I introduced myself before walking in and handed him a card with my number in case there was a problem with the guest list.
Inside, the cabin-like lobby was dark with low ceilings. There was a small stairway that led down to the lounge, rest rooms, dressing rooms and the kitchen.
I arrived exactly two hours before the start time indicated on the invitation. After storing my garment bag in one of the dressing rooms reserved for staff, I grabbed my clipboard and headed to my first check in.
The kitchen was immense. There were two large aisles with at least six cooks and the head chef I’d been in contact with. I spotted Frank, the caterer coordinator who was tasting a pastry and smiling at one of the female cooks, and approached him.
“Hi Frank,” I greeted the man whom I’d met on Friday to discuss details with.
“Elle, you’re here early.” He seemed alarmed.
“Why what’s wrong?” I asked urgently.
“Nothing, that’s good.” The short man with slick black hair stepped back and held up his palms. “Chill girl, we got this.”
I rolled my eyes and held out tonight’s menu to him. “I need you to confirm everything on this list and initial here, please.”
Frank took the menu and scanned it—twice. A second longer and I would start freaking. Finally, he initialed and handed it back to me. “We’re good,” he said before turning back to the blond assistant, filling the pastries.
Irritated, I dug into my pocket and tapped him on the shoulder.
Frank turned back. “What?”
“I won’t hesitate to leave you a terrible review and put you on the ‘do not hire’ list at our firm if you continue to be difficult throughout the night.” I handed him an earpiece. “Put this on, keep it on and please don’t delay any responses,” I huffed out before walking over to the head chef to check in. Paul was a much more pleasant person to interact with. He was direct, honest and took his work seriously— much like me.
“Keep it on mute unless you need to respond or ask me something,” I instructed minutes later after handing an earpiece to the head of security.
There was some commotion upstairs—which was strange since guests weren’t to start arriving for another hour. I glanced down at my black slacks and gray pullover and decided to take a sneak upstairs to see who it was.
“Dude, I told you back at the studio, you don’t hold a camera like that.” Shawn—of course. My deceitful, yet always on time ex was here. I watched him step away from his equipment to carefully adjust his friends’ hands around the expensive piece.
He spotted me and pointed accusingly. “If he drops and cracks my lens, you’re paying for it.”
He introduced me to Danny, a lanky redhead who looked like he might have been in his seventh year in college. He nodded with a ‘sup’ and turned back to Shawn, holding up the camera. “There’s no film in this,” Danny complained.
“And there won’t be, please be careful with that.” Shawn shot back. Shaking his head, he muttered, “Should’ve handed him a fake.”
“Please figure this out before anyone gets here,” I hissed and tossed Shawn an earpiece which he caught while eyeing my outfit. My ex-boyfriend didn’t need the rundown on how to use the device. This wasn’t our first job together. But I was sincerely hoping it would be the last.
“Is that what you’re wearing?”
“Of course not,” I snapped and turned to head back downstairs to change.
At exactly seven o’clock, the doors to the ballroom spread open and a small group of elegantly attired elders strolled in. Not many of whom seemed to be surveying the opulently decorated room. I now stood three inches taller, patted down my extra-long evening gown, flipped my carefully styled waves over my ear to cover the earpiece and slipped out of sight.
Two hours later, I breathed a sigh of relief as the toasts and dinner had gone without a hitch and all that was left was dessert and handling any drunken stragglers.
There was always at least one of those at every party.
I quickly shot out a text to Dean to let him know all was going well and I’d check in again in an hour.
Quickly emerging from the secret back door, which had a narrow stairwell to the downstairs; I did my casual walk-through near the band, eying the desserts being put out. There were a handful of them that the host’s had requested, and I did a quick scan to ensure they were all there. I told the Chef he could get creative with the rest.
I frowned and quickly tapped my earpiece. “Frank, what’s the red object on the white chocolate mousse pastries?”
Please tell me they’re cherries, please tell me they’re cherries.
“A drop of blood, what do you think it is? They’re raspberries.”
