said quietly.
The reply produced a few uncertain chuckles. Evelyn's cheeks colored. She stepped toward the reception desk and pressed a button on her headset.
"Security to the Solstice Club. Now, please."
Constance looked back at the windows. An aircraft was lifting away from a distant runway, climbing into an enormous blue sky. It was impossible to tell whether the passengers aboard were nervous or excited, grieving or celebrating, rich or poor. Walter had believed the miracle of an airline was that for a few hours everyone traveled through the same sky. He would have disliked what his lounge had become.
The man who answered the security call wore a dark uniform with a silver nameplate reading DALE HARRIS. He was fifty-six, with a broad face, cautious eyes, and the posture of someone who had spent much of his career calming tense people. He had worked in airport security for seventeen years, though only the last four had been assigned to this terminal. His voice was gentle when he approached the chair.
"What seems to be the trouble?"
"This woman refuses to leave," Evelyn declared. "She has no valid membership and has been disrupting the lounge."
Dale looked at Constance, the wet coat, and the cup on its side. "Ma'am, may I see your boarding pass and whatever identification you have?"
Constance gave him a tired smile. "You may. But my membership card is still at the desk. It would settle everything if someone scanned it."
"She presented a fake," Evelyn said. "I already checked."
Dale had learned not to assume a manager was lying. He had also learned that being certain and being correct were not the same thing. He glanced at the desk, where the green card sat beneath a stack of visitor slips, and felt a small hesitation. A passenger near the window had begun filming, discreetly, with the phone angled over a newspaper.
"Could we try the number?" Dale asked.
Evelyn's expression hardened. "Officer Harris, I'm responsible for access. You are responsible for removal. Please do your job."
The words contained a warning. Dale had a daughter finishing nursing school, a mortgage that still surprised him, and an old habit of obeying whoever seemed certain. He could have insisted. He could have asked to speak with the duty manager. Instead, he took the easier road, a choice that would trouble him longer than the incident itself.
"Ma'am, I'm going to ask you to come with me," he said.
Constance rose slowly. "I can walk on my own, officer."
"Yes, ma'am."
The two of them crossed the lounge beneath the gaze of passengers who had witnessed everything and found it easier to watch than object. Evelyn stood beside the desk with her hands neatly folded, like a person posing for a photograph of successful management. At the doorway, a young businessman murmured, "Bye-bye, number one," and another wished Constance a pleasant flight in economy.