Page 17 of The Frog Prince
Eighteen months since I had sex.
I’m in worse shape than I thought.
But David’s frothing at the mouth, and it takes me all of five seconds to realize this is not a good meeting; and all thoughts of Tom and drinks and the fact that I’ve just given my phone number to a man I know very little about fade from mind.
Did I already say this was not a good meeting? I’ve heard David lose his cool before, but at the moment he’s in the middle of a serious rant, and the rant has to do with his highly compensated, overrated staff making stupid mistakes. Fortunately, he’s directing most of the flying spit at the staff in charge of this year’s Hospice Foundation’s Leather & Lace Ball—Tessa and her team.
I catch Olivia’s eye. Olivia isn’t smiling, but there’s a certain fixed smugness at her mouth, which makes me think she’s enjoying this. Olivia used to be in charge of the ball—in fact, the ball’s wild popularity dates to Olivia’s involvement. A couple of years ago she insisted on pushing the edge of the envelope, moving the Leather & Lace away from a ’70s Stevie Nicks fantasy to a very urban S and M fetish.
Of course everybody in polite society cluck-clucked, and there were many—and not just the Hospice Foundation’s board members—who inundated David and City Events with protests. For nearly ten years, City Events has organized the foundation’s ball, including underwriting huge chunks of money, ever since David’s partner died from AIDS and David learned the value of hospice care. So David allowed Olivia to overhaul the ball and make her changes.
The Leather & Lace Ball, under the first year of Olivia’s direction,clearednearly a million dollars. The second year, 1.8 million. The third year, 2.6 million.
It wasn’t just that Olivia got the tickets and tables sold—she managed to sell everything: the concept, the emotion, the suffering, the humanity. People wanted to be part of the ball. They wanted to give. They wanted to be part of something out of the norm…
And Olivia, clever girl, turned something wicked—something inherently taboo—into something incredibly beneficial. She made beingbadgood.
San Francisco loved it. David loved it. Rumor has it that he told her if he ever fell in love with a woman, it’d be her. I don’t blame him.
As I look at Olivia, the corner of her lovely lipstick-colored mouth lifts, a small acknowledgment that nobody’s perfect. Two years ago David and Olivia had an argument that very nearly came to blows. Olivia wanted a bigger piece of the company pie, and David told her to F-off. Although they patched things up, David took the Leather Lace Ball from her, handing it over to a new rising star, redhead Tessa Biglione, an Irish-Italian from New York who doesn’t give a rat’s ass about anybody’s feelings, and two and a half years after being hired, Olivia says, it shows.
According to Olivia, Tessa’steamhas the highest turnover at City Events. Tessa’steamcan’t stand working together. Tessa’steamcan’t stand Tessa.
And right now Tessa’s team has apparently run the ball into the ground. The ball is less than six weeks away, and there are no generous corporate sponsors secured, few of the gold and platinum tables have been sold, and even regular-priced tickets aren’t moving. Essentially, there’s a venue and an event but no money and no one coming.
“I can’t have this.” David grabs a chair, drops into it. “I won’t.” He closes his eyes, presses two fingers to the bridge of his nose, and breathes deep.
Medium height, well built; fit, David is a sun-streaked forty-something who looks as if he had jumped out of a Tommy Hilfiger ad, except he’s not forty-something; he’s fifty-something, but David takes care of himself. David has a new lover, someone Olivia thinks is very good for him, but David can’t seem to let go of Tony, even though Tony’s been gone ten years. Olivia says it’s the way Tony died—awful, so awful—and I think she might be right.
“We spend”—David breaks off, swallows, tries again—“I spend thousands of dollars on this event every year. The Leather and Lace Ball isn’t just an event. It’s how I remember Tony. Most of you don’t know Tony but—” and David breaks off. For a moment he can’t speak.
He sits for a moment longer, then abruptly stands. And when he looks at us, all of us, his lips twist, and it’d be a smile if there weren’t so much heartbreak in his face. “I don’t care what you have to do to make this work. The Leather and Lace Ball funds the Hospice Foundation’s annual budget. We can’t afford to fail.”
The meeting effectively ends with David walking out. You’d think we’d all sit there, pull together the way we should, especially since it’s obvious David’s really torn up, but Tessa’s up and gone, and then various staffers—mostly her staffers—start wandering out, until it’s Olivia, Josh, Sara, and me left. Olivia’s team.
“So what do we do?” Josh says. Even though he’s the only guy on Olivia’s team, no one thinks of him as a guy. He’s good at this job, organized, detailed, but like Olivia, he also has a great eye, great vision—I’ve seen him make an amazing centerpiece out of green apples and pussy willow.
Olivia hasn’t stirred. “Nothing.”
I look at Olivia. “Nothing?”
She suddenly looks old. Older. You can tell she’s nearly thirty, and you see something in her eyes you don’t normally see: defeat.
I’m not the only one stunned. Josh and Sara exchange nervous glances. “But you heard David,” Josh starts, and Olivia shakes her head.
“It’s too late.” Her dark eyebrows pull. “The ball is six weeks away. There’s no way we can salvage it, not at this point, not when we’ve so many other commitments.”
I can’t accept that. I’ve just listened to David for the last half hour. I’ve seen his pain. This ball is so important to him. “But—”
“The Foundation’s budget isn’t our concern,” Olivia interrupts, and her voice is flat, tense, ruthless. “Our job is to honor City Events’ commitments and protect City Events’ reputation.”
“But—”
“The ball’s been losing money for two years.” Olivia turns, looks at me. “It was a good idea ten years ago. We made it more provocative five years ago. But it’s old now. It’s been done. Attendance is declining because people want something new. You’re not going to get the big corporate sponsors anymore.”
Sara and Josh gather their things, duck out. I’m still in the conference room, trying to understand. I look at the office, which is virtually deserted. Everyone’s gone on home. They’ve used David’s meeting to call it a day.
“Olivia, you could make this work.” I sit at the table, facing her, my palms pressed to the ebony-tinted glass. “You’re good. Better than good. You could pull this off—”