Power and Passion (16 page)

She looked over at Sara then, who sat
forward as well. "Yes, let's. So I've been making some notes…" She
reached into her bag and took out a folder thick with printouts and
ripped-out notebook pages; she slapped it down onto the table in
front of her, giving the other two women a good laugh.

"Yeah, it's a little much," she agreed,
seeing the humor in the situation as well. "But at this stage, I
figure I'll gather all the information I can and weed out what we
don't need later."

She looked at Joan, who nodded her
agreement. "That's the way to do it," Joan said. "It's an early
stage, so more is better. But soon we're going to have to do that
weeding out. Very soon. Six months will go by faster than you
think, and we have a lot to do."

Sara sighed, opening the folder and skimming
through the pages. "I know," she replied. "I know we have so much
to do, and I still don't know where to start." She looked at the
others in turn. "Help?"

Maryam laughed. "Okay. Well, what do you
have so far?

What is your starting point?"

Sara pulled out a paper from the top of the
stack, an unlined page on which she had scribbled in red ink a sort
of flow chart of preliminary responsibilities. "Well, so far we
have Joan reaching out to some venues to see where we might be able
to hold the event." She scanned the page quickly. "I have my
interns at work ready to make phone calls or send out emails or
letters or whatever we need, but I don't even know what to tell
them to do yet. Agh!" she said, feeling exasperated as she dropped
the page back into the folder and closed it again.

"Okay, listen," Joan said, sitting up
straight once more— getting into business mode, Sara thought. She
sat up straighter, too, unconsciously mimicking her.

"I've got some places in mind, but honestly
I haven't contacted any of them yet because we don't even know the
scope of what we're looking at. We know it will be a gala. We want
it to be big—food, drinks, music, speakers, celebrities, maybe an
auction, an art show…just
big
. But we need those specifics.
We need to know what the event itself will entail so that we know
how much space we will need, what sort of equipment we might
require, and so on." She looked at Sara. "You start. What's
first?"

Sara thought for a moment, gazing out across
the restaurant, trying to visualize the gala in her mind. What did
she want it to look like? Would there be people to greet the
guests, offer them drinks and canapés, escort them to their tables?
Would there be buffets of food or waiter service? A full band?
Several roaming performers?

"How about we start with this?" Joan asked,
sensing how hard the wheels in Sara's head were turning. "How many
people are we going to invite?"

Sara let out a long breath. "I don't even
know that. What's the norm for a gala? A thousand people? Two
thousand?"

"Whoa, that's a lot," Joan jumped in. "How
about five hundred? That would make an impressive crowd and ensure
we're getting only the best of the best—no stragglers who really
aren't interested in the cause, only looking for free food and
entertainment."

"People do that?" Maryam asked, looking a
little disgusted. Joan agreed with the sentiment. "Sure. And we'll
get some of them too; it's unavoidable. But we really want to
concentrate on creating a solid guest list with real heavy hitters
on it—people who can either get the word out about the importance
of Special Olympics or who can donate money in large amounts."

Sara laughed. "Well, I don't want to be
greedy about it." "Yes, you do," Joan replied immediately, pointing
a finger good-naturedly at Sara. "It's not greedy; it's for the
organization. It's to help people. It's not like the money is going
right into your wallet."

Sara held her hands up. "Okay, you're right.
Greed is good in this case."

"Do we need to have the guest list now?"
Maryam asked as a server came over with their food. She sat back
and let her put her plate in front of her then thanked her with a
smile.

"No, no," Joan said, doing the same as her
dinner was delivered. "That will come later. All we want now is a
ballpark figure for how many people we'll invite." She turned to
Sara. "I think five hundred will do it. We can always go up or down
if needed, but we need to stay in that general neighborhood."

Sara looked back at her for a moment. "Joan,
I don't know that many people. How on earth will we find anyone
even to send the invitations to?"

Joan reached down into her pants pocket and
took out her cell phone then waved it in the air at the others.
"I've got all the contacts we need right here." She pointed at
Maryam with the phone. "And I'm sure she has some she can
contribute."

Maryam nodded in the middle of taking a bite
of her food.

Joan turned to Sara. "And you do too. You
might not know it, but you know people, Sara. Or, more importantly,
people know you. With all the good work you do, it's impossible to
think no one has noticed. When it comes time to make that list,
we're going to sit down together, and you'll see: you'll have just
as many names on there as Maryam and I will."

"All right," Sara said with a modest smile.
"We'll see." She looked at her folder of papers for a moment then
set it down on the bench seat at her side and picked up her fork,
ready to dig in to the delicious-looking meal before her. She
suddenly realized how hungry she was; in all her nervousness about
this
date
, she had forgotten to eat earlier in the day. "So
for next time my assignment will be to plan out the events of the
event."

"Yes, exactly," Joan said after wiping her
mouth with a napkin. "I will get a database going of potential
sites. Then we can whittle it down based on what you come up with
and what each one has to offer."

"And me?" Maryam asked. "What am I to
do?"

Joan did not hesitate to reply. "Have you
ever been to a gala before?"

"Sure," Maryam said. "My husband is a
restaurateur, so he's always invited to events for the food
industry, business owners' associations, all sorts of things."

"Good. Then you'll help Sara come up with
that list. Tell her what you've seen, what you've liked, what you
didn't like. Tell her about the food you ate, the atmosphere,
anything you can think of either good or bad. Then help her narrow
it down to categories like we talked about before—food, music, and
so on. Be specific with what you want, okay?" She looked at Sara.
"You don't have to come up with a full menu right now but decide on
a cuisine. Arabic? British? Indian? Good old American? Hey, I
wouldn't mind a burger and fries and a good, cold beer," she said
with a wink.

"We'll keep that in mind, Joan," Sara said,
thankful for the bit of comic relief—and for the direction Joan was
bringing to the project. Sara respected the older woman's
experience and maturity, and she knew Joan would take this gala to
a level she could not have done on her own.

I
t was a lovely, breezy evening, the kind
Sara liked the most. The humid air rising off the surface of the
Gulf enveloped her in a warm embrace as she and Pierce strolled
along the Marina Walk. Rows of moored boats bobbed in the tide,
lining the edges of the inlet; the sun glowed orange and pink, just
ready to fall beyond the horizon.

She rubbed her arms, the silky material of
her blouse soft against her fingers. "So did you enjoy dinner?" she
asked, glancing over at him as they continued to walk. He had been
quiet since they had left the Indian restaurant, an overcast look
on his face.

He turned to her, appearing startled, as if
she had rustled him out of deep thought. "Oh, uh, yes. Yes, it was
wonderful. Especially the chicken tikka masala. Never had anything
quite like it."

Sara smiled at him. It was so obvious he had
something on his mind. This was nothing new for her; Pierce was
often distracted on their dates, usually thinking about what had
happened at work that day or what he had to accomplish over the
rest of the week, month, or year. Pierce was always thinking about
work, Sara realized with a bit of a sinking feeling in her stomach,
and not for the first time. In the last six months or so, he had
been overly obsessed with his job, she thought, and, though she
hated to admit it, just a little less obsessed with their
relationship.

"Pierce, is there something you want to talk
about?" she asked, her voice low, even a little timid. She did not
like confrontations, and she knew such a question was likely to
draw his ire or at least his annoyance. Pierce liked to keep up a
good front, and any implication that something was wrong underneath
seemed to irritate him. So she rarely asked what was wrong, always
figuring that if he wanted to, he would tell her. But there was
something in his gaze that night… well, she could just sense it.
And she felt like she had to ask.

But she was surprised by his response. He
simply looked at her, his hands clasped behind his back as they
strolled. His black hair had grown a little long in the front and
fell in wisps over his forehead, almost to the tops of his eyes. He
tilted his head and slung it back from his brow. He seemed so calm,
so unperturbed by her question. That, too, was unlike him.

"I'm fine," he replied with a tight grin.
"Just enjoying our evening stroll. Tell me, how is your project
going? With the gala and all?"

This brightened Sara's spirits a little bit.
"Oh, it's going great," she said, putting a little spring in her
step in her excitement. "I've been meeting with Joan Harrison—you
remember her, right? I told you about her."

"Yes, I do," Pierce replied. "She heads up
that cancer organization."

"Hearts and Minds," Sara said with a laugh.
At least he had remembered that much. "She's given me so many great
ideas, not just for the actual gala but how to plan, how to
organize, how to prioritize. It's like I'm getting a course in
project management in action on top of everything else."

"Sounds great," Pierce said, his eyes
roaming over the boats out on the water. His voice sounded far
away.

"Yes, it is," Sara agreed, her feet feeling
slightly less bouncy. "I'm very fortunate she agreed to help. I
don't know if I would have gotten this far without her."

They walked on quietly for a minute, the
hard soles of Sara's flat shoes tapping against the stone walkway.
She looked down, making a game of not stepping on any cracks as she
waited for Pierce's attention to come back.

"And what about your other friend? The one
from school?" he asked at last, looking over at her again.

Sara glanced at his face, trying to read his
mood by what she saw there. However, it was difficult to do.
Pierce's expression was a mask—not angry, not happy, not even
anything in between. He simply looked blank, as if he were not
there at all in his mind.

"Yes, Maryam," Sara agreed, bringing her
gait back in line with his. "She's incredibly supportive as well.
I'm so thankful we met up again and of course that she was willing
to jump right in and help. Oh, I didn't tell you my new idea. I ran
it by Maryam, and she thinks it will work. Once we pull the gala
off, and we've gotten the public's attention focused on our
organization, I'm going to run a campaign to try to have the next
World Special Olympics held in Dubai." She paused, waiting for a
reaction. Nothing came. "What do you think, Pierce? Do you think it
will really work?" she asked at last.

"Oh, yes," he replied, turning his gaze to
her slowly. "Sure, sounds like a fantastic idea." But the flat tone
of his voice let her know he had no idea what she had just said to
him.

"Pierce, why don't you tell me what's
wrong?" she said, putting a hand on his arm. She led him over to a
bench by the water, where they sat facing the Gulf, a string of
shiny, white yachts before them. Pierce scanned them. He didn't
appear as if he was about to say anything.

"Come on," Sara went on, pulling him against
the seat. He gave in to her touch and rested his back against the
bench, his arms crossed, a wary look in his bright-blue eyes. "I
can tell something's bothering you. You might feel better if you
let it out."

He let out a sigh then, and he dropped his
hands down to his sides. "Okay, Sara, you're right," he said, his
voice sounding utterly defeated. "There is something I have to tell
you."

I knew it
, she thought. So she had
been right all along. Her mind raced to a million different ideas.
Maybe he was going to leave his job. Maybe to start his own
company! She had always told him he should do so, that he had the
business acumen and definitely the drive to find great success on
his own. Or maybe it had something to do with his family. Was
someone hurt or ill? She hoped it was not one of his parents.
Despite their geographical distance, Pierce remained quite close
with this mother and father. Sara couldn't imagine what he would do
if something happened to them.