Free Uptown Thief by Aya De León

Hotel in midtown. The hotel had loomed in her memory since she was little. That autumn afternoon, she and her mother had just run an errand when Marisol had to pee.
    â€œWait til we get home,” her mother had said. She was pregnant with Cristina, and just starting to show.
    â€œThey gotta have a toilet in there.” Marisol had pointed to La Fleur. Such a big building, with people going in and out, certainly there would be a baño inside.
    â€œIt’s for rich people,” her mother had told her in Spanish.
    â€œI can’t hold it,” Marisol had said.
    â€œ Coño, mija ,” her mother had cursed, but then had taken a deep breath.
    Her mother took off her head scarf and shook out her hair. Then she removed her shabby coat and folded it over her arm. She put a hand under Marisol’s chin and tilted the child’s head back so their eyes met. “Stand up straight. Stay by me, and don’t look around.”
    â€œI have to go really bad,” Marisol said, on the verge of tears.
    â€œI know, corazón ,” her mother said. “So we’re going to pretend we live here. And pretend we know where the bathroom is.” She ran her fingers through Marisol’s unruly hair. “We can’t ask anyone, because we don’t want to make them mad, okay?”
    â€œOkay,” Marisol said. “They’ll be mad because they only have one bathroom?”
    Marisol’s mother laughed. “No, mi amor . Because . . . because they’re rich. They have more bathrooms than they need, but they don’t like to be close to anyone.”
    Her mother crossed herself. She never went to church, but she genuflected when she was worried. “It’ll be okay, nena . It’s an adventure.”
    Marisol’s first midtown theft. Unauthorized use of a four-star-hotel toilet at age six. She was dying to gaze at the marble floors and chandeliers and velvet couches. In her peripheral vision, she glimpsed flower arrangements taller than she was.
    The toilet had felt exactly the same as the one in her apartment. She didn’t understand the big deal. Afterward, they giggled all the way to the F train.
    Nearly twenty years later, she had stayed at the hotel as the guest of a wealthy media mogul from Barcelona. While he was in his business meeting, she sat in the lobby for over three hours, gazing at the delicious, once-forbidden sights.
    * * *
    The sun was setting when Marisol walked into La Fleur Hotel for the gala. Under her winter coat, she wore the emerald gown that had been altered to fit her perfectly. A fifties-starlet style in raw silk that flattered her hourglass figure, with spaghetti straps, a low neckline, and a narrow skirt that flared below the knee. Her invincibility shoes were hidden beneath the skirt’s tulle. Her hair was swept up in a French twist, and the pearls at her wrist and ears flattered her dark hair and light brown skin.
    The sign in the lobby read:

    Gala Fund-Raiser
María de la Vega Health Clinic
7 PM Grand Ballroom

    â€œWe finally made it to the big time,” Eva said to Marisol. They looked through the open double doors into the Grand Ballroom, with its high ceiling, chandeliers, velvet walls, and plush carpet.
    â€œMs. Rivera,” the director of special events greeted her with an outstretched hand. “Let’s do a quick walk-through to make sure everything is to your specifications.”
    The two of them surveyed the event from the mezzanine level. White tables made a polka-dot pattern on the ballroom’s dark carpeting.
    The gala was the first in a series of fund-raisers for a clinic endowment. They aimed for fifty million in ten years. Then, after they paid off the clinic’s mortgage, they could use endowment interest for operations—making them independent of grants and donors.
    The sign at the front table said: “Give now. Give big. And your money will keep giving for you.” All funds donated