Point of No Return

by Olivia Luck

  “Nothing much planned,” I evade. Actually, I’m going to an independent movie theater to dig into the long list of movies I’ve never seen before. Felix was going to come with me, but something work-related took precedent. I don’t want Dominic tagging along if I mention it. Knowing him, he just might.

  “Cool.” He shuffles from foot to foot, glancing at the glass-walled conference room. Inside, there are three women chatting. They must be the public relations team that I’m meeting.

  Reaching out, I squeeze his upper arm and flash him an appreciative look. “Thanks for pushing me to go for this job, Dominic. I’ll let you know how the meeting goes, okay?”

  “Okay. Good luck.” He puts on his charming expression, the one that displays his dimple and reminds me of happier times. Dominic waves at the women and then he saunters off.

  My shoulders go back and my professional mask falls into place as I push my way into the conference room. There’s a large, flat-screen television acting as a computer monitor, a black-topped table with seating for six, and the Scrapers logo painted on the wall opposite the computer monitor. “Janet?” I guess as a woman approaches me. She has to be in her late forties, a fun ash blond bob swishing above the shoulders of her sweater.

  “Welcome, Violet. We’re glad to have you here.” At least one of the three looks pleased. A young, willowy woman in an expertly tailored red shift paints on a stiff smile at my appearance. “This is Paige and back there, setting up our computer, is Amber.” Paige, the woman in the red dress with honey-hued waves tumbling over her shoulders, lifts her hand limply. I grasp her wet-fish handshake and respond with a firm grip.

  “We’re expecting the team representative, Cam Stone, too. Why don’t we get seated and we’ll introduce ourselves. Hopefully, Cam will be here by then and you can share what ideas you have.” Janet gestures toward a seat at the top of the room. Placing my bag flat on the table, I pull out all of the materials I created, a USB stick with my presentation, and a notebook.

  Going back to work is like riding a bike, I remind myself through a wave of uncertainty. You know exactly what to do.

  Just then, the door to the conference room swings open. Cameron strolls through, all relaxed and even-keeled. What I would do for that sort of calm confidence. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice Paige sit up straighter, smooth her hands over the conference table, and paint on a demure expression.

  “Sorry, I’m late, ladies. I hope you started without me.” Cameron’s charming, megawatt grin tells me that he’s not that sorry.

  No one seems to mind. In fact, the now perky Paige speaks up in a breathless, wispy voice. “Not at all, Cam. We’re just about to tell Violet how public relations work here for the Scrapers.”

  Cameron slides into the seat next to Paige, on the opposite side of the table from me. It’s strange; I hardly know the guy but having one familiar face in the room boosts my confidence a hair.

  “Right. I’m the PR Director here and our liaison to the marketing team and executive board. I’m here as their representative for this event. For the majority of issues, I will be our decision maker,” Janet says from my right. She slides a business card to me, and in return, I grab a handful of the new cards I made just last week through an online store and toss them across the table.

  “I’m Cam. Someone mistakenly thought I have the expertise to help with the event planning. I’ll do my best not to disappoint.” After his brief introduction, Cameron’s eyes meet mine and his lips twitch. And in response . . . a light switches on inside me.

  I’m ready for this.

  “Like Janet said, I’m Paige, the PR manager. We’ll work together closely. I’ve done a lot of event planning for the Scrapers, so I have a pretty good idea of what we need to make this event a success.” The breathless quality disappeared from her tone, and the words are delivered in a clipped manner. Oh, I see it now. Paige doesn’t want me encroaching on her ground.

  Too bad, this is my job and I’m taking it.

  Where did that response come from? I can’t remember the last time my competitive streak wandered out into the open, but I’ve found it and I’m going to channel it into the most successful Scrapers charity gala yet.

  “I’m the marketing and PR generalist. Whatever you need from our end, I can help. Like expenses and setting meetings and calls.” Amber’s eyes flit to mine and then away. She has frizzy brown hair and there’s a coffee stain on her white shirt. Obviously the most junior and shy member of the team, I take to her immediately.

  “Thank you for inviting me into your office today. May I?” Motioning to the computer mouse and keyboard, I cast a confirming look at Amber, who nods in encouragement. With a few clicks of a mouse, I have my presentation pulled up. “From what you’ve told me, Janet, the Scrapers want to elevate their annual fundraiser. Our goal is to raise twenty-five thousand dollars. That’s hefty, but I’m confident we can get there with some creative thinking.” Pressing my forefinger on the mouse, my first slide appears on the screen. It’s a professional photo of the seventies themed party I threw for Speck, the last company I worked for. I pass around a stack of spiral bound books. “Before we get there, let me tell you about my philosophy when it comes to events. There’s no detail too small or aspect of the event I won’t have my hands on. Preparation is key, and that’s why I spend time creating things like these decks to finalize all of the details. Each of you will get one the week before our gala. There’s a timeline, pictures of individual vendors, and room layouts. All of these items will be agreed upon before the event, of course. You will have this hard copy as a reference.”

  “Why would we want to carry around this document on the day of the gala? Are you expecting our team to be working?” Paige interrupts rudely and instantly my hackles rise.

  “Absolutely not. I’ll handle everything from decorations, to vendors, to music, to raffle donations. The book’s there if you need it, and if not, no worries,” I say swiftly.

  “Hmm. Actually, Paige and Amber will be on-site that day to assist you. This will be a team effort,” Janet interjects without looking at Paige whose upper lip curls as if she smelled something vile.

  “These are the types of details we can nail down closer to time, but I assure you that it will be entirely your decision. On my end, I won’t need any assistance from your team to make the evening run seamlessly.”

  Janet nods, murmuring to herself as she runs through the deck. “How far in advance will you secure the band, caterer, and venue? In the past, we’ve waited until the last moment to get these details hammered out and it makes for a rocky process.”

  A strangled throat clearing across the table startles me, but I keep an even face. Apparently, Paige isn’t happy.

  “That process has already begun. We’ll confirm the choices as quickly as you approve them. I’m going to present two options I have in mind already for our location. These venues are both available on the day of our event. I put feelers out anonymously to not let any ill will float back to the Scrapers if we don’t select them. We can get contracts out by the end of next week if you’d like to have a site visit.” The chair pivots as I swivel to Janet.

  There’s a smile playing on her lips and the knot of tension in my stomach begins to unravel. You have her.

  “By all means. Share away.”

  Click. One press of a button pushes the presentation forward, pulling up the main hall of the Modern, a museum with sweeping views of Lake Michigan and enormously popular modern art installations. “In the past, you’ve had cocktail parties. What I’m suggesting is a full-blown black-tie affair at the museum. Think black and gold glitz and glam with a band, full dinner. An affair to splash across the society pages. The silent auction prizes will be based on that modern theme. Our guests will bid on a Lamborghini rental, as well as urban experiences in New York and LA. Blake Campbell even offered the team jet.”

  “Really? A bunch of hockey players don’t want to get all dressed up for this on their time off the
rink. They like the cocktail party because it’s short and sweet,” Paige says when I pause. There’s no hiding the scorn in her voice.

  Just as my heart dips in disappointment, Cameron speaks up. I had almost forgotten he was there. “That’s what we did in the past, but it wasn’t very successful. I can only speak for myself, but a cocktail party gets boring after you’ve had everything on the waiter’s trays. Believe me when I say there’s some vanity on my team. The guys like getting dressed up more than they let on. I like this idea.”

  Inwardly, I heave a sigh of relief. Thank you, Cameron.

  “I tend to agree. The museum is remarkable and could be an excellent choice. What else have you got in your arsenal?” Janet asks.

  Click. “Okay. Roll with me on this one. The top of the Mason library has an exquisite event space. Plenty of room for three hundred guests; there’s a private entrance and elevator to make it feel like an exclusive venue rather than the place to check out books. The acoustics are phenomenal for a band and the décor itself is lovely; it won’t need much in terms of decoration. Now there would probably be a bit of overlap with the prizes I secure for this location, but I think we can give away some creative prizes. They would revolve around epic adventures. Think a luxury hunting trip with other professional athletes from the city. Since the Campbells own the Chicago Wind too, we can work with the football players.”

  “This is wonderful, Violet. I can see our event flourishing under this vision. However,” Janet emphasizes the word heavily and just as my heart lifts, it stutters. Across the table, Paige smirks. “It’s all fun and games until we see the numbers. What will these events cost us?”

  This I can do. Again, I pass around two pieces of paper stapled together to the rest of the table. “Here’s my proposed budget. You’ll see that I came five thousand under the number you gave me when we talked on the phone last week. Since we are holding a fundraiser, vendors will be willing to give us discounted prices. We can get that budget number down even further and have the money to spend elsewhere.”

  “What’s this line item for a bus?” Amber asks innocently. She’s sharp, zeroing in on the item that I wanted to discuss at the end of this meeting. Every eye in the room focuses on me. Silently, I pull out all of the confidence I have left, ready for my impassioned speech.

  “All of the pomp and circumstances of this event will lead to more charitable donations, I can promise you that. However, I think we can do one better. We’re raising money for the Hope House. I’m guessing Blake Campbell had a hand in choosing this charity because I know this place is dear to him. One of my family members–” Okay, that’s not entirely true. I’m referring to Max’s cousin, but I consider him family. He is family; if nothing else, a dear friend. “–lives there, too. I’m familiar with the residents and many of the staff. My point in telling you this is that there are five hundred people living in the Hope House. Many of them don’t have the capability to attend a function like this fundraiser, but a good thirty percent would be ecstatic to be part of the celebration of their home. We should invite the residents. Imagine the players and the back office mingling and making new friends. It would make the evening all the more memorable. I know for a fact that there are some huge Scrapers fans at the Hope House. We should make their year. It won’t just benefit the residents, but also everyone from the Scrapers organization would have the chance to meet the people they are helping by donating. This request is unconventional, yes, I know, but I truly believe you should consider it.” By the time I’m finished with my speech, I’m breathing heavily. The request is the impetus for my anxiety.

  “The photo ops would be ridiculous. We’d get all the gossip sites to feature the pictures, the local press. We should do it,” Paige jumps in, showing the first sign of enthusiasm for anything I’ve said all afternoon. My mood sours slightly. That’s not why I want the Hope House residents to come; I want them to have a carefree night on the town, a chance to dress up and spend time with their hockey idols. I keep my lips firmly closed.

  “It’s a tremendous idea, Violet,” Janet says.

  “I want to meet with the team and tell them what to expect. Also, my, er, cousin Ben could speak to them, too.” Shooting Cameron a nervous look, I continue. “That way everyone is on board.” He nods in agreement. I’m hoping he’ll voice his opinion. He’s my biggest sell here.

  “The museum party would be the best fit, I think,” Amber speaks up suddenly. “Lots of guys on the team go out to fancy restaurants and clubs.” Her cheeks turn red. “I mean, I compile the press clippings, that’s how I know.”

  Suddenly, Cameron clears his throat. I’ve been waiting for this moment. Slithering to the edge of my seat, I wait with my breath held.

  “Agreed, Amber. But we should mix the prize packages you mentioned, Violet. The guys will bid on all of those things you mentioned. Epic trips? Sign me up. You shouldn’t forget about the wives and girlfriends who will be there though. Most of these suckers are whipped.” A boyish smile highlights his features and I squeeze my hands at my sides in victory. Yes! “All that aside, inviting the residents of the Hope House is exactly the fresh perspective we need for this event. We’ll get our twenty-five seeing exactly where our money is headed. Brilliant.”

  Even Paige has a glimmer of excitement in her eyes.

  I want to jump up and down triumphantly. I still have it! And then, just as quickly as pleasure fills my veins, the emotion comes to screeching halt. Yeah, I’m achieving a professional milestone, but who will share in the joy with me? Covering up the jab of pain that is about to make its presence known on my face, I plaster on a smile and continue the meeting.

  Before I leave the conference room, I have a signed contract in my hands and permission to set up a site visit next week. All the hands are shaken and the pleasantries exchanged as I begin to walk past reception to leave. Normally, I’d visit Stella, but she’s out of the office meeting with someone or something.

  “Nice work.” Tilting my head up, I catch Cameron grinning down at me toothily. “You went for the hat trick in there.”

  “Hat trick?” I ask.

  “When a player scores three goals in a game, the fans toss their hat on the ice in appreciation. You picked the right word, Violet. This event’s going to be epic.” Pride swirls in his brown eyes like he’s satisfied with my performance. He hardly knows me, so how could that be?

  Somehow, despite the fact that this is the first time we’ve ever met, his words dig up the tiniest bit of gratification in me. Hey, I really did do a good job. “Thank you, Cameron,” I say softly, my adrenaline faltering. “It was great to meet you. Have a good weekend.”

  With a flat palm, he pushes the glass door open for me, and his eyes are suddenly soft. “Think about Rocky, okay?”

  Oh, right. The dog. With all the excitement of my first professional meeting in over a year, I nearly forgot about him. “I will. Take care.” I lift my fingers in an awkward, half wave. My heels sink into the plush carpeted staircase, my back erect, head held high. Inside, I’m trembling. Oh, my goodness. I got the job! Accolades, award cases, and team posters adorn the walls as I wind my way through the labyrinth toward the entrance, but I don’t notice any of them. The pinch at my pinky toe from my pointy pumps hardly registers because I got the job! They liked my ideas, even bringing in the Hope House residents. Without breaking my stride, I dig through my bag and fish out my cell phone.

  Looks like we will be working together. Kind of :)

  A moment later Stella shoots a text back.

  YES! Knew it.

  Her unwavering support causes a lump to form in my throat. Before Max came into my life and after, there’ve been many lonely nights. Trudging through forests of uncertainty, I wondered if I was meant to spend my life walking alone. Still, I ask myself if I’m meant to find someone to love. There, in the darkest of moments, when I thought no light would shine on me again, I found Stella and Felix. To a lesser extent, there’s Blake and even Dominic, who care
s for me in his own obscure way.

  Got the job! I text Dominic.

  In the time I’ve spent inside the Scrapers facility, the wind has picked up. It brushes against my cheeks, swirling the tips of my hair around my shoulders while I wait for the bus.

  Sweet. On a call, talk later, he responds.

  Typical Dominic—abrupt and direct, to the point. The rickety bus creaks to a stop a few paces away. I climb on, flash my monthly transportation card to the driver, and find a spot to stand, watching the city blocks crawl by.

  In another time and place, I wouldn’t be on this bus making a trek eastward. Instead, I’d use public transit to ride to the north side of town. That’s where the condo is that Max bought after a few years in the firehouse were behind him. Once Max proposed, I finally relented to his endless demands for me to live with him.

  I guess you can take the girl out of rural Illinois, but you can’t erase the strict moral code impressed upon her while she lived there. Well, for the most part. I shake my head, clearing my mind of the foolish memories.

  After Max had died, I wasn’t the woman I thought myself to be. For a long time, I would call myself fearless and brave. After I had lost Max, the truth hit me harder than a ton of bricks—I was weak.

  I didn’t live in our condo anymore. Immediately after learning of Max’s death, I went to Stella. Felix and I lived in her and Blake’s house for a while. A month? The days passed by in a bleak trail of tears and stark nightmares. One day Felix decided that, for both of us, I had to leave their house and begin the process of “moving on.” Those were his words, not mine. Move on? How could you move on from the big love of your life? How could you let go of the best memories of your life? There was no magical device to rid your memory of the only person who truly made you feel worthy of love. No, I didn’t see it then and I don’t see it now. There’s no way I’ll get over the loss of my Max.

  Ever.

  That’s why I moved into Stella’s old condo. If I went back to my place with Max, it would be real. In that world, Max is gone and I have no choice but to “move on.” In the safe haven of Stella’s one-bedroom, I can smother the awful memories of life without Max.