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“It was great. I was able to achieve the sporting quadfecta. Since the baseball team is in the playoffs, I attended games from all four DC sports teams this weekend! Only two of the teams won, and I don’t want to see hot dogs and light beer again for a month, but it was a great time. Say, are you okay?”
We had reached my desk during Miles’s story, and I felt my stomach lurch at his mention of stadium food staples. I reached for my stomach, pressing a hand on it, willing it to calm down.
“What’s that? Oh yeah, I’m fine.”
“You sure? You look a little flushed.”
I touched my hand to my cheek. It did feel a little warm.
“Must be the walk from the Metro in this weird mid-October heat wave we’re having. All good here. Well, I better dive into it. The gala is only twelve days away.”
Miles smiled and nodded.
“I’m really looking forward to it! I’m hoping to bring someone I met at the hockey game this weekend. We exchanged numbers and they’re a big book person too. Fingers crossed they text me back!”
I held up my crossed fingers and smiled, and Miles finally turned around and walked away. The smile dropped from my face as I let my body drop into my chair. Putting my head in my hand, I gave myself an internal pep talk. All right, Charlotte. You may feel like death, but the gala doesn’t care. Pull it together!
I pulled my laptop out of my bag and set it on my desk, opening the lid and bringing the screen to life. I entered my password, opened up my spreadsheet, and got to work.
For the rest of the day, it seemed I was putting out fires on all fronts. I spoke to the linen contractor, spending forty minutes convincing him that peach was not an adequate substitute for rose gold. Then I got to spend a grueling thirty-five minutes on the phone with the caterer. We went over each and every nutritional need on the guest list, even though it had all been detailed in a nice, color-coordinated spreadsheet—that we both referenced during the call. And now, finally, I was heading to Paula’s office to sit in on a call with Nieto Pharmaceuticals, the biggest donor for the gala.
My stomach hadn’t returned to its non-queasy level of normal after my conversation with Miles this morning, and a pounding headache appeared as the day went on. I knocked on Paula’s door and she ushered me in, finishing a phone call moments before Mr. Jackson, the head of outreach at Nieto, planned to call us.
I sat in a chair in front of her desk, a comfortable grey armchair that welcomed you into its deep cushions like you were meant to stay awhile. I doodled on the notepad in front of me, wondering if I could sneak out of the office after this meeting. I’m sure I just needed a solid twelve hours of sleep and then I’d be fine.
“Charlotte?”
I looked up to see Paula looking at me with concern on her face, which led me to believe that wasn’t the first time she had said my name.
“Oh yes, sorry! Lost in thought about those flower arrangements we settled on last week. Ready to talk to Mr. Jackson?”
“Are you okay, Charlotte? You look pale.”
For the sixteenth time today, I started to say “I’m fi—,” but I was saved by the ringing phone.
“This is Paula Lapman,” Paula answered, putting the phone on speaker straight away.
“Hi, Paula, this is Andrew Jackson from Nieto Pharmaceuticals. Thanks so much for taking my call.”
“Happy to do so, Andrew. I’ve got Charlotte here with me, who I believe you’ve been communicating with over the past few weeks.”
“Ah, yes. Hi, Charlotte. Hope you’re well. I’ll just dive right into what I wanted to talk about today. Nieto isn’t going to be a sponsor of the Storybook Ball Gala next week, I’m afraid.”
Paula’s eyes met mine, going wide. She indicated with her hand that I should address Andrew directly.
“I’m so sorry, Mr. Jackson, I don’t understand. When I spoke to you last week, you gave me your company’s guest list for your two tables and told me the check was in the mail.”
“Ah yes, well, Charlotte, things have changed since our conversation last week. I’m not at liberty to discuss specifics, but a stop has been put on all outgoing payments, operational and philanthropic, effective immediately. It doesn’t seem like that stop is going to be lifted anytime soon.”
“I see,” Paula said, in a voice that made it very clear she did not see how this was happening in the slightest.
“So sorry to have to deliver this news, and so close to the event. Our employees also won’t be attending the gala. A ban has also been put on all appearances by personnel in relation to company events.”
A beat of silence passed while Paula and I stared, dumbfounded, at the phone, projecting this bad news all over an already terrible day.
“Well… I’ve got another few of these calls to make today, so I’ll have to let you go. Good luck.”
And with that, Mr. Jackson ended the call.
