by Zeia Jameson
I proceed to recount to her about his mom, their interaction, and the food. I even tell her about my plan to have Moira cook for the St. Patrick’s Day ball. I know I can trust her with my secret.
“Stella! You are diabolical! I assume you aren’t going to tell Rachel either?”
“No way. Especially after her tantrum this morning. She doesn’t need to know. She’d ruin everything.”
Kerry throws her head back with a laugh. “You have got some big balls, girl, and I love it!”
I think of Moira and how amazing this ball is going to turn out. And then I think of Padraig. And the kiss. Kerry turns and looks at me and sees me lost in thought for a brief moment. I’ve yet to mention to her the good-night kiss. I’m not ready to share that with anyone.
“You are skipping details, missy. I can see it in your face!” She pauses, and I don’t confirm or deny, just smile wider.
“Fine. Keep him all to yourself. I’ll just pout until it wears you down.” She crosses her arms and pokes out her bottom lip. I chuckle. “Maybe over drinks tonight?”
“Okay.” As she’s reapplying her mascara, I add, “Are you okay? I’ve got a pianist to hire and a chef to charm and convince to shift directions for a party that’s happening in a couple of weeks.” I huff over my anticipated exhaustion.
Kerry waves a free hand at me. “I’m fine, girl. Don’t stand me up for drinks, though.”
“Never.”
That kiss.
My heart flutters at the thought of it. I cannot wait until I’m able to kiss him again. Assuming, of course, he ever wants to kiss me again. I close my eyes, thinking of his strong hands gripping my waist. His breath on my cheek when he whispered to me. The smell of his skin. It was crisp and salty, like the ocean air but heavier somehow. He smelled how I’d imagine the luscious green fields off the coast of Ireland would smell. I inhale deeply, as if I’m able to smell it again, and my brain tries to recollect it from memory.
“Stella!” Kerry whisper yells at me. “Stop daydreaming and get over here! We have a major issue.”
We’re in the middle of setting up for the Baker Reception, and I have completely zoned out. Highly unusual for me. Normally I am focused to a fault during an event.
I blink a few times and gather myself. “What’s wrong?”
“Shrimp.”
“Shrimp?”
“We got a bad shipment. There will be no shrimp cocktail tonight. We tried calling Sal, the fishmonger, but he isn’t available to bring a new shipment. I’ve called everyone else I know. What do we do?”
I think, trying to come up with an alternative. I have nothing. “I will talk to Heloise. I’ll just have to tell her there’s no shrimp.”
“But she specifically requested the shrimp cocktail.”
“I know. I’ll handle it.” I point to one of the waitstaff. His shirt isn’t tucked. “Do a lineup of the floor crew and make sure everyone is dressed right.”
“Okay.” Kerry walks away with worry weighing heavy on her shoulders. I can see it in her posture.
I move to find Heloise, the hostess of the party. She finds me first. “Stella, I am looking at the chair covers and I’m wondering. I thought we decided on taupe.” She moves to a dressed table and runs her hand over a covered chair back. “These look more ivory, don’t you think?”
I pretend to write something on my notepad. “I will look into it.”
I take a deep breath to ready myself for her reaction to the next bit of news. “Heloise. There is an issue with the shrimp. It seems we got a bad order. I am sorry to tell you, but there won’t be any shrimp cocktail this evening. We tried to get a new shipment in, but we couldn’t make it happen in time. I do apologize.”
She lifts her hand to her surprised lips. “Dear heavens. Edgar was really looking forward to the cocktail. He will be utterly disappointed.”
“I know. I’m sorry. But the salmon tarts and the olive bruschetta are still good to go.”
She places her hand lightly on my arm, and her expression looks sympathetic. This may not be a disaster after all. Before she’s able to speak, three of the waitstaff burst out of the kitchen. “This is fucking bullshit!” one guy shouts. “I don’t get paid enough to dress like a fucking penguin and serve food to these rich, stuck-up assholes.”
“Oh dear,” Heloise remarks, her hand moving from my arm and back up to her shocked lips. Kerry comes running out of the kitchen. “Guys. Please. Don’t leave. I just wanted you to fix your ties and straighten your jackets. Please don’t leave.”
“Fuck you, bitch! If you knew what was good for you, you wouldn’t be giving these fancy-party fucks the time of day either.”
Before Heloise passes out from F-word overload, I interrupt and walk toward the three guys. “Hey! If you want to leave, then do so. But please stop talking. Your language is unnecessary, and you are offending the hostess of the party.” The guy looks at me, smirks, and then flips me off with both hands before walking out with his entourage.
I turn to Heloise. “I’ve got this handled, okay. Perhaps you should go into the bar? Have a scotch and relax. I promise you everything will be just fine.”
She nods and retreats to the bar. I approach Kerry and whisper, “What the fuck is going on?”
The evening continues to plummet downhill. One of the catering assistants burns his hand on a Sterno pan. The saxophonist of the jazz band plays flat all night, and only he and his bandmates seem not to notice. And to round off the event with disastrous perfection, a partygoer imbibing heavily from his personal flask drunkenly trips and knocks over a speaker, which crashes into a table overstocked with flutes of champagne and Swiss chocolate truffles. Nothing says Southern charm like the misuse of Southern Comfort. Guests scurry out of the ballroom two hours before the event was scheduled to conclude. I find Heloise, defeated to the hilt, in the kitchen’s dry storage room, sneaking a cigarette. I apologize to her profusely, and with a shaky hand flitting ashes onto the concrete floor, she tells me it isn’t mostly my fault.
Mostly.
When Rachel finds out, she is going to murder Kerry and me both. I can’t wait.
I finally square away everything that needs to be settled at the end of the night, reassure Phillipe that he will be blamed for nothing, and make notes in my planner as to all of the fires I’ll have to put out tomorrow. I exit through the back of the building and see Kerry leaning against my car in the alley with a bottle of bourbon clutched in her fingers. When she sees me coming toward her, she raises it and gives it a swing back and forth.
“Time to get hammered. May as well enjoy our last night of employment,” she says.
“That sounds like a damn good idea,” I say as I open my back driver-side door and toss my binder onto the seat. I close the door, press the lock button on my fob, and turn to lean beside Kerry. I take the bottle from her and pull a heavy swig. I wipe my mouth with the back of my hand and pass the bottle back.
“Want to go walk the squares and play pranks on the ghost-tour guides?”
Kerry gives me a huge smile. “Absolutely!”
“How could you let this happen?” Rachel scolds.
I’m tired from being out too late last night and hungover from the bottle of bourbon Kerry and I finished off. I run my fingers through my unwashed hair and huff. “Rachel, look, I told you no one is at fault, really. It was just one bad circumstance after another that dominoed into a terrible evening.”
“Ha!” she says sarcastically. She juts her index and middle finger into space and motions it between Kerry and me. “I feel like the two of you are trying to ruin me on purpose.”
“What?” Kerry defends. “Rachel, we go above and beyond to make sure that everything is perfect. Every. Single. Event.”
“Then why do things keep going wrong lately? I mean, did you not listen to the band before you booked them?”
“You booked them,” I say to remind her.
Her mouth closes and her head snaps back in shock. “I most
certainly did not!”
“Yes, you did. You booked them, specifically, as a favor for your cousin, Martin. He knows the trombone player? They needed a gig?” I keep giving her details, trying to jostle her memory. “Also, there was nothing we could have done about the shrimp or the drunk man falling into the dessert table. And, Rachel, I don’t mean to rub it in, but you also hired the waitstaff. Heloise was appalled by their behavior . . .”
“You!” She points to Kerry. “You were supposed to keep them under control. You can’t even manage a staff properly.”
“Stop!” I scream. “Kerry, please leave. Take the rest of the day off.” I look at my watch. “I’ll meet you at Wedge in half an hour. Rachel and I need to have a discussion. Alone.”
Rachel scoffs at me. “You will not order my employee around like that. Kerry, you will stay here and file away the paid invoices that have been piling up.”
I take a deep breath, trying to stay calm. “Kerry is my assistant. She has worked her ass off for me, for you, without error or complaint, for four months. Last night was bad, but it had nothing to do with her. She needs a break. Some time to recoup. As do I. So,” I say as I turn my attention back to Kerry, “Kerry, please leave because I need to have a private discussion with Rachel. I will see you at Wedge.”
Kerry nods, quickly grabs her purse, and leaves. I cross my arms over my chest and glare at Rachel.
“Where do you get off?” Rachel snaps.
I clear my throat. “Are you serious? I would not be able to do a fraction of the things I accomplish, for you, without Kerry. Why do you feel like it is acceptable to try to blame her for everything that goes wrong? She is amazing, and you don’t deserve her. If you don’t watch your behavior with her, she is going to quit and find somewhere that appreciates her. And do you know what will happen then? This business will tank. Because you refuse to hire more event planners, even though our docket is growing exponentially. We are bringing in tons of revenue; we should be able to afford at least two more planners. What’s the delay, Rachel?”
“I cannot believe that you are standing here, in my business, and telling me how to run it. You are a planner, not a partner. I do not have to discuss my decisions with you.”
I suck in a sharp breath, trying not to let her see how her words affect me. I’m angry, almost to the verge of tears, that this woman values me so little that she’d rather admonish me than listen to my constructive criticism. She hasn’t always been this way, and I have no idea what has changed besides the growth of the business. I snatch my purse from my desk and shoulder it.
“I don’t know what has gotten into you, Rachel, but if you don’t cool it, you are going to be left with a whole lot of expectant clients and no one to assist you. I’m not trying to threaten you; I’m just trying to let you know that there is only so much I am willing to put up with before I bail. Whatever it is, I am here for you if you are willing to accept my help. But I cannot stay here if you are going to treat Kerry and me like we aren’t the lifeblood of this company.”
Rachel furls her brow and opens her mouth to speak. I walk out the door before she has a chance to respond.
Two beers and countless shots later, Kerry and I are standing in front of Jaded Lily, cackling like hyenas. I don’t feel trashed, just extremely buzzed. And it feels fantastic to laugh after the day we’ve had. Drinking two nights in a row into the wee hours of the morning is completely not our norm, but Rachel is pressing our buttons hard. A few venting sessions are warranted.
“That bitch can take her pretty little stilettos and shove them both up her—”
I lift my index finger quickly to my lips, making a half-shh, half-uncontrollable giggle noise while nearly doubled over in amusement. “Kerry!” I half scold, “We are in the street. You never know who could be listening.”
Kerry makes a pseudo-surprised O with her lips and covers her mouth with her hand like Betty Boop. After a little batting of her lashes and a snort, she turns, looking left and then right, to see who may be in earshot.
“Ass!” Kerry shouts. “She can shove those shoes in her fucking ass! All the way up in there!”
My head falls back in laughter. Then I grab her by the shoulder and usher her into the Lily. “Get yourself inside before we get into big trouble.”
The bell tings, and Luca, who is sitting on a stool behind the counter, immersed in his phone, looks up at us. He smiles a huge grin, showing all teeth, with a toothpick clenched between them. “Snake charmer! And you brought a friend! I didn’t know Paddy was into doubling down.” His eyebrows raise.
“What?”
Luca moves a pointed finger between Kerry and me. Then he points his thumb to the curtain behind him. “You know,” he says suggestively while raising and wiggling his eyebrows.
I look at Kerry, still confused.
“He thinks we’re here to have a three way with Padraig,” she says, much too loudly, followed by uncontrollable laughter. She begins making kissing noises with her mouth. I had told her about Padraig kissing me a few nights ago when we’d met for drinks after work. That was obviously a mistake. “Kerry, please stop,” I whisper.
“Nope. Sorry, Kerry, not into that,” Padraig states, emerging from behind the curtain.
I blush as soon as I see him, thinking of our kiss. I haven’t seen him since that night, because of slave-driving Rachel. Padraig approaches me, and when he’s close enough, he brings his hand to my cheek, cupping it.
“It’s good to see you.”
I smile. Before I can return the sentiment, Kerry interjects. “We aren’t here to see you, Padraig. We’re here to get tattoos!”
I roll my eyes at her. She’s is way more wasted than I am.
“Is that so?” Padraig asks me softly.
I nod. “That was the plan, but I hoped you’d be here.”
“What’d you ladies have in mind?” Luca asks.
“We’re going to get matching tattoos!” Kerry exclaims. “Jellyfish!”
Luca laughs out loud in disbelief.
“The fuck? Is she serious?” Padraig eyes me sternly.
I clear my throat, now a bit embarrassed by the idea. “Well, yeah. Kerry and I were talking and . . .” He’s boring a hole into my skin with those eyes. I pull away from his hand a little, squaring my shoulders. “And we thought we’re close friends and we’ve been through a lot.” I point to Kerry, who is now flipping through a book at the counter with Luca. She’s leaning forward on the counter, breasts pressed together, one leg bent at the knee and raised behind her. Luca is looking straight at her cleavage. Kerry is turning pages, twirling her hair, pretending not to notice. I put my focus back onto Padraig’s face. “We thought we should get matching tattoos. Something that represents us.”
“Jellyfish?” His face is still stern.
I nod and grin. “They can be colorful, and they’re so graceful and fluid. They float through the ocean, carefree, but they can protect themselves when they need to.”
“And they don’t have brains.”
His response takes me by surprise. “What?”
“Jellyfish are just globs of plankton that have no brains. They float around, carefree, because they don’t have brains to care.”
Kerry and I had a thorough discussion about the reasons why this was such a good idea. Great reasons, too! I just wish I could remember them. Instead, I shrug. “So. It’ll be pretty.”
He rubs his hand over his beard. “I don’t think you should get a tattoo of a jellyfish. It’s not a good idea.”
“It’s not really your decision, is it?” I snap defensively.
My question starts Padraig. “No. I suppose not.” Then, his mouth contorts into a devious smirk. “But, ya won’t be gettin’ them done here.”
“Excuse me, Pad. Last time I checked, this is my shop. I think it’s my say who I will and won’t ink,” Luca defends.
“Not tonight, Luca. These ladies are drunk. We don’t need them making regrettable decisions.”
&nb
sp; I make my eyes go narrow at Padraig. “I’m not drunk. And this does not concern you.”
“You cannot come into my friend’s shop, thinking I wouldn’t have a say. And if you aren’t drunk and you think that getting a jellyfish permanently marked on your body is a good idea, then you must be as stupid as the brainless sea creature itself!” Padraig’s face turns a deep shade of red, and he exhales loudly.
Fire runs hot straight up my body to my burning cheeks. I cannot believe he suggested I was stupid. I thought we were past that.
“Oh, look at this one!” Kerry elates. I don’t even look over at her to see what she is trying to show me. I just stare daringly into Padraig’s rage-filled eyes. We have a silent standoff for seconds of eternity.
“Let’s go, Kerry.”
“But, Stella . . .”
I turn and walk toward the door, open it, and wait for Kerry to follow. “Let’s go!”
Kerry pouts, slumps her shoulders, and follows me. She turns and looks over her shoulder at Luca, blowing him a kiss. He winks at her.
Our walk from River Street up to Bay Street is silent. When we reach the point in our walk where we have to split, I ask, “Kerry, are you okay to make it home?”
“I’m fine, Stella. You know walking on cobblestone in heels always sobers me up. I’m sorry Padraig said that to you. I know he pissed you off good. Maybe he was being harsh just to snap you out of our stupidity. I mean, jellyfish? Really? What were we thinking?” Kerry shakes her head and laughs.
“His comment was uncalled for regardless.”
Kerry rolls her eyes at me. “You are so stubborn sometimes. Don’t be mad at him too long, Stella. Talk to him. Think of your kiss.” Kerry leans into me for a hug. I hug her back.
“I suppose I’m going to have to talk to him either way, if he shows up at his mom’s house tomorrow like he’s supposed to.”
Pulling away from our hug, Kerry says, “Good night. Get some rest. Enjoy your covert day off tomorrow.”
“Will do.” I smile, and we head in opposite directions toward home. I hope tomorrow isn’t awkward. I don’t want to ruin these catering plans.