Alexis mumbled something about kids these days. “I sent him to help the catering staff because Penny said the mini stuffed Yorkshire puddings were coming out too slow. Fine, I’m going but don’t complain when only half the…”
Suddenly, NSYNC’s “Bye Bye Bye” rang through the entire building, overwhelming the dulcet strings of the Wilmington Sisters quartet. “Shit, shit,” yelled Alexis.
“What ishappening?” Valerie tried to get to her feet to help but a wave of dizziness sent her back to the floor. The screen filled with shocked faces as guests looked to the sky, trying to pinpoint the noise. The tourists took more photos. A woman had her phone out and was turning it from her face, which she arranged in a traumatized expression, to pan around the room.
“Ricky’s portable speaker is still set up and I knocked into it,” Alexis called. The music cut off mid-word. “There. Fixed. Can I get back to work?”
Valerie watched helplessly from the floor as her beautiful plans disintegrated in an acid bath of bad luck. The security cameras didn’t have sound but they didn’t need to. There was enough visual carnage to keep her fully occupied.
A text came from Ricky.Josette’s car broke down. She’s going to be another hour.
Valerie didn’t answer because she was reaching out to the screen as if she could stop one of the guests as he backed into a table, causing him tostagger into the display of walking sticks that went tumbling. As the man flailed, he managed to rip down the lovingly hung green velvet drapes.
She would cry if there were any liquids left in her body to shed. But it couldn’t get worse.
Or could it? A quick look at her watch said the speeches were nine minutes late. She called Alexis.
“What now?”
“Speeches.”
“For fuck’s sake.” A moment later, Alexis came into view of the camera, fiddling with the laptop to stop the slideshow honoring Malcolm’s life and achievements that Valerie had spent three days crafting. However, they were using the venue’s laptop instead of their own. Valerie watched, almost dull with horror, as Malcolm’s serious face morphed into a group of people holding up bottles of beer on a beach wearing what might only generously be called swimwear. One person was in a mankini. She looked again. Make that two mankinis, the wearers graciously providing a front and back view.
“Roger Badgerton wants to speak with you,” said Alexis.
Too busy army crawling to the bathroom, Valerie didn’t have time to reply before Roger came on.
“What the hell is going on here? Where are you? Did I hire amateur hour? Are clowns in charge?” Roger demanded. “Good God, what is that noise? Are youthrowing up?”
She was. She could dimly hear Roger and Alexis arguing in the background until the phone went dead. When she dragged herself back out to the office, it was to a small reprieve. Roger was talking at the podium, no doubt giving his speech, and the screen behind him was blank. That wasn’t as good as the accompanying slides she’d planned, but monumentally better than the beach-blanket-bingo shot.
They were back on track. She closed her eyes as a huge shout came from the crowd below. Perhaps it was better if she didn’t know. Perhapsit would be better to simply roll under Ricky’s desk and die. She felt like the Grim Reaper had a sympathetic hand on her shoulder anyway.
She kept her eyes shut and waited for the commotion to pass. How bad could it be, after all?
As it turned out…pretty bad.
Four
Two days after the Badgerton event, which had not been a celebration although it had been unbearably full of life, Valerie stood in the Ad Astra office listening to the silence. There were no phone calls. No texts or emails. Not even a siren passed by in the distance as the entire world cringed away from her in secondhand embarrassment. She sipped from a cold cup of mint tea and poked at the cracker package on the desk, the only things she could handle after that germ had wrung her out like a soggy old rag. Her sore abs felt like she’d done a thousand sit-ups.
Evidence of Ad Astra’s imminent demise lay strewn around the office like the remnants of a drug raid. To the left were twelve of Malcolm’s forty-three treasured walking sticks, since Alexis had neglected to pick up the rest after the event. Valerie herself had been no help, as she’d used her last ounce of energy to fall in a cab and get home. Stale bread and tote bags littered the floor. The portrait of Malcolm glowered from the corner, upside down and draped haphazardly in bubble wrap.
Overlooking this wreckage was the quarterly calendar on the wall infront of her desk. Two days ago, it had been marked with a respectable number of dates circled in red, listing the last names of the departed—Roberts, Medenev, Yang. Plucking a Sharpie from the drawer, Valerie shuffled over to scratch a heavy line back and forth through her last remaining booking, which had been canceled that morning. Valerie leaned her forehead against the wall. She couldn’t blame her clients for getting cold feet, thanks to a spectacularly unflattering and unfortunately accurate “Toronto Patrician Funeral Fail” video posted by a guest and picked up by a popular city blog. The Badgertons’ wealth and status had made the story worthy of not only the local but national news and, as a bonus, select morning talk shows. Some might kill for that kind of publicity, but not Valerie, not now, and absolutely not like that.
Pressing her head harder into the wall until tears came to her eyes, Valerie stared at the blurry line of dust that had collected on the top of the baseboard. It was amazing how things could collapse in a second. Not good amazing, like watching a caterpillar metamorphose into a butterfly. Bad amazing. Horrible amazing, if there was such a thing. Horr-azing.
She peeled her face from the wall and rubbed at the tender spot on her forehead. She couldn’t even wallow properly because she had a final obligation to take care of: Roger Badgerton wanted to speak to her in person about his father’s memorial. Evidently it wasn’t enough for him to outline what had gone wrong via email. Roger wanted to look into her eyes to tell her she’d blown it.
Valerie regretted not planning something fun after as a pick-me-up, like a Pap smear or root canal. At least he’d booked the meeting early, which meant she could get it over with and continue with her plans for the rest of the day. First, she’d torture her already weak stomach by getting blackout drunk as a poor but forgivable coping mechanism. Then, she’d deal with the hangover. Hopefully, this would only take two or three repeats before she could shift gears from self-sabotage to action mode.
Her phone beeped and she checked it listlessly, knowing the odds were against it being good news. She was right. It was Alexis.What a mess lol! Have you recovered yet?
Had Valerie recovered? She’d spent half the morning lying on the floor, staring at the shadows from the clouds crossing the window.Roger Badgerton is coming by today, she replied.
You should tell him people get sick and there’s nothing you can do about it. That’s what I would say.
Good point.
