Two Bar Mitzvahs (7 page)

“Ahhh, but one part of that isn’t so hard to figure out.” It’s what I’d finally realized before we walked in. “The vendors who cater to our caliber of event planning are limited. It wouldn’t be that hard for someone trying to fuck with us to call all the higher-end florists pretending to be Kristen, fabricating some excuse to cancel or change our next event. How many party tent and furniture rentals are there in the Greater Philly Area?”

“Not many,” Kendall replied. “Maybe a half dozen.”

Kiki nodded. “And maybe twice as many florists that are reputable enough to handle the prestigious and large events.”

Kristen’s expression darkened again, her eyes narrowing. “Whoever the fuck is pretending to be me is twisted.”

Kiki groaned. “This is a nightmare. How do we alert our clients that there might be a problem without knowing who is doing this, or when they’ll strike next? We can’t do that.”

“No. We don’t want to unnecessarily alarm our clients. Right now, the incidents have been contained. We need to keep it that way until we figure out who’s behind this. Before we leave tonight, let’s divvy up all the companies we work with. We’ll call them to make sure they only change or cancel orders if they’ve heard from us by our company email.”

“And if they ask why?” Kendall arched her brows.

“Let them know someone is messing with our business by changing or canceling orders without our knowledge. Emphasize that if they’re contacted in any other way, they are to immediately email us.”

Slow exhales sounded out in the room as everyone nodded, ready to play hardball with an unknown enemy. I finished off my beer and got up to grab refreshers.

When I walked back in, Kristen had calmed some. I handed her another bottle first. “Moving on. What’s the big event we needed to talk about that couldn’t be emailed?” I dropped onto the couch and took a long pull off my fresh beer.

Kristen put hers down onto the table and grabbed her electronic tablet. “A double event. Two bar mitzvahs.”

My lungs seized, and I choked, trying to catch my breath. I stared at her like she’d gone insane. “No. No
fucking
way.”

“Yes. Yes fucking way.” She arched a challenging brow at me. Our pragmatic Kristen was back.

I sighed, irritated I had to state the obvious to make my point. “Are they kids?”

“Well, yes,” Kristen admitted.

“Then, no. We unanimously agreed on a ‘no kids’ rule when we formed Invitation Only.”

“They’re turning thirteen, and these bar mitzvahs are significant coming-of-age events; they’re becoming adults.”

Sensing a technicality coming on, I narrowed my eyes. “When, exactly, are they becoming adults?”

Kristen smirked. “Actually, they’re turning thirteen midway through the event. Their mom thought it would be special to throw the event during the actual time of their birth.”

“How fucking cute.” I snarled the words, then downed the rest of my beer. My mood apparently could only handle one topic of bad news at a time. Sabotage
and
kids? There had to be a limit to the level of insanity we had to swallow in one night.

I stared hard at Kristen. “They magically poof into adults halfway through? Fine, we’ll throw them half a party.” I closed my eyes, willing the madness away. “No. Kids.”

“They aren’t kids, Cade. They’re becoming teenagers—in the Jewish religion, full-fledged adults.”

Yep. I knew Kristen would play that angle. “A technicality,” I grumbled. “There should be a height requirement.”

Kiki snickered, nodding in agreement from the floor.

Goaded on by the encouraging sign of a defiant comrade, I continued. “Like the really crazy roller coaster rides. If you aren’t at least forty-eight inches tall, you don’t get to climb inside.”

“I think it’s forty inches on rides,” Kristen countered.

Kendall held her phone, typing with one hand while she grabbed another tortilla chip with the other. “Forty-two. Just Googled it.”

Kristen rolled her eyes. “Doesn’t matter, Cade. Go check the height chart Mom kept. You were well past forty-two inches by the time you were thirteen.”

Kiki snorted. “Cade’s confusing it with
his
height requirement. Isn’t that kinda low for sex bombs on stilettos?”

I glared at Kiki while she tried not to smile. “I thought you were on my side. Traitor. Also Hannah is sitting right next to you. Show some respect.”

Kiki nudged Hannah. “Sorry. No offense meant. I’m too used to giving him shit.”

Hannah nudged her back. “No biggie.”

“Could we
please
change the topic?” Before anyone said another word, I stared hard at Hannah to make sure she was cool.

She smiled, then pursed her lips in an imperceptible kiss. That one action calmed me from twelve feet away. I grinned and winked at her.

Kiki nodded a chin toward Kristen. “Okay, so back to the bar mitzvah.”

“Bar mitzvahs,” Kristen corrected.

Kendall held her phone up again, flashing the screen toward Kristen, as if she could see it from that distance, let alone read the damn thing. “Technically, it’s b’nai mitzvah. That’s the plural.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. “Tell me again why it’s plural? I missed that detail.”

Kristen pulled her bottle from her lips. “Twins.”

I slumped my shoulders, dropping my chin onto my chest. “
Fuck
.”

“Hey, look at the bright side, Cade. The reason we’re doing two is because they’ve got differences of opinion on the parties they want to throw afterward.”

Grabbing one of the chips Kendall had been hoarding, I dipped it into the salsa. “Why is that a bright side for me?”

She smiled. “Because you’ve got carte blanche on the music.”

Narrowing my eyes, I leaned toward her, resting my forearms on my knees. “What’s the catch?”

She shrugged but failed to look at me.

“Bullshit. There’s a catch. I can smell it. What, is one into AC/DC and the other—”

“Justin Bieber.” Kristen tried to hide a smile.

“
Fuck.
”

The sadistic group burst out laughing.

I collapsed back onto the couch. “No.
Fuck
no.”

Kendall tossed a chip at me. “You going for a record of most ‘fucks’ uttered in one sitting?”

“Fuck yes. And fuck no.” I groaned. “Not gonna do it.”

“Yes, you are.” Kristen gave me the classic Michaelson strip-paint-off-a-car glare.

Defiant, I shook my head. “No, I’m not.”

“All for one and one for all. That was the deal when we formed the company, Cade.” Kristen settled back, her tone low and unyielding. “It’s blasphemy to disregard clubhouse code.”

I sighed. Of course she had to bring up our sibling pact from childhood, when everything cool was controlled by my three older sisters, and they had the keys to the clubhouse. I was their whipping boy in exchange for an all-access pass—the exception to their “No Boys Allowed” policy.

Still, I couldn’t swallow the idea down. Two events at once with teen siblings would be a clusterfuck of epic proportions.

“We said ‘no kids.’ We have an out.” I fell back on my initial argument, grasping at straws.

Kristen glanced at Kendall, then Kiki and Hannah. “You girls with me? You on board with the boys-to-men parties?”

The three all nodded, grinning.

“We’re overruling the technicality.” Kristen held my gaze, unwavering. “The kids become adults during the event. Think of the publicity this unique dual event would bring. We can’t pass this up.”

I stared up at the ceiling, trying to find the will to stomach the idea. “Fine. But only because you pulled the clubhouse-code shit. I want it noted that I’m participating under duress. And I’m not in charge.”

The corners of Kristen’s mouth twitched. “Noted. And
yes
, you are in charge.”

I sighed for a hundredth time. “Why? I know nothing about bar mitzvahs or b’nai mitzvah.”

“Neither do we, which is why you should lead this one. You want to be a business consultant? What better practice? Study the client’s needs, then tell us how we can plan a successful event for them. We have five weeks. Plenty of time for you to learn and educate us.” Kristen glanced around the room as the rest of the Michaelson Musketeers nodded, all crossing their arms in solidarity. Even Hannah joined in when prompted by Kiki’s nudge.

Hard to argue logic. Or fight the musketeer code.

Dammit.

“Fine. But I am
not
listening to Justin Bieber to make the ‘sensitive one’ a soundtrack. He can give me a list of favorite songs. I lay the track unheard.”

“Done.” Kristen nodded.

“Anyone needs me that night? I’ll be with the AC/DC kid…uh…adult.”

And really, for as much shit as I was giving Kristen and the girls, anything that took my mind off annoying exes and the company sabotage bullshit was worth tolerating.

Later that week, after I had worked nonstop on both Loading Zone and Invitation Only planning and Hannah had been slammed with the growing orders at her bakery, Kristen dragged us all out for “field research” for our upcoming dual event. Even though this was a sedate lunch at a nearby country club, my guard was up. No suspicious activity had happened since the flower mix-up, but I didn’t think for a second our saboteur had given up. Silent often meant scheming in the business world.

A waiter walked by with mint juleps on his tray.
Mint
fucking
juleps.
Stately columns lined the patio where we sat. Little sandwiches—food no grown man would touch unless nothing else existed—were arranged on a tower of connected silver platters.

And I thought
our
country club screamed pretentious old-money.

When we strolled through the front doors of Lakemont Country Club, we’d been transported straight to the South. On the surface of Mars. In an alternate universe. I blinked at a teenage girl who walked by on the grass beyond the patio, tennis racket resting on her far shoulder, bright-pink streaks in her hair. And not one uptight head on the patio turned.

Toto, we aren’t on planet Earth anymore.

“Explain to me why we’re here again?” On a hard sigh, I glanced around the table. My sisters and Hannah seemed just fine with tiny cucumber sandwiches.
Cucumber.

Kristen stirred her mint julep. The drink was a club special or some ridiculous shit. “The client demanded we hold the bar mitzvahs in their club. They’re new members. We’re doing reconnaissance, plus a tour.”

At least Kiki sipped a hot green tea. Daring Kendall had ordered something stronger: iced tea, of the Long Island variety. And thank fuck for Hannah, who’d shown solidarity by ordering the same as me: beer, of the all-is-right-in-the-world variety.

I leaned over to my comrade in normalcy. “Wanna see if they have a supply closet?”

Hannah’s shoulders shook in silent laughter at our private joke. (We’d rounded second base for first time in a church supply closet, our mild claustrophobic issues had been trumped by our pent-up sexual frustration.)

She dropped her gaze down to the folded napkin in her lap and blushed spectacularly. I loved putting naughty thoughts into her head, flushing that pink onto her beautiful face.

I nudged her with my shoulder, lightening the mood as I took a pull from my bottle. “You realize you’re gonna need to feed me later, right? Those sad little triangles do not qualify as food.”

Kiki grabbed another miniature sandwich. It was her fourth; I’d been counting. And still, when you added them all together, it didn’t equal a whole sandwich. “Cade, you don’t know what you’re missing. These are delicious.”

I grunted. “Bet they cost north of twenty bucks too.”

Kristen smirked, pretending to read the prospectus of the room rental and add-on costs she’d been emailed by the country club. “Twenty-seven.”

Shaking my head, I set my nearly empty bottle down. “Captive audience, outrageous rates, and low nutrition. Keep the members brain-dead, and they’ll keep spending money.”

Kendall drew another sip of her long island through her straw, sucking up the last inch of the potent liquid from the bottom, her cheeks rosy from a healthy buzz. “You could’ve ordered a salad. Or a burger.”

I coughed, swearing under my breath. “Those weren’t burgers; they were sliders. Three paltry excuses for burgers, designed to give you more bread and less meat. What do their salads look like? Are they served in a pudding cup?”

The table burst out laughing.

That’s right. Tip your event coordinator. He’ll be here all week.

And truly, making fun of the über-rich was the only way I knew how to survive being on the grounds without requiring an oxygen tank. And a keg.

Nothing personal against this country club, just the uptight establishment as a whole. Sure, a few members sought to make a difference with the power of their membership and their wealth; however, the majority sadly belonged solely to gossip and jockey for social standing. And I could think of far better places to have lunch for the day, like a sports bar or a backyard barbeque. But the members around us put on easily recognizable airs. And the bullshit made me cynical just being exposed to it longer than necessary—without the distractions of music and an open bar.