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My career had really taken a hit. I had gone from hot celebrities thanking me for the great party down to having to deal with screaming, pre-pubescent boys and girls. I wish I could be grateful, really, I do. With the nasty things my former boss Zelda was saying about me, I was lucky to have any job, let alone one in event planning. I am, however, not grateful. It isn't fair that, because I have a crazy ex-boyfriend and a bitch of an ex-boss, I have to plan shitty bar mitzvahs and preteen parties for spoiled brats. I had worked extremely hard to get where I am, err, was.
I chewed the inside of my lip. Each day was a lesson in humility, whether I wanted it or not.
“Lennox?” Bethany asked, trying to catch my drifting attention.
“Yes?” I asked, flashing my pearly whites.
“I was saying I'd like to give you a little more responsibility. Regal is in need of a new planner.” My eye
brows shot up at the mention of Regal. They were widely known for throwing the best parties in Santa Barbara. Hell, the best parties in California. This was her idea of a little more responsibility? I was going from mitzvahs to the media pretty quickly. Not that I was complaining.
I nodded my head attentively as she gave me the details.
I had three weeks to plan an off-the-hook party for Regal. I felt like I'd been shoved into a reality TV show where they cooked up fake drama. Everyone would watch rapt as I scrambled about doing the impossible: make an amazing party in only three weeks, when really, it should have taken a full year to be planned. This wasn't fiction though.
Regal had hired another event planning company with whom they had been working with just fine, or so they assumed. Turns out, Fancy & Foolish had been embezzling all of the money Regal had allotted for the party. Regal and F&F were now embroiled in a lawsuit, but that didn't stop the fact that there was still a party that needed to be planned. There was always a party that needed to be planned.
It had to be themed, risqué, and, most importantly, elegant. There had to be A-list celebrities and three-star Michelin dining. I was thinking a DJ playing the latest hits commingled with a live orchestra playing haunted strings. (It has to be a real DJ, not the kind that plugs his MP3 into the speaker and calls it a day.) The lights would be low, with the occasional strobe for effect. There would be VIP booths for those who didn't want to deal with the crowd. A regular costume party is passé; a masquerade is the way to go. Big silk and velvet drapes would hang from the ceilings in rich golds and burgundies.
I would need a big venue. Someplace ornate yet haunted, like an old ballroom. I want the venue to scream Phantom of the Opera or Anastasia. There would be a majestic staircase where all the VIPs would descend to the grand ballroom for dancing. It was a perfect idea. Cliché yes, but that was important, because that meant I could find everything within three weeks. Still, the idea was exciting enough that people wouldn't be bored by the cliché. Honestly, I think it could be done. I just needed to find the location.
Part of me couldn't help thinking that Bethany gave me this opportunity because she assumed I would fail. Three weeks to plan a party that would normally require a year’s worth of planning isn't something you assign to one person. It also isn't something you assign to the person you had previously only let handle bar mitzvahs.
There was something off about Bethany; something I couldn’t put my thumb on. She did give me this job, but it seems like she's been trying to run me into the ground. Perhaps it's all the Dean nonsense that's making me paranoid. Yeah, that's probably it.
“Zoe, I need your help with some computer stuff,” I yelled, banging on her door. I pushed my way into her apartment as she opened the door. I'd spent the last couple of days organizing, budgeting, and designing the party alone, but now I needed help. When I was at work, Bethany gave me zero help and didn’t assign me any help. Weird, right? One of the biggest clients, not just for her company but in all of Santa Barbara, and she gives me zilch assistance.
Zoe rolled her eyes. “Oh, hey, Nox. Nice to see you too, Would you like to come in?”
“Sorry! I'm in a hurry. I just—” I stopped mid-sentence, stunned.
Lissie was there. In her underwear. In bed. Zoe walked over and sat on the edge of the bed.
“I'm really sorry,” I said, eyeing them both. It was Saturday and I had forgotten that not all people worked through the weekend. “Clearly, I have interrupted something.”
“You interrupted nothing,” Lissie said. She smiled and sat up, arranging herself cross-legged.
“That's too bad . . .” I rubbed my chin like a creepy miser.
“Oh yeah?” Zoe said, laughing. “You're such a creep sometimes.”
“Only sometimes? I need to up my game.” I paused. “Anyway, I need help!”
“I couldn't tell by the way you were trying to knock down my door,” Zoe said sharply.
“I need help with some graphic design,” I pressed.
I know, I know, it's really rude to interrupt two lovers, but did I mention that Bethany was absolutely no help? Absolutely no help at all. She wouldn't give me access to any of Simply Santa's vendors. I was basically working on my own. I didn't even have time to ruminate on the oddness of Bethany's behavior, because any time not working on Regal's party was, well, time not working on Regal's party. I couldn't afford that.
“I'm not a graphic designer,” Zoe said, shrugging.
“But you work with computers?” I said, confused.
“Oh, if I had a nickel.” Zoe laughed with amusement.
“I have some background in graphic design,” Lissie offered.
“You do?” Zoe and I asked in unison.
