Chapter 23
IN THROUGH THE NOSE. Out through the mouth.
It had become a mantra—and an effective one at that. Whenever she felt a tinge of stress, she focused on her breathing. It took her out of her mind and into her body. She grounded herself, focusing on the carpeted floor beneath her feet, the slight pinch of her control-top pantyhose, the fluorescent lights above her head…
“You have nothing to be worried about, Christine.” Marie walked with her into the conference room. “I’ve reviewed the slide deck with a fine-tooth comb. The numbers align perfectly, and you know them better than anyone in our organization.”
Christine nodded absentmindedly. Something had happened in the last few months. She’d grown into her voice in more ways than one. The idea of presenting was no longer as terrifying as it had been. She was still nervous, but she focused on her breathing and the muscle memory of her knowledge. She was ready to speak.
“And I’m behind you if you need me,” Cynthia whispered in a wicked singsong behind them.
Christine narrowed her eyes. If Cynthia was behind her, it was usually with a knife in hand. Cynthia had been none too pleased when she found out Christine allowed the volunteers to watch the show. Cynthia couldn’t even bring it up with Marie, as Marie was the one who suggested it to get more help for the event. In addition, the volunteers had all behaved beautifully. Cynthia and Christine knew the point of that power play was to make Christine look bad at the end of the evening if the volunteers revolted and everything went to hell. Since then, Cynthia had been oddly well-behaved. Christine didn’t buy it for a second. She triple-checked any numbers Cynthia supplied. The result was that her workload was doubled, and she started drinking caffeine again. Coffee had never tasted so good.
A board meeting was also an event at the opera house, though far less grand than a fundraiser. In attendance were ten board members and key staff members who’d present on topics relating to the opera house’s operations. Most attended in person, though a handful—Erik Gardner, most importantly—joined remotely.
A catered lunch had been laid out for attending members, with waitstaff folding napkins into intricate shapes. Sparkling water with lemon filled the goblets on the table. Christine would be seated in the rear with Cynthia while Marie led the meeting as appointed by Erik. The biannual board meeting usually lasted two to three hours. There was a discussion of the health of the endowment, the upcoming season, community outreach, and finally, the results of fundraising activities. Christine’s review of the masquerade would close out the meeting.
The sideboard was covered with a buffet of food options, including salmon in a beurre blanc sauce, chicken marsala, and pasta primavera. The smell of the salmon was making her queasy, so Christine skipped eating and sipped at the sparkling water in front of her. She winced at the taste. She’d never liked sparkling water but hoped it would settle her stomach.
“We’re pleased to see the endowment didn’t struggle with the recent decline in the stock market. Our current split focuses on conservative investments in private equity and bonds. More recently, we’ve experimented with a ten percent diversification into ETFs. This is atypical with our endowment model but will allow a greater return in the long-term as interest rates come down.” Marie went through the returns posted on the screen.
“Our cash on hand is heavier than it should be. Have we looked into interviewing new hedge fund managers so the cash can be put to some use?” Georgiana, anolder woman dressed in head-to-toe Chanel, suggested.
“Yes, the cash on hand came from a recent disbursement from one of our investments. I’ve shared our current analysis of different options with you. We’ll review those and vote on them later.”
Christine enjoyed seeing Marie in charge. She imagined what it would be like when she was more established in her career, able to manage meetings with such calm confidence. The idea was exciting. In two weeks, the recruitment process would begin. She’d already sent her résumé to Philip Cantor, who responded warmly. It was a good sign.
She shifted, feeling oddly restless. Her heartbeat was faster than usual. Perhaps it was the coffee? Erik had told her caffeine was a no-no, and she’d taken a sort of perverse pleasure in resuming her intake.
In through the nose, out through the mouth.
He’d be watching her today. The thought made her squirm as she recalled the night of the gala. What would’ve happened if she hadn’t told him to stop? She trembled, thinking of the exquisite torture of having him so close only to push him away.
She drank more water, refilling from the personal bottle seated at her spot at the table. The artistic director, Liam Feuer, spoke next.
“Several of the attendees at the gala came up to say how much they enjoyed Jessie Skies’ performance from the more modern Faust . I wanted to suggest we sponsor a limited run of performances from the Nashville Opera Group to coincide with the spring season. Perhaps we could even do an artist exchange—providing them with a limited run of one of our productions.”
“That is not traditional opera!” Georgiana interjected. “Let the Broadway crowd have their rock opera. We can restage Gounod’s version.”
“Why can’t we do both?” Dr. Yoon, a well-known and renowned cardiologist, suggested. “I was one of the donors who enjoyed the performance and have downloaded the concept album. It’s a little different than traditional opera, but diversification isn’t a bad thing, and it could attract new interest to Gardner.”
“It would bring a lot of publicity,” Christine offered and swallowed a gasp. She shouldn’t have added anything. She wasn’t supposed to talk at the meeting outside of her presentation. Cynthia gave her a sharp look with an accompanying shake of her head.
“Agreed,” Dr. Yoon offered, ignoring the awkward interjection. “Given how successful the gala was when attached to Ms. Skies’ name, this could further that relationship.”
“I agree, Mitch,” Erik added, calling his attention to the black computer screen. “We can even create a studio album with the singers, partnering with Borderline Records. Perhaps Ms. Skies would be willing to record that song for the album.”
“Glad we’re on the same page, Erik.” Dr. Yoon responded to Erik’s endorsement with a satisfied smile. It was an unsaid fact that Erik’s preferences always moved forward should a proposal come to a vote.
Christine was agitated as her memory fell back into that dance with him. The romantic lyrics conflicted with the turmoil of their interaction. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing. Her heart was racing wildly, and for once, she couldn’ t settle it.
“If they’re willing to collaborate with us, this could also be a great way to engage with our youth outreach,” the community outreach director, Toby, chimed in. “We could get involved with local schools.”
“I think we agree the potential for fundraising, publicity, and community engagement is high. If this is coming to a vote, I vote aye,” Dr. Yoon said.
Christine could barely focus as the vote was taken on the Faust suggestion and other finance-related matters. Toby’s presentation on community outreach was brief, and Christine struggled to keep up. She was next. Her hands were shaking, and she grabbed the seat of her chair, willing her body to be still.
“Finally, I’m happy to bring up our foundation assistant, Christine Derring. Miss Derring has been with us for over a year while working on her MBA at Columbia University. Her understanding of ROI is the best I’ve seen in my career. In addition, it was her idea to develop the relationship with Miss Skies.”
Something was wrong. Something was terribly wrong. Christine could barely hear Marie’s words over her rapidly escalating heartbeat and harsh breathing. Everything drifted far away as she stood up. She stumbled as she walked forward, losing control of her feet.
“Are you okay?” Marie put a hand on her shoulder, helping to hold her up. Christine could see her lips moving but couldn’t make out any more words. She shook her head at Marie in confusion. What was wrong with her?
She turned back to the table. Faceless men in suits and women in sheath dresses and cardigans stared at her with concerned looks. Did Cynthia arch her eyebrow?
“What did you do?” she whispered. At least, she thought she whispered. She couldn’t hear anything besides the rushing in her ears .
“Marie, I-I need…”
The world altered; there was no other word for it. She fell backward to the floor, looking up, while her body began a series of rhythmic contractions and movements over which she had no control. She couldn’t make her mouth cooperate to ask for help, but a pair of kind hands rested on her arms.
“Christine! Christine!”
So far away and getting further. The room was dim now. That meant it was nighttime, right? That meant it was time to go to sleep. Blackness enveloped her.
Erik watched as every member of the board jumped to their feet. Dr. Yoon rushed to Christine’s prone body.
“Get an ambulance!” Erik yelled over the Zoom channel. He’d never felt so incompetent, so far away. “What the hell is happening?” His view from the camera was obstructed by the people standing over her. Was she breathing? He couldn’t see her chest. Her feet were still moving erratically.
“She’s having a seizure.” Dr. Yoon removed his suit jacket, placed it under her head, and turned her on her side. “Marie, does she have epilepsy?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“For God’s sake, someone call 911!” Erik shouted over the speakerphone. Marie looked at Dr. Yoon, who nodded.
“Hello, 911, we have an emergency. We need an ambulance at the Gardner Opera.” Marie spoke slowly but no less urgently to the operator. Erik watched Dr. Yoon counting to himself, marking the longevity of the seizure. These were the longest moments of his life as Christine’s convulsions slowly ceased.
“She’s unconscious. Marie, Cynthia—do you know if she’s on any medications?”
“I’ve never asked,” Cynthia responded defensively. She stood against the wall, her arms wrapped around her body. “Is she going to be okay?”
Dr. Yoon was feeling her pulse. “Her pulse is racing. She could have tachycardia. We should get her to Columbia Presbyterian. I have admitting privileges there.”
Columbia Presbyterian. That’s all Erik needed to hear before picking up his phone.
“Garret. Get the car right now. We need to get to the hospital.”
He didn’t care if the entire board heard him bark the order.