Party Games Read online

  “Okay, cool. Sure, I’ll do it. But how much do you want to bet that mine will still have one bead at the end of the summer?”

  “Think positive.”

  When Sara had finished stringing her necklace, she put one red cat’s-eye bead at the end. Allie showed her how to clamp the clasp on, using a tool that looked like mini pliers. “Don’t press too hard,” Allie said. “You’ll break the stretch wire.”

  Sara slipped on her necklace and admired her work in Allie’s vanity mirror. Even if her necklace wasn’t all that exciting, it was still an accomplishment. She hoped Allie was right. She was dying to see what it would look like with two red beads.

  Six

  “The best they can do is let you wear a wet suit with short sleeves and short legs. I asked if you could decorate it with sequins and Swarovski crystals and they said no. They have to be very careful about what they introduce to the dolphins’ habitat.” Sara repeated the words from the woman at the aquatics center. “But on the bright side, they’re allowing tiki lights. And since they won’t allow the gondola, I was thinking we could use one of those buggies that are led by bicycles.”

  “This is terrible! What am I supposed to do? I can’t wear a wet suit for my grand entrance.”

  Sara was in the Acura with her mother. On the other side of the car, Leah had been giggling into her own phone as if she were Sara’s age ever since they’d pulled out of the driveway. It was, like, the third time she’d spoken to Gene that day. Gross. Ever since she’d returned from Palm Springs, it had been Gene this and Gene that. Sara wanted to know if Gene was going to pay their bills. The way her mother had been neglecting work, Sara wondered if everything was going to fall apart.

  “I’m sorry,” Sara said to Dakota. “But maybe it’s time to think of another venue. Did you have anything else in mind?”

  “No,” she snapped. “This is what I want to do. I’ve envisioned this since I was five. There is nothing else. I want to ride the dolphins in for my grand entrance, and I don’t want to wear some rubbery wet suit.”

  Sara suppressed her urge to groan. She felt a headache coming on, and they hadn’t even arrived at the debutante ball. Thirty-five girls just like Dakota would be running around at this event.

  “Well, why don’t you think about it for the rest of the day? I’ll think about it too. And then we’ll put our heads together and see what we can come up with.” It was hard to sound proactive when she felt like tearing out her hair. Part of her was dying to hand over her responsibilities to her mother, and the other part of her was annoyed with her mother and she wanted to prove that she could do it herself.

  Sara knew debutante balls were for a good cause and everything. They were charity events, and most of the money gathered at these galas went to different organizations for children around the world. Still, she couldn’t help but feel as though they were a little quirky. She’d heard that debutante balls had originated in England a couple of centuries ago. The tradition had been carried on throughout the Old South during the Civil War days. Honestly, she was surprised debutante balls had withstood the changes of modern society. She’d personally rather attend chemistry camp then be in a debutante ball. They certainly weren’t for her.

  The purpose of this formal event was for families of high social stature to present their daughters in a way that suggested they were eligible for marriage. In essence, these people were showing off their wealth and backgrounds to make their daughters look more appealing to potential husbands. It sounded silly, living in an age when women could meet men almost anywhere they went—not to mention all the dating websites she’d heard Tracy talking about with her friends. She always had to remind herself that the real purpose of the event was to raise money for a good cause, and this year it was orphans in Sudan.

  There were all kinds of odd rules at debutante balls. A biggie was that no other girls besides the debutantes were allowed to attend the ball. Last year, it had taken Leah a week to convince Rose Jane Kendall, the head of the debutante committee, that Sara wouldn’t be setting foot on the dance floor or stealing any dances from the stags. That was the other thing. Each girl who was debuting invited a handful of guys to come to the ball with her. She called these fellows stags. The sole purpose of a stag was to ask his designated debutante to dance so she wasn’t hanging out in the corner like a wallflower all night.

  The other requirement for debutante balls was that the girls had to wear white, poofy wedding gowns with long white gloves. The attire was supposed to be very Southern-belle themed. The only thing that saved them from looking like brides was that they didn’t have to wear a veil or a train.

  Furthermore, debutante balls had their own committees who organized the events. Sara and Leah were just hired to make sure things ran smoothly and that things looked pretty. There was no creativity from their end. They spent most of the evening following other people’s orders and solving petty problems like ripped hems or a wobbly centerpiece.

  Sara had barely set foot in the Hotel del Coronado when the head of the debutante committee, Rose Jane Kendall, raced toward her at full speed, looking like a crazy woman. They’d worked with this woman in the past and she’d always made Sara nervous. For one thing, Sara sensed that Rose Jane didn’t like her. It was Rose Jane who’d done everything in her power to see that Sara didn’t work at the ball last year. In the end, Leah had told Rose Jane that it was either mother and daughter or nothing.

  “Where is your mother?” Rose Jane asked, frantic.

  “Getting stuff from the car.” Sara was used to people undermining her capabilities. Sometimes the suit, the heels, and the headset failed to make her look more mature in people’s eyes. Situations like this just made Sara even more determined to prove that she was just as capable as any adult. “What can I do for you?” she asked sweetly.

  “We have a crisis on our hands. One of our debutantes has lost everything. And I mean everything. Her gown, her shoes, all of it…” Rose Jane had a subtle Southern accent. Sara had never heard her raise her voice, but at the moment her calm, sophisticated demeanor sounded a little panicked. “Her car was stolen in front of the hotel about an hour ago. She’s up in her suite right this very minute. She’s just beside herself.”

  Sara’s mind raced. Debutante balls were always weird. But she’d never imagined a crisis like this. A stolen car and a missing gown was probably the biggest party catastrophe she’d ever faced. She put on her game face and spoke gently. “Do you think it would be possible for me to take her measurements?”

  “Oh yes. I’m sure that won’t be a problem.” Then she furrowed her brows. “But, what are you going to do? I mean, it’s too late to have anything made or tailored.”

  Sara nodded politely. “I have a couple of ideas. Just let me see what I can do.”

  Rose Jane gave Sara directions to the forlorn debutante’s suite. “Her name is Laurel Gleghorn,” she called.

  As soon as the elevator doors closed behind Sara, she assessed the situation. Sara knew that Rose Jane would pounce on Leah the moment she walked in the door. Sara sort of wished she could be there to see her mother assure the lady that if Sara was handling it, everything would be fine.

  Sara was already equipped with a list of debutantes. As she rode the elevator up to Laurel’s suite, she looked over the names of the thirty-five girls who would be making their debut. On the list was Katelyn London—Dakota’s older sister. Just the sight of the London name made Sara feel like ice water had been injected into her veins. At least Dakota wouldn’t be there. Listed next to each girl’s name were the names of her parents. Sara couldn’t help but say some of the names aloud. They were so formal. They just sounded like names that needed to be read out loud, and maybe even with a fake British accent.

  “Presenting Caroline Sylvia Covington, accompanied by her father, Grayson Maxwell Covington the fifth.” If Allie were here she’d be cracking up with her.

  Sara kept her fingers crossed as she headed down the hallway of the h
otel. If her idea didn’t work, she didn’t know what she was going to do. It wasn’t like wedding gowns grew on trees. Even the bridal boutiques didn’t actually have gowns in their possession to sell at the stores. Sara had never even heard of anyone trying on a wedding dress, buying it from the rack, and leaving with it. Brides-to-be, or debutantes-to-be, tried on gowns at the boutique, then ordered the dress in their size. These gowns were made especially for whoever would be wearing them. So it wasn’t like Sara could rush off to the nearest bridal shop and replace Laurel’s dress.

  She tapped on the door.

  “Who is it?” a woman’s voice called.

  “My name is Sara Sullivan. I’m a coordinator who will be working at the ball tonight.”

  She listened to the muffled sound of voices before a very worried, yet attractive middle-aged woman with suntanned skin and a cascade of shoulder-length, dark, layered hair greeted her. Despite her distress, she was pretty for a mom. She had delicate collarbones and dainty wrists and spoke with a slight Southern lilt. “I’m Laurel’s mother,” she said. Two police officers stood in the corner of the room talking to a man who appeared to be Laurel’s father. Both officers jotted down notes.

  “Nice to meet you. I’m Sara Sullivan, one of the coordinators who’s working here today. I heard about what happened to Laurel, and I was wondering if I could ask her a couple of questions about her size.”

  “Sure. She’s in here. She’s absolutely devastated.”

  Sara nodded. “I’m sure.”

  Sara entered a suite that was cleaner and nicer than her own home. Miss Laurel sat on a king-size bed dabbing away tears. She was a younger version of her mother, and she had French-manicured acrylic nails that Sara assumed had been applied specifically for the occasion. Something about the nails, and the devastated expression on her blotchy face, made Sara feel truly sorry for her.

  “This is the worst day of my life,” she said. “All the working up to this. Dance lessons. All the classes I had to take.”

  Suddenly Sara felt really sorry for her. Even though debutantes weren’t for Sara, this day meant a lot to Laurel. Being involved in so many parties that Leah planned had made Sara understand how valuable big events were to people’s lives. Party planners witnessed major milestones—the happiest moments. Perhaps that was why Sara and Leah liked their job so much. They got to see the best days of people’s lives, and with all the terrible things that happened in the world, a little celebration was needed. A party shouldn’t be the worst day of anyone’s life, and Sara was going to have to figure out a way to make sure that Laurel made it to the ball in a white gown.

  She took a closer look at Laurel. She looked a little smaller than Sara had hoped, but there was still a chance Sara’s plan would work. “I’m so sorry to hear about your car, and your gown, too.” Sara spoke gently. “But I think we can find you another dress. And I think everything is going to be all right. Are you about a six?”

  Laurel nodded, with hope in her eyes.

  “I just have to make a phone call. I’ll be right back.”

  Sara’s heart raced as she stepped into the hallway. Please be home. Please be home. She scrolled through her cellular phone book and wasted no time dialing the number of Treena White. She was the only jilted bride Sara and her mother had ever seen in their combined years of planning weddings. Nearly six months had passed since Treena had been left at the altar, and Sara was pretty sure she wouldn’t mind getting rid of the big mountain of white tulle in her closet.

  “Hello?”

  Relief washed over her when she heard Treena’s voice. She crossed her fingers and prayed that she was still in possession of the dress.

  Seven

  Forty-five minutes later, Sara was sitting in the passenger seat of Gene’s Miata, buried beneath a billowing balloon of white satin, his Chicago soundtrack blasting from the speakers. The dress had a mind of its own, and it didn’t help that the top on Gene’s convertible was broken. His trunk was full of floral supplies, and they’d had no choice but to put the gown in the front seat of the two-seater car with them. When Sara’s mother had told her that Gene would drive her to Treena’s house, she’d assumed that she meant in the van that he used to deliver all his flowers. She didn’t think they’d be going eighty on the freeway inside a car meant for action figures. As soon as Gene had broken forty-five, the gown had flapped around like a broken sail on a boat at high seas.

  Sara had done everything she could to keep it under control, but the wind blasted the dress every which way. She wondered what she must look like to other people on the freeway. For all they knew it was a mannequin buried beneath the gown. She also wondered if Gene was talking to her. Despite being buried beneath the gown, all she could hear was the deafening roar of wind and the muffled sound of show tunes. He could be belting out the entire soundtrack of Chicago and she’d have no idea. Each time they hit a stoplight, she tried to dig through the satin and tulle and remove the wedding gown mask that covered her entire torso. But just as she started to make any kind of progress toward breaking light, Gene revved the engine and they were back with the flow of traffic.

  As Sara sat lost in Wedding Gown Land, she thought about how this situation had actually worked out well. Treena’s kindness had exceeded her bitter feelings about her ex-fiancé and cancelled wedding, and she’d been happy to lend her gown.

  “If I can help in any way,” she’d said. “I’m just glad to see the gown is going to good use and it wasn’t a total waste.” She’d held it out. “It’s all yours.”

  She’d even thrown in her unscuffed white satin pumps. Gene had rubbed his hands over the satin. “These are gorgeous! Wow, you really have some great taste, my friend,” he’d said.

  When Sara had arrived at Treena’s, she was getting ready for a date with her new boyfriend. According to Treena, he was a really nice guy and nothing like the jerk who’d left her at the altar. Today, it seemed there were happy endings for everyone.

  Sara figured that they must’ve arrived at the hotel when the car came to a screeching halt and the ignition died. “You all right under there, chief?” Gene asked. He’d been calling her chief ever since he ditched his floral arranging to take her to Treena’s. He’d said it was symbolic of the fact that she’d been running things so smoothly for her mother. She wasn’t sure what to think of the nickname. Part of her was glad things were going so well with the business. However, she wouldn’t have to play chief if Gene had never come into the picture to begin with.

  The first thing she noticed when Gene lifted up the gown was that his arms were kinda hairy. She’d never noticed his hairy arms before, and it didn’t seem like they really fit him. He didn’t seem like a hairy-armed person. Any kind of body hair on Gene was something she wanted to avoid thinking about, so she quickly began to help him peel off the dress. As she undid several layers of tulle, her heart skipped a beat. Standing within a few feet of the car was Cute Guitar Guy. She swallowed.

  Why did she have to see him during the most embarrassing moments of her life? The first thing she noticed was his dimples. Then she prayed he wasn’t smiling because she looked worthy of comedy. Maybe there was a remote chance he liked girls tangled in wedding gowns, with bruised foreheads and no idea how to dance the conga. His hair was loosely slicked and he wore a tux. Was he a stag for one of the girls? He didn’t seem like the type. Then she remembered that the Kenny Street Band wore tuxes for certain events. But she didn’t think they were performing at this event. He waved, and she knew he was definitely grinning at her.

  “Hi there,” she said. She didn’t have a free arm to wave. She prayed her makeup hadn’t rubbed off on the wedding gown. Even though the bruise was turning yellow, it was still obvious without makeup.

  “You working here tonight?” He headed toward her side of the car. Softly he reached down and helped her lift a corner of the skirt from her shoulder. Gene took the other end and together they freed her.

  “I am,” she said as he opened her c
ar door. “What about you? You’re working at the ball too?” The debutante committee had hired the band. Sara didn’t think it was his group.

  He shook his head. “We’re playing for another wedding. In a different ballroom. Look at my shoes. I can see my reflection in them.”

  She laughed as she looked at his shiny dress shoes. She could almost see her reflection in the toes. “Welcome to my world,” she said. “I have to dress up in things I hate every weekend. Take this suit for instance.”

  Gene left to park the car, and Sara and Cute Guitar Guy walked inside the hotel together. He carried the dress for her, holding it above his shoulders so it didn’t drag on the ground. She couldn’t help but think how strange this all was. Cute Guitar Guy dressed in a tux, carrying the wedding gown of a jilted bride with Sara by his side. What must they look like to strangers? Her cell phone came blaring to life.

  “Not now,” she breathed as they hustled through the lobby.

  She tried not to act too disappointed when she glanced at him. “Sorry, I better take this.” She opened her phone, then pressed it against her ear. “This is Sara.”

  “Sara, ohmigod. I have the best idea. It must be done. Please, please, please say you can make it happen. You just have to make it happen. I’ve never heard of anyone doing this, and I want it at my party. Can you do it?” Dakota sounded frantic.

  “Well, first I have to know what the idea is.” Sara said it as sweetly as possible.

  “I was thinking, since I’m going to be a goddess for a day, I’m going to need a crown. And I don’t want just some cheap bridal-store tiara. Mine has to be custom. I’m having it made by Mikahi Sutso, jeweler to the stars. He’s the one who everyone says they borrowed stuff from when they’re walking down the red carpet to the Oscars. And I want…are you ready for this?”

  “Okay.”

  “I want the diamonds of celebrities in my tiara. Ones who have just gone through breakups, since I’ve just gone through a horrible breakup myself. Someday I’ll tell you all about that drama.”