Before she could respond, the main kitchen doors opened again. A tall, overweight dark-haired woman entered. She carried a small paper bag, which she waved around.
“Sorry I’m late,” she said. “I didn’t check for messages. Sorry, Katie. But I brought my garnish knives. What do you want me to do?”
The CD player chose that moment to switch to a different disk, so the kitchen went silent. Everyone stared at the intruder.
The woman stared back.
“Katie!” she said impatiently. “It’s me. I was already dressed for an experiment when I played my messages.”
Katie gasped. “Francesca?”
Zach stared. Francesca? Katie’s sister? Katie’s pretty, skinny sister?
“It’s a fat suit,” Brenna said, coming up and grabbing a bagel. “She can unzip the extra fat. Doesn’t that just make you want to slap her?”
Francesca ignored her. “I’m here to do garnishes.”
Katie shook her head. “Okay. Great. I don’t care what you look like. You’re a lifesaver. We need as many garnishes as you can make. Let me get you a workstation.”
Zach watched them walk away. Francesca?
Brenna leaned close. “She took this garnish-making class. Frankly, I think she’s taken every craft class known to mankind. I mean, the woman can tat lace.”
Zach didn’t know what that was, but then, he didn’t want to. He stared at her unflattering slacks and shirt, and the brunette wig that should have been tossed a couple of years ago, then remembered Francesca showing up covered in tattoos. Why would a normal person do things like that?
“There’s something wrong with her,” Zach said before he could stop himself.
Brenna handed him a bagel. “You know—I’ve been thinking that same thing for years.”
The first guests arrived shortly before seven. Katie had already spent the previous hour touring the gardens and ballrooms and seeing to final preparations. The serving staff had shown up promptly at four, and the musicians had followed at five-thirty. Now several small combos played in different corners and alcoves, while uniformed servers offered champagne, appetizers, and explained the evening’s menu.
Despite her need to check everything one last time, Katie had abandoned her clipboard and briefcase. Instead she kept a mental list, ticking off twinkle lights, the floral arrangements, and individual grills being fired up.
Maybe, just maybe, this was all going to work out. For the first time since nine yesterday morning, she allowed herself to relax a little.
She heard a footstep on the stone path, but before she could turn, someone lightly cupped her bare upper arms and planted a kiss on the back of her neck.
Shivers danced down her spine. She smiled as Zach slipped an arm around her and drew her close.
“I’ve been looking all over for you,” he said, giving her a quick once-over. “For someone who is supposed to be my date, you’ve been avoiding me.”
“Not at all. I told you I had to work.”
He smiled. “And I told you I like to watch.” He winked. “But that’s for later.”
He stepped back and looked her over. “You’re beautiful. Not that I’m surprised. You do the transition from ‘upwardly-mobile professional’ to ‘stunning’ very well.”
“Thank you.” She eyed his tailored black tux. “You look very nice yourself. Traditional, yet elegant.”
“I try.”
She allowed herself to lean against him for a couple of seconds. Weariness dogged her, but she refused to give in. Not until the party was over. Then she could collapse for a few days and attempt to figure out how she’d made it all come together. Assuming it did.
“I’ve just come from the front of the hotel,” he said, drawing her toward one of the bars set up under a large tree. “There are limos lined up around the block.”
She touched a hand to her stomach. “I know that’s really good, but it doesn’t help me not be nervous.”
“You’re doing great. No one ever needs to know there was any kind of a glitch.”
“Uh-huh.” She ordered a glass of club soda. “This is when I tell you that Grandma Tessa insisted on serving her fried ravioli. She didn’t want to trust it to anyone else. Even as we speak she’s holding court in one of the tents. Now, if that doesn’t make you quiver with fear, you’re far stronger than I am.”
“She’ll be fine.”
“I hope so.”
He led her toward the main ballroom. “What’s the worst that could happen?”
“Don’t ask,” she told him. “I don’t even want to think about it.”
They chatted for a few minutes before Zach saw some clients he needed to speak to. Katie excused herself so she could check on the details.
As she headed for the kitchen, she caught sight of herself in one of the ballroom mirrors. Her sleeveless black dress was dressy enough to allow her to fit in, yet not so fancy that she stood out. With the help of seventeen bobby pins and enough hairspray to lacquer a battle cruiser, she’d managed to secure her hair in an upswept style that looked elegant and stayed out of the way. She had applied two layers of concealer to hide the dark circles that came from not having slept in over thirty-six hours.
Across the room she spotted her parents chatting with a TV sitcom star and his wife. Somewhere in the growing crowd Francesca was probably breaking hearts (assuming she’d chosen to dress like herself for once) and Brenna would be tasting the wine Katie had ordered. While Zach had extended an invitation to her entire family, she’d given them strict orders to stay out of the upscale party. No fishing for diamond bracelets.
In the kitchen she found controlled chaos. Rolling carts filled with trays were moved into position. As she watched, members of the serving staff lined up to take them to the various grilling stations. Mia was already manning one of the dessert tents, where she would no doubt charm everyone into dipping with a smile.
She crossed her fingers and gave a little prayer that somehow disaster had been averted.
Three hours later the party seemed to be doing well. Katie cruised through the smaller ballroom and watched CEOs and multimillionaires bob for baubles or try a ring-toss for the chance at a ski trip. She calculated how many prizes were left, then figured there would be enough for an impromptu auction later.
Zach caught up with her by the doorway.
“How are you doing?” he asked.
“Good.” She wasn’t going to mention the fact that while her shoes were stylish, they hadn’t been designed for anything close to comfort. After tonight she would probably walk with a limp for the rest of her life, but at least she knew her ankles looked slender.
“There’s something you have to see,” he said, taking her arm and leading her out into the garden.
“Should I be nervous?” she asked.
“That’s up to you.”
He led her toward the bright blue tent illuminated by several spotlights. Her heart sank. “What’s she doing?”
Zach laughed. “Being wonderful.”
Katie appreciated the kind words, but she wasn’t convinced. Sure enough as they entered the tent, she heard Grandma Tessa demanding,
“So, young man, what do you do for a living?”
The “young man” in question had to be pushing fifty and wore a suit that cost close to the GNP of Nebraska. Katie winced.
Her wince turned into a moan when the “young man” answered, “I run a movie studio.”
Grandma Tessa’s gaze narrowed. Katie braced herself to perform some kind of intervention when her grandmother went off on a tirade on R-rated movies with too much sex and bad language.
Instead she leaned across the counter and smiled. “So tell me. Why aren’t there any stars like Sophia Loren anymore? She is such a beauty, even now. These kids today—they’re nothing like her.”
The studio executive slid onto a stool in front of the counter and nodded earnestly. “I agree. The stars from the old days had something really special.”
Grandma Tessa used a pair of tongs to slide several fried raviolis onto a plate, then scooped up marinara sauce into a small bowl. She handed the man both.
“I remember the first time I saw her in a movie. Or Cary Grant. He was really something. Not Italian, of course, but still a very nice-looking man.”
Zach drew Katie back out of the tent. “She’s been doing that all night,” he murmured in her ear. “It doesn’t matter if the guests are part of the cleaning staff or billionaires. She has something to say and they love her. It gets better over here.”
They walked toward one of the dessert tents. Katie had nearly relaxed when a very loud, very drunk-sounding chorus of “Irish Rover” drifted through the night. She swallowed hard.
“Grammy M’s been serving whiskey, hasn’t she?” she asked in a whisper, already knowing the answer.
“For at least the last hour.” Zach grinned. “Everyone’s plastered. They’re having a terrific time.”
Before she could figure out what she wanted to do, Zach led her away. “There’s someone who wants to meet you,” he said.
“I’m not sure I can take any more.”
Which was true. The combination of no sleep and tremendous stress was catching up with her. Even as they walked down one of the twinkle-light-lit paths, she could feel her brain dissolving.
“Just over here,” he said.
They entered one of the private spaces created by trimmed hedges and trees. Several couples sat around a large table. When Zach and Katie appeared, a man stood, then turned to help his very pregnant wife to her feet.
“Hello,” the woman said as she waddled over. “You must be Katie. I’m Sara.” She patted her stomach. “As you can tell, I wasn’t faking the whole baby thing to get out of doing the work.”
Katie may have murmured a greeting, but she couldn’t remember exactly what. The woman looked pregnant enough to be having an entire basketball team. Were there really only two babies in there?
John shook her head. “Wonderful job,” he said. “Simply wonderful. We’ve heard nothing but compliments.”
“It’s true,” Sara said. “I loved all the grilled food and that fried ravioli. I don’t want to think about the calories, but you must get me the recipe. It was divine.”
She nodded at her husband, who led Zach away. Sara slipped her arm through Katie’s and drew her close. “I was wondering,” she said confidentially. “Do you arrange smaller events? John and I would like to host a couple’s shower for the babies, and I would very much like you to plan it.”
19
T he last guest left shortly before two, and the staff had cleared out by two forty-five. Katie sat at a table by the kitchen door and punched numbers into her calculator. The problem was she was almost too tired to see the answer. She squinted, then scribbled down a number.
It looked way too large, so she did the math again. The results didn’t change. If her weary eyes were reading things correctly, the fund-raiser had exceeded expectation by more than thirty percent.
“Wow,” she said, exhausted but pleased. She had a feeling that the auction for the extra prizes might have been what pushed them over the edge. Well, the auction taking place after Grammy M did her best to get everyone drunk hadn’t hurt, either.
To cap off the evening, she had fourteen business cards in her small but tasteful satin clutch. She’d been asked about planning everything from a wedding to a restaurant grand opening. Organization Central had arrived in the big league.
She allowed herself a brief fantasy about a larger staff, new quarters, and an on-site day-care center when she realized her feet didn’t just hurt, they throbbed. She shifted so she could ease off her shoes. Unfortunately the pain didn’t go away, which wasn’t a surprise. What she needed was to get to her car and drive home. Once there she could collapse.
