The Reluctant First Lady (14 page)

20

Ashley picked up her office phone on the second ring. “Ashley Taylor speaking.”

“Hi, Ashley, it’s Steve. Have I caught you at a bad time?”

“Describe bad. Bad as in having a paper cut, or bad like I’m in one of those Indiana Jones movies trapped in a room with the walls slowly closing in on me? Please, no Indiana Jones bad news; my heart can’t take it.”

“Oh, honey, you
are
close to the edge. I’m not sure 9-1-1 responds to neurosis attacks. I was thinking of coming over. I thought we could go over any last-minute details or changes that you may want to make. I could be there in about thirty minutes. Will you be free?”

“Free? I used to know what that was; now it’s a vague concept. Yes, I’ll be here, and I’d love for you to come over. I can’t believe it’s all going to be over day after tomorrow.”

“It does sound as though you could use a distraction, but then you get crazy every year around this time worrying about how it’s all going to turn out.”

“The decorations and the ambience of the whole fund-raiser are pretty important, don’t you think? After all, this is a museum of art, and most of the people who attend are used to luxurious surroundings. Coming up with ideas that will dazzle everyone year after year isn’t so easy, you know.”

“Well, so far, you’ve done a damn good job; you’re the reigning queen. I’ll see you in half an hour, and you can let your neurosis hang out all over me. See you soon.”

Ashley was looking forward to going over everything again. You could never check too many times if your goal was perfection, and it reassured her to check and double-check the ideas she’d developed for the event.

This year’s theme was “In a Galaxy Far, Far Away.” Twelve walls, scattered throughout the four floors of the museum would be completely covered in tiny white lights. Each wall would depict one of the twelve constellations of the zodiac using tiny red bulbs among the white lights to form the constellations. A brass plaque would identify the sign of the zodiac. Likewise all of the ceilings would be covered in tiny white lights, giving the illusion of a starlit night.

She worked with Steve and a floral designer to create artful flower arrangements made entirely from white gardenias and silver beaded twigs wound with tiny white lights. More than sixty-five arrangements would be placed on dinner tables and lighted pedestals throughout the four floors. Ashley wanted the scent of gardenias to be embedded in her guests’ minds when they remembered their night at the museum.

On a serving table in the center of the main hall would stand an enormous ice sculpture of Rockefeller Center’s golden god, Prometheus, surrounded by his ring depicting the twelve signs of the zodiac. Around the base of the ice sculpture, twelve silver baskets, one for each astrological sign, were arranged. Each basket would hold a paper scroll tied with silver ribbons heralding the upcoming year’s astrological predictions for the sign it represented. These were offered as yet another whimsical token for the museum’s guests in memory of the evening.

Ashley picked up the invitation to the fund-raiser and looked at it once again with critical eyes, knowing full well there was nothing she could do now to change it since they’d already been sent out. The invitation was printed on white marbled vellum backed by gold-flecked black card stock. The Cameron Museum of Art emblem was embossed in silver wax at the top of the invitation joining the vellum to the card stock. The message was simple: support the arts by enjoying an evening of fine food and drinks from the gods, accompanied by music and dancing.

Over three hundred invitations had been sent to members, patrons, board members, and friends of the museum. At twenty thousand dollars a plate, only the rich and elite made up the final guest list. With close to seven hundred thousand millionaires in Manhattan, the competition was fierce for support from donors among the museums, galleries, and performing arts centers. And this year for the first time, close to one hundred additional requests were received for tickets to the event. Ashley was well aware that the upswing in popularity of the fund-raiser had more to do with people hoping to rub elbows with her husband than a burning desire to support the arts. She asked Mavis, her secretary and close friend, to call everyone who had requested tickets and tell them the president-elect would not be attending the affair this year. But, in spite of that, people were still choosing to attend, most likely to get a look at the woman behind all of the controversy.

The fund-raiser was very lucrative for the museum. Last year, over five million dollars had been raised from the reservation fees alone. Ashley hoped after all of the reservation fees and donations were tabulated this year, the museum would surpass last year’s goal.

The annual event had become quite famous for its unusual themes and décor. She knew New Yorkers. They loved to dress up and be seen and photographed. Top magazines and newspapers vied for coverage of the event, and with the guest list reading like a Who’s Who in New York, most patrons saved a spot in their busy holiday schedules for the event. The fund-raiser was well attended, hugely successful, and had to date received excellent coverage by the media.

Mavis buzzed Ashley to announce Steve had arrived. When she opened the door to welcome him, she saw Matt and Dave camped outside her office. The Secret Service was completely in charge of security for the fund-raiser this year, and she’d already witnessed the difference in the level of intensity from the year before. Ashley felt they were going way beyond what was necessary, but she had little say in the matter.

She turned to Steve. “Hey, there. I’m so glad you’re here. No matter how many times I run through all the arrangements for tomorrow night, I’m sure I’ve forgotten something.”

Steve felt her forehead. “Prognosis, total neurosis, but I’m here to put your fears to rest. Where do you want to start?”

“Let’s start in the conference room so we can spread out the floor plans on the table. That’ll give us a visual to look at as we discuss the progress we’ve made and what’s left to do.”

When they had the plans rolled out and secured on each corner by a tape dispenser, stapler, and paperweights, Steve explained, “The ceiling lights are completed here, here, and here. We still have this area to complete, and then we’ll be finished with the ceiling lights. I didn’t want to start the walls until you close tonight. I’m assuming the museum will be closed tomorrow as usual on the day of the fund-raiser.”

“Yes, workmen will be setting up all over the place. I’d like to have everything ready by late afternoon so I can go home and relax a little before I have to be back here to greet my guests.”

“Is your husband coming?”

“No. We talked about it, but he felt dealing with the additional security necessary for him to attend wasn’t worth it. I wish . . . oh, never mind. Just ignore me. Thanks again for your help in creating such a magical environment. I really appreciate how you never flinch when I come up with my crazy schemes. You’re amazing.”

“I simply breathe life into your visions. And, Ashley, if you ever decide to change professions, you can come and work for me.”

“Thanks. Are you planning on attending?”

“I wouldn’t miss it for the world. In fact, since your husband isn’t coming, why don’t I swing by your place and pick you up? That way we’ll both be here to see that everything’s ready.”

“What about Craig? Isn’t he coming with you? You two haven’t parted ways, have you?”

“No, he has a theater dinner to attend. He said if it finishes early, he’ll try and scoot over here. And, even if he were coming, picking you up isn’t a problem.”

“Then I’ll take you up on your offer. I want to get here ahead of everyone else to walk through the museum one last time, and I’d appreciate your company and a second opinion. Don’t plan to take me home, though. I’ll be staying until the bitter end, and you undoubtedly will have better things to do.”

“Then, I’ll see you at five thirty tomorrow.”

“That’s perfect. Steve, thanks again for all of your help.”

21

Showtime! Ashley looked at her image in the mirror and saw an elegant, composed woman. How could that be when butterflies had invaded her stomach and her knees had turned to Jell-O? She concentrated on taking deep, cleansing breaths, exhaling slowly, and created a visual image of the tension flowing out of her body and away from her. Please let this evening be a success.

The doorman rang her apartment to announce Steve had arrived and was waiting downstairs. The mantel clock indicated the witching hour had arrived. Picking up her cloak, she glanced one last time at the mirror to assure herself she hadn’t turned into a pumpkin.

She and her Secret Service agents rode the elevator down to the lobby. When she stepped out of the elevator, Steve was there waiting, looking extremely calm and handsome. He was wearing a black Versace tuxedo with a shawl collar, which was trimmed in black bugle beads.

Ashley laughed as she held her arms away from her body to model her dress for Steve. She, too, was wearing black, a strapless dress entirely covered in bugle beads. It was a complete departure from her normal style; however, she’d fallen in love with the simplicity of the dress. She wore her hair down, flowing smoothly over her bare shoulders, one side pulled back and secured with a diamond clasp. The only other jewelry she wore was a pair of diamond earrings.

“Well, aren’t we a couple of bookends?” Ashley smiled. “You look great. No one will believe we didn’t coordinate our outfits ahead of time.”

Always confident and generally sarcastic, Steve replied, “I work only with people who have superb taste. Time to get Cinderella to the ball.” He held the door open for her, and they walked out into the freezing night air.

A sleek, black limousine waited at the curb to whisk them away to the fund-raiser.

Agent Campton stepped forward. “Excuse me, Mrs. Taylor. You failed to tell us you were being picked up. I’m sorry for the inconvenience, but we’ll need to drive you. Turning to Steve, he said, “You’re welcome to ride with us, sir.”

Ashley was annoyed with herself for forgetting and inconveniencing Steve.

“I’m sorry, Steve. It’s my fault. Would you consider dismissing the limousine and riding with me?”

“Sure, give me a second.” Steve walked over to speak to the driver of the limousine. Ashley noticed he gave him some money before joining her in the back seat of the car.

“Let me reimburse you. I know you paid the driver something for his time,” Ashley offered.

“Not to worry. I use Charlie’s service all the time, and he was very understanding. I’m just glad we have a little time together before the night begins.”

Tonight would be her first appearance socially since she’d rejected the First Lady position. She expected to be treated differently; it would be naïve to hope that she wouldn’t be, but she prayed that her guests would be civil and that their good manners would keep their opinions and most critical thoughts in check.

She and Steve were the first of the staff to arrive at the museum although security was already there in full force. Each person attending would be searched before being admitted. Agents would be stationed both inside and outside the gallery. Ashley had pleaded with them to wear formal attire and, to her surprise, they had. At least now they would blend in instead of screaming “Secret Service.”

After putting her belongings away in her office, Ashley conducted a quick tour of the museum. True to his word, Steve’s merry band of magicians had completed all of the tasks they’d discussed; her vision was now a reality. The Cameron Museum of Art’s lighting had been dimmed to accent the decorations, creating a luminescence that set just the right ambience.

Ashley looked up. The museum ceiling had been transformed to a starlit night with twinkling lights. The walls dedicated to the zodiac constellations glowed with a festive and whimsical flair. The sweet smell of gardenias wafted throughout the museum, and the diffused lighting and lit pedestals showcased the snow-white blossoms and silver beaded twig arrangements strategically placed around the four floors of galleries.

The small orchestra was in the process of setting up for the evening’s performance. Ashley met with the leader briefly to double-check if he’d received the updated list of music she’d requested. She’d worked with this group before and knew they were top-notch musicians whose tranquil music would contribute to the evening’s mood.

Steve checked the buffet table to make sure the hors d’oeuvres were artfully arranged on tables draped with silver lace tablecloths. The ice sculpture would be set in place just before the doors opened. Feeding over three-hundred-and-fifty people was an enormous task. The majority of the waitstaff had worked for the museum before and were excellent at serving and clearing promptly. The dance floor gleamed and reflected the starlit ceiling above giving the illusion that one would truly be dancing among the stars.

Ashley didn’t hear Steve come up behind her. “Are you satisfied with everything?”

She turned around and kissed him on the cheek. “Everything looks beautiful, just like I imagined it would. Thank you for putting up with me and my craziness year after year.”

“It’s my pleasure although I wish you could learn to relax more about this event. I suspect even now you’re about to jump out of your skin, judging by the way you flinched when I approached. Would you like me to get you a glass of champagne?” Steve asked.

“No, thanks. We’re about to open the doors, and I want my hands free to greet my guests. You know, tonight’s the first time I’ve been in a social situation since Michael was elected. I guess I’m a little nervous about how people are going to treat me or what they might say.” Ashley shook her head. “I need to get past caring about things like that.”

“Don’t expect too much from yourself. You’re bound to be nervous under the circumstances. But I’m betting people are going to be so thrilled to be around the wife of the next president that they’ll be on their best behavior with you.”

“From your mouth to God’s ears. Anyway, I hope you have a good time tonight. You deserve a night on the town. See you later.”