“Are you okay?” Placing my hand over his, I rub my thumb over his knuckles.
Lifting my hand to his lips, he brushes a kiss over my knuckles. “Yes. Thank you.” Gabriel puts the iPad back on the nightstand. He lets out a quiet laugh and shakes his head lightly. “Do you remember when all we wanted was to move to the Caribbean and sail for the rest of our lives?”
“It seemed like a brilliant idea.” My voice is slightly low pitched with a tone of sarcasm.
The sight of Gabriel with a dark tan, no shirt, and a carefree smile made me weak in the knees when we first met. He still looks great underneath his business suits, but that life we dreamt of wasn’t practical.
Gabriel opens his mouth to say something but retracts and nods his head in agreement. “We may have been young and dumb, but we certainly had it all figured out,” he says, turning off the lamp on his side of the bed and rolling away from me. “Good night.”
“Good night.” I sigh as I relax into our comfortable bed. Tonight, it’s just me and An Affair to Remember.
I spend my first few days getting settled into my new position and working with Heather to plan an event at David Geffen Hall. Every year, as a kid, I would go to Lincoln Center with my mom. It was our only common interest. I love the arts and so does she. She would get us both dressed to the nines and we’d see the ballet or a concert. I know the venue fairly well. Back then it was called Avery Fisher Hall. After a sizeable donation from the famed entertainment mogul, David Geffen, the building was renamed. I like to think of it as injecting Hollywood glamour into the New York classical scene. That is my inspiration for the event. Once Erik said we were having an event there, I knew exactly what I wanted to do.
I walk my files into Heather’s office. Since we’re both producers on the project, we have to collaborate on everything. While my office is stark white, void of a personality, Heather’s is decorated in plum and aqua accents. It’s an interesting combination that looks pretty cool, although I’d never tell her that. Her office is the same size as mine, but her walls are painted a deep mauve with white shelving behind her desk displaying pictures of herself with what seems to be every celebrity she’s ever met.
On the wall to the right is her glass desk and black Herman Miller chair, the same as mine, but her accent chair opposite her desk is aqua blue with a white-and-purple pillow. Her desk is cluttered with a purple vase of blue faux flowers, a penholder in the shape of a zebra, date planners, files, purple Post-Its, and a very impressive Emmy positioned so you have no choice but to see it as soon as you walk into the door.
Her windows are covered with floor-to-ceiling curtains of coordinating colors, and the left wall upon entering is filled with mirrors in ornate frames of various sizes and shapes.
Aside from telling me to enter, Heather doesn’t acknowledge my presence when I take a seat, lay my files on my lap, and open them, ready to start our meeting.
She’s wearing a pale-pink tube dress with a navy bolero. Her hair is in a high ponytail, showcasing giant gold hoop earrings. She takes her time typing out an email as I sit patiently and wait.
“Okay, let’s hear it,” she spits out, her eyes still on the computer screen as she types.
I blink a few times. Is she talking to me? “Hear what?”
“Your ideas. Go.” Her voice is clipped.
I take a deep breath and remind myself what Malory told me. She thinks I’m here to take her job. I’ll just be friendly and let her know I’m not a threat.
Opening my file, I look down at my notes and start. My voice is slightly unsteady, as it’s difficult to talk to someone who is looking in another direction. “Since we don’t know who the performers are, I thought we could get started on the aesthetics of the event. The red carpet will be filmed for web distribution. And we’ll have reporters there to photograph the arrivals, so we should set the tone right there.”
I look up and see Heather is still focused on her computer screen. She is no longer writing an email, but is now looking at shoes on the Bergdorf Goodman website.
I continue. “I want to go glam. This is a charity event, but it’s a premiere charity event. Let’s have a black carpet. A red carpet is very Hollywood movie premier. A black carpet will—”
“Look disgusting,” Heather quips, finally turning to face me. “It’s a children’s charity telethon, not a Goth horror show.” She turns her attention back to her computer. “Next.”
I look back at my notes. “I was thinking of lining the walkways with dahlias for—”
“Next.” The word stretches out in mock annoyance.
Okay, I am not going to win today on anything that has to do with the arrival area. I skim through my notes and come to a particularly great idea. “The event is to benefit children’s music programs. Why don’t we invite a musical prodigy to perform with each musical act? We’ll pick the kids based on the genre of music. Like an awesome pianist playing with Coldplay or a clarinet aficionado alongside Chris Bode.”
Heather’s eyebrows ride up. She doesn’t give me any clue to her thoughts on the idea, but she hasn’t easily dismissed it either. She plays with one gold hoop before she finally spits out, “I’ll consider it.”
Thank God. I was beginning to think we weren’t going to agree on anything.
“It’s a half-assed idea, though.” She turns to me and tilts her head to the side like she’s talking to a baby. “Do you really think A-list performers are going to want to be upstaged by some child prodigy?”
My mouth drops. Man, she is such a bitch.
Heather takes out her Kate Spade handbag from beneath the desk and places her date planner in it. “You can leave now.” She waves at me in a shooing motion. “I have somewhere else I have to be.”
I blink back at her a few times, trying to decide if I should say something or just leave.
When I was in grammar school, I had to constantly hear people talk trash about my dad. He was a pitcher for a major league baseball team, and when your parent has a famous profession, people think they can tell you their personal feelings about them. I get it. I do. If my dad pitched a crappy game, they called him a bum, followed by a few expletives. What they didn’t recognize was my dad was a part of a team and the entire team has to work together to win. They also failed to realize it was exactly that, a game. Someone had to win and someone had to lose. It’s the risk you take.
But what irked me the most was how people would take their aggression out on me just because I was his daughter. I mean, my hairdresser’s kid went to my school and I didn’t talk trash to him because his mom gave me a bad haircut.
I spoke to my dad about it. He was an amazing soundboard. I felt bad telling him things the kids at school were saying about him. But you know what he did? He laughed. He laughed so hard he almost fell off my bed. I couldn’t believe how little he cared.
And it was in that moment he gave me the best advice. He told me to do what he does when he’s on the mound.
Breathe, Kat. Just breathe.
So that’s what I do.
I take a few deep breaths and let Heather’s dismissal roll off my shoulders and head back to my office.
I can’t go to Erik and complain. Who wants to be known as the whiney new girl? Next week, after everyone gets to know me better, I’ll start to voice my opinion professionally. This week, I’ll just lie low.
Throwing my files in the garbage, I say to myself, “I’ll start fresh tomorrow.” A calendar reminder pops up on my computer reminding me I have a meeting with Alexander Asher tomorrow. After my meeting I’ll be able to come back and drum up some new ideas.
As for today, I don’t have a lot to do, as most of my work is contingent on other people getting their parts of the concert moving and then I pick up from there. And what I can get started on is being hijacked by Heather. So, lucky for me, I can head home well before the sun is down.