Charitable Getting: Chapter Seven
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originalsam_backupETA 10/1/10: This is a FIRST DRAFT of Charitable Getting. Please see this post for the index to the second and most current draft.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Naomi knew that it wasn't considered cool to like charity events. For the people who worked them, it was (sometimes unpaid) overtime; for the people who attended them, it was often one more tiresome responsibility. She had limited sympathy for the donors, because they were wealthy, successful people who didn't have to go to them, but she knew sometimes it was exhausting for Erin and Sparks, who were usually the ones who had to socialize all evening.
Naomi, on the other hand, loved events. And it wasn't the free nibbles or the alcohol or the chance to rub elbows with millionaires. It was the clothes.
At every event, Naomi got to wear gorgeous things that made her look gorgeous and that gave her an excuse to buy the latest fashions and write them off as a business expense. Even aside from that, she got to look at what everyone else was wearing. She could admire the good, pity the bad, and make catty small talk with Erin about the ugly.
She sipped her wine and swished her floor-length dress a little as she watched Sparks greet the first arrivals. The Nations In Need people had been there for half an hour already, making sure everything was perfect. Zoe had decorated and gone home to spend the evening with Charles and Bolo; she'd be back at a little past midnight to help with breakdown. Sarah was going to some African drum concert with her boyfriend, and Naomi suspected that John had heavily bribed Anna to be the lone Creative representative so that he could take Cee somewhere. Anna herself was pre-sampling the appetizers in the kitchen, probably annoying Ian, who had three stroppy interns and Hanna to mind besides. Jess and Erin were setting out a table of free SV-branded tchotchkes for the Nations In Need people and their donors, and Roxy was somewhere plugging things in and muttering to herself.
Which left Naomi to stand with a glass of wine and look pretty, something she was exceedingly good at.
"Naomi!" Sparks called, and didn't wait for her to come to him before he dragged a man in a nice suit and hideous tie over to her. "Naomi, this is Mitch Clarkson, I wanted you two to meet. Mitch, this is our Finance Director, Naomi. I think you two probably share some common professional interests."
Naomi caught the code in Sparks's phrasing -- I wanted you two to meet was generally Sparks-talk for please make this man stop talking to me. She smiled her most brilliant smile.
"You go on, I'm sure Mitch and I will entertain each other," she said. Sparks flashed her a grateful smile and ran back to the entrance, where a woman in a fox stole grasped his hand and beamed at him.
"Hey, you remember when fur wasn't fashionable?" Mitch asked, following her line of sight.
"I remember chanting fur-is-dead at a few rallies in my youth," Naomi replied. "So you're with Nations In Need?"
"Not swanky enough to be a donor?"
"Sparks handles the donors personally," Naomi replied, sipping her wine. "I have to say we're glad to have Nations In Need as a new client, though."
"Well, why wouldn't you be?" Mitch replied. "I think we lend an air of gravitas to SparkVISION."
Naomi glanced at Sparks, who was flailing with joy at seeing someone he apparently knew (or was just meeting; sometimes with Sparks it was difficult to know).
"How so?" she asked, which in retrospect was a mistake.
"Well, some of the clients you deal with are..." Mitch made a vague hand gesture. "You know. Arts organizations. Radio stations, for god's sake."
"WCHO!" Naomi beamed. "We love them. They don't ask much of us and they do the best indie-rock afternoons, and sometimes I stay up late to catch the underground hip-hop show."
"Yeah, but at the end of the day it's still a radio station," Mitch said. "We feed starving children in Africa."
Naomi sometimes wished she could pause reality. This was one of those times. She'd like to just put everything on hold for a minute, say, "Wow," and then go back to the conversation. She settled for saying it mentally.
"I mean, there are definitely people in the US who have problems, but I'm talking the third world. Who would you rather support, some ahrteest who has all the benefits of proper childhood nutrition and a first-world education, or an uneducated kid who's never even seen an SUV? It's not like the arts actually do anything. We're sending some poor dirt-eating goatherd the benefit of our developed nation."
"I'm sorry," Naomi said, trying to stop him before she actually had to hurt him. "What did you say you did for Nations In Need?"
"Oh! Human Resources," he said cheerfully. "I don't usually come to these things, but the wife's out of town for the weekend, and someone said free food, you know?"
"I do know," Naomi said gravely. "Have you seen the freebies table, by the way? Get yourself a SparkVISION branded pen!"
"Swag!" he said, already scanning for it. "Excellent. I'm sure I'll see you later."
"I hope not," she murmured, as he departed.
"Who was that?" a voice behind her asked, and she turned to see a young woman in a pretty, simple red dress standing behind her.
"HR manager for Nations In Need," she replied. "Hi, I'm Naomi."
"He's awfully passionate about knowing what's best for the world," the woman said, shaking her hand. "Tanya Montray, with the Tribune."
"Oh, press coverage!" Naomi said, smiling. "Who'd you annoy to get this job?"
"Lost the straw-draw," Tanya said. "Wish I was commenting on the fashion, but unfortunately I have to actually talk to people. You're with SparkVISION, aren't you?"
"Finance Director," Naomi said. "If you're looking for Sparks, he's over there....having a fit," she said, as Sparks threw both hands in the air to wave at some donor he apparently knew, behind a crowd of other people.
"He's an interesting man, your Bo Sparks," Tanya said. "He seems like the kind of person destined to be a very popular second-grade teacher, but if you dig a little he starts to look more like he should be running a Fortune 500 company."
"He has layers," Naomi said. "I'm afraid to try and peel any of them back, though."
"It must make for a unique company experience," Tanya said.
"You have no idea."
"Well, it was nice speaking to you," Tanya said. "I think I had better go see about getting some sound bites."
Naomi narrowed her eyes as the reporter walked off. She watched as Tanya approached first Erin, then Sparks himself, who beamed wide and kissed her hand.
She caught herself contemplating calling Sarah to ask if Sparks was sleeping with any reporters that she knew of, but honestly, it wasn't like Sarah would somehow telepathically know, and she shouldn't bother her anyway.
Instead she went to find Ian.
***
Ian had first noticed the woman at the doorway of the kitchen while he was trying to help one of the cooks rescue a tray of slightly-burnt tiny pastries. Flipping the singed tops off and spreading them liberally with savory jam seemed to be working, and the task of holding the jam had fallen to him as someone who was In The Kitchen Doing Nothing. On the other side of the long prep table, the interns were madly sorting out which treats were dairy, gluten, nut, or meat-free and adding cards to those trays so that the waiters would be informed.
"Rhinestones!" he called, and the intern looked up from the cards. "Over here, take this jam."
Rhinestones, who was a fast learner, snapped to and took the jam out of Ian's hands without missing a beat, though it did annoy the prep chef. Ian hurried over to the doorway.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked. She was a small woman, thin and pale, but she was wearing an outfit that probably cost more than Ian made in six months.
"I was told the food won't be ready for some time, and I'm feeling a little lightheaded," she said. "Is there any way I could get a glass of juice?"
"I'm so sorry," Ian said, standing aside and deftly blocking a waiter from running into her. "Of course, come over here. We'll get you some food, too."
"Thank you," she said, following him to a table in the corner. He made sure she was seated comfortably and then ran around a flaming pan of something-or-other to Hanna, who was talking with the maitre'd.
"Is this vital?" he asked. Hanna shook her head. "Okay. I want you to go sit with that woman over there, find out who she is, and keep her company."
Hanna peered around Ian's shoulder. "Oh! Sure."
"Great. Tell her I'll be there with some food in a minute," Ian said, and stole a spare plate from under the prep table. He dodged along the line with the plate balanced on his cast, up against his chest, stealing a little of everything from the prep. When he finally returned with the plate and a glass of orange juice, he found Hanna almost in tears from laughter, and the woman smiling faintly at her.
"Here you are -- juice, and some snacks," Ian said, setting them down in front of her with a flourish. "I think the thing with the cheese is good."
"Thank you," the woman said, gesturing at the chair next to Hanna. "Do sit down. I've been telling your intern about great catering disasters I have known."
Ian edged in behind Hanna and sat.
"This is Ms. Schmidt," Hanna said. "She works for Nations In Need."
Ian stared at Hanna, then turned back to Ms. Schmidt. "Indeed, Ms. Schmidt is the founder of Nations In Need. It's a pleasure to serve, ma'am."
"You work for SparkVISION?" Ms. Schmidt asked. "Neither of you look old enough. Are you another intern?"
"Receptionist, ma'am."
"And part-time cater-waiter? Or are you their stunt-man?" she asked, indicating his cast.
"I tell people it was a rogue elk, but only because that's more interesting than falling over while moving furniture," he said. Hanna snorted. Ms. Schmidt bit into one of the cheesy things and smiled.
"I feel better already," she confided to them. "I suspect I'm getting a little old for these evening events."
"Ian -- oh, hello -- oh, excuse me," Naomi appeared at the table, though for a second she was jostled out of the way by a sous-chef. "Ian, there's a journalist here."
"There's usually at least one," Ian said.
"Do you know anything about her? Sparks seems to know her."
"I didn't see the guest list -- do you want me to come talk to her?"
"Don't mind me, I'll entertain myself. This young lady can keep me company," Ms. Schmidt said, patting Hanna's hand. Naomi pulled Ian out into the hallway beyond the kitchen.
"It looks like she and Sparks are, you know. Close," she said.
"Sparks and a reporter? Look, when will superheroes learn you can't date an investigative journalist and keep your secret identity?" Ian sighed.
"It's not funny, Ian."
"It might be the woman Erin saw him talking with at that bar."
"When did that happen?"
"Sorry, I'll be sure and CC you on all the water-cooler conversation," Ian said. "I think that'd be nice for Sparks. But I don't know if it's true."
"Here's the thing, she says she's covering the event and talking to donors, but she's only talking to SparkVISION," Naomi continued. Ian frowned. "Do you think she's a spy?"
"From who? Union Arms? They know everything about us already," Ian pointed out. "She's probably just trying to find out what her new boyfriend wants for Christmas or something."
"I'm going to tell Erin," Naomi decided. "Maybe she can weasel it out of her."
"Well, good luck," Ian grinned. "Listen, I have to go back to charming the Executive Director of our new client."
"Jesus, was that her in the kitchen? What's she doing back there?"
Ian glanced back through the doorway. "Eating and giving Hanna a crash course in catering? Don't worry, I'll get her back out there when she's done."
Naomi nodded and walked off purposefully to find Erin. Ian darted through the kitchen and stopped at the interns.
"Going all right? Need me?" he asked.
"Aisha was doing it wrong," Rhinestones said.
"Aisha, you ok?" Ian asked. Question Girl gave Rhinestones a dirty look.
"I am now?" she said.
"You three keep at it, come find me when you have nothing else to do."
When he returned to Hanna and Ms. Schmidt, they were comparing the merits of the jam pastry and the cheesy thing. He sat down, tucked his cast under the table, and leaned forward.
"So," he said, smiling. "As long as you're captive here, Ms. Schmidt, I'd very much like to know -- what is your absolute ideal for SparkVISION's partnership with your company?"
***
There was supposed to be a cake. Hanna knew there was supposed to be a cake, there was always a cake at these things, but she was positive it wasn't supposed to be this cake.
Once Ms. Schmidt had finished eating and felt well enough, Ian had gone to shepherd her directly to Sparks, with a look at Hanna that clearly said manage things. It should have been as easy as keeping the other interns out from underfoot and doing everything the chefs told her to do, but then she'd taken the cake delivery and, as she'd been taught, opened the box to check that it was the right cake.
It was not the right cake.
"Okay, I talked with my boss," the deliveryman said, tucking his cellphone back in his pocket.
"Happy Fiftieth, Lars," Hanna read, off the script on the cake. "Enjoy the boat."
"Here's what happened," the man said desperately.
"I'm pretty sure I know what happened," Hanna said, trying to keep her tone level.
"So your cake went to the fiftieth birthday party at 221 East, and this cake came to 221 West," he told her. "It could happen to anyone."
"Can we swap the cakes in the next forty minutes?"
The man bit his lip.
Hanna sighed. "They ate the cake, didn't they."
"They thought it was hilarious," he said. "It's half gone."
"And there's no time to get another cake?"
"The shop's already shut down for the night."
Hanna put her hands on her hips. "Fine. You can go, it's not your fault."
He bolted out the kitchen door. Rhinestones, Questions, and The Other Guy leaned around her.
Ian, she knew, was looking after Ms. Schmidt, and everyone else was making small talk. There was no time to panic. She could panic later.
"Ok," she said. "Rhinestones, find the pastry supplies. Questions, find a chef who can make some frosting. Other Guy, you and I are going to start cutting the cake."
"Cutting it?" he asked hesitantly.
"We're going to cut it up," she said. "Into small pieces, and we're going to put a frosting flower on the top of each one. Nobody will ever know."
"That's a lot of frosting flowers," Rhinestones said.
"Why are you still here? Go get pastry bags!"
Questions, sensing she was next, disappeared immediately. Other Guy looked nervous.
"Bring me a large knife," Hanna ordered. This must be what Ian and Sarah and Cee felt like all the time. There was a heady rush of power in having a problem, three interns, and a plan.
By the time they were done carefully slicing up the cake, Rhinestones had returned with three pastry bags and a handful of tips, and Questions was carrying an enormous bowl of frosting through the kitchen.
"I need a spoon and a spatula," Hanna said. Questions ran off again. Hanna began fitting tips onto the bags.
"Ever done this before?" she asked Rhinestones, who shook his head. "Me neither. You get two each to practice on, before you should be perfect. Use end pieces, those will look weird in individual slices anyway."
The frosting was blue. In combination with the green frosting on Lars The Boat Owner's fiftieth birthday cake, it looked a little odd, but it would work. It wasn't all that hard, after all. The flowers weren't exactly prizewinning, but really all people were ever interested in was the fact that their cake had a lot of frosting on it.
At one point she glanced over to see The Other Guy piping decorative dots along the edge of a slice of cake. She gave him an approving smile and went back to work.
"Sorry about the delay, I took her out to see Sparks and then Anna disappwhat in the hell are you doing?" Ian demanded, just as she was putting the finishing touches on the last piece. "What did you do to the cake?"
"It wasn't our cake!" she retorted.
"Wasn't our cake?"
"They gave us someone else's cake, and the other person ate ours. It's fine, I handled it!"
Ian looked at the enormous tray of individually-sliced, hand-frosted cake.
"I need to warn Sparks," he said, and disappeared again.
"Is it always like this?" Questions asked, and it actually took Hanna a minute to discern that she had, in fact, asked a question.
"Pretty much, yeah," she said.
"I wonder what happened to Anna," Rhinestones mused.
***
Anna, at that moment, was also wondering what had happened to her.
She had thought she might see Trent at the event, because he was a Nations In Need board member. She'd prepared herself to tell him that she felt she couldn't see him anymore after his shameful treatment of her employer, or possibly (if she felt cowardly) to just ignore him all night.
She hadn't expected him to bring flowers. Or to have one of the restaurant staff pull her out of the party and into the front room, where she was presented with said flowers in front of the entire restaurant before she could get a word out about dumping him.
She definitely hadn't expected that he would say a few words she barely heard -- something about awkwardness and exciting ideas and calling her on Sunday -- before running away again, leaving her standing in the restaurant with a bunch of roses and a large box with some kind of horse-and-buggy label on it while the diners all applauded.
"Did he ask you to marry him, dear?" one man asked.
"I'm not sure," Anna replied. "I hope not."
"Anna, there you are," Ian said, running up to her. "Sorry, there was a cake emergency."
"A what?" Anna asked.
"I'm not sure myself," Ian said. "Nice flowers. What happened? Did you dump him?"
"He asked her to marry him!" the man said.
"I'm almost positive he didn't," Anna managed.
A woman sitting with the man leaned over. "Are you her mistress?" she asked Ian.
"Her what?" Ian looked terrified.
"The other man!" the man next to her supplied. He gave Ian a good look up-and-down. "I'd stick with the older guy if I were you, miss."
"Come on," Ian said, grabbing Anna by the arm and pulling her into the coat-check closet for the private party room. The check-agent looked at them, startled, and then pointedly ignored them as they pushed past the furs and wool coats to the back.
"What happened?" Ian asked.
"A waiter came and got me, and Trent was there and gave me flowers," Anna said, still feeling slightly stunned.
"Flowers and a box," Ian said. "What did he say?"
"He didn't ask me to marry him!"
"Thank God for small favors?"
"I didn't know what to tell him. I was just going to ignore him if he showed up, but then everyone applauded," Anna said. Ian glanced around, produced John's tiger flask from a pocket, and offered it to her. She took a sip of burning...something. Possibly paint thinner, probably cheap whiskey.
"So, clearly he still wants a relationship," Ian said, taking the flask back.
"I'm thinking yes," Anna agreed. She could feel Ian studying her while she got her breathing more or less under control. Finally, he crossed his arms -- or the best imitation of it he could do -- and frowned.
"Listen," he said. "I'm about to ask you something I have absolutely no right to ask, and you certainly shouldn't agree to. But Sparks won't ask and Cee wouldn't think of it, so it's up to me."
"You're not going to ask me to marry you, are you?" Anna said.
"Wha -- God, no! Where would I put you?" Ian laughed, but he sobered up quickly. "No. I want to ask you to keep going out with Trent Byron."
Anna stared at him.
"We don't know what he's going to try to pull with regards to this whole re-branding thing, and having an inside edge could help the company. But this is nine different kinds of gross and I kind of hate myself for thinking about it, so you should say no."
Anna looked down at the flowers and the very expensive-looking box. She thought about her motives for dating Trent Byron in the first place.
"He said he'd call me on Sunday," she said.
"Was that...no?" Ian asked.
"No, it's fine. I'll do it. The food is good, and he's, uh, he's nice -- to me, anyway. And it's not forever."
"Just until we know what's going on, I swear. You are the most awesome," Ian said, and hugged her, smashing some of the flowers in the process and almost taking off her ear with his cast. "You're great, Anna. You won't regret it."
"I already do!" she called after him, as he pushed back through the coats. She set the box down on one of the racks, under her purse so she'd remember it, and then looked at the flowers.
"Here," she said to the coat-check attendant, as she left. "These are from Narnia, for you."
***
Events were always strange for Jess. Inasmuch as she was a vital part of the SparkVISION team, her focus was much more on the youth center that SparkVISION ran on behalf of one of its clients, and on making sure that their other clients knew and understood about how to reach out to youth. She was much more at home as a teacher; the power balance at charitable events always made her uneasy. Plus, people stared at her hair.
"You must be Jess," said yet another person, and she turned from her little corner of the swag table to greet a woman in a red dress, with her hand already extended. "Tanya Montray, with the Tribune."
"Ah," Jess said. "Naomi said you were here. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, I just want to talk to everyone," Tanya said, with a disarming smile. "You work with youth on behalf of SparkVISION, right?"
"I also supervise the interns -- when they're not being bossed around by catering," Jess smiled back.
"Fulfilling, isn't it? I mean, I think it must be. Educating the new generation."
"Something like that," Jess replied. "It can be a little exhausting at times."
"Mr. Sparks told me you had a no-texting-at-work policy," Tanya told her. "Does that work?"
"Well, it's only for the interns, and it at least lets us punish them when they annoy us." Jess gave her a wide smile. Technically this woman was neither a donor nor a client, and therefore fair game. "Let me guess, next you're going to ask about SparkVISION's blogs."
"I'm certainly curious -- "
"And about our interest in social media?"
Tanya faltered slightly. "It's a hot topic these days."
"Well, I could tell you all about our Twitter," Jess suggested. "Have a seat."
She kicked Erin's chair around and all but shoved Tanya into it. And then remained standing herself.
"Now, why don't you tell me why you're really asking twenty questions about SparkVISION's blogs," she said.
"I don't know what you're -- "
"Don't try that on me. I work with teenagers."
Tanya blinked wide at her. Jess smiled and sat down.
"I'm sure you don't mean any harm," she said. "But we're all very loyal to SparkVISION and we want to know why you're poking around in our online business. The internet is a very important tool for us."
The bipolar good-cop-and-bad-cop-in-one routine always worked on the kids. She hoped it would on someone a little older. If it did, it would open up wide new panoramas for Jess's everyday social interaction.
"I think Non Prophet is at this function," Tanya said.
Bingo. Jess tried not to punch the air.
"Why?" she asked instead.
"Because I think he or she works for SparkVISION."
Jess followed her gaze to where Sparks was sitting with Naomi and talking animatedly with Nations In Need's leading star, Elaine Schmidt.
"You think Sparks is Non Prophet?" Jess asked, bursting out laughing. "Sparks couldn't keep a secret like that."
"I think Mr. Sparks is keeping all kinds of secrets," Tanya said. "Would you care to comment, on the record?"
Jess gave her a narrow look. "Off the record, I think you're delusional. On the record, I have no comment."
"It's not you, is it?"
Jess rolled her eyes. "I don't have time to run something like that and keep up with twenty-three high school students, plus a full-time job."
"You'll keep this to yourself, right?" Tanya said.
"Not if you're planning on outing Mr. Sparks without proof," Jess retorted.
"The article I'm working on is about social media in general. I just happened to get a little fascinated with Non Prophet," Tanya told her. "I won't bother SparkVISION again. Just keep this to yourself. Please?"
Jess felt like she should think she'd been bribed, but instead she felt as though Tanya had...achieved something. There was a look of triumph in her eyes that Jess couldn't puzzle out.
"Of course," she said. "Just stop bothering our people."
"I'll go," Tanya agreed. "Thanks, Jess."
Jess watched her walk to the door, pick up her coat and purse, and leave.
Then she went to find Naomi and tell her all about what she'd just been told.
***
When Zoe arrived to help with the event breakdown, after a nice dinner and a nap, the client staff and donors had long since gone home. The lights were out in the restaurant, and the kitchen was dark when she walked in through the back entrance.
The room they'd rented for the party was in the usual post-event state; scraps of napkins were everywhere, the table dressing somehow looked tired, and Ian and Hanna were piling dishes and glasses into an enormous plastic bin for the morning staff to wash.
"So, how did it go?" she asked Erin, who looked like she could use about twelve hours of sleep.
"Anna got flowers, Hanna fixed the cake, and someone from the Tribune thinks one of us is Non Prophet," Erin said tiredly. "I think that's everything."
"What was wrong with the cake?" Zoe asked, because that particular part seemed easiest to parse.
"It wasn't our cake," Hanna called. "It was for someone named Lars. Apparently he got a boat for his fiftieth."
"Nice for some," Jess added.
"Hanna cut it up and put frosting flowers on the top, so no-one could tell," Ian continued, passing Zoe the stepstool so she could climb up and begin pulling down the banners.
"The interns helped," Hanna said shyly. "I can take the tub, Ian, you've only got one hand."
"And the flowers?" Zoe asked, while Erin packed the free swag away in the free-swag box.
"I'm not sure I actually understand that," Erin admitted. "Are you repressing the part about the reporter on purpose?"
"I just think it's silly," Zoe said. "Why was someone from the Tribune here?"
"She's stalking Sparks," Jess said gleefully. "Well, okay, not stalking anymore, I ran her off. She thinks he's Non Prophet, I'm sure of it. If not him, someone else in the company."
"Which is ridiculous, Non Prophet isn't excitable enough to be Sparks," Ian put in.
"I thought you didn't think he was worth reading," Erin teased.
"I never said that. I just think all this idolatry of him is weird. Internet fame creeps me out," Ian said.
"Maybe it is one of us, though," Roxy suggested, emerging from some inner-sanctum with cords looped over her shoulders.
"You've never looked hotter," Ian informed her.
"You've been hitting the wine," Roxy swatted him and deposited the cords in the Free Swag Box. "It'd be cool if it was one of us."
"Look what I found!" Sparks announced, from behind the bar. "Slightly warm champagne! Who wants it? Elegant plastic cups!"
The staff gathered around the bar as Sparks poured out a half-glass into each cup.
"I would like to propose a toast," Sparks said. "First, to Elaine Schmidt, the founder of this...rich feast. We had a good talk tonight, and I know that she is going to find a lot of value with SparkVISION, so well done us. But also," he added, as everyone started to drink, "Also to Hanna, who apparently produced cake from nowhere after someone named Lars ate ours."
"To Hanna," everyone chorused. Hanna looked embarrassed.
"It was the other interns too," she mumbled.
"Now now, take credit where it's due. Okay. Banners down, swag and tech boxed, dishes gathered -- I think we're done here. Go home and sleep, go out and dance, do whatever normal people do at half past midnight on a Friday."
"Someday, that Lars story is going in someone's memoirs," Zoe said to Hanna, as they walked out into the cold.
"Not mine."
"We should find Lars and thank him," Zoe told her.
"Zoe! Hanna!" Ian ran to catch up with them. "Okay. Kingston Mines. My roommate's playing till two. You in? Blues harmonica," he said temptingly. "He's really good! He does requests, too."
"I'm going home," Zoe told him. "Buy Zeke a drink for me."
"Hanna? Come on. The night is young and you frosted a thousand pieces of cake. Jess is coming for a little while."
"Go celebrate," Zoe told her. "While you're still young enough to have the energy for it."
"All right," Hanna said, beaming. Zoe watched as the company dispersed -- Roxy and Sparks to the garage for their cars, Erin and Naomi hailing cabs, Ian and the others to the train. She had a warm bed calling her name, and some hot new gossip to share with Charles when he inevitably woke up to complain about her cold feet.
***
Hanna felt that, after champagne with Sparks and several beers with Ian, it was a lot harder to be modest.
"I was kind of awesome tonight," she said, settling back in her chair. Onstage, Ian's roommate Zeke was playing with the band, some blues number she'd never heard of. Ian was humming along with it idly.
"You were very awesome tonight," Ian told her, sliding his empty glass back and forth from his good hand to the fingertips of his bad one. In a minute she thought he was probably going to slide it right off the table, but Kingston Mines had seen worse than that on its floor. "Great work. You pulled through in a clutch when I couldn't be there. That kind of thing puts you on the radar."
She laughed. "In that case you must be like...all...of the radar."
Ian hovered his hand like an airplane over the table. "I'm a stealth bomber. You never know I'm there and then bam, I just bombed you with competence."
Hanna laughed. Ian beamed. They sat in comfortable silence for a little while, enjoying Zeke's solo onstage, and then something occurred to her.
"But if you're not on the radar, that's not fair," she said.
"Hm?" Ian asked.
"I mean...you know, most places don't make the receptionist manage catering at the event. If you don't get noticed..."
Ian shrugged. "So what if I don't. As long as I keep my job, I don't care."
Hanna stared at him. "Are you really afraid you won't?"
"Keep my job? Mmm." Ian pondered it. "Well, logically, I will. But I'm a cynic and I'm used to rejection."
"Rejection?" Hanna frowned.
"Temping," Ian said. "Makes you used to it. I temped a long time before Sparks hired me. It was ugly. Anyway. I'm not going to lose my job and you're going to get one with us maybe someday, so."
"So," she agreed. "But you know, you'll move up too, I bet."
Ian leaned forward. "Can I tell you a secret?"
He was having to speak quite loudly over the band, but she let that pass. "Sure."
"I love my job," he said. "I don't care that I'm a receptionist. It's a great job, and I love it. I'm not ambitious."
"Why?"
"Which one?"
"What?"
"Why I love it or why aren't I ambitious?" Ian asked.
Hanna was momentarily thrown by the question.
"I think we're drunk," she said.
"I think you're right," Ian replied.
"Why do you love your job?"
"I get to see a lot," Ian said. "And I get a lot of spare time to do stuff. I do a good job and I'm proud of it. I mean. I knew I wasn't going to be president in this lifetime or anything. I was ready for this kind of job."
"You were?" Hanna asked.
"Mmhm. I got two degrees," Ian said, holding up two fingers. "Medieval History and Chaucerian Literature. Useful in corporate culture? Not so much."
"Why don't you teach?"
Ian shuddered. "I hate teaching. You teach."
"I don't like teaching!"
"So nobody's teaching, okay."
"Then why'd you get them?"
Ian sat back, considering it. His eyes drifted to the stage.
"Wasn't good at anything else. Figured I might as well do something I liked before I got a service job. Didn't realize I'd like my service job so much." He shrugged and turned back to her. "Why aren't you in college?"
Hanna looked down at the table. "I couldn't afford it after the first year. My parents make just too much money to really get me the good student loans. I'll go back, though. If I get a job and can save up."
"Aw, Hanna. That's like...aw, Hanna," Ian said, sadly. "That just...sucks."
"It's okay. I'm learning a lot," Hanna said. "I like it. I just wish I got paid for it."
"You will. Hey, we could talk to Sparks." Ian brightened. "I'll make Zoe do it. Zoe will totally talk to Sparks about getting someone a PA. Erin needs a PA."
"Not till after New Year's," Hanna said hastily. "I don't want him to think, you know. I'm taking advantage of Christmas."
"Sparks wouldn't think that. He doesn't think like that. Bless his heart," Ian grinned. "He's so...I don't know. But yeah."
He glanced at Zeke again, who was grimacing as someone requested the band play Sweet Home Chicago.
"Play Walkin' The Dog!" Ian shouted, and the rest of the band looked heartened. Zeke stepped up to the mic to sing, giving Ian a grateful look.
"Some nights I come just so that I can yell out suggestions when someone wants Sweet Home Chicago," Ian confided. "I don't know anything about the blues, but I know a shit-ton of songs."
"Hey," Hanna asked, leaning in, taking advantage of the relative quiet between numbers as the band tuned up. "Are you and Zeke, you know..."
Ian frowned. "What?"
"Together?"
Ian still looked confused. Onstage, the band struck up the song. Finally, realization dawned, and he laughed. "Oh! No. Even if I were gay -- I live with him but -- man, I could never -- you know, two guys living together can be like..." he trailed off. "It's hard to explain. Okay, let me -- it's like this," he said, and Hanna tried not to laugh. "When Zeke comes over here, because he will, and when he hits on you, because he will, you are totally free to say yes. But I want you to know that women who sleep with him often turn out to be crazy, and I can't promise he didn't make them that way."
"Aaaawkward," Hanna said. Onstage, Zeke leaned into the mic.
Mary Mac, dressed in black
Silver buttons all down her back
Hello, tipsy toe
She broke the needle and she can't sew
Walkin' the dog...
"Strictly speaking this isn't pure blues," Ian told her. "It's R&B, but it was on the pop charts too."
"Didn't Aerosmith do this?" Hanna asked. Ian sighed.
"If you find Zeke's attentions unwelcome, just ask him that," he said. "Guaranteed to turn him off. Otherwise, tell him you love Rufus Thomas. I'm getting another beer. You want one? On me."
"I can -- "
"Put it in your college fund," Ian told her, and went only slightly unsteadily to the bar to get another round.
***
NON PROPHET
www.nonprophetblog.nfp
PROTECTING FLUFFY STARVING OWL PUPPIES SINCE 2007
Date: Saturday, 12/19/09
Subject: Empires And Empresses
I speak often of the losers and assholes I come into contact with in the charitable sector, but it recently occurred to me that I don't talk enough about the brilliant people I meet, perhaps because the losers and assholes make a better story. There's no shortage of them in any profession, but fundraising tends to attract very charismatic assholes, because asking someone to give you a million dollars requires a little bit of charm.
Recently, while working on an upcoming event, I was privileged to spend a little while speaking with Elaine Schmidt, the founder of a major charity, a woman who has worked for fifty years to try and make life better for everyone. She reminded me that what we do is not just about convincing donors to give us money, but about being a voice for those who otherwise can't be heard.
Wikipedia tells me that Ms. Schmidt was a founding force and is the only remaining original board member of Nations In Need, which is showing signs of a new vitalizing drive after a decade of complacency at the top of the not-for-profit heap. Nations In Need is a well-known national organization but, as I discovered while speaking with her, it is setting new and seemingly unachievable goals for fundraising and third-world assistance. Ms. Schmidt's idea is to prove to peer organizations that being big is simply not enough: being ambitious is a new necessity.
I have to admit, I've been dubious about this idea. Rapid, ambitious expansion is as dangerous in our world as it is in the world of profit-driven business, and Nations In Need is the sort of group that's ripe for a collapse, given a few pointed mis-steps.
That was before I actually met Ms. Schmidt.
She is incisive, sharp, and honest in a way few people have the ability to be. In the few moments I spoke with her, she showed a deep understanding of both traditional and contemporary donor outreach, and she is as unimpressed by fads in the market as I am. She has brought Nations In Need from a sort of paternal (in this case, maternal) "I know what's best for you"ism to a point where it is a mediator between nations, communicating the self-determined needs of one to the wealth of another. So, yes. I am in favor of Elaine Schmidt, and all she stands for.
In other news, I've noticed a growing fashion trend at charitable events lately. I'm not really qualified to speak on fashion, but I'll tell you who is, and link you to a very interesting entry about what people are wearing in high society. From a sister blogger, Bring Back Pantaloons:
[Clever Something Here] Is The New [Clever Something Here].
Post A Comment / 138 Comments Posted
***
Chapter Eight
CHAPTER SEVEN
Naomi knew that it wasn't considered cool to like charity events. For the people who worked them, it was (sometimes unpaid) overtime; for the people who attended them, it was often one more tiresome responsibility. She had limited sympathy for the donors, because they were wealthy, successful people who didn't have to go to them, but she knew sometimes it was exhausting for Erin and Sparks, who were usually the ones who had to socialize all evening.
Naomi, on the other hand, loved events. And it wasn't the free nibbles or the alcohol or the chance to rub elbows with millionaires. It was the clothes.
At every event, Naomi got to wear gorgeous things that made her look gorgeous and that gave her an excuse to buy the latest fashions and write them off as a business expense. Even aside from that, she got to look at what everyone else was wearing. She could admire the good, pity the bad, and make catty small talk with Erin about the ugly.
She sipped her wine and swished her floor-length dress a little as she watched Sparks greet the first arrivals. The Nations In Need people had been there for half an hour already, making sure everything was perfect. Zoe had decorated and gone home to spend the evening with Charles and Bolo; she'd be back at a little past midnight to help with breakdown. Sarah was going to some African drum concert with her boyfriend, and Naomi suspected that John had heavily bribed Anna to be the lone Creative representative so that he could take Cee somewhere. Anna herself was pre-sampling the appetizers in the kitchen, probably annoying Ian, who had three stroppy interns and Hanna to mind besides. Jess and Erin were setting out a table of free SV-branded tchotchkes for the Nations In Need people and their donors, and Roxy was somewhere plugging things in and muttering to herself.
Which left Naomi to stand with a glass of wine and look pretty, something she was exceedingly good at.
"Naomi!" Sparks called, and didn't wait for her to come to him before he dragged a man in a nice suit and hideous tie over to her. "Naomi, this is Mitch Clarkson, I wanted you two to meet. Mitch, this is our Finance Director, Naomi. I think you two probably share some common professional interests."
Naomi caught the code in Sparks's phrasing -- I wanted you two to meet was generally Sparks-talk for please make this man stop talking to me. She smiled her most brilliant smile.
"You go on, I'm sure Mitch and I will entertain each other," she said. Sparks flashed her a grateful smile and ran back to the entrance, where a woman in a fox stole grasped his hand and beamed at him.
"Hey, you remember when fur wasn't fashionable?" Mitch asked, following her line of sight.
"I remember chanting fur-is-dead at a few rallies in my youth," Naomi replied. "So you're with Nations In Need?"
"Not swanky enough to be a donor?"
"Sparks handles the donors personally," Naomi replied, sipping her wine. "I have to say we're glad to have Nations In Need as a new client, though."
"Well, why wouldn't you be?" Mitch replied. "I think we lend an air of gravitas to SparkVISION."
Naomi glanced at Sparks, who was flailing with joy at seeing someone he apparently knew (or was just meeting; sometimes with Sparks it was difficult to know).
"How so?" she asked, which in retrospect was a mistake.
"Well, some of the clients you deal with are..." Mitch made a vague hand gesture. "You know. Arts organizations. Radio stations, for god's sake."
"WCHO!" Naomi beamed. "We love them. They don't ask much of us and they do the best indie-rock afternoons, and sometimes I stay up late to catch the underground hip-hop show."
"Yeah, but at the end of the day it's still a radio station," Mitch said. "We feed starving children in Africa."
Naomi sometimes wished she could pause reality. This was one of those times. She'd like to just put everything on hold for a minute, say, "Wow," and then go back to the conversation. She settled for saying it mentally.
"I mean, there are definitely people in the US who have problems, but I'm talking the third world. Who would you rather support, some ahrteest who has all the benefits of proper childhood nutrition and a first-world education, or an uneducated kid who's never even seen an SUV? It's not like the arts actually do anything. We're sending some poor dirt-eating goatherd the benefit of our developed nation."
"I'm sorry," Naomi said, trying to stop him before she actually had to hurt him. "What did you say you did for Nations In Need?"
"Oh! Human Resources," he said cheerfully. "I don't usually come to these things, but the wife's out of town for the weekend, and someone said free food, you know?"
"I do know," Naomi said gravely. "Have you seen the freebies table, by the way? Get yourself a SparkVISION branded pen!"
"Swag!" he said, already scanning for it. "Excellent. I'm sure I'll see you later."
"I hope not," she murmured, as he departed.
"Who was that?" a voice behind her asked, and she turned to see a young woman in a pretty, simple red dress standing behind her.
"HR manager for Nations In Need," she replied. "Hi, I'm Naomi."
"He's awfully passionate about knowing what's best for the world," the woman said, shaking her hand. "Tanya Montray, with the Tribune."
"Oh, press coverage!" Naomi said, smiling. "Who'd you annoy to get this job?"
"Lost the straw-draw," Tanya said. "Wish I was commenting on the fashion, but unfortunately I have to actually talk to people. You're with SparkVISION, aren't you?"
"Finance Director," Naomi said. "If you're looking for Sparks, he's over there....having a fit," she said, as Sparks threw both hands in the air to wave at some donor he apparently knew, behind a crowd of other people.
"He's an interesting man, your Bo Sparks," Tanya said. "He seems like the kind of person destined to be a very popular second-grade teacher, but if you dig a little he starts to look more like he should be running a Fortune 500 company."
"He has layers," Naomi said. "I'm afraid to try and peel any of them back, though."
"It must make for a unique company experience," Tanya said.
"You have no idea."
"Well, it was nice speaking to you," Tanya said. "I think I had better go see about getting some sound bites."
Naomi narrowed her eyes as the reporter walked off. She watched as Tanya approached first Erin, then Sparks himself, who beamed wide and kissed her hand.
She caught herself contemplating calling Sarah to ask if Sparks was sleeping with any reporters that she knew of, but honestly, it wasn't like Sarah would somehow telepathically know, and she shouldn't bother her anyway.
Instead she went to find Ian.
***
Ian had first noticed the woman at the doorway of the kitchen while he was trying to help one of the cooks rescue a tray of slightly-burnt tiny pastries. Flipping the singed tops off and spreading them liberally with savory jam seemed to be working, and the task of holding the jam had fallen to him as someone who was In The Kitchen Doing Nothing. On the other side of the long prep table, the interns were madly sorting out which treats were dairy, gluten, nut, or meat-free and adding cards to those trays so that the waiters would be informed.
"Rhinestones!" he called, and the intern looked up from the cards. "Over here, take this jam."
Rhinestones, who was a fast learner, snapped to and took the jam out of Ian's hands without missing a beat, though it did annoy the prep chef. Ian hurried over to the doorway.
"Can I help you, ma'am?" he asked. She was a small woman, thin and pale, but she was wearing an outfit that probably cost more than Ian made in six months.
"I was told the food won't be ready for some time, and I'm feeling a little lightheaded," she said. "Is there any way I could get a glass of juice?"
"I'm so sorry," Ian said, standing aside and deftly blocking a waiter from running into her. "Of course, come over here. We'll get you some food, too."
"Thank you," she said, following him to a table in the corner. He made sure she was seated comfortably and then ran around a flaming pan of something-or-other to Hanna, who was talking with the maitre'd.
"Is this vital?" he asked. Hanna shook her head. "Okay. I want you to go sit with that woman over there, find out who she is, and keep her company."
Hanna peered around Ian's shoulder. "Oh! Sure."
"Great. Tell her I'll be there with some food in a minute," Ian said, and stole a spare plate from under the prep table. He dodged along the line with the plate balanced on his cast, up against his chest, stealing a little of everything from the prep. When he finally returned with the plate and a glass of orange juice, he found Hanna almost in tears from laughter, and the woman smiling faintly at her.
"Here you are -- juice, and some snacks," Ian said, setting them down in front of her with a flourish. "I think the thing with the cheese is good."
"Thank you," the woman said, gesturing at the chair next to Hanna. "Do sit down. I've been telling your intern about great catering disasters I have known."
Ian edged in behind Hanna and sat.
"This is Ms. Schmidt," Hanna said. "She works for Nations In Need."
Ian stared at Hanna, then turned back to Ms. Schmidt. "Indeed, Ms. Schmidt is the founder of Nations In Need. It's a pleasure to serve, ma'am."
"You work for SparkVISION?" Ms. Schmidt asked. "Neither of you look old enough. Are you another intern?"
"Receptionist, ma'am."
"And part-time cater-waiter? Or are you their stunt-man?" she asked, indicating his cast.
"I tell people it was a rogue elk, but only because that's more interesting than falling over while moving furniture," he said. Hanna snorted. Ms. Schmidt bit into one of the cheesy things and smiled.
"I feel better already," she confided to them. "I suspect I'm getting a little old for these evening events."
"Ian -- oh, hello -- oh, excuse me," Naomi appeared at the table, though for a second she was jostled out of the way by a sous-chef. "Ian, there's a journalist here."
"There's usually at least one," Ian said.
"Do you know anything about her? Sparks seems to know her."
"I didn't see the guest list -- do you want me to come talk to her?"
"Don't mind me, I'll entertain myself. This young lady can keep me company," Ms. Schmidt said, patting Hanna's hand. Naomi pulled Ian out into the hallway beyond the kitchen.
"It looks like she and Sparks are, you know. Close," she said.
"Sparks and a reporter? Look, when will superheroes learn you can't date an investigative journalist and keep your secret identity?" Ian sighed.
"It's not funny, Ian."
"It might be the woman Erin saw him talking with at that bar."
"When did that happen?"
"Sorry, I'll be sure and CC you on all the water-cooler conversation," Ian said. "I think that'd be nice for Sparks. But I don't know if it's true."
"Here's the thing, she says she's covering the event and talking to donors, but she's only talking to SparkVISION," Naomi continued. Ian frowned. "Do you think she's a spy?"
"From who? Union Arms? They know everything about us already," Ian pointed out. "She's probably just trying to find out what her new boyfriend wants for Christmas or something."
"I'm going to tell Erin," Naomi decided. "Maybe she can weasel it out of her."
"Well, good luck," Ian grinned. "Listen, I have to go back to charming the Executive Director of our new client."
"Jesus, was that her in the kitchen? What's she doing back there?"
Ian glanced back through the doorway. "Eating and giving Hanna a crash course in catering? Don't worry, I'll get her back out there when she's done."
Naomi nodded and walked off purposefully to find Erin. Ian darted through the kitchen and stopped at the interns.
"Going all right? Need me?" he asked.
"Aisha was doing it wrong," Rhinestones said.
"Aisha, you ok?" Ian asked. Question Girl gave Rhinestones a dirty look.
"I am now?" she said.
"You three keep at it, come find me when you have nothing else to do."
When he returned to Hanna and Ms. Schmidt, they were comparing the merits of the jam pastry and the cheesy thing. He sat down, tucked his cast under the table, and leaned forward.
"So," he said, smiling. "As long as you're captive here, Ms. Schmidt, I'd very much like to know -- what is your absolute ideal for SparkVISION's partnership with your company?"
***
There was supposed to be a cake. Hanna knew there was supposed to be a cake, there was always a cake at these things, but she was positive it wasn't supposed to be this cake.
Once Ms. Schmidt had finished eating and felt well enough, Ian had gone to shepherd her directly to Sparks, with a look at Hanna that clearly said manage things. It should have been as easy as keeping the other interns out from underfoot and doing everything the chefs told her to do, but then she'd taken the cake delivery and, as she'd been taught, opened the box to check that it was the right cake.
It was not the right cake.
"Okay, I talked with my boss," the deliveryman said, tucking his cellphone back in his pocket.
"Happy Fiftieth, Lars," Hanna read, off the script on the cake. "Enjoy the boat."
"Here's what happened," the man said desperately.
"I'm pretty sure I know what happened," Hanna said, trying to keep her tone level.
"So your cake went to the fiftieth birthday party at 221 East, and this cake came to 221 West," he told her. "It could happen to anyone."
"Can we swap the cakes in the next forty minutes?"
The man bit his lip.
Hanna sighed. "They ate the cake, didn't they."
"They thought it was hilarious," he said. "It's half gone."
"And there's no time to get another cake?"
"The shop's already shut down for the night."
Hanna put her hands on her hips. "Fine. You can go, it's not your fault."
He bolted out the kitchen door. Rhinestones, Questions, and The Other Guy leaned around her.
Ian, she knew, was looking after Ms. Schmidt, and everyone else was making small talk. There was no time to panic. She could panic later.
"Ok," she said. "Rhinestones, find the pastry supplies. Questions, find a chef who can make some frosting. Other Guy, you and I are going to start cutting the cake."
"Cutting it?" he asked hesitantly.
"We're going to cut it up," she said. "Into small pieces, and we're going to put a frosting flower on the top of each one. Nobody will ever know."
"That's a lot of frosting flowers," Rhinestones said.
"Why are you still here? Go get pastry bags!"
Questions, sensing she was next, disappeared immediately. Other Guy looked nervous.
"Bring me a large knife," Hanna ordered. This must be what Ian and Sarah and Cee felt like all the time. There was a heady rush of power in having a problem, three interns, and a plan.
By the time they were done carefully slicing up the cake, Rhinestones had returned with three pastry bags and a handful of tips, and Questions was carrying an enormous bowl of frosting through the kitchen.
"I need a spoon and a spatula," Hanna said. Questions ran off again. Hanna began fitting tips onto the bags.
"Ever done this before?" she asked Rhinestones, who shook his head. "Me neither. You get two each to practice on, before you should be perfect. Use end pieces, those will look weird in individual slices anyway."
The frosting was blue. In combination with the green frosting on Lars The Boat Owner's fiftieth birthday cake, it looked a little odd, but it would work. It wasn't all that hard, after all. The flowers weren't exactly prizewinning, but really all people were ever interested in was the fact that their cake had a lot of frosting on it.
At one point she glanced over to see The Other Guy piping decorative dots along the edge of a slice of cake. She gave him an approving smile and went back to work.
"Sorry about the delay, I took her out to see Sparks and then Anna disappwhat in the hell are you doing?" Ian demanded, just as she was putting the finishing touches on the last piece. "What did you do to the cake?"
"It wasn't our cake!" she retorted.
"Wasn't our cake?"
"They gave us someone else's cake, and the other person ate ours. It's fine, I handled it!"
Ian looked at the enormous tray of individually-sliced, hand-frosted cake.
"I need to warn Sparks," he said, and disappeared again.
"Is it always like this?" Questions asked, and it actually took Hanna a minute to discern that she had, in fact, asked a question.
"Pretty much, yeah," she said.
"I wonder what happened to Anna," Rhinestones mused.
***
Anna, at that moment, was also wondering what had happened to her.
She had thought she might see Trent at the event, because he was a Nations In Need board member. She'd prepared herself to tell him that she felt she couldn't see him anymore after his shameful treatment of her employer, or possibly (if she felt cowardly) to just ignore him all night.
She hadn't expected him to bring flowers. Or to have one of the restaurant staff pull her out of the party and into the front room, where she was presented with said flowers in front of the entire restaurant before she could get a word out about dumping him.
She definitely hadn't expected that he would say a few words she barely heard -- something about awkwardness and exciting ideas and calling her on Sunday -- before running away again, leaving her standing in the restaurant with a bunch of roses and a large box with some kind of horse-and-buggy label on it while the diners all applauded.
"Did he ask you to marry him, dear?" one man asked.
"I'm not sure," Anna replied. "I hope not."
"Anna, there you are," Ian said, running up to her. "Sorry, there was a cake emergency."
"A what?" Anna asked.
"I'm not sure myself," Ian said. "Nice flowers. What happened? Did you dump him?"
"He asked her to marry him!" the man said.
"I'm almost positive he didn't," Anna managed.
A woman sitting with the man leaned over. "Are you her mistress?" she asked Ian.
"Her what?" Ian looked terrified.
"The other man!" the man next to her supplied. He gave Ian a good look up-and-down. "I'd stick with the older guy if I were you, miss."
"Come on," Ian said, grabbing Anna by the arm and pulling her into the coat-check closet for the private party room. The check-agent looked at them, startled, and then pointedly ignored them as they pushed past the furs and wool coats to the back.
"What happened?" Ian asked.
"A waiter came and got me, and Trent was there and gave me flowers," Anna said, still feeling slightly stunned.
"Flowers and a box," Ian said. "What did he say?"
"He didn't ask me to marry him!"
"Thank God for small favors?"
"I didn't know what to tell him. I was just going to ignore him if he showed up, but then everyone applauded," Anna said. Ian glanced around, produced John's tiger flask from a pocket, and offered it to her. She took a sip of burning...something. Possibly paint thinner, probably cheap whiskey.
"So, clearly he still wants a relationship," Ian said, taking the flask back.
"I'm thinking yes," Anna agreed. She could feel Ian studying her while she got her breathing more or less under control. Finally, he crossed his arms -- or the best imitation of it he could do -- and frowned.
"Listen," he said. "I'm about to ask you something I have absolutely no right to ask, and you certainly shouldn't agree to. But Sparks won't ask and Cee wouldn't think of it, so it's up to me."
"You're not going to ask me to marry you, are you?" Anna said.
"Wha -- God, no! Where would I put you?" Ian laughed, but he sobered up quickly. "No. I want to ask you to keep going out with Trent Byron."
Anna stared at him.
"We don't know what he's going to try to pull with regards to this whole re-branding thing, and having an inside edge could help the company. But this is nine different kinds of gross and I kind of hate myself for thinking about it, so you should say no."
Anna looked down at the flowers and the very expensive-looking box. She thought about her motives for dating Trent Byron in the first place.
"He said he'd call me on Sunday," she said.
"Was that...no?" Ian asked.
"No, it's fine. I'll do it. The food is good, and he's, uh, he's nice -- to me, anyway. And it's not forever."
"Just until we know what's going on, I swear. You are the most awesome," Ian said, and hugged her, smashing some of the flowers in the process and almost taking off her ear with his cast. "You're great, Anna. You won't regret it."
"I already do!" she called after him, as he pushed back through the coats. She set the box down on one of the racks, under her purse so she'd remember it, and then looked at the flowers.
"Here," she said to the coat-check attendant, as she left. "These are from Narnia, for you."
***
Events were always strange for Jess. Inasmuch as she was a vital part of the SparkVISION team, her focus was much more on the youth center that SparkVISION ran on behalf of one of its clients, and on making sure that their other clients knew and understood about how to reach out to youth. She was much more at home as a teacher; the power balance at charitable events always made her uneasy. Plus, people stared at her hair.
"You must be Jess," said yet another person, and she turned from her little corner of the swag table to greet a woman in a red dress, with her hand already extended. "Tanya Montray, with the Tribune."
"Ah," Jess said. "Naomi said you were here. What can I do for you?"
"Oh, I just want to talk to everyone," Tanya said, with a disarming smile. "You work with youth on behalf of SparkVISION, right?"
"I also supervise the interns -- when they're not being bossed around by catering," Jess smiled back.
"Fulfilling, isn't it? I mean, I think it must be. Educating the new generation."
"Something like that," Jess replied. "It can be a little exhausting at times."
"Mr. Sparks told me you had a no-texting-at-work policy," Tanya told her. "Does that work?"
"Well, it's only for the interns, and it at least lets us punish them when they annoy us." Jess gave her a wide smile. Technically this woman was neither a donor nor a client, and therefore fair game. "Let me guess, next you're going to ask about SparkVISION's blogs."
"I'm certainly curious -- "
"And about our interest in social media?"
Tanya faltered slightly. "It's a hot topic these days."
"Well, I could tell you all about our Twitter," Jess suggested. "Have a seat."
She kicked Erin's chair around and all but shoved Tanya into it. And then remained standing herself.
"Now, why don't you tell me why you're really asking twenty questions about SparkVISION's blogs," she said.
"I don't know what you're -- "
"Don't try that on me. I work with teenagers."
Tanya blinked wide at her. Jess smiled and sat down.
"I'm sure you don't mean any harm," she said. "But we're all very loyal to SparkVISION and we want to know why you're poking around in our online business. The internet is a very important tool for us."
The bipolar good-cop-and-bad-cop-in-one routine always worked on the kids. She hoped it would on someone a little older. If it did, it would open up wide new panoramas for Jess's everyday social interaction.
"I think Non Prophet is at this function," Tanya said.
Bingo. Jess tried not to punch the air.
"Why?" she asked instead.
"Because I think he or she works for SparkVISION."
Jess followed her gaze to where Sparks was sitting with Naomi and talking animatedly with Nations In Need's leading star, Elaine Schmidt.
"You think Sparks is Non Prophet?" Jess asked, bursting out laughing. "Sparks couldn't keep a secret like that."
"I think Mr. Sparks is keeping all kinds of secrets," Tanya said. "Would you care to comment, on the record?"
Jess gave her a narrow look. "Off the record, I think you're delusional. On the record, I have no comment."
"It's not you, is it?"
Jess rolled her eyes. "I don't have time to run something like that and keep up with twenty-three high school students, plus a full-time job."
"You'll keep this to yourself, right?" Tanya said.
"Not if you're planning on outing Mr. Sparks without proof," Jess retorted.
"The article I'm working on is about social media in general. I just happened to get a little fascinated with Non Prophet," Tanya told her. "I won't bother SparkVISION again. Just keep this to yourself. Please?"
Jess felt like she should think she'd been bribed, but instead she felt as though Tanya had...achieved something. There was a look of triumph in her eyes that Jess couldn't puzzle out.
"Of course," she said. "Just stop bothering our people."
"I'll go," Tanya agreed. "Thanks, Jess."
Jess watched her walk to the door, pick up her coat and purse, and leave.
Then she went to find Naomi and tell her all about what she'd just been told.
***
When Zoe arrived to help with the event breakdown, after a nice dinner and a nap, the client staff and donors had long since gone home. The lights were out in the restaurant, and the kitchen was dark when she walked in through the back entrance.
The room they'd rented for the party was in the usual post-event state; scraps of napkins were everywhere, the table dressing somehow looked tired, and Ian and Hanna were piling dishes and glasses into an enormous plastic bin for the morning staff to wash.
"So, how did it go?" she asked Erin, who looked like she could use about twelve hours of sleep.
"Anna got flowers, Hanna fixed the cake, and someone from the Tribune thinks one of us is Non Prophet," Erin said tiredly. "I think that's everything."
"What was wrong with the cake?" Zoe asked, because that particular part seemed easiest to parse.
"It wasn't our cake," Hanna called. "It was for someone named Lars. Apparently he got a boat for his fiftieth."
"Nice for some," Jess added.
"Hanna cut it up and put frosting flowers on the top, so no-one could tell," Ian continued, passing Zoe the stepstool so she could climb up and begin pulling down the banners.
"The interns helped," Hanna said shyly. "I can take the tub, Ian, you've only got one hand."
"And the flowers?" Zoe asked, while Erin packed the free swag away in the free-swag box.
"I'm not sure I actually understand that," Erin admitted. "Are you repressing the part about the reporter on purpose?"
"I just think it's silly," Zoe said. "Why was someone from the Tribune here?"
"She's stalking Sparks," Jess said gleefully. "Well, okay, not stalking anymore, I ran her off. She thinks he's Non Prophet, I'm sure of it. If not him, someone else in the company."
"Which is ridiculous, Non Prophet isn't excitable enough to be Sparks," Ian put in.
"I thought you didn't think he was worth reading," Erin teased.
"I never said that. I just think all this idolatry of him is weird. Internet fame creeps me out," Ian said.
"Maybe it is one of us, though," Roxy suggested, emerging from some inner-sanctum with cords looped over her shoulders.
"You've never looked hotter," Ian informed her.
"You've been hitting the wine," Roxy swatted him and deposited the cords in the Free Swag Box. "It'd be cool if it was one of us."
"Look what I found!" Sparks announced, from behind the bar. "Slightly warm champagne! Who wants it? Elegant plastic cups!"
The staff gathered around the bar as Sparks poured out a half-glass into each cup.
"I would like to propose a toast," Sparks said. "First, to Elaine Schmidt, the founder of this...rich feast. We had a good talk tonight, and I know that she is going to find a lot of value with SparkVISION, so well done us. But also," he added, as everyone started to drink, "Also to Hanna, who apparently produced cake from nowhere after someone named Lars ate ours."
"To Hanna," everyone chorused. Hanna looked embarrassed.
"It was the other interns too," she mumbled.
"Now now, take credit where it's due. Okay. Banners down, swag and tech boxed, dishes gathered -- I think we're done here. Go home and sleep, go out and dance, do whatever normal people do at half past midnight on a Friday."
"Someday, that Lars story is going in someone's memoirs," Zoe said to Hanna, as they walked out into the cold.
"Not mine."
"We should find Lars and thank him," Zoe told her.
"Zoe! Hanna!" Ian ran to catch up with them. "Okay. Kingston Mines. My roommate's playing till two. You in? Blues harmonica," he said temptingly. "He's really good! He does requests, too."
"I'm going home," Zoe told him. "Buy Zeke a drink for me."
"Hanna? Come on. The night is young and you frosted a thousand pieces of cake. Jess is coming for a little while."
"Go celebrate," Zoe told her. "While you're still young enough to have the energy for it."
"All right," Hanna said, beaming. Zoe watched as the company dispersed -- Roxy and Sparks to the garage for their cars, Erin and Naomi hailing cabs, Ian and the others to the train. She had a warm bed calling her name, and some hot new gossip to share with Charles when he inevitably woke up to complain about her cold feet.
***
Hanna felt that, after champagne with Sparks and several beers with Ian, it was a lot harder to be modest.
"I was kind of awesome tonight," she said, settling back in her chair. Onstage, Ian's roommate Zeke was playing with the band, some blues number she'd never heard of. Ian was humming along with it idly.
"You were very awesome tonight," Ian told her, sliding his empty glass back and forth from his good hand to the fingertips of his bad one. In a minute she thought he was probably going to slide it right off the table, but Kingston Mines had seen worse than that on its floor. "Great work. You pulled through in a clutch when I couldn't be there. That kind of thing puts you on the radar."
She laughed. "In that case you must be like...all...of the radar."
Ian hovered his hand like an airplane over the table. "I'm a stealth bomber. You never know I'm there and then bam, I just bombed you with competence."
Hanna laughed. Ian beamed. They sat in comfortable silence for a little while, enjoying Zeke's solo onstage, and then something occurred to her.
"But if you're not on the radar, that's not fair," she said.
"Hm?" Ian asked.
"I mean...you know, most places don't make the receptionist manage catering at the event. If you don't get noticed..."
Ian shrugged. "So what if I don't. As long as I keep my job, I don't care."
Hanna stared at him. "Are you really afraid you won't?"
"Keep my job? Mmm." Ian pondered it. "Well, logically, I will. But I'm a cynic and I'm used to rejection."
"Rejection?" Hanna frowned.
"Temping," Ian said. "Makes you used to it. I temped a long time before Sparks hired me. It was ugly. Anyway. I'm not going to lose my job and you're going to get one with us maybe someday, so."
"So," she agreed. "But you know, you'll move up too, I bet."
Ian leaned forward. "Can I tell you a secret?"
He was having to speak quite loudly over the band, but she let that pass. "Sure."
"I love my job," he said. "I don't care that I'm a receptionist. It's a great job, and I love it. I'm not ambitious."
"Why?"
"Which one?"
"What?"
"Why I love it or why aren't I ambitious?" Ian asked.
Hanna was momentarily thrown by the question.
"I think we're drunk," she said.
"I think you're right," Ian replied.
"Why do you love your job?"
"I get to see a lot," Ian said. "And I get a lot of spare time to do stuff. I do a good job and I'm proud of it. I mean. I knew I wasn't going to be president in this lifetime or anything. I was ready for this kind of job."
"You were?" Hanna asked.
"Mmhm. I got two degrees," Ian said, holding up two fingers. "Medieval History and Chaucerian Literature. Useful in corporate culture? Not so much."
"Why don't you teach?"
Ian shuddered. "I hate teaching. You teach."
"I don't like teaching!"
"So nobody's teaching, okay."
"Then why'd you get them?"
Ian sat back, considering it. His eyes drifted to the stage.
"Wasn't good at anything else. Figured I might as well do something I liked before I got a service job. Didn't realize I'd like my service job so much." He shrugged and turned back to her. "Why aren't you in college?"
Hanna looked down at the table. "I couldn't afford it after the first year. My parents make just too much money to really get me the good student loans. I'll go back, though. If I get a job and can save up."
"Aw, Hanna. That's like...aw, Hanna," Ian said, sadly. "That just...sucks."
"It's okay. I'm learning a lot," Hanna said. "I like it. I just wish I got paid for it."
"You will. Hey, we could talk to Sparks." Ian brightened. "I'll make Zoe do it. Zoe will totally talk to Sparks about getting someone a PA. Erin needs a PA."
"Not till after New Year's," Hanna said hastily. "I don't want him to think, you know. I'm taking advantage of Christmas."
"Sparks wouldn't think that. He doesn't think like that. Bless his heart," Ian grinned. "He's so...I don't know. But yeah."
He glanced at Zeke again, who was grimacing as someone requested the band play Sweet Home Chicago.
"Play Walkin' The Dog!" Ian shouted, and the rest of the band looked heartened. Zeke stepped up to the mic to sing, giving Ian a grateful look.
"Some nights I come just so that I can yell out suggestions when someone wants Sweet Home Chicago," Ian confided. "I don't know anything about the blues, but I know a shit-ton of songs."
"Hey," Hanna asked, leaning in, taking advantage of the relative quiet between numbers as the band tuned up. "Are you and Zeke, you know..."
Ian frowned. "What?"
"Together?"
Ian still looked confused. Onstage, the band struck up the song. Finally, realization dawned, and he laughed. "Oh! No. Even if I were gay -- I live with him but -- man, I could never -- you know, two guys living together can be like..." he trailed off. "It's hard to explain. Okay, let me -- it's like this," he said, and Hanna tried not to laugh. "When Zeke comes over here, because he will, and when he hits on you, because he will, you are totally free to say yes. But I want you to know that women who sleep with him often turn out to be crazy, and I can't promise he didn't make them that way."
"Aaaawkward," Hanna said. Onstage, Zeke leaned into the mic.
Mary Mac, dressed in black
Silver buttons all down her back
Hello, tipsy toe
She broke the needle and she can't sew
Walkin' the dog...
"Strictly speaking this isn't pure blues," Ian told her. "It's R&B, but it was on the pop charts too."
"Didn't Aerosmith do this?" Hanna asked. Ian sighed.
"If you find Zeke's attentions unwelcome, just ask him that," he said. "Guaranteed to turn him off. Otherwise, tell him you love Rufus Thomas. I'm getting another beer. You want one? On me."
"I can -- "
"Put it in your college fund," Ian told her, and went only slightly unsteadily to the bar to get another round.
***
NON PROPHET
www.nonprophetblog.nfp
PROTECTING FLUFFY STARVING OWL PUPPIES SINCE 2007
Date: Saturday, 12/19/09
Subject: Empires And Empresses
I speak often of the losers and assholes I come into contact with in the charitable sector, but it recently occurred to me that I don't talk enough about the brilliant people I meet, perhaps because the losers and assholes make a better story. There's no shortage of them in any profession, but fundraising tends to attract very charismatic assholes, because asking someone to give you a million dollars requires a little bit of charm.
Recently, while working on an upcoming event, I was privileged to spend a little while speaking with Elaine Schmidt, the founder of a major charity, a woman who has worked for fifty years to try and make life better for everyone. She reminded me that what we do is not just about convincing donors to give us money, but about being a voice for those who otherwise can't be heard.
Wikipedia tells me that Ms. Schmidt was a founding force and is the only remaining original board member of Nations In Need, which is showing signs of a new vitalizing drive after a decade of complacency at the top of the not-for-profit heap. Nations In Need is a well-known national organization but, as I discovered while speaking with her, it is setting new and seemingly unachievable goals for fundraising and third-world assistance. Ms. Schmidt's idea is to prove to peer organizations that being big is simply not enough: being ambitious is a new necessity.
I have to admit, I've been dubious about this idea. Rapid, ambitious expansion is as dangerous in our world as it is in the world of profit-driven business, and Nations In Need is the sort of group that's ripe for a collapse, given a few pointed mis-steps.
That was before I actually met Ms. Schmidt.
She is incisive, sharp, and honest in a way few people have the ability to be. In the few moments I spoke with her, she showed a deep understanding of both traditional and contemporary donor outreach, and she is as unimpressed by fads in the market as I am. She has brought Nations In Need from a sort of paternal (in this case, maternal) "I know what's best for you"ism to a point where it is a mediator between nations, communicating the self-determined needs of one to the wealth of another. So, yes. I am in favor of Elaine Schmidt, and all she stands for.
In other news, I've noticed a growing fashion trend at charitable events lately. I'm not really qualified to speak on fashion, but I'll tell you who is, and link you to a very interesting entry about what people are wearing in high society. From a sister blogger, Bring Back Pantaloons:
[Clever Something Here] Is The New [Clever Something Here].
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***
Chapter Eight
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Date: 2010-01-26 11:39 pm (UTC)