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“So, are we just hanging out and making sure things are running smoothly, or do we actually have to work the room?” I ask as I take it all in. What I’d like to be taking in is one of the drinks from the bar. It’s full service and there’s even a champagne fountain. Talk about bougie.
“First off, we never just hang out,” he says, repeating the words with obvious disgust. “And second, we are working, not working the room. Speaking of work, we need to talk about your attire,” he says as his eyes unwillingly graze over my body.
“What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” I ask and I really don’t see the problem. I’m in black wide-leg dress pants and a black button-down that is tucked in neatly. My hair is braided as usual, and I went without makeup today because, honestly, I’m working. What’s the point?
“You look like you’re part of the wait staff,” he says sourly. “It’s only a matter of time before someone tries to order a cocktail from you.”
“I look professional,” I snap back.
“Your pants are baggy,” he argues.
“They’re stovepipe,” I correct him.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Stove-pipe,” I repeat, shaking a leg around. “It’s a style.”
“Not a good one,” he mutters.
“A popular one,” I combat.
“I have a hard time believing that. Don’t wear them again. Not to events,” he says flatly as his eyes sweep the room.
“Well, if someone had told me beforehand that I would be attending this event, maybe I would have considered wearing something else,” I say.
“Would you have?” he asks.
“No. My outfit is fine,” I clip with my chin up.
Marcus pivots, turning his back to the room and towering over me. He’s so much bigger than me that anyone walking by wouldn’t even see me standing between him and the wall.
“Listen to me,” he says. “We aren’t here to attend the event. We aren’t here to work the room, and we most definitely aren’t here to hang out. We are here because this is an event that was planned before my last director went off and had a heart attack. She was an esteemed employee of mine and very much met the Ashford standard. That said, you have big shoes to fill. And this is your test in doing so.”
“What do you mean?” I ask, more lost than I was before.
“You are here to oversee the event,” he says, snapping his fingers. Just then, as if out of thin air, someone from the resort staff appears with a tablet and a headset, which he places on my head for me. Okay, Daddy. I think to myself.
“I am here to oversee you,” he adds, before handing me the tablet.
“You want me to–”
“Do the job I promoted you to do,” he says.
Well. Alrighty then. It wouldn’t be the first time I was thrown into the deep end with only one deflated water wing. But I look around, take a deep breath, and assess the situation. I remember that I do in fact know how to swim, and I got this. Actually, I’d go as far as to say that this is what I do best, no matter how much anyone else may doubt me. Mr. Grouchy Pants included.
“For the record,” I mutter to him before heading off to do the job he promoted me to do, “I think your pants are too tight,” I say with a sassy attitude as I walk away.
The electronic clipboard gives me the rundown of all the details in action. How long the caterers will be there, what they’re serving and when. It gives a detailed list of the bar staff, tells me who is working behind the bar itself and who is working the floor. The fountain engineers are in charge of making sure the champagne, chocolate, and cheese keep flowing. I must say, I do get distracted by the fancy title. This event is beyond bougie to have staff hired only to oversee the three fountains. Then there’s music, decor, PA and sound, which is not the same as music; the band has its own sound guy, and security. There’s also media coverage for both the company website and social media handles, plus loads of photographers. It’s a big event, and I’m on it.
I move around the room speaking quietly yet directly with people behind the scenes. The thing about event directing is that you want to keep things under control in a way that doesn’t disrupt anyone. Guests want to feel like they are at a party, not at a business event, so everyone working in the background needs to stay there.
It’s part of the reason I like my job so much; I get to blend in with things. Despite what others may think, my job literally requires that I don’t draw a lot of attention, all while making sure every wheel and gear is running smoothly, creating the perfect event.
About halfway through the event, I check in with the bartenders to see if they need anything. They’re working nonstop to keep a room of two hundred people happy. I know what that’s like. I waited tables at a popular restaurant downtown when I was in college; I know how underappreciated they can be.
A girl making a tray of drinks smiles at me. “We are good. They take care of us here. But if you need a drink, I got you.”
“Not while I’m on the clock, but I’ll definitely take you up on that after the fact,” I smile back at her, and her eyes flash behind me just as Marcus steps up to the bar next to me.
