| |
––––––––
THE PARTY PLANNING was coming along swimmingly. Brit had a caterer booked, and she just finished faxing over the contract to the owners of the building where the event would be held. Saffron was having lunch with one of her theater friends to try to figure out how to get a hold of some theater-style curtains for sound dampening.
As it turned out, the building wasn’t abandoned, and it took some doing to figure out who actually owned the place. She had to contact Autumn from SMS who had to contact someone else from the magazine, and then give Brit the owner’s name, and the owner ended up being on holiday and took a few days to return her call.
Flyers were hung at prominent locations in high-end clubs and restaurants, and Brit sent out a couple dozen invitations to VIPs she knew she wanted to be there. On one hand, she wanted the event to be exclusive. On the other hand, she knew Lander wanted the event to be packed. The space couldn’t accommodate too many, so Brit was shooting for a happy medium.
She was back in her father’s office booting up the rolodex software to find out how to get into contact with DJ Knight’s manager. Her phone beeped next to her, and she checked the text message. It was from J.J.
J.J. MACKDADDY: Don’t hate me.
Oh no. Was he going to change the dress code again and decide everyone else should be in rainbow colors, and he would be in white?
BRIT: Sup?
Brit was too anxious to resume her search for the phone number. She wanted everything to be perfect. She needed everything to be perfect, so she was steeling herself for whatever complication J.J. was going to throw at her. This was part of the job. She was used to catering to the changing winds of artists’ preferences. The fact that she didn’t do it full time or for pay was her only consolation. She could sass back and walk out at any time, and people would just chalk it up to her being spoiled or something like that. But she didn’t want to play that card with J.J.
J.J. MACKDADDY: “I have to bail on the party.”
BRIT: “What??? It’s YOUR party.”
Brit impatiently drummed her fingers on the side of her phone as she clutched it between her hands. She could tell J.J. was typing, and he was taking his sweet time composing whatever soliloquy he was about to send her—whatever lame excuse he was going to suggest. Did she have bad instincts? Was another artist she was excited about just going to up and disappear? At least he was giving her notice—that was something. He wasn’t pulling a Vincent.
She couldn’t wait any longer. She dialed J.J.’s number.
“Hey.”
“Hey you. So what’s up?”
“Lander got me a spot on the reboot of TRL in NYC. He lined it up so that the timing works out with my release. They’re going to play a song on the show, and I get to be guest host or something. I’ve never seen the show, but it sounds rad. He’s going to schedule something low-key at a club down there then, I guess.”
So it was Lander’s fault. Suddenly all Brit’s worries about J.J. pulling a Vincent were unfounded.
“That’s an amazing opportunity! Don’t be sorry about that. I put a deposit down on the space, but that’s all we’re losing out of the deal. I can contact the people I sent invitations to, and I’ll recruit Daisy to help me take down the flyers later. Seriously, this is amazing.”
“Thanks for understanding. Don’t worry about the flyers. Saffron said she was going to take them down.”
Brit’s throat was a desert. “Saffron knew?”
“Barbara brought Lander lunch, so we filled them in.”
“Oh.”
She couldn’t be mad at anyone. Shutting down the computer, she leaned back in the chair to think. Brit had the sudden desire to throw something.
Her body tensed, and her hands went out in claws to grab something, but she didn’t want to ruin any of her father’s stuff. If she was in her own bedroom, a vase would be hitting the wall right about now. Even Saffron was trying to be helpful. But Saffron knew before Brit. One-upping her again.
Brit had to get over it. She knew she did. Saffron had a happy childhood, sure, but she was just as much without a dad most of the time as Brit was without a mom. The difference was, from the time Lonnie found out about Saffron when she was five, he had supported her and made sure she knew he was there for her. Brit got to see her mother maybe once a year. Twice if she was lucky, and she hardly ever had the desire to call her anymore. What was the point? Her mother hadn’t wanted to leave her cushy home and business in Amsterdam. She was the queen there, but if she stayed in Toronto, she would always be Lonnie Byers’ wife.
Not that Brit didn’t get it. She couldn’t imagine being “just some guy’s” wife either. He would have to be pretty special to convince her to get that title, and she wasn’t sure that even existed.
But Lonnie made Brit’s upbringing as cushy as it could possibly be. She felt like a spoiled brat for bemoaning anyone else anything. What did she have to complain about, really?
Oh, boo hoo, the rich girl’s party plans fell through? There are children starving in the world, and Brit was down on herself for having to cancel a party because this new guy she thinks is super hot has way better things to do than hang out with her.
Hmm, maybe Brit should hit up Marta for some volunteer work. What she needed right now was perspective. And she knew it. However, what she wanted right now was to crawl into bed with a pint of ice cream and not come out until people had forgotten about her failed attempt at a party and she was ten pounds heavier.
And she really was happy for J.J.
Her phone dinged again. No. No more bad news. She really would throw her phone if it was anymore bad news.
It was Cord.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: How’s the party planning going. Need any more IT support? :-)
BRIT: Party’s off.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: I knew Vincent would bail. I mean J.J.
BRIT: I’ve dubbed that “pulling a Vincent” by the way.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: Hahahaha you are hilarious.
BRIT: But no, I can’t be mad at J.J. for this one. He’s flying off to NYC for a TV appearance. That’s an opportunity he shouldn’t pass up. It was the right career move.
CORD MCCUTCHEN: I don’t care about that. It was a dick move to do that to you.
BRIT: Eh, I’ll get over it. I’m mostly happy for him. And think about it, this is good for your brother too.
Defending J.J. to Cord was helping bring her anger level down. She had morphed from HULK SMASH to normal human supportive friend, but she wasn’t quite ready to get to work undoing the party.
Cord hadn’t texted anything, so she opened the dating app on her phone. She swiped through dozens of guys, finding nothing that fit her current desires. She wanted fresh, new blood. But all the guys she scrolled through seemed like they were trying way too hard to be witty or earnest about their beliefs. She was exhausted from reading their headlines.
“I just want something easy.” She wanted a sure thing who would call her pretty—and not in a creepy way—and not make her question how he felt about her.
Cord seemed too much like family. The strings were too attached, and there was too much at stake. J.J. was a flirt, but she couldn’t get a read on him. She wanted someone she could read like a newspaper.
“He’d do nicely.”
The “he” Brit was referring to as she talked to herself in her father’s office was a muscle-bound guy with short-cropped military-esque dark blond hair and a jawline that could open a tin can. He wore a tight T-shirt that showed all the ripples and mountains of muscle he possessed. His thin lips opened to reveal a nice smile, which always helped. But his headline was what made Brit stop and take notice. “Hi, I’m Kevin.”
Simple, to the point, almost as if he didn’t really know how to use the site. It was endearing and made Brit giggle. Maybe Kevin. She swiped right. It was a match.
Screw it. Before she could reconsider, she set up a date for the next day. Brit would start making calls to cancel the party tomorrow. Tonight, it was ice cream.