Regrets Only (4 page)

“I
think Fuji’s a camera, hon,” Beth said, patting her hand. “Let’s get you
hydrated, okay?” She signaled to the waiter for water.

“Did
he actually fire you?” Rebecca asked.

“No,
but he will, obviously,” Suzanne said. “Actually he’ll probably have Yvette
fire me—I’ve never actually met him in person. God, I’m dreading that
conversation. That woman sounds like a deranged chipmunk when she’s upset. I’d—”

“What
I want to know,” Beth interrupted, patting Suzanne again in apology, and
turning to the group significantly, “is why isn’t Marci drinking?”

“Don’t
be silly,” Suzanne said, “of course she is. That’s a Coke and…”

“Coke,”
Marci finished. Even in the dim lighting of the bar, Suzanne could tell she was
blushing.

“Spill
it, Marcella,” Beth said.

“Well,”
Marci said slowly, “we hadn’t planned to tell anyone yet, but—”

“I
knew it!” Beth squealed. Beth never squealed. “You’re pregnant!”

Marci
scarcely had time to nod before Beth had jumped up and run around the table to
her, almost tackling her in an embrace. “I’m only ten weeks,” Marci was saying
to Suzanne and Rebecca over Beth’s bouncing shoulder. “We just told our
families this week.”

The
announcement should have made her happy, but it felt as though someone had
kicked Suzanne in the chest. She plastered on a happy face. Marci addressed the
group but gave Suzanne an apologetic look as she reiterated, “Like I said, we
hadn’t planned to tell yet, so if you guys could keep it to yourselves, that
would be great. I haven’t even been able to tell Nicole and Ravi yet.”

Beth,
meanwhile, seemed oblivious of any tension. “So who is your OB? Where are you
going to deliver? Have you thought about names yet? Are you going natural? Oh!
I have so many books you can borrow!”

For
the next half hour, Suzanne stared into her water glass and listened to Beth
and Marci get lost in their own little world of impending motherhood. She tried
to sober up, to insert appropriate remarks into the pregnancy conversation, and
to put the incident with Dylan Burke out of her mind. She failed at all three
endeavors.

She
glanced over at Rebecca once or twice and thought their expressions must be
pretty similar. Rebecca’s feelings about Jake, right or wrong, were no secret but
she seemed to have rallied in the last year or two and made a genuine effort to
win back Marci’s friendship.

Tonight,
Suzanne observed, it was obvious Rebecca’s feelings for Jake had not lessened—at
least if her current disposition was any indication. Suzanne did not feel
sympathy, exactly; she was still royally pissed about how Rebecca had treated
Marci during that horrible time. But as she watched Rebecca trying to muster
the same dubious smile she herself wore, it occurred to her that other people’s
happy moments were sometimes a very sad place to be.

#

The
next day, her head throbbed like she’d been hit by a truck and her stomach
turned every time she thought about food. She’d basically told country music’s
biggest star, not to mention one of her most famous client to date, that his
family was a bunch of idiots. This was big.

Suzanne
and Chad spent the day reviewing the contracts she’d signed with Yvette and all
the vendors, to make sure they couldn’t legally ditch her for another event
planner and leave her stuck with all the commitments. It seemed okay from what
she read, but that was only a tiny piece of the problem. An offended client
could ruin her reputation in Atlanta forever.

The
situation had been so upsetting that Suzanne had even resorted to calling her
mother to ask for advice, which she hadn’t done in a decade. She’d been
pleasantly surprised by her mother’s noncritical support. “Everything is
fixable, sweetie. Just smile and show them what you’re made of.” This might be
owing, in part, to the fact that her mother hadn’t the faintest idea who Dylan
Burke was or what a big deal it was.

Finally,
nearly thirty hours after her unintended conversation with Dylan Burke, Yvette
had called back.

“So
you heard what happened?” Suzanne asked nervously.

“Yes,”
Yvette replied coldly. “I happened to come back in the room for the tail end of
the conversation. We were at the beginning of an all-day meeting with the
promoters and I had stepped out to use the ladies’ room.”

“Yvette,
I’m so embarrassed, I—”

“You
should be,” she said, the squeaky edge returning to her voice. “When we hired
you, I assured Mr. Burke that you were the epitome of discretion. Your comments
and behavior reflect on me as much as they do you.”

“Of
course. I understand. I’m so sorry. I wish I knew what to say.” Suzanne hated
dealing with women in situations like this. With a man, she could have turned
up the flirty, feigned helplessness and she would soon have forgiveness. And,
more often than not, a date for the evening. She wondered idly what the chances
were that Yvette was a lesbian.

“Well,
I’ll be honest, Suzanne, I seriously considered contracting with Events by Emma
to finish out the benefit.”

“Of
course.”

“But,
given our short timeline, I think the benefit will be better if we keep our
current team intact. That’s the best thing for the museum, don’t you think?”

“Well,
yes.”

“And
naturally you understand that I’m doing you an enormous favor by keeping you on…”

“Yes,
and I’m so grateful.”
Uh oh.

“So
I would really appreciate a favor in return.”

“Sure,
Yvette, anything.”

“Well,
Mr. Burke, as you know, is a big Atlanta Braves fan.”

“Of
course,” Suzanne said. Pretty much everyone in the Southeast was a Braves fan,
except those transplants who had brought fierce loyalties from other cities
when they arrived.

“Well,
he’s decided to come in from Los Angeles a few days before the benefit to meet
with a few old friends. They’d like to go to the game on Wednesday evening. I
believe it’s the opening series.”

“It
is. But I think I can arrange it,” she said, scribbling a note to Chad to call
their contact at the stadium. Suzanne knew the stadium would be crowded during
the first week of hometown baseball, but for Dylan Burke, she was sure she
could get some decent seats. “How many tickets?”

“About
twenty-five.”

“Wow,”
Suzanne said carefully. Calling in every favor she was owed probably couldn’t
swing her twenty-five good tickets, especially not together.

“They’ll
need a box, of course. Catered with an open bar. And a chartered bus to take
them to Mr. Burke’s lake home in Tennessee afterward.”

“Oh,
Yvette, I’d love to help, but—”

“Great.
I’ll send you the details via fax.” Click.

Suzanne
held the phone to her ear numbly for a few minutes after Yvette hung up, trying
to process everything. Under normal circumstances, Suzanne could throw a party
in a box at Turner Field in her sleep. But with barely a week to plan, two days
before her biggest event of the year, and with everyone in the city chomping at
the bit to get back into the baseball season? She flashed a desperate look at
Chad, who closed his laptop with a snap and whisked himself to her desk.

“What
do we need to do?”

“Get
out the Rolodex. We need a miracle.”

They
spent the next three hours combing through Suzanne’s extensive contact list,
begging and even threatening everyone they could reach. Even Chad had to cash
in a favor with an old boyfriend who waited tables at Fat Matt’s Rib Shack, persuading
them to cater at the stadium. “I might have hinted that he’d get to meet
Dylan,” he told her. “I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”

Suzanne
tossed him a grateful smile as she dialed yet another of her corporate clients,
looking for someone who could give up a box.

Eventually,
she found him.

Barry
Consuelo was the vice president of human resources at CleanMark appliances, who
employed about 4,000 people fifty miles west of the city. Suzanne had planned
CleanMark’s corporate retreats for years, and Barry was her primary contact.
She knew they had a box at Turner Field for entertaining big clients and as a
reward for the highest-performing middle managers. She also knew that Barry
desperately wanted to sleep with her.

“Hi,
Barry—how are you, honey?”

“Suzie
Q! Is it time for retreat planning already? You’re getting an early start.”

“Oh,
no, sweetie. We’ve got weeks before we have to start on that. But I do have
some really exciting ideas for y’all. I know you’re going to love it. Chad and
I have been talking about CleanMark nonstop.”

Chad
rolled his eyes dramatically and she threw a pencil at him. She swiveled her
chair around to avoid his eyes. “In the meantime, I need the world’s biggest
favor and you might be the only one who can help me.”

“Oh,
really?”

“Yes,
I have a very high-profile client, and I wish I could tell you who it is, who
needs a box at the TED Wednesday night.”

“Ah…”
Barry sounded disappointed.

“Of
course I’d make it up to you,” she threw in hurriedly, before he could give her
a reason why not. “We’ll take twenty percent off your planning fee for the
retreat this year. Think how that will save your professional development
budget.”

“Hm.
There is a conference in California I would like to go to, I guess…”

“See?
Perfect! If anyone deserves to go to California, it’s you, Barry. You can bring
me a bottle of wine to thank me.”

“I
thought I was giving you the box at Turner Field to thank you,” he said, a
little snarky.

“Oh,
right,” she trilled innocently. “Well, I guess we’ll have to share the bottle
of wine, then.”

“Yeah?”
His voice had a little smile in it now. “Well, I guess that wouldn’t be the
worst thing in the world. We’d better make it two bottles, though, because my
coworkers are going to be pretty pissed that the box is not available that
night.”

“Barry,
you’re the best. Thank you so much. Chad will stop by tomorrow to pick up the
tickets.”

“Not
you?”

“Oh,
sweetie, I can’t. But let’s have coffee in a couple of weeks to get started on
the retreat.”

He
sighed. “Okay, Suzie. No problem.”

When
she swiveled the chair back around, Chad was shaking his head. “You’re
shameless.”

“I
know,” she said, letting her forehead hit the desk dramatically. “I know. This
benefit had better be worth it.”

The
following Wednesday afternoon she made her way to the stadium early, wanting to
avoid rush hour traffic and to make sure everything was in place well in
advance. She was exhausted from all the last-minute details for the big event,
but it was getting to the point at which there was very little left to do until
the day itself. Normally around this time, she took an evening to herself and
dragged Marci out for massages and pedicures. Then she’d shut off her cell
phone, have a glass of wine, and watch an old movie to get her mind off the
stress of the event and start fresh the next day.

Tonight,
however, she was going to be hanging around awkwardly at a baseball game with a
major celebrity who she’d offended and twenty-four of his closest friends whom
she had never met. Suzanne never minded a little schmoozing—it was part of her
job—but ass-kissing was something else entirely. She vowed to go, get
everything set up, make sure it ran smoothly, and then leave after the third
inning.

She
parked in one of the premier lots, near an exit, calling her stadium contact Meredith
to get her in before the gates officially opened. Meredith met her at the south
gate, and they made their way through the deserted mini-city that was Turner
Field, up the escalators to the CleanMark box. A quick double-check to see that
everything was in order, and then Suzanne followed Meredith to her office. She
signed an outside vendor agreement on behalf of Fat Matt’s and reviewed the
beverage orders for the open bar while Meredith chatted easily about her
boyfriend and how much she hoped he was going to propose soon.

Suzanne
tried to listen and hoped her “mmm-hmm’s” didn’t sound too distracted. She
hoped Chad remembered to confirm with the florist and to order the credit card
machine for the auction.

“…and
it’s not like I’m one of those girly-girls who has just always been dying to
get married. Look at me—I’m a total tomboy and I work in sports.”

It
took Suzanne a moment to realize Meredith was fishing for reassurance. “Oh, no,
you’re not a tomboy, you’re gorgeous!”
Gorgeous might be pushing it
, she
thought. Meredith had a pretty face but was at least thirty pounds overweight
and constantly wore polo shirts with khakis.

“Oh,
thanks,” Meredith said, obviously gratified. “Gregory says the same thing, but
you never know with your significant other whether they are being honest or
just kind.”