Page 72 of Single-Minded
As much as I prefer to be at an event site all day on the day of, I’ve already been at the Ritz every day this week preparing the staff. They completed most of the setup before I left yesterday evening. And we were fortunate that the main ballroom wasn’t booked on Thursday, so we were afforded an extra day to prepare. Christie, the hotel’s fantastic events manager, has my highly detailed notebook for every element of tonight’s benefit, and the staff at the Ritz are top-notch at execution.
Besides, most of my work has already been completed; all that is left is to ensure that every detail is perfect before we open the doors to guests for cocktails at six-thirty.
There was really no need for me to be at the Ritz at the crack of dawn. But I feel guilty about it anyway. And life would be a little sweeter right now if I were at the job site, rather than in Daniel’s bed, thirty minutes ago.
My phone buzzes again, and I look down to see if it’s Olivia calling again. Daniel’s devastating face appears on my phone. I hitIGNOREand toss the phone in my purse. I can’t bear to speak with him right now. I need time to pull myself together. Thankfully, the wildlife event offers me a valid reason to ignore his calls. I already told Daniel I’d be busy all day today. I’m crushed.
Five minutes later I pull into my driveway, and my phone buzzes again. Daniel again. I ignore that call as well. The grand opening of Boudreaux is tomorrow night, and while I’ll have to spend a good chunk of the day at the floating restaurant tomorrow prepping for the big event, I won’t have to see Daniel again after tomorrow night. My heart sinks. Oh Jesus. Will that woman who barged in this morning be at Daniel’s opening? Will she be hanging around the boat all day, glaring at me while I try to do my work? What a nightmare. Of course, she probably has every reason to glare at me. I’m apparently the other woman.
An odd thought strikes me and I wonder if this was how Bobby Cavale, the basketball player that Michael had the affair with, felt when he learned that Michael was married. Did Michael at least tell Bobby so that he could go into whatever they had with his eyes open? Or did Michael spring it on him like he had me? A horrible thought crosses my mind. What if Daniel is married? I never even asked, I just assumed he wasn’t. I feel sick at the thought. Not that it isn’t bad either way. I’m not sure if a ring and a piece of paper deepen the heartbreak over infidelity, I think it probably sucks either way.
I hurry into the house, drop my bra, my bag, and my wrap by the front door, and head for the shower. Morley, who clearly misses me, follows me into my master bathroom, and rubs up against my bare legs.
“Hey Morley,” I say as I lean down to pick him up, “did you miss me?” He purrs for a split second, and then hisses at me, extending his back claws to deliver a nasty scratch on my belly. “Good to see you too,” I mutter as I set him back down on the bathroom floor. “No,” I say, my voice rising. “It’s not good to see you when you scratch me and hiss at me.” Now I’m yelling. At the cat. “I love you, and I take care of you, and I deserve some respect!” Morley looks at me like I’ve lost my mind.
I feel better, weirdly better, as I shower quickly, taking special care to rinse Morley’s most recent scratch, which is bleeding just a little. Take that, rotten cat.
I decided to forgo shaving my legs because I figure no one will get close enough to notice and I’m pressed for time, but I shave my armpits because I can’t stand not to. Drying off quickly with a fluffy white towel, I grab a vibrant red skirt and jacket, and throw them on the bed as I track down a strand of silvery beads, a funky statement ring, and a pair of pewter-colored heels that I can stand in all day while still looking fabulous. I dry my hair quickly, and pull my event go-bag out of my closet. Usually when I do fund-raisers like this, I need to work all day getting the event set up, and then quickly dress for the benefit itself. My go-bag has everything I need for a quick change and up-do: perfume, deodorant, wardrobe tape and emergency supplies, a pair of ballet flats, a strapless bra, a small metallic Jimmy Choo clutch that goes with everything, and a palate of smoky evening makeup, all labeled and neatly organized inside. It saves me time not having to pull the items together every time I have an evening event.
Once my hair is dry and my makeup applied, I dress in the suit and add the jewelry and shoes I’ve chosen.
Red is the color of power, and I need it to reign in Olivia Kensington Vanderbilt quickly once I arrive on site. Her panic and neediness will only slow things down. Red is the leader, red is the boss, red is in charge.
I pull my favorite pair of sparkly, strappy heels from my closet and my go-to little black dress for the evening. I’m set.
Thirty-five minutes later I’m out the door, lugging my usual working tote and my evening go-bag, along with a garment bag containing my dress for the benefit slung over my shoulder. I hang the dress and the go-bag in the backseat, and stick my tote in the passenger seat. My phone is ringing again and I decide to ignore it. I run back into the house to refill Morley’s bowls with fresh water and food, and then at last, I’m ready to go to the Ritz-Carlton to meet Olivia. It’s not even one o’clock yet, and I’m already wishing for the day to be over.
I speed off toward downtown and the Ritz-Carlton, happy that the midday traffic isn’t too bad. It’s only fifteen minutes later when I pull into the valet stand at the Ritz. I gather my belongings from the back of the car, and head into the ballroom. My phone is buzzing yet again, but I’m too loaded down to answer it. It’s probably Olivia anyway.
“You’re here!” says Olivia as I enter the ballroom. “I thought you’d never arrive.”
“I’m here,” I say. “It’s going to be a wonderful event.”
“I certainly hope so,” she sniffs.
The ballroom has been transformed. The emerald tablecloths, or more specifically, the Pantone Emerald 17-5641 tablecloths, look rich and warm. Large double-sided photos of giant-panda faces hang from the ceiling. This is part of what is called priming; studies show that charitable giving increases when there are “eyes” in the room. Hence the panda photos. They’re beautiful images, by world-renowned wildlife photographer Andy Rouse, and they’re not only compelling but inescapable. The specific color of green I’ve chosen psychologically primes guests to be more generous, in a similar way. I’m managing the pedestrian traffic flow in the room with a combined understanding of group dynamics and physical barriers. Elements as simple as a tall floral arrangement and the volume of music in a certain area will encourage the flow of guests to pass through the sea of emerald, directly past the succession of panda photos, then to the bar, and then to the “capture” area, where the guests, who will now be both primed and lubricated, can be personally cultivated by Olivia and other Wildlife Foundation board members for their generous donations. The pandas are the showstoppers, but other large images of beautiful and endangered animals line the walls as well. Olivia gave me a full list of the species her organization is working to save, like the desman, which reminds me of a cross between an anteater and a sewer rat, with all the photogenic appeal of both. The desman, while benefitting from the funds raised tonight, will not be lending its beady little eyes to our cause.
The golden triangle, as we call it, is the cluster of tables at the front and center of the room. They are for the organization’s most generous and frequent donors, and much of our 20 percent bump will come by way of their wallets. We want them to feel like rock stars. Personalization is key to success with this group, so I made flash cards with their photos, names, and personal information and provided them to all the board members and Olivia’s staff—basically, anyone from the Wildlife Federation who would be interacting with the guests. I’ve quizzed Olivia and her crew repeatedly, and they now knew every key donor by face, name, occupation, marital status, and dinner selection. Just the day before, I spent an hour with them playing a sort of “donor bingo” to help them memorize, doling out chocolate kisses to winning staff members who correctly identified five key donors in a row. Olivia, scrawny as she is, is surprisingly competitive when it comes to chocolate treats.
Not only do the staffers need to know the guests by face, they need to work to ensure the guests know one another as well, not only their names, but all the areas they have in common. Peer group expectation can be instrumental in increasing donations, and our event is doing everything we can to leverage that.
I review Olivia’s speech for the evening once more, reminding her yet again to ask the audience to think about how babies make them feel, which has been found to double donations in many settings. It seems like an odd question at a benefit for endangered wildlife, but it’s my job to work it into Olivia’s speech as naturally as possible. That question is magic. The same is true for words that evoke religious imagery—which makes people behave more generously, too—and I’ve sprinkled some of those words throughout Olivia’s speech as well.
By four o’clock, everything is ready. The room is perfect, the staff is prepped. Olivia retires to her suite upstairs to ready herself for the party. Now that everything is done, it probably would have been easier for me to just return home to get ready for the benefit, but after my late arrival this afternoon, I don’t want to cause Olivia any more stress. She’s already so nervous she might start molting.
Bringing my cocktail dress and my go-bag to the ladies’ powder room, I change into my evening clothes, touch up my makeup with a smokier evening eye, and pin my hair up into a simple chignon. I add jewelry and my ballet flats, and I’m ready to go by four-twenty. Two hours to kill before the event. I’ll change into my heels just before the guests arrive. I quickly repack my bag and check my phone. It’s been buzzing all afternoon, and I’ve ignored it until now. There are a half-dozen voice mails from Daniel. Part of me is desperate to know what he has to say, but I’m not sure I can hear his voice and keep myself together for the long night ahead, so I ignore them for now. Self-preservation. There are four texts from Daniel as well, and I allow myself to look just at the first one.
It reads,Alex, I’m so sorry about today, please let me explain.
Not a chance, buddy.
There’s also a text from Darcy:
Have a great event tonight. Big things are coming your way.
There are two messages from Fred, Michael’s dad, but when I listen to them there’s just a bunch of hissing and wind sounds, like he was butt-dialing me while driving with his booty hanging out of a convertible going seventy down the interstate. I’ll call him later.
When I emerge from the powder room, Olivia is still up in her suite. I settle myself in a seating area just outside the ballroom, pull out my iPad, and make some notes for Daniel’s opening night tomorrow. I also make a few follow-up calls to be certain everything will be ready, so that I can spend as little time on that boat as possible. Usually, I stay for my clients’ events, but I’m planning to leave as soon as the guests arrive and the opening night celebration for Boudreaux is under way. I can’t bear the thought of staying any longer than absolutely necessary—I’m embarrassed and hurt, and the last thing I need is to spend an evening mooning over lying, cheating Daniel. I knew, I just knew, he was too good to be true. They always are.
