AllFreeNovel
Share Us
The mansion I was touring wasn't a rental venue; in fact, it was a private home about to be foreclosed. The homeowners, Carl and Eileen, were eager to work with me. The money would help them start their life over. That kind of made me feel warm and gooey inside. Instead of continuing to make the rich richer, I was helping a couple that had hit hard times to start over.
Then they told me how they lost their money: in a pyramid scheme that they started. Carl and Eileen didn't explain it precisely that way. But, if all of their “employees” started suing them for money they had taken as a result of an “investment and recruitment process,” it's a pyramid scheme.
Still, I worked with them. I stomped on the gooey feeling inside me and pressed forward to close the deal. They had the only suitable venue that wasn’t booked. I couldn’t sit on my ass waiting for some fairytale cancellation. I had to send the invitations to the printer pronto, and the address couldn’t very well read “We're still figuring it out.”
The mansion itself was great; it was one of the few in Santa Barbara that was not Spanish Colonial.
Instead, it was American Baby Boomer meets Old Victorian architecture. I'm sure there's a legitimate name for that style, but I sure as hell don't know it.
The house looked a little like the one on American Horror Story. Just looking at it scared the shit out of me. The angular, slate roof cast gaunt shadows across its face and onto the large, circular driveway.
“Mr. & Mrs. Hammersmith,” I said.
“Please, call us Carl and Eileen,” Eileen said.
“Okay, Eileen,” I said, looking at her and then to Carl. “Carl, based on the contract and assuming the changes to Section Two are acceptable, Simply Santa Barbara would like to make a bid—”
“Let me stop you right there,” Carl said.
What was with people interrupting me lately? Carl poured some lemon water into his glass as if his entire mansion wasn't empty and we weren't sitting on plastic, foldout chairs around a cheap, picnic table.
Carl continued, “New details have come to light, and that contract isn't going to work.”
“New details?” I blinked at Carl.
“Yes, like the fact that your client Regal is in a legal battle. And that it would look very bad for their investors if this party didn't happen,” Carl took a sip of his water, watching me like a hawk watches a mouse.
Ugh. These people were such scuzzy losers. They’d found out I was in a bind, and they were using it against me. They were willing to forgo a bid on their pretentious and (almost) foreclosed, home for the chance at a little more money. Just the type of people that would have started a pyramid scheme.
I pursed my lips then forced a smile. “So, what does that mean for our relationship, Mr. Hammersmith?”
Carl shrugged casually. “You tell me.” He was trying to get me to offer him a bribe. I'd been in this situation before with vendors that thought they had the upper hand. I had easily walked away from them with a quick “fuck you.” Not this time; Carl actually did have the upper hand. If I said “fuck you” to Carl, I may as well hold up a mirror to myself at the same time.
I folded my hands in my lap as I deliberated my next move, feeling underdressed and so young.
I’m tired of not seeing myself as an adult, as a career woman, as someone who had survived mental disease and a mother's suicide. I still feel like a little girl unsure of the future. Time to fake it ‘till I make it.
I sat up straighter in the plastic chair. “You know what I think? I think that you're also in the middle of a lengthy and expensive legal battle, but you just can't quit your ways, Carl. Listen, I don't give a shit what happens to this party,”—not true—“so your little attempt at dominance does nothing but waste my time. You can either take the money to buy a shovel and start digging yourself out of this hole you've got yourself buried in, or you can keep wasting my time and suffocate to death.”
I glared at him, my body unflinching, unwilling to betray my fear and uncertainty. I was angry at him, I was terrified of losing my job, and I was worried I'd made myself look like a fool. I didn't want him to see the child playing as an adult.
“We'll take the money!” Eileen cut in before Carl could say anything. Eileen reached for my hand to shake.
“Good choice,” I said, shaking her hand but keeping my eyes on Carl.
“What do you mean you don't have order number 217?” I leaned over the counter, hands splayed on the surface for balance. The girl on the other side snapped her gum and stared at me impassively. No, actually she looked annoyed with me. Like I was messing up her perfectly planned day of snapping gum and staring off into space.
“It wasn't in the system, so we didn't make it. It's not here.” Snap, snap.
I'd called a week ago to order one thousand custom party favors, but this girl was staring at me like I was a spider that crawled on her food. First the shit with Carl, and now this girl? It's almost as if people who do quick work aren't into quality service.
This vendor specialized in quick, custom party favors. For the theme of Old Hollywood, each guest was to receive a monogramed film tin. Inside the tin were a bunch of themed favors.
It was hard to secure the party favors, especially for a party of Regal's size. Party favors make a party. If you have bad party favors, you may as well not do the party. So the fact that I had only three weeks to secure amazing party favors for one thousand guests was almost Mission Impossible. It ruled out Tiffany's, it ruled out concerts, it ruled out almost anything, but then that’s why I love party planning.
If you're good at planning, it's about so much more than color and theme. It's about knowing how people tick. It's getting to know someone so well that you know how to make them happy before they do. It's power, and it's fucking addicting.
Where was I? Oh yeah, the bitch behind the counter. I give the girl a saccharine smile, and pulled out my smartphone. Quickly, I pulled up the invoice for my order. Bingo! The invoice had the confirmation number and, most importantly, the delivery guarantee.
