by Lisa Daily
Once my hair is dry and my makeup applied, I dress in the suit and add the jewelry and shoes I’ve chosen.
Red is the color of power, and I need it to reign in Olivia Kensington Vanderbilt quickly once I arrive on site. Her panic and neediness will only slow things down. Red is the leader, red is the boss, red is in charge.
I pull my favorite pair of sparkly, strappy heels from my closet and my go-to little black dress for the evening. I’m set.
Thirty-five minutes later I’m out the door, lugging my usual working tote and my evening go-bag, along with a garment bag containing my dress for the benefit slung over my shoulder. I hang the dress and the go-bag in the backseat, and stick my tote in the passenger seat. My phone is ringing again and I decide to ignore it. I run back into the house to refill Morley’s bowls with fresh water and food, and then at last, I’m ready to go to the Ritz-Carlton to meet Olivia. It’s not even one o’clock yet, and I’m already wishing for the day to be over.
I speed off toward downtown and the Ritz-Carlton, happy that the midday traffic isn’t too bad. It’s only fifteen minutes later when I pull into the valet stand at the Ritz. I gather my belongings from the back of the car, and head into the ballroom. My phone is buzzing yet again, but I’m too loaded down to answer it. It’s probably Olivia anyway.
“You’re here!” says Olivia as I enter the ballroom. “I thought you’d never arrive.”
“I’m here,” I say. “It’s going to be a wonderful event.”
“I certainly hope so,” she sniffs.
The ballroom has been transformed. The emerald tablecloths, or more specifically, the Pantone Emerald 17-5641 tablecloths, look rich and warm. Large double-sided photos of giant-panda faces hang from the ceiling. This is part of what is called priming; studies show that charitable giving increases when there are “eyes” in the room. Hence the panda photos. They’re beautiful images, by world-renowned wildlife photographer Andy Rouse, and they’re not only compelling but inescapable. The specific color of green I’ve chosen psychologically primes guests to be more generous, in a similar way. I’m managing the pedestrian traffic flow in the room with a combined understanding of group dynamics and physical barriers. Elements as simple as a tall floral arrangement and the volume of music in a certain area will encourage the flow of guests to pass through the sea of emerald, directly past the succession of panda photos, then to the bar, and then to the “capture” area, where the guests, who will now be both primed and lubricated, can be personally cultivated by Olivia and other Wildlife Foundation board members for their generous donations. The pandas are the showstoppers, but other large images of beautiful and endangered animals line the walls as well. Olivia gave me a full list of the species her organization is working to save, like the desman, which reminds me of a cross between an anteater and a sewer rat, with all the photogenic appeal of both. The desman, while benefitting from the funds raised tonight, will not be lending its beady little eyes to our cause.
The golden triangle, as we call it, is the cluster of tables at the front and center of the room. They are for the organization’s most generous and frequent donors, and much of our 20 percent bump will come by way of their wallets. We want them to feel like rock stars. Personalization is key to success with this group, so I made flash cards with their photos, names, and personal information and provided them to all the board members and Olivia’s staff—basically, anyone from the Wildlife Federation who would be interacting with the guests. I’ve quizzed Olivia and her crew repeatedly, and they now knew every key donor by face, name, occupation, marital status, and dinner selection. Just the day before, I spent an hour with them playing a sort of “donor bingo” to help them memorize, doling out chocolate kisses to winning staff members who correctly identified five key donors in a row. Olivia, scrawny as she is, is surprisingly competitive when it comes to chocolate treats.
Not only do the staffers need to know the guests by face, they need to work to ensure the guests know one another as well, not only their names, but all the areas they have in common. Peer group expectation can be instrumental in increasing donations, and our event is doing everything we can to leverage that.
I review Olivia’s speech for the evening once more, reminding her yet again to ask the audience to think about how babies make them feel, which has been found to double donations in many settings. It seems like an odd question at a benefit for endangered wildlife, but it’s my job to work it into Olivia’s speech as naturally as possible. That question is magic. The same is true for words that evoke religious imagery—which makes people behave more generously, too—and I’ve sprinkled some of those words throughout Olivia’s speech as well.
By four o’clock, everything is ready. The room is perfect, the staff is prepped. Olivia retires to her suite upstairs to ready herself for the party. Now that everything is done, it probably would have been easier for me to just return home to get ready for the benefit, but after my late arrival this afternoon, I don’t want to cause Olivia any more stress. She’s already so nervous she might start molting.
Bringing my cocktail dress and my go-bag to the ladies’ powder room, I change into my evening clothes, touch up my makeup with a smokier evening eye, and pin my hair up into a simple chignon. I add jewelry and my ballet flats, and I’m ready to go by four-twenty. Two hours to kill before the event. I’ll change into my heels just before the guests arrive. I quickly repack my bag and check my phone. It’s been buzzing all afternoon, and I’ve ignored it until now. There are a half-dozen voice mails from Daniel. Part of me is desperate to know what he has to say, but I’m not sure I can hear his voice and keep myself together for the long night ahead, so I ignore them for now. Self-preservation. There are four texts from Daniel as well, and I allow myself to look just at the first one.
It reads, Alex, I’m so sorry about today, please let me explain.
Not a chance, buddy.
There’s also a text from Darcy:
Have a great event tonight. Big things are coming your way.
There are two messages from Fred, Michael’s dad, but when I listen to them there’s just a bunch of hissing and wind sounds, like he was butt-dialing me while driving with his booty hanging out of a convertible going seventy down the interstate. I’ll call him later.
When I emerge from the powder room, Olivia is still up in her suite. I settle myself in a seating area just outside the ballroom, pull out my iPad, and make some notes for Daniel’s opening night tomorrow. I also make a few follow-up calls to be certain everything will be ready, so that I can spend as little time on that boat as possible. Usually, I stay for my clients’ events, but I’m planning to leave as soon as the guests arrive and the opening night celebration for Boudreaux is under way. I can’t bear the thought of staying any longer than absolutely necessary—I’m embarrassed and hurt, and the last thing I need is to spend an evening mooning over lying, cheating Daniel. I knew, I just knew, he was too good to be true. They always are.
I laugh bitterly to myself. I’m awfully cynical for a woman who’s only seriously dated two men in her entire life. Still, at this rate, two is enough. Count me out.
Taking a deep breath, I force myself to concentrate. Focus on the work. The work will save me. I review the plans for Boudreaux, finding very little to tweak. My week with Daniel had left me so exultant that the work is inspired. I finally feel that I’ve been able to capture the essence of who Daniel is for Boudreaux. Well, who I thought he was, at least. I can hardly wait to see it executed Saturday night. Boudreaux is going to be spectacular. Too bad I’m never going to set foot on that glorious boat again after tomorrow night.
Cliff Roles, society photographer, arrives about six, a half hour before guests are scheduled to arrive.
“Hello, darling,” he says in his charming English accent. “Gorgeous event tonight,” he says, kissing me on both cheeks.
“Hello, Cliff,” I say. “I’m so glad you’re here.”
“Wouldn’t miss it, darling,”
he says.
As always, I ask him to snap some shots of the empty ballroom to include in my portfolio. The Wildlife Foundation benefit is a big event that will likely attract a lot of other society clients. It’s an important opportunity for me.
While he takes pictures, I swap my ballet flats for strappy heels, and stash my go-to bag and tote under a skirted table in the staff area.
Olivia arrives in the ballroom at six-ten, just as Cliff is finishing up his photos for me. They do the double-kiss cha-cha, and chat for a few moments. Cliff is completely in his element at the society shindigs. Everyone loves Cliff. And they pay homage if they have any hope at all of inclusion in the society pages. Cliff asks Olivia and me to pose together for a photo, which is surely a greater favor to me than to her. But I’m glad for it. Even if my eyes are half closed or my posture makes me look like a hunchback, that picture will be going up on my Web site. Now all I need is for all my hard work to create a 20 percent increase in donations. This part is always scary. Because even though I believe in the science, there’s always a risk when you tie your success to the behavior of other people. Humans are, by and large, manageable. But they can also be unruly, illogical, and often unpredictable. And quickly influenced by outside forces. Which is part of what makes my work so challenging. The very elements that help me to succeed can also easily and quickly precipitate my failure. It’s basically like herding squirrels. Or coaxing them to wear little top hats or purple sneakers. And then convincing them to hand over their hard-earned nuts.
Olivia’s staff, the orchestra, and the bartenders are in place at six-fifteen, and I make the rounds giving last-minute instructions. I tell the bartenders to pour generously, and remind the conductor to make sure he hits the selections on my playlist, chosen for their ability to evoke specific emotions, at the precise cues I’ve outlined.
The guests begin to filter in at six-thirty, and I watch them react as I’d hoped to the emotionally charged imagery of the great pandas. The early guests follow my traffic plan precisely, which thrills me. It’s the earliest guests who determine the traffic pattern for the rest of the evening—the guests who arrive after those first crucial few just follow along in their footsteps. Olivia’s team is on hand, and judging from the conversations taking place, the donor flash card drills are having their desired effect. Cliff is working the ballroom, snapping pictures of donors enjoying the open bar and the company of their well-heeled peers.
Everything is coming together perfectly. Even Olivia, for once, looks pleased. Her face, pulled tight from years of costly maintenance, has almost stretched into the makings of a smile.
And then, everything falls apart.
61
It’s Daniel.
He enters the ballroom, unfairly handsome in his tailored black suit. He moves with confidence and a little swagger, and it’s devastating to just stand there and watch him. He spots me a few seconds after I first see him and he makes a beeline for me, cutting through the tables.
This is not happening. Moving quickly toward the staff area in the back, I hope against hope that he won’t follow me. I’ve spent all day trying to block what happened at his place out of my head. I’m not ready to talk to him, and there is no way I’m discussing today’s humiliation in the middle of one of the biggest events of my career.
He makes better time than I do, unjustly so, because I’m tiptoeing along in high heels, and he’s unfairly blessed with longer legs and more practical shoes.
“Alex, I need to talk to you,” he says. His blue eyes are so earnest, and I have to focus very hard not to let myself get sucked under his spell.
“I’m working,” I hiss, still making my way back toward the staff area.
“Alex, please stop,” he pleads. “I just need to talk to you.” I spin around and motion for him to follow me behind the wall.
“What are you doing here?” I demand.
“I bought a table,” he says. “I knew this was your event and you weren’t taking my calls. I just needed to explain—”
“I’m working,” I say more loudly. “This is my job. You can’t be here right now. I need to focus and you being here makes that impossible.”
“I’m so sorry,” he says, reaching out to touch my arm, “if you’ll just let me explain.”
I yank back my arm. “Don’t touch me,” I snarl. “You can say whatever you want to say to me tomorrow. Right now, I need you to leave. If you have any respect for me at all, if you care even a little bit about my feelings, you’ll go. I can’t deal with … this … tonight.”
His eyes fall downward. “I’m so sorry, cher,” he says quietly. “I’ll go. I didn’t want to upset you. I just wanted to … talk.”
“Thank you,” I say, letting out a sigh of relief as he turns to walk away.
“You look so beautiful tonight,” he says. And finally, after lingering too long, he walks away.
And while I’m mostly outraged that he would just show up here tonight, a small part of me is heartsick to see him leave. I hide out unseen behind the wall leading to the staff area and watch him go. To my surprise, he stops to speak with Olivia Kensington Vanderbilt for a minute or so before he exits. She embraces him warmly as though they’ve known each other for years. The man certainly does get around. My curiosity piqued, I wait until Daniel exits the main doors and then casually with a purpose make my way over to Olivia.
“Was that Daniel Boudreaux I saw?” I ask, attempting to appear nonchalant.
“Yes, it was,” says Olivia. “What a lovely young man.”
I push my luck with her a little further.
“What did he want?” I ask. Olivia glares down her nose at me.
“I don’t see how it’s any of your business,” she says, “but he gave me a lovely donation for the foundation. Five thousand dollars.”
I’m completely taken aback. “He did?”
Olivia rolls her eyes at me. “Are we ready to start the program or not?”
62
I’m fortunate that my work for the benefit is completed, because I can’t get Daniel out of my head. Standing at the edge of the ballroom, I sip a glass of ice water and make sure that everything goes off as scheduled.
The program moves from drinks and dinner into the presentation and auction. By the time the auction is at full steam, the guests are deeply connected to the plight of the animals, and primed for generosity. Once the auction is finished, the orchestra plays on so that donors can continue to socialize and dance. The bar too stays open. Olivia and her team work the tables; the golden triangle now wrung out, they make their way around the perimeter of the ballroom to squeeze every last donation they can muster.
I sit down at my table, relieved that the evening has seemingly gone off without a hitch. Which is probably my first mistake.
63
No one is certain what set off the fire sprinklers, but all of a sudden it’s raining in the ballroom. The guests start scattering, squealing and running for the exits, and the hotel staff circles around the room in a panic, checking to see if someone has accidentally pulled down one of the fire alarms. There’s no fire anywhere to be found. The catering manager radios the assistant hotel manager to stop the water, but it takes several minutes and half a dozen phone calls to contact the alarm company responsible for monitoring the system. The system can’t be overridden off-site, for some reason, probably due to the same malfunction that set it off in the first place. So by the time the alarm company representative is on-site, the water is two inches deep in the serving bowls, and the entire room looks like the main dining room of the Titanic after it struck the iceberg and sunk to the bottom of the ocean.
Olivia is howling in the corner, her hairpiece drenched and hanging off the side of her head. Her soaked silver gown sticks to her scrawny body, and her eye makeup runs down her face in gray-blue streaks.
She lets out a bloodcurdling scream and screeches across the room as soon as she sees me: “This is all your fault. You’re fired!!!!!!”
64
I’ve never been fired before. From anything. It’s awful. I feel terrible and worthless and helpless.
Intellectually I know that the random malfunction of a fire sprinkler system doesn’t have anything to do with me, but the humiliation I felt when Olivia Kensington Vanderbilt screamed my name across the Ritz-Carlton was going to poison my confidence with self-doubt for the rest of my years.
How could this happen? Everything was going perfectly. The irony is, I was just planning to leave when the sprinklers went off. My job was done. Donations were wrangled, the program was over, all that was left was dancing and gabbing, neither of which were under my purview. Plus, it had been a really, really long day. I needed a hot bath and a glass of wine and a really good night’s sleep since my weekend from hell was only halfway finished.
“I’m sorry that this happened, Olivia,” I say, not wanting to sound defensive, but also not willing to shoulder the blame for something I had absolutely no control over. “I’m going home,” I say. “I’ll speak to you on Sunday after we’ve both had time to think this through.”
“You’ll speak to me now,” she yells.
“No,” I say weakly. “I’m going home now.”
I grab my go-bag and my tote, which, thankfully, are dry under the cover of the table where I left them. That’s a relief. My whole life is on my iPad, as well as all the details for Boudreaux’s opening night. I thank the Universe for the lucky break and stick to the perimeter of the room, where it’s slightly less boggy, using my garment bag as a waterproof shield for my belongings as I make my way outside. The line for the valet seems miles long, understandable since three hundred benefit guests all decided to leave at once. I give the valet twenty bucks in exchange for my keys and walk to the parking lot in search of my car.