Chapter 24
To Do:
- Practice acceptance speech
- TE blog post
- Update cost spreadsheet for Aaron
It was go time.Claire stepped out of her black convertible and let the car door shut with a snap. The beads on her clutch glittered under the streetlight. She tugged at the hem of her emerald-green cocktail dress and smoothed her hands over the bodice. All she could see was the wrinkle she couldn’t get out with the steamer. At least it would be behind the podium when she accepted her award.
A diamond tennis bracelet, a gift from her mother, covered a mark on her wrist from her homemade restraint system. She really needed to come up with a better sleepwalking prevention solution. Her scarves weren’t going to take much more of this.
Her black pumps nearly snagged the hem of her dress as she stepped onto the sidewalk. She recovered and hustled up the steps to the entrance.
“Claire! Over here.” Hurried footsteps rushed across the parking lot toward her. What fresh hell?
A blinding light suddenly turned on. The vague shape of a woman appeared in front of her. “Diane Lang, Channel Four News. Claire, what is it like to be the only living victim of the West Haven Widowmaker?”
Claire turned around and marched straight for the doors. She thrust them open and disappeared inside without a backward glance. The foyer of the community center was empty. She started to walk through to the ballroom but stopped.
On this exact night one year ago, she had entered the building as a blossoming event planner with a fiancé and a plan for her life, and she had left it heartbroken but more determined than ever to succeed. Tonight, Wendy would pay for what she did. Wendy had taken her fiancé, tampered with Nicole’s picture-perfect proposal, and threatened Claire with a lawsuit. But she wasn’t going to take anything else. All she needed was a little deep breathing and she was going to kick this award ceremony’s ass.
Her heels clacked as she walked down the hallway on the left. She passed the men’s bathroom where Wendy had lured Jason into a stall and shook her head. If Wendy hadn’t done that, she could be married right now. In a way, Wendy had saved her. For someone who was supposed to be a romance expert, Claire hadn’t seen the lack of compatibility in her relationship until it blew up with a (quite literal) bang.
An open doorway revealed an empty classroom. She ducked inside and closed her eyes, planting her feet firmly just wider than hip-width. Her fists planted on her hips, she elevated her chin as though she were balancing a wineglass on her head. She breathed deeply in through her nose and out through her mouth.
“Whatcha doing?” A very long, shadowy torso leaned into the room.
Claire screamed and grabbed the nearest object—a whiteboard eraser—and flung it at the intruder. She put her fists up in a fighting stance. If the press had followed her in here, she was going to punch a bitch. Lawsuit be damned. She took a step forward and her heel caught on a snag in the rug, pitching her forward.
A muscular arm reached forward and grabbed her. Ah, shit.
“Sawyer,” she said, gripping his arm as he steadied her. “Well, that was embarrassing. You caught me doing my power stance.”
“Your power stance.” He raised his eyebrows.
“Yes, it’s supposed to help you feel more confident. Fake it till you make it, that kind of thing. I saw it on a TED talk.”
“Is it working?”
“It was until I nearly fell on my ass.”
He smiled and offered his arm. “This might be safer.”
“Thank you,” she said, grateful for Sawyer’s large, comforting presence.
“Press try to get you on the way in? I saw the anchor from Channel Four News moping around the parking lot.”
She nodded. “Just one this time. I think they’re finally getting bored.”
He guided her into the hallway and through the ballroom doors. Dozens of round tables covered in white linen tablecloths littered the room. A gleaming row of awards sat on a table onstage. Had she dusted her award shelf this morning?
“You look nice,” she said as they found their table. Sawyer had shed his usual company polo for a well-tailored black suit. He positioned himself with his back to the wall and tugged at his collar.
“Thanks. You look nice too. I hope you have your speech ready? No offense to the other candidate, but your proposals are clearly better.”
She smiled. “Thank you. I think so too.” She leaned closer to Sawyer and lowered her voice. “It’s never been proven by the police, but I know Wendy tampered with Nicole’s proposal. She’s the reason the carriage wheel broke. She almost ruined everything.”
“And now she’s suing you.” His eyes narrowed, and Claire followed his gaze.
Speaking of Satan’s bride. Clearly already drunk, Wendy stumbled into the room in a purple sequin evening gown. She looked as though she had just walked the red carpet at an adult film festival instead of the short flight of steps in front of a venue that didn’t even crack the top fifty in Claire’s list of favorite West Haven event spaces. Wendy squinted at the seating chart like it was written in another language.
Claire shrank down in her seat, attempting to hide behind Sawyer. It wasn’t a difficult task.
“Is that her?” he asked.
“Yep, that’s Wendy. Oh good, and there’s my ex-fiancé,” she added as Jason stumbled into the room and grabbed Wendy’s hips, miming a thrusting motion against her behind. They both banged into the easel that held the seating chart. It fell to the floor with a muffled thump, and a white-gloved waiter set it upright.
“I don’t like to judge a book by its cover,” Sawyer said with narrowed eyes. “But she might have done you a favor.”
“They deserve each other.” Claire took a sip from her water glass. There was usually an open bar at the awards ceremony, but she needed to stay sharp tonight. Plus, Rachel easily could have spies here ready to report on her public drinking. What she would give for just one glass of chardonnay for these nerves.
The intoxicated couple seemed to have found their table at last. Fortunately, it was at the opposite end of the ballroom. Instead of settling in her seat, Wendy surveyed the room before sprawling into Jason’s lap and kissing him full on the mouth. Her leg popped up, and she kicked the owner of a local cat café in the ribcage.
Claire turned her chair toward the stage so she wouldn’t have to watch. A white-haired couple settled into seats next to them.
“Bert! Good to see you,” she said. “How are the renovations coming on the restaurant?”
Bert, the owner of the West Haven Country Club, reached over to shake her hand. “Just fine, Claire. Should be done early next month. Have you met my wife, Eunice?”
They exchanged pleasantries before another elderly couple arrived and monopolized the conversation with talk of golf. Claire joined in momentarily. She knew nothing about golf, but there was always a chance for a golf course proposal.
“Incoming,” Sawyer whispered in her ear.
“Hmm?” She turned and nearly got a face full of sequined boobs.
“Oh, hello, Claire,” a sickly sweet voice said from a cloud of tequila.
“Wendy. Here to sue me for something?”
She was mercifully alone. Claire wasn’t sure she could handle her ex and her nemesis in her personal space at the same time without stabbing one of them with her butter knife.
“Maybe later,” Wendy said, tossing her long brown hair over one shoulder. Her boobs were dangerously close to popping out of the sweetheart neckline. “That’s a nice outfit—where did you find it, the grandma section of the thrift store?”
“Yes, that’s exactly where I found it. And while I was there, I could have sworn I saw your dress in the D-List Celebrity on Her Seventh Trip to Rehab aisle.”
“Cute. Where’s your fiancé? Oops, I mean your boyfriend. Your fiancé is with me, obviously.” Wendy laughed. “I’ll have to take Jason on a little trip down memory lane to the men’s bathroom. It’s our one-year anniversary, you know.”
Claire pushed her chair back, but Sawyer laid a firm hand on her shoulder.
“You can leave now,” he said, glaring at Wendy.
Wendy seemed to size Sawyer up for a moment before walking off in a huff and immediately crashing into a chair.
“What a psycho,” Sawyer said as she picked herself up and walked away. “And as the child of a psychologist, I shouldn’t even be using that word.”
Claire shrugged. “That was actually pretty mild for her. She barely mentioned the lawsuit, and only one jab at my love life. Maybe she’s growing up.”
“Doubt it,” he said, scanning the room. “I don’t trust her. She’s up to something.”
Claire glanced up. The she-devil was now sitting smugly on Jason’s lap with a dirty martini, clearly making a couple Claire recognized from a small business seminar uncomfortable.
An emcee came onstage and welcomed everyone, but she barely heard a word. She pulled notecards out of her clutch and went over her brief acceptance speech. Rubbing her win in the drunken harlot’s face was going to feel better than a week-long spa trip. Or a seven-day sex bender with Luke. Not that she was thinking about him right now. Even though their post-pizza phone chat had been the most productive conversation they’d had since Paris. Some things took time to forgive, and while she had softened, she wasn’t there yet.
Several awards were passed out to thunderous applause. Best Customer Service had been awarded to a local, independently owned pharmacy. They certainly deserved it—Claire had witnessed one of their pharmacy techs snowshoeing down Beaumont Street in a blizzard to deliver medication to a shut-in. Start-Up of the Year was given to De-Stress, a BYOB rage room, despite an alarming number of reported patron injuries.
Claire’s gut lurched when Event Planner of the Year appeared on the projector screen. She rubbed her hands over the wrinkle in her dress. “And now, before the presentation of the Event Planner of the Year award, we’ll see submissions from two of our best and brightest—three-time award winner Claire Hartley from Happily Ever Afters, and Wendy Flutter of The Yes Makers.”
The lights in the banquet room dimmed, and the room quieted. Could everyone hear her heartbeat? Sawyer rested a hand on her arm and squeezed.
Wendy’s proposal played first. An overly cinematic narrator droned over B-roll of chopsticks being unsheathed. He narrated the couple’s love story and the events as they unfolded as if it were a nature show, adding unnecessary enthusiasm.
“Crikey,” Sawyer whispered in Claire’s ear. “The wild female sits unaware in a two-star pan-Asian restaurant as the male prepares to make her his mate for life. Little does she know her engagement ring is almost as microscopic as his genitalia.”
Claire snorted, earning a disdainful look from one of the country club gentlemen next to her. Oops.
As the rest of the video unfolded, the groom-to-be predictably slid the waiter the ring. The waiter brought it out, baked into a brownie on top of a sundae. The bride bit into the brownie, clearly thought she broke a tooth, and drew out the fudge-covered ring. She immediately started crying. Her boyfriend got down on one knee, and everyone in the restaurant turned to stare.
Just as the on-screen participants began to clap, a smattering of polite applause littered the banquet room.
Across the room, Wendy preened, stroking her hair and laughing loudly at something Jason said. Claire, ever the professional, fought the urge to roll her eyes and leaned forward as her submission began to play.
Nicole and Kyle’s engagement unfolded onscreen, a brief super-cut that Luke had put together. Her stomach clenched again. Every second was expertly edited, each frame beautiful and poignant. Luke might have been an asshole, but there was no denying he knew what he was doing behind a camera. Each detail was expertly captured, from the long-awaited “yes” to the B-roll that artistically captured the details—the shoes, the carriage, even the way Nicole’s dress swirled around her in slow motion when she twirled.
When the video ended, the applause was thunderous. Claire wiped her sweaty palms on her skirt, preparing to stand up. Eunice reached across the table and patted her on the arm. “Beautiful, dear,” she said.
“And the winner of the Planner of the Year Award is…”
Why did the announcer pause? Was he doing this dramatic effect, or was he genuinely confused? Hartley wasn’t a difficult name to pronounce.
“Wendy Flutter?” He looked offstage and cocked his head.
What. The. Fuck. How was this possible? It couldn’t be. Who could have possibly preferred a generic restaurant proposal to Claire’s beautifully crafted and hand-tailored expression of love and friendship? Her hands clenched into fists. Her face must have been the color of a fire hydrant. She was going to schedule a meeting with the town council who voted on the entries. Something had clearly gone wrong. Wendy was not going to win. She couldn’t.
The room fell silent as Wendy stood. Someone coughed, and eventually some applause broke out, but it died before she even made it to the stage.
Sawyer rubbed Claire’s back, but no amount of comfort was going to calm her down. She was going to explode. She was going to stand up, smash this chair over the table, and stage an impromptu cage match with Wendy. Who needed one lawsuit when you could have two?
Wendy tripped over the hem of her dress as she climbed the stairs to the stage, overhead lights glaring off her purple sequins and blinding the front row. She grabbed the diamond-shaped glass award from the presenter and fist pumped with it.
“Look who’s Planner of the Year now, Claire,” she slurred into the microphone, brandishing the award.
Claire moved to stand up, but Sawyer pushed her back in her seat.
“Not yet. Breathe.”
She froze even though every muscle in her body screamed for her to flee. Okay, so this wasn’t the Oscars. There probably wasn’t a camera zooming in on her face to showcase her humiliation to the world. But dammit, she was a professional. And she cared about her reputation in the small business community. She fought to fix a pleasant, neutral expression on her face as the treacherous, fiancé-stealing, carriage-tampering sewer rat began her monologue.
“You look like you’re trying to hold in a sneeze. Try again.” Sawyer whispered.
She un-pursed her lips.
“I’d like to thank everyone who helped make this possible. My parents, for giving birth to an event planning genius.” Wendy giggled. “My boyfriend, Jason, for always being so supportive and having the biggest dick this side of the Mississip?—”
The award fell from her hand and hit the floor with a thunk.
Unlike Claire’s hopes and dreams, it refused to shatter into a thousand pieces. Great.
“Oopsie,” Wendy said, bending over to pick it up. When she rose, her sweetheart neckline had dipped even more dramatically, leaving one breast completely exposed.
A gasp split the room. The country club owner at Claire’s table leaned forward intently. His wife swatted him with a program. One balding man at the next table removed his glasses and cleaned them to get a better look.
Wendy appeared to be so intoxicated that she didn’t notice her wardrobe malfunction. Her eyes were slightly crossed as she continued. A lone camera shutter clicked.
The emcee approached and tried to whisper in her ear, but Wendy fought him off with the award.
“Get off, I’m not done. And thank you, Chamber of Commerce,” she said, waving her arm grandly, “for recognizing my potential and my true talent in the field of event planning. I guess the best woman finally won this year,” she said, turning on her heel and walking offstage.
“Uhhhh. Next up, Best Food Truck,” the emcee continued. He pulled an antibacterial wipe from a tub and wiped down the microphone and podium.
“Let’s go,” Sawyer said, pulling Claire to her feet and laying one hand protectively at the small of her back.
She should stay for the rest of the awards. It wasn’t a good look to duck out before all the winners had been recognized. But she didn’t care. Her entire body burned with the fire of a million suns. She held her head high and took short, measured steps on the way out despite the desire to scream until the entire remaining row of awards shattered. She waved goodbye at a few business owners on her way out.
“Miss Hartley,” someone called as she had her hand on the door. “Could I bother you for a quote for the Standard Times?”
Claire whirled around, ready to explode. How had the press gotten inside? Officer Shiccitano was failing miserably at his job. She would have been better protected by half a ham sandwich.
“He means for the event.” Sawyer nudged her with his elbow, and it was like the beak of a dolphin crashing into her rib cage at thirty miles an hour.
Claire winced and set her gaze on the reporter with a pad of paper and press badge. “Sure. I would like to extend a formal congratulations to Wendy and The Yes Makers. That restaurant proposal was really…unique. I’m sure we both have a lot of exciting proposals in the works this year. Check out my blog for more Happily Ever Afters.” She whirled and pushed through the double doors to the outside, not waiting for a response.
Sawyer followed close behind her. “Are you okay? Do you need anything? Froyo?”
She exhaled noisily and turned to face him. “I’m good. I’m just going to go home. Or maybe drink a fifth of vodka and run a 5K. I haven’t decided. See you later?”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “See you later.”
She climbed into her car and flung her clutch into the passenger seat. She pulled out of the parking lot, waving at Sawyer, who still hadn’t moved. Her grip was so tight on the steering wheel that her hands ached.
A single parking spot was open on the corner by her third-favorite bodega, and she whipped into it without thought. All at once, she was overwhelmed by every negative feeling she had harbored for the last four months. She emitted a scream that was so loud she could have sworn she saw the glass shudder. Was screaming therapy a thing? If not, maybe it should be.
Her phone vibrated, and she pulled it out of her purse. Ignoring the text that had just popped up from her mother, she went straight to her group text message with Mindy and Nicole. Her hands shook as she typed a message.
Claire: Code Purple. This is not a drill. Bring your college yearbooks and meet me at thewarehouse tonight at 10.