Page 114 of The Frog Prince
Now it’s time to invite the guests, and this is the hard part.
No one at South San Francisco Boys and Girls Club wants to talk to me. No one from the city organizations cares to take my call, either, so I show up in person, hand-deliver big invites in even bigger gold envelopes with purple, gold, and black balloons attached.
“I know it’s short notice,” I tell staff members, receptionists, directors, “but it’s going to be a wonderful day, and the kids are going to learn something, too.”
It’s a hard, hard sale. The only thing that seems to spark any real interest is when I mention the famous comedian who has agreed to come and perform some funny stand-up routines appropriate for kids during their pizza lunch.
I call Barb from Balloon Wizardry and ask if she could send a crew the morning of the event and do something special to the art deco movie theater. “I want glamour,” I say, “and fun. Something almost Oscar night-like.”
“What’s this for?” she asks.
“Kid Fest Two.”
“So I bill the company?”
“No.” I hesitate, suddenly nervous. “I don’t work for City Events anymore.”
“You don’t?”
“No, but I do need your help, and you’ll just bill me.”
“You’re not paying for this, are you?”
“Yes. I can give you my credit card number now.”
She sighs, a worried sigh. “I don’t understand any of this. What happened?”
I wish I could say I don’t know, but I do know. It was Olivia, getting even. Olivia, sticking a big, fat butcher knife in me. But maybe I did have it coming. I certainly pulled rank in my own little-minion way. “I made someone mad,” I say at last.
“Troublemaker.” And then Barb laughs. Real laughter that makes some of the horrible sick feeling that’s been in my stomach the past two weeks go away. “Shoot, girl, who did you take on? Olivia Dempsey?”
I nearly choke on my own tongue. “How’d you guess?”
“Long story. But I’ll tell you someday.” Barb makes a clucking sound. “Well, well, well. Let’s see what we can do to help you out, and no, I’m not going to take your money. This is my gift—”
“No—”
“For the kids,” and she rides right over my protest as if it had never been said. “I’ll make a few phone calls, too—see if we can’t put together something fun for the kids to take home. You know, a goodie bag, something like that. What do you think?”
A lump fills my throat. “I think that’s very generous.”
“And I think you’re going to end up on top, girl. You just stay strong.”
I am.
*
May 16, themorning of Kid Fest2, arrives, and I’m up early, practically at the crack of dawn. I’m nervous.
What if no one comes and it’s just a huge waste of time?
What if all the kids show up and they hate what I’ve planned?
Or what if Olivia has found out about Kid Fest2 and she’s already sabotaged the day?
I’m chomping on Rolaids as I arrive at the theater two hours before the event is scheduled to start, panicked we’re going to have another lockout, but as I approach, the marquee out front reads, “Welcome Kid Fest!”
That’s a good start.