Behind the Scenes

by Elisa Preston

  They sent out this tentative date and time weeks ago. I guess they just picked their last team. And you know you can. Don’t be sassy. Play nice.

  Yes, ma’am. What’s the address?

  45 E 45th St. The Jackson.

  Thanks, boss.

  Meet-and-greets were right up Levi’s alley. He loved that the clear purpose of mingling and socializing was so easily accomplished. His agent never required more than three or four a year, so they were always tolerable, and for this—a party which he and his kitchen team would be catering—he looked forward to meeting the other teams so they could all start melding their ideas.

  Three short blocks from where he had been enjoying a leisurely morning, Levi happily came upon the Jackson, New York City’s oldest and most distinguished hotel. Its architecture was regal, stately, and unique. Alternating cream-toned bricks lined the arched doorways. American, New York State, and New York City flags held their post from above the awnings. And above the main floor, an outcropped half-ledge gave the Queen of Madison Avenue a formal, distinguished look. The building spoke of old New York, the one full of possibility and waves of immigrants working for a better life. It spoke of hope, of tenacity, of pride. Levi had attended two weddings in the facility, both times having been wowed by how grand and classy the space was.

  The round-about door automatically rotated as Levi made his way into the building. He walked through the lobby and over to the larger-than-life floral arrangement that separated the front of the lobby from the back. From a distance, the flowers looked silk. No way could an arrangement that large—at least four feet high and just as wide—be authentic. Yet, the sweet aroma couldn’t be anything but true flowers. It took Levi’s breath away. The mix of orange tiger lilies and yellow roses perfectly complemented the blue hydrangeas and snap dragons. White and yellow Daisy mums peeked out here and there amidst the tall blue-and-white bird of paradises which were clearly charged with holding their post, as they seemed to be the pillars holding the arrangement together. The entire affair left Levi to wonder if the Jackson would use its own florist for this event or if the event administration wanted all outside help.

  Distracted this time by the restroom, Levi stopped for a quick wardrobe check, a habit his agent had gotten him into at the start of his career. Doing so had saved him from embarrassment more than once, whether it was a poppy seed in his teeth, a random streak of chalk on his blue suit, or toothpaste that had dripped onto his shirt.

  In preparation for his new television season, as well as knowing he would eventually meet the others involved in this event, Levi had gotten his hair cut. He had hesitated for quite some time, as Virginia had commented on his scruffiness more than once and she seemed to have liked it. He ran his hand over his short hair, took a swig of the mouthwash available at the sink, and straightened his jacket.

  Here we go, he thought.

  The large rectangular space was a typical fluorescent-lit, maroon and cream linen, window-less meeting room. The air buzzed with men and women speaking to one another in excited, nice-to-meet-you tones. He noticed each attendant wore a name badge affixed in the traditional high right spot, just under the shoulder. He found his plain white tag on the table just inside the door; it sat at the top left of the table, where his name tags usually sat because of the fortuitous first letter of his last name. Clipping his badge to his lapel, Levi surveyed the room.

  He had seen a few of these people before. No one seemed to notice him yet, which he always appreciated. Sometimes other professionals in this kind of industry weren’t fazed when he walked into a room, typically because they tended to work with celebrities on a regular basis, especially if their business was based in New York. That seemed to be the case today, and it wasn’t hurting his feelings.

  Just as he noticed a middle-aged woman who looked like she might be in charge start to make her way to the podium at the front of the room, Levi heard someone softly call his name. The tone was familiar, but if he let himself believe it could be who he wanted it to be, he just knew he would face great disappointment as he turned around. Still, the softness and the confidence both matched what he remembered of her.

  Slowly, so as not to wake too soon just in case it was a dream, Levi turned to discover the face of the woman he had been daydreaming of for the last thirty-seven days.

  “Hi, Virginia.”

   Chapter 7 

  Virginia had seen Levi before he had even entered the room. She had been walking back from the restroom and saw him eyeing the floral arrangement in the lobby. To the tune of her heart beating outside of her chest, Virginia kept one eye on Levi and one eye on the door to make sure she didn’t run into it on her way back in. Stranger things have happened in the name of distraction.

  She hoofed it back to the meet-and-greet and planted herself at the farthest distance from the door as was reasonably possible. Virginia couldn’t jump behind the plant in the far left corner, but she could stand near it and pretend to be interested in it. Sophie had been tied up talking to one of the other team members, so this would have to be an explain-later situation.

  Event planners were always on the lookout for new décor ideas, yes?, she thought to herself.

  With a short plastic cup half full of seltzer water, Virginia stood to the side of the plant. In her periphery, Levi strode into the room, his understated humility firmly intact.

  Goodness, you’re attractive, Virginia thought.

  No fanfare, no celebrity status. Just another team-lead walking into an event planning meet-and-greet.

  With just that one glimpse, their entire conversation from the airplane flashed before her, as it had most days since their meeting whenever she swiped to their selfie on her phone. His crinkled eyes, his thin but explosive smile, and the baritone of his voice—they all melted her heart like butter on a hot July day.

  Knowing she would not be able to handle the anticipation of him approaching her, Virginia resolved to say hello.

  One word at a time, she coached herself. Just one word at a time.

  Once she had controlled her uneven breathing she hoped nobody could sense, she huffed into her curled palm to check her breath—still minty from her quick brush before the event—and worked up the nerve to walk over to him.

  Standing behind him, she uttered his name. She almost wasn’t sure he had heard her. Until he turned around.

  At such a glacial pace.

  He said only her name in response, though he looked like he wanted to say so much more. He really did. However, he also looked as though the air had just whooshed out of him with the force of a power vacuum. His right hand smoothed over his navy blue tie as he cleared his throat.

  Stall tactics designed to get your brain and vocal chords to work in tandem? Yes, I just worked on that moments ago.

  “Virginia,” he finally said, louder, and with an air of surprise to his voice. “I … I didn’t expect to see you here.”

  Her slow smile curled up. You’re telling me. “I guess you are the chef they’ve chosen for the Gala?”

  “I am,” he said with a single nod, his face still a canvas of disbelief. “And you? What part do you have in all this?” He gestured to the room.

  Virginia opened her mouth to explain her piece, but the woman who had been making her way to the podium was tapping the microphone.

  “Hello, hello?” A gradual quiet took over as the pockets of people dropped their conversations and turned their bodies to listen to the event administration, all of whom were standing in a row near the podium. The lady at the microphone was short and a little fluffy, but dressed to the nines and looking quite serious. Her lips were light pink and pinched together. Her make-up was flawless. Her speech was clipped and professional. And she never once let go of the sides of the podium.

  “Welcome, everybody, to the meet-and-greet for all the teams responsible for the Jackson’s thirty-fifth annual Christmas Gala. I am Marie Rhodes, chair of the Jackson Gala Planning Board. As you all know, we have ha
nd-picked each of you to pull off what we hope will be the best Gala yet. This is an elite event, as you know. Important people from all over wait all year for this event. The team you see standing beside me is event administration, the rest of the board. As you all work together to put every detail into place, the buck stops here. We approve and reject it all. However, before it comes to our desk it must go through the event coordinator.” She paused to smile. Tightly, but still a smile. “Some years we have had an event coordinator, some years we have piecemealed the teams completely. We chose New Horizon Events from Upstate because of their stellar reputation, their beautiful presentation for this Gala, and for the two personalities that so smoothly captain that ship.”

  Virginia had put down her party cup and scanned the room for Sophie. The two ladies found each other and prepared to take center stage.

  “Ladies and gentlemen, please welcome Virginia May Sharpe and Sophie Ward, owners and CEOs of New Horizon Events.”

  Looking at Levi would have cost Virginia her composure. She took bets with herself whether he was stunned and confused or impressed and intrigued.

  Hopefully all of the above.

  Forcing herself to look at the rest of the room, Virginia heard herself and Sophie introduce themselves and their business. She heard them kindly stress that they are from Western New York, not Upstate. She heard them introduce their theme for the Gala—1935 New York City. Virginia even heard them take questions from the other teams.

  Do you have flowers picked out? This from the floral team, of course. No, we will meet individually with each team to set strategy, brainstorm, and see how we’re going to mesh everything together into one very cohesive, unforgettable event.

  How did you come up with the theme? This from an older gentleman front-and-center. Sophie and I have had a love affair with this city for many years. For a special number—thirty-five—we wanted to pay homage to the history of the New York. To our understanding, it’s never been done before.

  A few more questions, mostly pertaining to specifics Virginia and Sophie couldn’t answer without meeting with the separate teams.

  And then one man in particular raised his hand.

  Virginia tried remaining seamlessly professional, but she felt her breath hitch for a moment before calling on him to ask his question.

  “Have you picked out the menu?” Levi’s sly smile was taking over his face. For one indistinguishable moment, Virginia’s brain went slack for a moment while she drank in all of him—his cut hair, his shaved face that took five years off the scruff look, and his signature shirt-and-tie get-up he had been wearing on the plane.

  “No, Mr. Adams, we have yet to choose a menu. As I understand it, you are the head chef. We will work together to develop the appetizers to the last course.”

  Levi tipped back on his heels as he crossed his arms. Judging by the look on his face—those wide eyes, raised eyebrows, and knowing smile—he definitely fell more on the impressed and intrigued side of their new condition.

  Wonderful.

  Once the hullaballoo was done with and everyone had meet-ed and greet-ed, Virginia and Sophie bid everyone farewell-for-now. They had met briefly with almost every team—floral, entertainment, invitations, marketing, audio-visual, and linen-and-furniture—and had set up times to meet with each team. The one missing from that list? Catering.

  The head of the marketing team, a spry young woman named Megan, was the second-to-last out of the room. She was a marketing professional true to every stereotype Virginia had developed about such industry personnel: she had great ideas, grand ideas, and she did not like to stop talking no matter the social cues being thrown her way. Eventually, they moved her through the doorway after promising to discuss every last detail at their meeting the following morning.

  “I thought that was going to go on for quite a while longer,” Sophie said with the beginning of the bubble laughter she has always been known for.

  “Me too! Great job shooing her along.” Virginia and Sophie gathered their welcome packets that Marie had prepared. Every team-lead’s bio and headshot, plus pertinent information about the Jackson, sat inside a thick, elegant black folder.

  Sophie giggled softly. “Well, you did a great job starting everything. I know you don’t love this ‘being public’ stuff, but you are a natural.” She used air quotes and everything.

  Virginia sighed in slight defeat. She wasn’t usually the face of the company, much to her preference, so it was usually Sophie who rallied the teams of any project. Due to past experiences, out of the public eye is where Virginia was most comfortable. However, both Sophie and Virginia agreed that if they wanted their company to move to new and unimagined heights, as they both dreamed, Virginia would have to step up her public appearances in the hearty name of teamwork. New Horizon Events works because of the balance the two ladies strike with each other. Clients should see that.

  “Yes, Virginia, great start to the event,” Levi broke in, earnestly. He was slowly making his way over to Virginia without breaking eye contact.

  This was what he had been waiting for, wasn’t it? A second chance to convince her that they should at least give it a go?

  Sophie looked between Levi and Virginia. “I’m sorry, did I miss someth—”

  Virginia shot daggers with her eyes at her best friend. Immediately, Sophie seemed to remember Virginia’s story from thirty-seven days prior. “Ohhhhh right. The plane. Oh boy,” she said, stepping to the side so Virginia had an unobstructed view of Levi.

  “So, Virginia. Fancy meeting you here.” His hands rested comfortably in his pockets.

  Did his eyes have to be so blue? Really? And did his scruffy voice have to draw her in so easily? Because it did. It definitely did.

  And did his clean-shaven face have to be so perfectly boyish? Most men at his level had the chiseled jaw thing going on. Which, of course, was attractive. Still, Levi Adams was perfectly chiseled everywhere else, but his squeezable face held onto just the right amount of cuteness to draw Virginia in like a moth to a flame.

  “I could say the same for you,” she said, her lips pinched in a shy smile. She hesitated before speaking again. “I, uh. I …”

  “I don’t know about you, but I have quite the promise to fulfill, don’t I?”

  Her eyebrows wrinkled.

  “I told you that if I ever saw you again, I would be yours.”

  “Ah, yes, that embarrassing display of intense affection.” Virginia’s right arm rested crossed over her left arm, her hand lightly touching her neck.

  Levi’s laugh burst from him. “That’s what Seth said, too. In so many words anyway.” He winked at her. “For real, though, what will it take to convince you to at least come out on a date with me?”

  Again, hesitating before she spoke. Not just to make sure her thoughts were clear, but also to make sure the screaming from her heart—GO FOR IT!—didn’t make it out of her mouth.

  “This is work, Levi,” she said, plain and simple. “It has to be.” She shook her head and sliced the air softly with her hand.

  Levi seemed to be calculating his next move. He studied her with a contented smile, as he did on the plane when they met, one that seemed to say I’m happy to be here with you and nowhere else.

  He listened well, so she knew he had heard every word. Now, would he abide by it?

  “For now,” he said, nodding once for emphasis.

  “For now what?”

  “It is work, for now.”

  Virginia chuckled softly. “Whatever you say, Levi. See you tomorrow at two o’clock for our first meeting. Make sure you and your team come with ideas and a menu template. I’m having the invitation lead come in for the last thirty minutes of our meeting to assure continuity.”

  Levi smiled before responding. “Yes, ma’am,” he said, managing a playful yet professional tone.

  “See you tomorrow,” Virginia answered in a sing-song.

  She started to walk out before stopping abruptly. “Oh! One more
thing. Where are my manners?” She shook her head quickly. “This is my best friend and partner in crime, Sophie Ward.” Virginia held her hand out, palm up, toward Sophie, who had reverted from unimpressed best friend to a star-struck fan clearly mesmerized by the presence of a handsome celebrity.

  Sophie flushed as the two shook hands, reminding Virginia of her own reaction when she first met Levi and almost gave him away to a plane full of rowdy strangers.

  “Mr. Adams,” she all but exclaimed his name. “It is wonderful to meet you. I—we—are huge fans.”

  Virginia knocked Sophie lightly in the arm.

  “Well, we are,” Sophie said, laughing. “I’m looking forward to working with you for the Gala.”

  “I, as well, Sophie.” He smile was so genuine, so stilling.

  The two ladies made their way out of the meeting room, staying calm until they were behind the protection of the elevator door.

  “LEVI ADAMS!” Sophie’s screech bounced off the small, metal walls of the elevator.

  “Yes, Levi Adams.” In front of Sophie, Virginia could release a long breath and double over, place her hands on her knees and whisper over and over, “How did this happen? What in the world? How did this happen?”

  “And you two have a … thing … already.”

  Virginia snapped up from her bent position. She could feel her face flush, then blush, as she hastily defended what an un-thing they actually had. “We do not have a thing. I told you about the conversation on the plane. That was more than a month ago. We have so much work to do it isn’t funny.”

  “Okay, Gin. Well, I know two things. One, you’re right, we have a lot of work to do. And two, that man stared at you like you were all he could see. Virginia May, Levi Adams is smitten with you.”

  Again with the flush-and-blush routine. How many times must this happen before Virginia could control herself? Really.

  “He made a glib comment in the heat of the moment. He doesn’t know me well enough to be smitten with me. Plus he is a celebrity. No way. No. Way.”

  Sophie shook her head as she spoke. “His baby blues said otherwise, bestie. You’ve got yourself a man if you want one.” She reached into her back pocket for her hotel key.