Chapter 7 - THE PRICE OF PRETENDING
The Aster Automotive Exhibition opened on a Saturday evening beneath a ceiling of suspended lights that made every car look cinematic. Classic American muscle lined one wall, European supercars occupied the center floor, and custom builds from neighborhood garages filled a section near the stage. The event was designed to erase the usual boundary between elite collectors and young builders, which meant a restored family pickup could stand within sight of a seven-figure hypercar without being treated as a lesser story. Lucía had fought for that layout. Grant Mercer had worried wealthy members would complain. None did. In fact, the student-built cars drew some of the largest crowds.
Vanessa moved through the hall with a camera rig, headset, and a laminated production schedule clipped to her belt. She had no time to pose. Her job was to direct interviews, coordinate releases, and make sure every featured shop received the coverage Aster had promised. Elena operated the main camera while two student volunteers captured vertical clips for social platforms. The work was relentless and strangely satisfying. Vanessa found herself caring less about whether she appeared in any footage than whether the sound from the upholstery demonstration was clean. Six months earlier, that would have been unimaginable.
Around eight, a group of influencers Vanessa used to know arrived together. Their entrance carried the familiar perfume of expensive clothing and performative boredom. One of them, Madison Vale, had once shared brand trips with Vanessa and still measured friendship partly by follower counts. She looked Vanessa over from camera harness to comfortable shoes. “You’re working the event?” Madison asked, smiling as if this were a temporary misfortune. “Yes.” “I thought you were invited.” “I am. I’m also producing.” Madison glanced toward the pink Lamborghini and laughed. “Isn’t that the car from your embarrassing story?”
Vanessa’s pulse jumped. The incident had never become a public scandal because Elena had kept the photographs private, but stories traveled through creator circles. Someone at Aster had mentioned that Vanessa once posed beside the wrong car, and the stripped-down version had become gossip. Madison leaned closer. “You should turn it into content. Make it funny. People love humiliation if you control the edit.” Vanessa could almost hear her old instincts waking up. A self-deprecating video could attract views. She could reduce the entire incident to a clever anecdote about mistaken ownership and avoid discussing how she had treated Lucía. “It wasn’t embarrassing because the car wasn’t mine,” Vanessa said. “That wasn’t the problem.”
Madison’s smile faded. “Oh, you’ve gone sincere.” The words were meant as an insult. Vanessa surprised herself by not caring. “Apparently.” She started to walk away, but Madison nodded toward a young staff member pushing a cleaning cart along the edge of the exhibition floor. “Then tell your new sincerity project she’s about to photobomb the Ferrari.” Vanessa stopped. The comment was nearly identical to something she might once have said. She looked at the worker, a young woman in a navy facilities uniform who was carefully staying outside the marked display areas. The past did not arrive as a grand revelation. It arrived as a sentence in someone else’s voice.
“Her name is Marisol,” Vanessa said. Madison blinked. “What?” “She works here. And she isn’t ruining anything.” Vanessa continued down the aisle before Madison could answer. Her hands were steady, but inside she felt the uncomfortable clarity of seeing the person she had been from the outside. Change, she realized, was not one apology. It was hundreds of moments where the old reaction remained available and you chose something else. Some choices were dramatic. Most were small enough that nobody applauded.
Later that evening, Vanessa found Marisol standing several yards from Lucía’s Lamborghini. Her cleaning cart was parked against a wall, and she held her phone near her chest. The young woman appeared to be on a break. She raised the phone toward the car, then noticed Vanessa watching and immediately lowered it. “Sorry,” Marisol said. “I wasn’t touching anything.” Vanessa felt the entire first afternoon at Aster return in one sharp flash: gray shirt, backpack, her own fingers moving someone else aside. This time there was no audience nearby except Elena, who had just finished an interview across the hall.
“Why are you apologizing?” Vanessa asked. Marisol looked uncertain. “I just wanted a picture.” Vanessa glanced at Lucía, who was speaking with a group of students near the stage. Their eyes met across the room. Lucía saw Marisol, the phone, and Vanessa. For one second, neither woman moved. Then Lucía smiled and gave the smallest nod. Vanessa turned back. “You don’t need to sneak one,” she said. “Come on.” Marisol’s eyes widened. “Seriously?” “Seriously. The owner is okay with it.”
Vanessa took Marisol’s phone and led her to the Lamborghini, careful to keep them outside the display barrier until Lucía came over and unclipped it herself. “Stand wherever you like,” Lucía said. Marisol looked overwhelmed. “I’ve never even been this close to one.” “Then get the angle you want,” Lucía replied. Vanessa framed the shot with more care than she had once given her own vanity photos. She crouched slightly, adjusted for the overhead light, and took several pictures. In one, Marisol was laughing instead of posing. Vanessa showed her the screen. “That one,” Marisol said immediately. “My little brother is going to lose his mind.”
After Marisol left, Lucía walked over to Vanessa. “Don’t start,” Vanessa said. Lucía’s smile widened. “I didn’t say anything.” “You were thinking about the first day.” “A little.” Vanessa looked after Marisol. “I was thinking about it too.” Elena joined them, carrying a memory card case. “For the record, that was a much better photo than your original set.” Vanessa groaned. “I’m never escaping this, am I?” Lucía and Elena answered at the same time. “No.” The three women laughed, and for a moment the story seemed to have reached its natural ending.
May you like
Then the exhibition lights flickered.
The first flicker was subtle enough that only the production crew noticed. The second plunged half the hall into darkness for three full seconds. A murmur rolled through the crowd. Emergency lights came on along the floor, casting long shadows under the cars. Vanessa looked toward the control booth. Elena checked her headset. Somewhere near the custom-build section, a sharp electrical pop cracked through the room, followed by the smell of burning insulation. The laughter vanished. Daniel’s voice came over the radio: “Production team, hold position. We may have an electrical fault.” Lucía was already moving toward the student area when a thin line of smoke appeared behind one of the temporary display walls.
