Party Girl (7 page)

I stop short and turn back around.

“
You’re
overseeing the setup? Shouldn’t she be doing that?” I whisper back at her.

“Oh, Landon,” she says with dismay. “The second thing you’ll learn about this new boss of yours is that she just shows up at the last minute, wreaks havoc for an hour, and then takes credit for it all.”

“Really?” I walk back over to her. I can’t imagine not being there for every minute of an event setup if my name is the one on the wall.

“Really.” Miko is back to packing up. “Besides, it’s not just me. All the team heads go.”

What must that be like? To get to watch the whole party come together from the ground up?

“I’m so jealous. I can’t imagine how cool it must be to put all the pieces together.”

“Don’t worry, you’ll see more than enough. By tomorrow night just the sight of navy dupioni silk will make you want to gag.”

“You realize I don’t know what that is, right?”

“You will.” Miko runs a hand through her perfectly disheveled hair, grabs her latte, and walks off towards the elevator.

That afternoon the little office is noisier than usual. From my corner I hear McKenna and Quade field call after call about the bar mitzvah. Mixed in with all those calls is the usual load regarding the event we have next week and the three others before month’s end. For the first time it occurs to me how hard it must be to juggle so many high-profile parties at one time. You’re not allowed to tell one client you’re busy with another client’s event, so you’re forced to take calls and chat like you’re not drowning in your to-do list.

Both Quade and McKenna look worn down, and around three o’clock that afternoon they send me to get them lunch. It’s the first time I’ve seen either of them eat, and even though it’s just sushi I’m sort of relieved that, in their own anorexic way, they’re emotional eaters just like I am.

On my way home that night I’m stuck in traffic near Robertson. Katy Perry is crooning on the radio and my windows are down, letting in air that’s only slightly chilly. Down the sidewalk and across the street I see a tall, extremely tan older man wearing a pair of boy shorts, old sneakers, and headphones. His lack of clothing on its own would have caught my eye, but it’s the fact that he’s dancing wildly that has me inching my car forward, trying to figure out what his deal is. As I draw closer I realize he’s dancing along with his own reflection in a storefront window, and I can’t help but giggle.

Mama would say he’s drunker than a run-over yard dog, but I like him. He’s clearly a little nuts, but you know what? He’s working with it. There he is on this busy street, wearing his skivvies, and finding his own little moment of joy. My first thought is
I need to be more like that guy!
The second is to wonder what this says about the turn my life has taken—I’m idealizing the crazy, naked dancing man on Robertson.

Chapter SIX

McKenna tells me the dress code for the mitzvah is . . .
wait for it
. . . all black.

I have to recycle my black cocktail dress from earlier in the week, but this time I pair it with black tights and my black ballet flats. I didn’t do many events back in Texas, but it only took one for me to understand that running around in heels for ten hours is a special kind of torture.

I curl my blonde hair like normal, but then I get nervous that maybe I should look a little more conservative since this is a religious event, so I pin it back. I add the pearl earrings Mama and Daddy gave me for graduation and toss a mint-green cardigan into my bag. Surely, if it gets really chilly, they’ll let me wear it even though it’s colorful.

The party is at the Lerner’s home in Bel Air, and I have no earthly idea how anyone can host a party for four hundred people in their own home. I’m dying to see how it’s done!

It’s 3:47 p.m. when I pull up to a gate at the address I’ve been given. Thank God I left over an hour ago, or I never would have made it here on time! I’m not sure what I’m supposed to do now. Do I call McKenna? Should I park? Is there a doorbell or something? I chew on my lower lip and lean forward in my seat, trying to spot the way to gain access through this ominous-looking gate. Just when I’m about to reverse and try and find street parking, the gate starts to glide open. Before I can put my car into drive a big guy in a dark suit comes out from behind the gate with a clipboard in his hands and motions for me to roll down my window.

“Can I help you?”

“Oh gosh, thanks! I was startin’ to worry I’d sit out here all day!” I say brightly.

His eyebrows pull in towards his nose, and he gives me a skeptical once-over.

“I’m with SSE. I’m here to help with the party?” I don’t know why that comes out like a question.

“Name?” he asks, annoyed.

“Landon—or, um, maybe Brinkley? Landon Brinkley.”

The guy runs through several pages on his clipboard before finding whatever it is he’s looking for.

“ID?”

“Is this in case I order a body shot or something? I promise I’m over twenty-one,” I say, trying to tease a smile out of him.

Security Guy is not amused.

“Sure, sorry. Let me just—” I reach into the backseat and grab my bag, which is sort of hard to do without flashing Security Guy the control top of my tights. I finally get to my purse, then my wallet, and produce the ID.

He looks at the photo, compares it to my face, and then checks the name on the list. He hands it back and points down the long driveway in front of me.

“Follow the drive all the way around and back. Staff is parking on the second gravel lot at the bottom of the hill.”

“Thanks, have a nice day!” I say with a smile. No response.

The driveway winds for a moment between well-manicured lawns before the house comes into view. No, not house,
mansion
. Surely something this big and this beautiful gets mansion status. It looks like what you might find in the Italian countryside. At least I’m assuming this is what homes look like in the Italian countryside. It’s peaceful and statuesque, but as soon as I pass by it and continue down the drive I see the SSE staff scurrying about like a colony of ants.

I park my car alongside a bunch of other cars and jump out to look at the spectacle of the backyard. The first answer to the whole how-do-you-host-a-party-for-four-hundred-at-home question is that you need a backyard the size of Phoenix. There’s got to be at least two acres of lawn and landscaping that match the Italian feel of the house. Farther on the lawn slopes downward, and at the bottom I can see a tennis court and a guesthouse that’s bigger than the home I grew up in. But closer still is the second thing you need for hosting a party this large: a gigantic tent sitting in the center of the lawn.

I’ve never seen anything like it. It’s completely clear on all sides; the only hint of color is the frame, which is all white. The clear roof shines in the sun like glass; for all I know it
is
glass. It’s so pretty! Through the clear sidewalls of the tent, I can see a flurry of activity, with people setting up tables and chairs and those lounges that Miko worked so hard to rearrange yesterday. Every single area in the tent is buzzing. There’s got to be at least fifty staff members setting, straightening, bringing crates in and out, and working on flowers. I’m in awe. I lock my car and head towards the tent. I can’t wait to help!

Once I walk inside the tent, I’m too flabbergasted to move another step. It’s literally too amazing, and my brain cannot process what I’m seeing.

I’ve never been inside a tent that had an actual floor built in. And this tent doesn’t have just flooring: the floor is weathered plank hardwood that’s been whitewashed and aged in a fantastic play on the nautical theme. The dinner tables are all draped with navy-blue silk linens, which must be the dupioni Miko was talking about. I’ve only ever seen round tables for big dinners like this one, but this layout is a mix of squares and rectangles. The tables surround the dance floor on all sides except for a small area where a white stage sits on a pedestal, which has white acrylic walls that come up to the waist of the DJ, who’s inside setting up his equipment. In the center of the dance floor a few men are playing with a remote. Each time they mess with it, the lighting in the tent changes color. It’s hard to tell what they’re adjusting because it’s still so bright in here through the clear walls, but they keep changing it . . . adding a bit more pink or a little purple. I watch as the linens on the tables change color subtly. I wonder what it will look like tonight when it’s dark in here.

To my left the ladies from the floral team are placing flowers on the tables. The centerpieces are collections of three or four square glass vases in varying sizes, filled with the white floral arrangements I had seen them working on in the production room. A team of servers wearing black slacks, white button-down shirts, and navy-blue neck ties (of course they match the tablecloths exactly) is setting glassware and plates down on what must be at least fifty tables. Small lounge areas are set up throughout the room, creating cool little vignettes with small sofas and chairs. Everything is stunning and themed but with the underlying touch of SSE’s clean, modern design. It’s amazing.

I force my slack jaw to close and start walking again to find McKenna. As I move between the tables to the center of the room, I notice the dance floor is thick, clear glass that’s covering the span of a lit pool below it.

Holy crap!
Coolest. Party. Ever.

McKenna looks up just as I come upon him giving instructions to a handful of servers.

“The napkins should be a pocket fold.” He looks up when he sees me. “Brinkley, find the menus and then tuck one inside each napkin. Oh, and let’s get you a walkie.” He doesn’t sound snide or rude, just busy and efficient. This is a pleasant surprise.

He turns, and I follow him to the far side of the tent where several tables hide behind waist-high, white acrylic walls. A handful of men are sitting behind tables covered with computer monitors, wires, mics, and a thousand buttons and knobs.

“This is the A/V team. Mike, can we get another walkie?” he calls to one of the guys as he looks at the screen of his phone. While we wait, I can’t help it. I have to say something.

“Everything looks—it’s fantastic!” I come
very
close to squealing the words.

McKenna looks up from whatever he’s typing into his phone with a nostalgic smile on his face.

“I remember being that excited once.”

“And now?” I can’t help but ask.

“Now—” He glances around the room along with me, then sighs. “You’ll see.”

“Here you go.” A big guy dressed in a black T-shirt and black slacks hands me a heavy walkie-talkie. “This is your earpiece.” He points to the different elements. “This is your mic. You can clip it on and press this button to speak. SSE is channel one, A/V is on two, catering is three. Got it?”

“Sure.” I smile at him.

“Testing for Brinkley,” McKenna says into the mouthpiece clipped to his lapel, and I hear it crisply on the earpiece I’ve just put on.

“Can you hear me?” I ask back to him into my own mouthpiece, and he nods at me.

I grin like an idiot; I’ve got an earpiece on just like J-Lo in the movie!

“All right. Head over to catering and find the menus; one goes into each napkin. We’re room-ready at six fifteen for photography so make it snappy.”

“Definitely.” Holding my walkie, I scurry off in search of the menus. The walkie is pretty heavy, and I have nowhere to put it or clip it. Next time I have to remember to wear something with a waistband so I can attach this beast to something.

Music bursts through the speakers as the DJ starts to work with the A/V team on the sound. Britney, will.i.am, and a thumping bass fill the tent, and I bob along to the beat while tucking expensive-looking embossed menus inside each napkin. Working an event is way more fun than I thought!

While I’m on napkin duty I hear people speaking back and forth in my earpiece in some kind of special walkie-talkie language I’ve never heard before.

“McKenna for Taylor,” I hear McKenna say.

“Go for Taylor,” Taylor replies.

“Where are the throw pillows for the lounge setups?”

“Walker is bringing them in now,” Taylor replies, and the conversation ends.

“Davies for McKenna,” a sweet, British-accented voice says.

“Go for McKenna.”

“Did Selah decide on whether we’re doing votives in clusters or lines?”

“Lines.”

“Cheers. Thanks,” Davies answers sweetly.

“Taylor for Revere,” Taylor says.

“He’s on channel three,” someone else responds.

“Do you need help with those?”

I’ve been so busy tucking menus and listening to walkie-talk, I haven’t even noticed the three servers who are standing behind me. One of them points to the menus in my hand.

“Oh, y’all, that would be great. Thank you so much!” I hand each of them a large stack.

“The photo booth is here. Can someone show him to the Lido Deck?” McKenna asks into the walkie. When no one responds I jump on it, eager to help.

“This is Lan—. Er, Brinkley. I’ll do it.”

“Roger,” McKenna says back.

I hurry out to the front of the tent and see a man waiting there expectantly.

“Photo booth?” I ask.

“Yes, I’m Greg. Are you Walker? I think we spoke on the phone.”

“No, that wasn’t me.” I smile and shake his hand. “I’m Brinkley.”

“Oh, sorry. Do you know where I’m supposed to set up?”

“The Lido Deck is where you’re headed. Just give me two seconds, and I’ll figure out what that means and where it’s located.” I look around me, confused.

“No problem. Let me just back the truck down here, and then you can tell me where we’re headed, OK?”

“Sounds like a plan.” I hurry off in search.

After ten minutes of searching the grounds I still can’t figure out where the photo booth is supposed to go, and I’m getting anxious about making the delivery guy wait to unload it. I consider asking someone directions on the walkie, but then everyone will know that I’m clueless. Between admitting to the crew that I can’t do a simple job and asking McKenna, the latter seems like the lesser of two evils, and since I can see him on the far side of the tent, I head towards him at a near jog.

McKenna looks up as I hurry over and slows me with a pointed look.

“Brinkley,” he chides, “we
never
run at an event.”

He reaches out and straightens the centerpiece on the table in front of him to a precise right angle.

“I get it. It’s not ladylike or classy, but I couldn’t figure out where the Lido Deck is, and I felt bad because he’s out there waitin’—”

“Your being ladylike is the least of my concerns and, frankly, a project that’s possibly beyond the scope of even my considerable talents. We don’t run at events because when party guests see you run, they assume something bad has happened and”—he glares at me as if willing his words to imprint on my brain—“nothing bad happens at an SSE party.”

This piece of information is incredible. I knew their team was talented, but it has never occurred to me they might be so well-oiled that they never had to troubleshoot. I have to learn what they do to ensure they don’t have any issues day-of.

“Really? Back in Texas we always had at least one or two disasters at any of the events I interned.” McKenna looks increasingly annoyed with every word that falls from my mouth, which makes me nervous, and only serves to make me talk faster and makes my accent more pronounced. “Miss Opal Teagarten, that’s the planner I worked for over in Houston last summer, her motto was ‘Prepare for the Flood.’ But no matter how much we tried to do that, there was always something that—”

He finally snaps. “Why are you still speaking?”

I stare at him blankly.

“Of course things happen at our events. Don’t be an idiot! The point is that our guests are never aware of them. So whatever happens, keep yourself in check until you’re out of sight. Perception is reality. Got it?”

I nod at him at the same time he grabs a packet of paperwork out of the binder under his arm and hands it to me.

“You made the copies of this; you think you’d grab one for yourself.” He turns to walk away. “The map is on the last page. I suggest you take a preemptive approach to that timeline going forward.”

I look down at the twelve-page timeline in my hands and feel like the big idiot he said I was. I’d spent at least an hour printing, collating, and stapling the agenda for the SSE team. It should have occurred to me to look at it for directions on where setup should be. I flip quickly to the last page, heading back towards the delivery guy at a brisk walk instead of a run.

Turns out the Lido Deck is the name for a second tent that is set up in back. I’d never heard the name before, but when I mention it to Miko later, she assures me that rich people with boats find it clever.

The Lido Deck is about a quarter of the size of the main tent, but it doesn’t have clear walls. This tent is white on the outside, and inside a thick, velvety drape covers every square inch from floor to ceiling. Because no sunlight can peek through the walls of the tent, the lighting in here is stellar. It’s all blues and greens morphed into cool shapes or thrown around the room by lasers. In the center of the space a light shines onto the ground big bold letters that spell
Ari
, in case anyone forgets who the party is for.