by Cassie Page
Today was the culmination of months of grueling effort, mostly on Olivia’s part. Scott had chosen a big field for the ceremony that was fairly level and needed only a little work to make it dignitary friendly. Now, a few of Scott’s workers bustled around the site. It was just a skeleton crew, but Scott had assured Olivia that they were experienced with groundbreaking ceremonies. As she looked around, Olivia worried there weren’t enough strong backs.
“Cody,” she snapped, nodding towards the three men who, having finished juggling the massive sketch onto the easel, now kicked back, exchanging a joke while they waited for someone to tell them what to do next.
“Why aren’t they putting down the tarp or setting up chairs?”
Slackers always put her in a snarly mood and she was not shy about letting her exasperation show. “Don’t they realize the Governor is coming? Can you see Scott? Why are there so few workers on site?”
She, after all, had made her first visit before six a.m. She’d gone over every square inch of the property with a fine-toothed comb to make sure nothing was amiss. It was a good thing she had, finding a chainsaw someone had left out over night. She’d have to report that to Scott. Imagine if one of the guests tripped over it. She had stacked it with a stray shovel against the fence, then, when the workers started clocking in, she headed home for some work at her desk before she got dressed.
She looked at the idle workers now. “What have they been doing since I left?”
This wasn’t the first time Cody had worked an event with Olivia. He knew the drill. Calmly, he said, “Did you taketh your OCD pills today, milady?”
Olivia assumed her stern mother tone. “Young man, when you’re in charge of a mega million dollar project you can be as laid back as you want. This isn’t my first production, you know. I’ve seen how things can go awry if you don’t sit on everybody’s head.”
Cody threw up his hands. “Okay, O. You win. Should I get a ladder or just bend down to make it easier for you to sit on my head?”
Olivia didn’t respond, but turned away so Cody wouldn’t see her grin. Cody didn’t take much seriously, especially Olivia. He was worth three times what she paid him just for his ability to cool her down in times like this. She knew he smoked a little happy herb from time to time. She figured if that’s what it took for him to maintain his even keel while she was losing her mind, so be it, sweet boy. He was better than meditation, which she had to remember to put on her calendar with a daily reminder.
She turned back to Cody and gave him a fake scowl. “You have your to-do list, at least. Right?”
Cody flashed his cell phone at her with the note-taking app listing his tasks. Though he teased her about her compulsive work habits, his calendar and to-do list was as tight and focused as hers.
“Good,” she said. “Start with the audio. Make sure those guys have everything in place. I don’t want any squealing mics when the Governor starts to speak. I’m going to find Scott.”
Olivia had a last word for her assistant. “Cody, tell Scott’s crew to make room up front for the cameras. I want this on all the cable channels tonight.”
Cody had a last word for his boss. “Let the guys do their jobs, okay Olivia? You’ll only piss them off if you nag them.”
1:3
Olivia went looking for Scott wondering why everyone was on her case this morning. First Mrs. Harmon, now Cody. She needed Tuesday to bolster her mood, make her laugh. And, she admitted to herself, it would be nice if Matt were here, giving her a boost of confidence, too. Over the months he had listened to her agonize over the various details of the museum. He knew more than anyone how stressful it had been for her, how much was riding on the success of this job. That’s probably why he suggested meditation. To get her to chill. Though neither of them had said it outright, the museum was taking a toll on their relationship.
She wandered around the site, then found Scott back at the podium. He’d finally gotten the three men to bolt the enormous architectural rendering to the easel.
All the contributors were listed in huge, bold typeface, Scott’s own name as CEO of Darling Construction and Engineering International, Ltd., vied with the architect’s, Russ Bower, at the head of the list. Two world-class primadonnas as far as Olivia was concerned. She’d had to separate them at more than one design meeting.
Olivia closed her eyes and groaned when she saw what Scott was wearing. She walked over to him and pointed to his work boots and coveralls, the ball cap so frayed the Dubai logo was hanging off.
“Scott? You know this is a suit and tie affair, don’t you?”
His two-day scruffy beard bothered her even more. “I mean, the Governor is coming for crying out loud.”
Scott was helping his worker to center the board on its enormous easel. “Don’t play wifey with me, Olivia,” he snapped over his shoulder. “I have enough to worry about. I’ll change in the trailer before things get started.”
Olivia knew he’d had his trailer outfitted with a shower, hot plate, refrigerator and a bed for nights when he worked too late to risk the tricky drive home. He turned around, clearly angry. “This is a construction site, or haven’t you noticed. I’m not going to stomp around in Italian leather shoes and a white shirt while I’m getting my hands dirty.”
Olivia reared back, surprised at his reaction, especially in front of his crew. She found Scott remote, but always accessible to her. She stood her ground, though.
“Okay, I get it. But you have to remember that I’m the public face of this groundbreaking. I’m the one who lined up the speakers and cable news people, the influential talk show hosts covering this event. If anything goes wrong, I’m the one who will look bad. Not you. I know how important you really are, but let’s face it, as far as the media is concerned, nobody knows your name today. It’s my reputation that’s on the line.”
Out of the corner of her eye Olivia saw a woman with a toddler in her arms walk onto the site. What was she doing here? Must be the wife of one of Scott’s crew. She looked upset. Oh, well. It wasn’t her problem.
Scott had not admitted to anyone that the project was behind schedule, but Olivia had seen the flow charts. She knew what jobs were still hanging that should have been completed by now. The trees, for instance.
They had hired a logger from Fort Bragg to oversee the cutting and disposing of the trees, but she could see in the distance the area designated for the meditation center. Several live oaks were still standing on what should be cleared ground, along with a coast redwood, the tall, easily cultivated variety—not a Giant Sequoia, the redwood that was often thousands of years old and grew large enough to drive a car through. They were preserved in several parks throughout the state, a point she emphasized in her promotional materials the way films assured viewers that no animals were injured in the making of a movie.
Olivia knew that the groundbreaking ceremony was a bother to Scott. He’d complained the last time they met that the time it took to prepare the site for the ceremony, move equipment out of the way, make a portion of the site pretty for visitors, wasn’t, as he put it, “going to put up a wall or set a window in place.”
She had to remind him that every project had a public relations component. It was as important to reward the principals with fifteen minutes of fame to keep them and the public engaged as it was to frame the foundation. This wasn’t his first project. He should know that.
No doubt unexpectedly heavy spring rains and some poor planning had tampered with his deadlines and accounted for his gruff mood. But he was being unprofessional. There were snags on every project. He should have factored them into his timeline and not be all over her today.
Scott took a deep, obviously annoyed breath.
“What can I do for you Olivia?”
She took out her iPad and went over her list, needing to return their confrontation to a more business-like footing. As she answered him, she sent a quick text to Cody reminding him to get the shovels out of the truck. This was a day for d
ouble-teaming everyone.
“Well Scott, first of all, I don’t see the tarp. As you’ve just pointed out, we can’t have anyone ruining their expensive shoes on this muddy ground. I was hoping the rains would stop this week, but clearly they’ve made a mess of the surface around here.”
Scott seemed determined to show Olivia that she was taking up his valuable time. He snarled, “My guys are bringing it around now. Takes ten minutes tops to roll it out and center it. We have an extra tarp to cover the ground from the parking lot to the podium. Nobody will ruin their shoes.”
Olivia let his irritability go without comment. Instead of looking at her while he spoke, he studied his phone as if checking for texts, a ruse, Olivia was sure, to put her in her place. What was up with his attitude? This really wasn’t like him.
She continued. “Okay, and we agreed on two aisles, twenty-five chairs each. I don’t see the chairs.”
“What time did you arrange to have them delivered?”
Olivia almost dropped her iPad. “What? I wasn’t supposed to have them delivered. We went over this, Scott. Fifty chairs, total. You never said I had to order them. I assumed . . . ”
She had just broken her cardinal rule. Assume nothing.
Scott rolled his eyes. “Olivia, I said I would have my guys set them up. I never said I would deal with the party rental company. I have more important things to do. That’s your job, the party fluff.”
She was miffed that he dismissed her job as handling party fluff. But no chairs?
“Scott, we’ll talk about this another time. This is definitely not the type of support I was expecting. I have to get Cody working on the chair problem.”
“Oh good grief,” she said when she saw the time on her tablet. “How am I going to get chairs over here in an hour?”
She went through her contacts until she found Bethany at Darling Party People. Angela at Valley Parties was her go-to planner, but she was up to her eyeballs with details for the Frederick’s anniversary gig.
Olivia said a prayer of thanks when Bethany picked up on the first ring. “Bethany,” she said in a sugary, cajoling voice, “I’m in a world of hurt right now.”
This was a tricky call. Olivia had passed Bethany over for the Fredericks’ event. From Bethany’s pause, she knew she was remembering it.
Bethany gave her an icy, “What can I do for you, Olivia.”
She explained her problem. Bethany said, “Give me a minute. I’m doing the numbers.”
Olivia looked around the site as she waited, then turned away quickly as she saw Pierre Ballard’s assistant, Alistair Marsh, wave and rush over, wearing his self-importance like a crown. In the rarified air of super art curators, Pierre reigned supreme, having organized major exhibitions worldwide. Olivia had pulled in many chits to get a meeting with him, and it was a feather in her cap that he agreed to take charge of the art acquisitions for the museum. The elder statesman of the art world had many assistants. Why did Alistair think he was special?
She noted his light gray three-piece suit and vest, pearl buttons and all. And leather gloves? He just needed a top hat and spats to complete his ridiculous outfit. When he said, “Olivia, we MUST talk,” she was sure he was confusing Marin County with Downton Abbey.
After months of careful planning, this morning was fast becoming a nightmare. Olivia didn’t need an officious little twerp in her face who thought he was king of the hill because he ran errands for a truly great man. She held up her hand to stop his forward progress as Bethany came back on the phone with a shocker of a fee for getting the chairs to her ASAP.
Olivia took a few deep breaths while Bethany added, “That doesn’t include delivery and pick-up. My truck’s out on deliveries for the rest of the morning.”
Olivia doubted that, but forced a smile into her voice. “That’s great, Beth. You’re an angel. No problem. I’ll have my guy over there in ten. I won’t forget this.”
She didn’t specify what it was exactly that she wouldn’t forget. Before she hit disconnect she heard, somewhat icily, “It’s Bethany! Not Beth.”
Olivia made a face at the phone and hung up.
Alistair said, “OLIVia! We have to talk about the podium.”
Oh, what I’d give to have this petulant little pinhead go home, she thought. Alistair Marsh was fresh out of a junior college she had never heard of with a useless certificate in art history. Not even a degree. He called himself Pierre’s intern, but as far as she could tell, he had no experience in anything except whining. She had looked him up on the Internet to make sure.
Too busy, she mouthed and turned her back on him. The next call was to Cody telling him to get over to the podium to pick up the keys to her truck and get the chairs.
Scott was behind her conferencing with his foreman. She turned and interrupted them. “Can you send one of your men with Cody to help him load up the chairs?”
Scott didn’t answer her directly, but called over to one of his workers from a line of guys hanging out by the parking area. Cody appeared and she fished two key rings out of her bag. One set held the keys to the kingdom, as Cody called them, a huge collection that gave her entrance to current projects as well as keys from jobs long finished but for which she had a sentimental attachment. Cody grabbed the ring with the two keys for the truck.
“And don’t forget the shovels,” she said.
He jogged off to retrieve them, then was back in a flash, setting the beribboned tools on the podium, lining them up against the huge architectural rendering like a platoon. Olivia approved and hustled him off to Bethany’s.
Mentally, Olivia checked the chair disaster off her list.
All of a sudden Alistair had planted himself in front of her again. She prided herself on speaking respectfully to her colleagues and their assistants, but Alistair had arrived from New York two days early, though there was nothing for him to do. He didn’t like his hotel room and pestered Olivia to get him better accommodations. She went to the trouble of asking a friend with a B&B to give him a cut-rate price on a suite, and then he complained about those rooms, too. When she asked him what he was doing here ahead of schedule, he explained he was taking the opportunity to visit friends in San Francisco and look over things for Pierre. Olivia didn’t ask what things, thinking, Go make yourself feel important, pinhead.
Now she lost patience with him and wanted him to know it. “Al, I don’t have time right now. Can’t you see I’m putting out fires?”
“It’s Alistair, Olivia.”
“Well, it’s Miss Granville to you and whatever is up your nose can wait until later. I have a very important ceremony to organize.”
“That’s just it, MISS Granville. We have to talk about new acquisitions and . . . “
“Al, we don’t have to talk about anything. I have discussed with Pierre his participation as the art curator in today’s groundbreaking. Since he is at a conference in Paris, you will represent him. As such, you will stand where I tell you to stand, you will turn over a spade of earth when I tell you to and then you will smile nicely for the photographer and return to wherever you came from. Understand?”
Then she squinted, searching around the podium. “Where’s the lectern, Scott? I can’t have people reading speeches from notes without a lectern.”
Scott, consulting his iPad, looked up and gave her a longsuffering glance. “I don’t know, Olivia. Did you order a lectern?”
Olivia was at her breaking point. This was not how she organized events. This was her first groundbreaking since she’d left Los Angeles where contractors with as much on the line as designers cooperated in arranging these details. She’d worked on renovating large homes in DV, but those projects were not ceremonial. Owners celebrated the day construction was finished rather than the day it began. Like the Fredericks would on Friday.
Damn you Scott, she thought, back on the phone in a flash. “Bethany? One more thing . . . “
Alistair was standing his ground. She gave him the evil eye and he
finally walked away muttering, “Pierre will hear about this.”
She called after him, “Yes, he will. From me.”
Finally Olivia saw a face that cheered her. Carrie from The Salted Caramel, the upscale bakery in Darling Valley, had just arrived with the refreshments. They hugged and Olivia said, “Cody’s on an errand, but when he comes back, he’ll help you with the table.”
Carrie beamed, as Olivia knew she would. Cody was half the reason she accepted the job. Carrie’s heart beat for him, but he barely knew she existed.
“Come with me,” Olivia instructed as she took a huge pink box of pastries from Carrie, “I’ll show you where to set up.”
They walked to a spot near the parking area where Carrie would greet the guests with the café’s famous wares, one of Olivia’s public relations ploys.
“Who doesn’t love croissants and great coffee? They will get everybody in a good mood right off the bat.”
Carrie assured Olivia she had her end of things under control. Olivia knew she could depend on her. But before they could go over the details, she saw Charles in his topless 1905 Mercedes chugging onto the site, with two other classic cars behind him.
Olivia hugged Carrie for luck. “Got to go. Save me a croissant.”
1:4
The construction crew, getting their first look at the cars the museum would showcase, jumped out of the way, gawking at the brilliant red and brass hundred-year old Phaeton Charles was easing over to the display area.
Olivia stood on the sidelines while Charles jumped out and shouted to the two drivers behind him.
“Watch what your doin, bozo.”
“Easy on the clutch.”
“Slow down. Jeez. I’m havin a heart attack here. Your gonna wreck em.”
Olivia rushed over and pulled him out of the way. “Charles, you’re not delivering a baby here. These cars survived the Jazz Age and Prohibition. I think they’ll make it through the ceremony.”