Chapter 21: The Second Feed

The ballroom at the Annapolis Maritime Hall seats six hundred.

On Friday night the round tables stood set under white cloths, and crystal lights hung in rows from the ceiling.

At the far end were a stage, a lectern, and a wall of screens.

The sound booth sat at the back, behind a velvet rope.

I came in through the loading dock, with Stella in the carrier and Hattie beside me in a dress.

It was dark green, and she hated it.

"I can't breathe in this," Hattie said.

"You can breathe. You just can't swear."

"You've never met me."

Emmett walked behind us, a hand's width from my back, in a suit that did not quite fit his shoulders.

His agency was closed, and he was here anyway.

The tech was waiting in the booth with a mug of coffee and a worried face.

He had mixed this room for nine years.

"You're really doing it," he said when he saw me.

"I'm really doing it."

"The board is locked to the production company. I can't touch the main feed without her chair's say-so."

"I know."

"But the donor reel is mine." He turned a laptop around. "Five minutes of thank-you slides after the toast."

"Where does it play from?"

"The media server. The speakers don't care what's in it."

"How many tracks can it take?"

"Whatever I put there."