Regrets Only (8 page)

She’d
given him a strict schedule for her pain meds, so when he glanced at the clock
and saw it was nearly seven, he made his way to the registration table, where
he had stashed her cosmetic bag full of crucial supplies. He arrived to
overhear a confrontation brewing between an irate donor and a volunteer named
Iris—a sweet middle-aged woman with a soft voice and wispy brown hair pulled
back in a bun. The expansive man apparently didn’t like his seating assignment,
and was making it well known.

Chad
made his way over to listen from a couple of feet away, to determine whether it
required intervention. Iris was nearly in tears, trying to appease the donor,
who was pressing his point forcefully and getting louder by the minute. “What
do you mean you don’t know how to help me?” the man fumed, face turning red.

That
was his cue. But before Chad could step in, Suzanne glided up, smiling broadly.
“I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said sweetly to the frazzled volunteer, putting
her hand on the woman’s back. “Iris, it looks like we need your expertise over
at the credit card machine. I’ll take care of this. Chad, Iris will help you.”

Chad
extended his hand to the stunned-looking woman, and guided her to the other end
of the table. He got her a cup of water and helped her sit, keeping one ear on
Suzanne as she pumped up her Southern accent for effect. “Now, what can I do to
help here?”

The
donor, who turned out to be a small plane mogul from Savannah, was quite purple
in the face as he rounded on her. He literally spit as he demanded, “Who are
you
?!?”

Chad
cringed for her, but Suzanne seemed unfazed. She extended her hand lightly in a
way that suggested the man could either shake it or kiss it. “I’m Suzanne
Hamilton, the event coordinator. I’ll be happy to help any way I can.”

“The
first thing you need to do is fire that woman,” he bellowed, jerking his finger
toward Iris, who let out an involuntary little squeak in response.

Suzanne
kept her eyes smiling on the man in front of her. “Well, Mr.—?”

“Basille.”

“Mr.
Basille, Iris is volunteering her time to support the children’s programs here
at the museum, so even if I wanted to fire her, I couldn’t. But I do want to
make sure you’re happy with your experience tonight. What seems to be the
problem?”

“For
the tenth time, I made it quite clear earlier this week that my date and I
wanted to be seated near Mr. Burke’s table. That was the whole reason we bought
tickets. We were assured by someone in your office that would happen, and if we
can’t sit near him, I want a refund!”

This
last bit was so loud that several guests waiting in line for registration
looked to see what was wrong. Chad’s ears perked up, wondering whether he would
be called in to the conversation. Of course, he was the only “someone” in
Suzanne’s office and he knew for a fact he had made no such assurance to Mr.
Basille, but how should he say that if Suzanne called on him?

Suzanne
listened intently, but from where Chad was standing, her gaze seemed to travel
from Mr. Basille’s eyes to his hands, feet, and finally, to his date. She
placed a hand on his forearm as Chad had seen her do countless times with angry
patrons. She dipped slightly at the knees so she could look up at the rather
squat man. “Now, Mr. Basille,” she trilled. “Please don’t leave us! Let me find
out what’s going on. It’ll take two seconds. What are you two drinking?”

She
directed this question at Mr. Basille’s date, who replied with a haughty, “Pinot
Grigio.”

“For
you as well?” She turned to Mr. Basille, who nodded reluctantly.

That
was his cue. Chad stepped forward. “Chad, honey,” Suzanne said. “Go grab the
seating chart for me, and ask Ramon to get Mr. Basille and his date a chilled
bottle of their best Pinot Grigio, immediately. Tell him to add it to my tab.”

“Now,
that’s not—” Mr. Basille started.

“Of
course it is. It’s my pleasure.” Suzanne’s eyes twinkled up at him, almost
flirtatious, for a long second. Finally, he smiled awkwardly in return, and his
date shifted her weight behind him, irritated. Chad slid off to get the seating
chart, stopping a passing waiter to send over the wine.

By
the time he returned, Mr. Basille seemed far more at ease. His date, on the
other hand, seemed anything but amused, despite the fact that she had already drained
her glass. Chad handed Suzanne the seating chart, and she pretended to study it
intently. She gave several “Hmms…” while she looked at it and Chad noticed that
she bit her lip suggestively as she thought. This had the desired effect: Mr.
Basille was clearly entranced.

“There’s
no other way,” she announced to Chad finally. “There’s obviously been a big
mistake in our office and we didn’t properly assign Mr. Basille to VIP seating.
Let’s move the Bickersons to another table, here in the back, and put Mr.
Basille and his date here. Mr. Basille, please accept my apologies for the
inconvenience and enjoy ten free casino chips on me.”

She
fished a sachet of casino chips out of her handbag, and gave them to his date
rather than Mr. Basille. The former smiled perfunctorily and tucked them away
in her clutch.

“Thank
you,” Basille said, unable to find any continued reason to be angry. “I didn’t
mean to yell at you. It’s just—”

“Not
at all,” Suzanne stopped him, polished fingers brushing lightly across his arm
once more. “Just have a wonderful evening and do make sure you bid on something
fun for me at the silent auction, okay?” She glanced back at Mr. Basille’s date,
who looped her arm through his and squeezed territorially as she looked down
her nose at Suzanne.

“How
do you do it?” Chad asked her as the couple walked away.

“That’s
what the Bickersons are for,” she answered with a shrug. “You know that.”

Of
course, Chad knew the Bickersons didn’t really exist. They were the fake couple
assigned seating at every event, usually in or near the VIP section, in order
to provide wiggle room for just such emergencies. “That’s not what I meant. I
mean, how do you…how do you turn them around so quickly? That guy was livid
when I got over here.”

Suzanne
looked at him, her eyes tired but sharp. “Well, it’s all about what you can
learn about people just by paying attention. Start with his suit. Expensive,
but didn’t fit perfectly. New money.”

Chad
glanced at the retreating Mr. Basille and confirmed that his suit hung off his
shoulders just a bit. Suzanne went on, “His shoes were black leather,
conservative. No scuffs. I’m thinking he’s not a Dylan Burke fan. You’ll notice
there are many tuxedos wandering around with snakeskin boots underneath, but
Mr. Basille isn’t that type. His date, on the other hand—too much makeup and a
cheap spray tan. That dress was too low cut for an evening at the High. She’s
more the right age, too. For Dylan, I mean…”

Suzanne
looked a bit dreamy for a second in spite of herself.
Don’t like him, my
ass,
Chad thought.

She
snapped out of it quickly and went on with her tutorial. “He had a pot belly
and bags under his eyes. There was still a little indentation on his left hand
where a ring used to be. So I figure: recently divorced, newly rich
entrepreneur-type trying to impress his younger date, who is a big fan of Dylan
Burke. A guy like that wants to appear powerful. It didn’t matter that he didn’t
talk to anyone in our office; he wants her to see him make a big deal about
getting the best. For her. He wants to show her that he can get his way. For
her.”

“So
that’s why you made a big deal about not wanting him to leave.”

“Right.”

“But,
why the…well, please don’t be offended, but the fairly obvious flirting?”

Suzanne
grinned. “Rivalry. Quickest way to a woman’s heart. If that guy doesn’t get
laid tonight, it won’t be my fault. Plus, now he’s all pumped up to bid high on
the auction items.”

Chad
had to smile. She was brilliant, in her way. This was what David didn’t
understand. She knew that happy people spent more at the auctions and the bar,
and she knew how to make them happy and set them free to spend. It’s why she
was the best event planner in the city.

Two
volunteers from opposite ends of the museum arrived almost simultaneously, each
brimming with a separate crisis. One of Dylan’s sisters had brought three
people who weren’t on the guest list and there wasn’t enough table space
available. Elsewhere, the bathrooms on the main floor of the museum had all
been inadvertently locked and no one could find a member of the cleaning staff
to unlock them. Suzanne was walking away to deal with the second issue when Chad
remembered, and called her back.

“Don’t
forget this,” he said, pressing the pain pill into her hand. He caught a
passing tray and grabbed a goblet of wine.

“Already?”
she said absently, popping the overlarge pill into her mouth and swigging from
the wine glass in one smooth motion as she headed off in the direction of the
main building. Chad watched in admiration before returning to the seating chart
to try to solve the extra-guest problem.

“Shit,”
came a wheezing voice behind Chad, and he turned to see Marci looking flushed
and out of breath. Clearly she had rushed over from a good distance for some
reason.

“I
tried…” she panted, “I tried…to get here…before…can’t breathe!”

Jeez.
If that girl’s not pregnant or something, she’d better start working out more
, Chad thought, trying not to stare
at Marci’s robust figure in a pretty royal blue dress that was perhaps a
half-size too small. He waited for her to take a big gulp of air and finish.

“I
tried to stop you,” Marci managed finally. “Suzanne had already taken a pill
tonight. I gave it to her at six. And she’s not supposed to drink with them.”

Chad
looked after the rapidly retreating form of his boss, which had reached the
main doors to the museum and was graciously holding one of them open for a
cluster of partygoers to enter. He thought with trepidation about the large
size of the pills in comparison with the tiny size of Suzanne. She had to be a
hundred and five pounds, tops. He was no pharmaceutical expert, but that
couldn’t be a great combination. He looked at Marci’s worried face and decided
that short of locking Suzanne in a closet or having her stomach pumped, there
wasn’t much they could do about it. Best to be reassuring.

“Eh,
I don’t think it’s a big deal. They always set those doses conservatively, and
Suzanne has a great metabolism.” He surprised himself a little with how quickly
he came up with this. Maybe he was learning from her after all. “I mean, she
can handle anything, and if it knocks her out or something, you guys can drive
her home and I’ll handle the rest of the event.”

He
said this with a conviction he did not quite feel, but his bravado seemed to lessen
Marci’s panicked look. He patted her on the arm and added, “Seriously, Marci,
you worry too much. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Chapter 7

Whoever
invented those lovely white pills knew quite a bit about pain relief, Suzanne
decided, but not nearly enough about navigating the world in four-inch heels. She
had been walking in heels on a regular basis since she was eleven, after months
of practicing in her parents’ hallway with a book on her head, under her
mother’s watchful eye. In recent years, heels had become such an integral part
of her wardrobe that she didn’t feel fully dressed without them.

Tonight,
however, she felt wobbly—more like Bambi on ice than Ginger Rogers on stage.
Her head was spinning a bit, too. Perhaps her lack of sleep was finally
catching up with her. The normally soothing lights of the High Museum seemed
oppressive and glaring. Having solved the locked bathroom crisis with a call to
Betsy Fuller-Brown, she had made her way up the circular ramps to the third
floor of the rotunda, where she took off her shoes and sat on the floor at the
top of the deserted ramp.

From
here, she could look down to the other two floors and hear some of what was
going on below without being noticed herself. She rubbed her tired feet and called
Chad over the radio to talk about accommodating the three surprise guests at
the Burke table.

“Are
you okay?” he asked when they’d solved the problem.

“Sure.
Why?”

He
hesitated. “Um…no reason. Why don’t you come sit down for a bit? You’re
exhausted.”

“I
am sitting.”

“Okay,
good,” he said. His voice sounded oddly far away and a little too sweet. This
was not the usual Chad.

“Why
are you talking like that?”

“What
do you mean?”

“You
know what I mean. Like you’re the grownup boss of me, instead of I’m being the
boss of you.” This did not come out the way she intended, so she repeated the
main point. “You know what I mean.”

Now
it was Marci at the other end of the radio. “Suze, why don’t you tell me where
you are and I’ll have Jake come for you?”

“Marce,
I’m fine. Quit being so overprotective. You’re the one who needs protecting.
You’re prego! Pregnant. With child. Con bambino. Pregno-protecto!” This last
bit sounded very funny to Suzanne. Like Harry Potter.