She shimmied off the panties – painstakingly chosen from a Victoria’s Secret catalogue and sent from London – and peeked out of the stall to make sure the bathrooms were empty. She hastened to a sink to wash the stain out, scrubbing fiercely at the damn spot, lace threads popping inside her wringing fists. Back in the stall, she hefted her skirt, threaded her stilettos through the holes, and tugged the panties, reluctant with damp, up her thighs again. She didn’t have a pad – she had left her bag in the ballroom – so she wrapped a long stretch of toilet paper around the crotch, where it
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