by Laura Briggs
Erica pushed the doctor’s hand away. Glaring at Gwen she said, “What are you doing in here? Get out.” Her voice cold and even, a tone Gwen had only heard her use to address staff underlings, or Clare, up to this point. “This is my private dressing room, and no one is allowed to enter without permission.”
Beside Gwen, the assistant was cringing. “I’m sorry, Ms. Hilbourne, but she just insisted on seeing you. I tried to stop her—”
“I. Said Out!” Erica hurled this last word with extra force, leaning forward in her chair for emphasis.
As the former downtrodden assistant to Grace Taylor, Gwen was accustomed to dealing with sudden fits of rage. So her voice didn’t even tremble, as she stepped forward and said, “Ms. Hilbourne, there’s something you really ought to see. I think you would want to know about it right away.”
Before Erica could respond to that, she thrust the paper into her hands, its page folded to the article’s scathing headline. As she looked at it, Erica’s expression went from one of bewilderment to absolute fury. Lowering the paper, she barked out orders to her secretary.
“Get my agent on the phone. Now. And phone our contacts with the press—find out where Ms. Rogers got her source.” She crumpled the paper, tossing it in the nearby wastebasket.
Hesitant, Gwen told her, “Ms. Hilbourne, I’m so sorry. I don’t know how Mitzy could have realized any of this was —”
“You.” Erica’s gaze narrowed in Gwen’s direction. “It was your job to keep Ms. Rogers informed—about the things she was supposed to know, that is. Clearly, that went wrong somehow.”
Gwen nodded, resisting the urge to wince at this accusation. “It did," she admitted. "And if there’s any way I can make that up—”
“There is,” Erica replied shortly. “You can get out of my sight. Permanently.”
With that, she slumped back in her chair, gesturing for the doctor to proceed. Never giving Gwen another glance as the wedding planner slipped quietly out the door.
*****
Not since Grace Taylor fired her that fateful day last spring had Gwen felt more like a failure as a wedding planner. Maybe she really was to blame for Mitzy’s scandalous story. She hadn’t supervised her properly, or double-checked to be sure the journalist was distracted whenever she was conducting secret errands for Grace. Perhaps if she had reasoned with Mitzy about Erica's need for privacy, instead of resorting to subterfuge, things would have turned out different.
Or maybe, Gwen should just have confronted her client long ago about the secrecy for the more unreasonable expectations for the Hilbourne-Dresden wedding. Like the groomsmen for hire, she thought with a grimace. Worse than that, insisting that Clare choose a dress that she hated, when the girl’s own selection had been perfectly beautiful, in Gwen’s estimation.
Clare. She felt a stab of pity remembering the teenager’s disappointment. Not only for the dress, but for her mother’s seeming indifference to most of her feelings on almost every subject. None of this boded well for their future as a family, whatever image they tried to present to the media.
She shook her head. It was too late for her to help change any of that. With an aching heart, she pushed the button on the elevator, the one which would carry her to the lobby. What will I tell my staff? she thought. They know about the wager with Grace. They know this could finish us as a firm.
Erica had all but fired her. Sometime soon, Gwen’s former boss would learn of this event and use it to crush Gwen's reputation as a planner. Even if she didn’t spread the gossip about Gwen's time working for her, Gwen knew the damage to her agency’s reputation by this professional failure would be enough to drive some potential clients away for good.
What have I done? I've ruined the chances to build a great event planning firm ... to make something of this business, and give others a chance. How will we survive it without going under? Gwen couldn’t help these thoughts, along with ones about Therese and Alan’s disappointment when they realized their own careers were going nowhere. And her old friend, Joan, the longsuffering secretary for Grace Taylor, whom she had promised to hire as soon as she could afford another full-time employee.
Now, she’d be lucky to get employment herself if the firm closed. Probably as another assistant to a Grace Taylor-esque event coordinator. The thought of going back to her days of running errands and filling out someone else’s paperwork was almost too much to bear. Especially with the humiliation of this first big chance falling into shambles.
And then there was Ryan. He had supported her through all of this, knowing how much it meant to her future as an event planner. Not knowing how little time it left her for planning their own wedding day, despite how deeply she looked forward to taking those vows in front of their friends and family.
Just the thought of this made her want to cry. Along with the sight of Bridal Boutique, the wedding gown of her dreams still missing from its window display. At least I wasn't stupid enough to buy it, she thought. We never could have afforded it now.
She hesitated, then pushed open the shop door. The girl at the desk must be new, her face unfamiliar from the many times Gwen had visited the shop with would-be brides. Greeting her cheerily, the girl listened to her description of the beautiful display gown.
There wasn't a chance it had been returned, but Gwen wanted to ask anyway. To try it on one last time before letting the dream go, along with the chapel and all the other details she didn't have time to make come true.
“Oh, yes. I believe we sold that item just a few days ago. It was designed locally for a special fashion show. A one of a kind piece," said the sales clerk.
“It was,” Gwen agreed sadly.
In a few days, maybe, after she knew where she stood in terms of her job, she would look for a dress that fit her meager wedding budget. First, however, she had things to do. Notably, to figure out what to do about her career now that she'd let this misstep end her days with the Hilbourne-Dresden wedding.
She had worked too hard to let her agency go without a fight. I worked hard on this wedding, even if I didn't foresee Mitzy's treachery. That has to count for something, whether Erica wants to admit it or not.
Maybe she could talk to Erica, find a way to prove somehow that she was still capable of seeing this assignment through. Maybe she could fight for this job and still save it.
Meanwhile, she needed to shake off this feeling of self-pity. Even with her job in danger, there were still a few things she could count on in her life—and one of them, she had been neglecting far too much lately.
She bid the clerk goodbye and moved down the sidewalk towards the bus stop. Pausing first at the little bakery she and Ryan had visited the night they picked out his Christmas tree. She emerged a few minutes later carrying a tiny paper sack and boarded the bus, a faint smile on her lips.
Ryan’s office building was a small, rented space, much like Creative Coordination’s. Only the interior was divided into cubicles, where employees kept a phone and computers equipped with graphics programs and printers, amid their office paperwork and personal knick knacks. Ryan kept a Rubik’s cube as a paperweight, a coffee mug shaped like Yoda’s head crammed full of ballpoint pens and highlighters.
At the moment, one of those highlighters was in his hand, as he went through a stack of printed designs. When he saw Gwen, his face lit up. Placing aside his papers, he rose to greet her with a hug.
“Hey you. This is a nice surprise.”
“I thought you could use a little Christmas cheer,” she said, holding up the sack with the bakery’s logo stamped on it. “One jumbo gingerbread cookie man with coconut frosting. For nourishment, since I know you techie types are glued to your computers all day.”
Ryan laughed. “You’re right about that. This should give me just enough energy to get through my three o’clock sales pitch.”
He sampled the cookie with an appreciative grin. One that faded as he studied Gwen’s face. “Something’s wrong,” he guessed. “You’ve got that look,
the one you save for emergency-scenarios only. Or am I imagining things?”
“I’ve got a few issues on my plate,” she admitted. My job, our wedding, my getting fired today…you know, nothing big, said the mocking voice in Gwen’s head. If only he could read her mind, this would be so much easier.
“Want to talk about it?” he asked. Voice gentle, gaze searching her expression with concern.
“I will,” she promised. “But later. You have an assignment to get ready for.”
“So do you, probably,” he said, tucking back a strand of hair that escaped from her updo. “The city’s next premier wedding planner doesn’t have much time for cookie breaks either.” As he said this, he broke a piece off the gingerbread treat, holding it out to Gwen.
She laughed and poked it inside her mouth, trying not to let him see this description of herself hurt a little right now. Tasting nutmeg and sugar, sweet coconut and a hint of cinnamon, she found herself smiling just a little. “Just what I need on a day like this,” she told him, licking her fingers. Wishing that was all it took to cheer her up, when at this point, a miracle was more or less the only way to salvage her holiday season.
Ryan looked serious again at this remark. “Sure there’s nothing we need to talk about now? I could skip this appointment, sneak out the back door—”
She shook her head, managing a smile for this teasing suggestion. Yet she knew he would do just that if he thought she really needed his help right now. That was making it harder not to tear up as she gave him a goodbye kiss. “See you later,” she whispered, squeezing his hand before she moved towards the door again.
A man in a business suit held it open for her, his other hand raising in a wave of greeting for Ryan. She glanced back to see them shaking hands, as Ryan ushered his client towards the part of the office reserved for company-client meetings.
Seeing Ryan, even for just a minute, had boosted her spirits. She knew she had to face these problems instead of pushing them away. To take stock of her business and plan how best to salvage its future.
With that in view, she reached inside her bag, feeling around for her trusty digital planner. Only to find her cell phone, makeup, billfold, and nothing else.
Where was it? She hadn’t used it at the office or on the bus earlier. Maybe not at all today, she realized, remembering how the morning’s chaos had overshadowed every other part of her schedule. And it was there Gwen found her most likely explanation, her steps coming to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk.
Her planner—along with a box full of office notebooks and portfolios—were still at Hilbourne Headquarters. Meaning she had to go back there. And soon.
*****
Like a perpetrator returning to the scene of the crime. That’s how Gwen felt, sneaking back into Erica’s office building late that afternoon. Most of the staff had probably gone for the day; Gwen was the lone elevator passenger to the eighth floor. The receptionist barely gave her a glance, busy on the phone with someone of a more impressive status, no doubt.
Moving quietly down the hall, Gwen found the door ajar to her temporary work space in the cosmetics mogul's building. She slipped inside, not bothering to turn on the light.
Her things were still spread across the desk, her planner stacked with a portfolio of wedding cake designs. She reached for them, freezing abruptly when she noticed the figure in the corner. Curled in the armchair, staring out the window to the city skyline beyond, was Erica Hilbourne.
Gwen’s former client was wrapped in a thin cashmere sweater, the most casual garments Gwen had ever seen her wear. Her face was slightly red and puffy — whether from crying or from the Botox injections, Gwen didn't know.
Erica was aware of her. She stirred, a faint, wry smile tugging at her lips. “This was Clare’s favorite view as a little girl," she said. "If I had to work late at Christmas time, we would sit in here, so she could see the tree in the park. She watched the parade from here, too.”
Gwen found her voice. "It's a beautiful view," she said. "I'll bet she loved watching the floats from up high."
A sigh followed from Erica. Her client turned away from the window to look at Gwen. There were no traces of this morning’s anger in her face. Instead, she looked a little sad, her eyes meeting Gwen’s. “It wasn’t your fault, by the way. The article in the newspaper.” She chose her words carefully, her voice sounding weary. "I'm sorry if I implied you were the only one to blame for it."
Gwen didn’t know what to say. She sank slowly onto the edge of the desk, aware this was the first time she had seen real emotion from her client. And that this was an apology of sorts for firing her this morning. Whether or not that meant she was being reinstated as wedding planner remained to be seen. At this moment, she was more concerned with the fact her client seemed to be on the verge of crying.
“If anyone’s to blame, it’s me,” Erica continued. “I was so concerned about things looking perfect on the outside, when underneath, they’re really a big mess. Kind of like me.”
This last part was mumbled, a tear slipping from the corner of one eye. She didn’t wipe it away, letting it trickle down, as others joined it. Smudging her mascara, something else Gwen could scarcely believe was happening.
With a sniffle, Erica began speaking again. “This whole wedding ceremony is like a metaphor for my life. All coordinated and carried out by someone else.” She laughed, bitterly. “I didn’t even buy Clare’s Christmas presents this year. I let Sandra pick them out and had one of my other assistants wrap them. Is it any wonder she hates me?”
A fresh sob escaped, Erica burying her face in defeat. Quickly, Gwen moved beside her, wrapping an arm around her shaking shoulders.
“I’m sure that’s not true,” said Gwen. “Clare is upset, but she doesn’t hate you. She just wants to feel included in your life — but as herself." She thought of the incident at the dress shop. "She wants to know that you care about her feelings and her interests. I think that's why she doesn't want to be in your bridal party. Not because she doesn't want to be a part of your big day, but because she feels like that's not where she belongs in it."
“Then what should I do?” Erica asked. “It’s too late to make her feel included in the wedding plans. She didn’t like the idea of being a bridesmaid, so that won’t work.” She pulled a tissue from the box on the side table, wiping her damp eyes. "I wanted her to be part of it because I didn't want her to feel like I was putting her aside for a new life — one with Brock instead of her." She crumpled the tissue in her hand.
“Talk to her,” Gwen urged. “Let her know how bad you feel about missing out on sharing this special day with her. You might be surprised how willing she is to give things a second chance.”
Her client sighed again. “It’s just so hard. I get so swept up in the prep for the wedding, that I forget what all this really means. That we’ll be a family afterwards. Me, Brock, and Clare. And Clare and I haven't been much like a family for the past few years. It's all arguments and misunderstandings, and all her mumbled answers whenever I try to give her advice. She has a better relationship with Brock at this point — at least they're not yelling at each other. I feel like a monster mother for pushing her so hard.”
Part of this felt familiar. Gwen’s mind wandered back to her bet with Grace Taylor. The fierce determination that drove her to go overboard on her duties as chief event planner for the Hilbourne-Dresden ceremony. Putting her and Ryan’s once-in-a-lifetime event at risk, as she ignored the pull of her heart in favor of pride. I should never have taken her wager, even if it meant she told her clients to avoid me forever, she thought. I shouldn't have let her push me into making a mistake, and thinking she'd risk Perfect Vows' reputation just to bury me in scandal.
“I know what you mean,” Gwen began, tentatively. “When we’re worried about other people’s impression of us, it can be pretty easy to lose sight of what really counts. But you can’t just give up because you made some mistakes. That wouldn’t be much of an example for
Clare, after all. And she has a mother who's a great example of what kind of success confidence and hard work can create.”
This seemed to give Erica pause. She wiped more of her tears away, glancing at Gwen as she said, “At the dress shop, yesterday. You tried to help me make the right decision, and I didn’t listen. I’m sorry for brushing you off like that.”
“Never mind that,” said Gwen. She wished her client had thought of this sooner, but it was better late than never. Gently, she answered, “What you really need to focus on is Clare, and the man whose about to be her stepfather. That’s what counts here, not dresses and eyeliners and newspaper stories.”
Erica nodded. “You’re right, of course. I know I have to try—even if it takes a long time to work it out. And I'll need to spend more time on it, and less on the details of my so-called 'perfect day.'” She glanced at Gwen, her smile a little brighter than before. A note of hope in her voice as she asked, “You’ll stay, right? As the event planner for my wedding, I mean. We’d be lost without you, I think.”
“I would be honored,” said Gwen. With a smile equally warm and genuine as her client’s.
*****
Tonight was Ryan’s dinner out with the guy’s from work. Gwen knew they would be chowing down on batter-dipped fries about now, discussing the latest news in sci-fi comics and conventions. For this reason, she didn’t phone his cell as she bought her own dinner from a café two streets over from Erica’s office building, during a break from her R.S.V.P. list and seating charts for the reception.
Before her on the table, amid the food wrapper and napkins, her electronic planner and charts were arranged. Tasks she would have taken care of this morning had she not been temporarily sacked as chief event planner, not that she was complaining at this point.
