“Um, well, if you want to drink, you’ll need to show your ID.”
She waves me away. “I’m not drinking. I have to drive later. If you could pick up my lunch tickets, though, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”
Without waiting for me to respond, she bustles out of the tent in the direction of the three portable toilets lined up at the corner. I shake my head in bewilderment. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.
I step up to the table in front of Anisha, who smiles placidly as she looks at my driver’s license, giving away no hint that she knows me, bless her, and hands me a yellow wristband and a dozen red tickets. I almost walk away before I remember Mercedes. “Oh, and can I get six tickets for my coworker please?”
“Six tickets, coming right up,” she says, then catches sight of Frank peering at her curiously. “Oh, I mean. No, sorry. We can only give out prepurchased Smith & Boone tickets with a corresponding work ID. I’m afraid your friend will need pick up her tickets herself.”
Frank smiles genially. “You run a tight ship. I admire that. But I’m a senior attorney at Smith & Boone, and I can vouch that my colleague’s request is valid. The tickets are for Mercedes, right?” he adds to me.
“Yeah. She ran to the bathroom.”
He nods. “If you get any blowback for it, I’ll take the blame, okay?” Fishing his wallet out of his pocket, he produces a business card and hands it to Anisha. She blinks as she takes it, and looks between me and Frank. He has no idea that the person she’d get any blowback from is standing right here. The irony is almost enough to make me giggle.
She tears six more tickets off from the designated Smith & Boone roll and hands them to me. “There you go.”
“Thank you. Much appreciated.” Tipping an imaginary hat, Frank walks out of the tent. Anisha flashes me quick thumbs-up as soon as his back is turned. I give her doubles in return, and quickly catch up with Frank and Andréa. We wait just inside the festival until Mercedes returns a couple of minutes later. She takes her lunch tickets with a murmured “Thanks,” and we head toward the food tent.
More people are beginning to trickle into the festival now, and I marvel at the kaleidoscope of colors, scents, and sounds bursting from every corner of the tent-packed block. A young couple with a toddler and an infant stroll past us before diverting into a tent filled with hand-stitched stuffed animals. An older, hunched man wearing a faded trucker’s cap shuffles into another tent filled with baked goods at the same time a trio of college-aged women walk out, each holding a decadent cupcake. One of the women has a bouquet tucked in her tote bag—an assortment of pink and white blooms peeks out from between the straps.
Everywhere I look, people are smiling, strolling, laughing, and generally enjoying being outside in the sunshine on a beautiful Cleveland summer day. As I pass one of the microbrewery tents where a man with a ponytail is lining up a beer-tasting flight for a pair of twentysomethings, someone grabs me by the elbow. It’s what’s-his-face from earlier… Alec, the volunteer who didn’t know anything about the tents.
“Hey, I thought that was you,” he said. “Can you help me with something for a sec? I—”
“I’m sorry, I think you have me confused with someone else,” I say through gritted teeth. Widening my eyes, I give the tiniest shake of my head.
Alec furrows his eyebrows, clearly not picking up what I’m putting down. “But, before—”
“Please excuse me.” Shooting him a meaningful glare, I about-face, only to find three pairs of eyes staring at me.
Andréa’s dark eyebrows raise. “Everything okay, Cass?”
“Oh yeah. That guy thought he knew me. He had me confused with someone else.” At her blank stare, I continue. “He thought I was one of the festival volunteers.” I roll my eyes, all can-you-believe-that? Andréa looks at me then at Alec, who, after a bewildered beat, shakes his head and walks away.
“Must be your shirt,” Mercedes says, and I feel bile rise in my throat. She wouldn’t. “It’s green, like the shirts all the volunteers are wearing.”
Frank laughs. “Bad luck for you, Cass. It probably won’t be the only time someone mistakes you for a festival worker today.”
“Yeah, bad luck.” I chuckle through the wave of relief washing over me. That was a close one.
Andréa and Frank resume walking, and Mercedes and I fall into step behind them. “Thank you,” I murmur under my breath.