“What?” I ask.
He points to a photo of Wendy in a Mrs. Claus costume, holding a pair of those extra-large scissors. “I know her! She runs weekly meetings at the Wind River LGBTQ Center. The Havensmith Queer Advocacy group holds joint events with them sometimes. I met her during one of the sexual health fairs we did during my freshman year.”
“Wow. The people in this town really are unicorns.”
“Badassunicorns,” he corrects.
When I look up, I spot a person walking around in a yellow jacket with Lights of Wonder Spectacular stitched on the breast and EMPLOYEE stamped on the back. I wave vigorously at them and they come right over.
“Anything I can help you folks with?” the person asks, face still obscured by the overwhelming backlight.
“My name is Matthew Prince and this is Hector Martinez. Do you happen to know where we can find the organizer of this place?”
“I do because you’re looking right at her.” The woman steps closer to us. The lines of her kindhearted, round face come into focus. “My name is Wendy Samson. She/they pronouns. This is my special spectacular you’re looking at.”
“Wow, okay, um, that was easy. Again, I’m Matthew. My pronouns are he/him.”
Wendy’s eyes land on Hector as he says his pronouns. “Well, hello there. I know you. Aren’t you a Havensmith student? You struck it big at that sex-toy bingo I organized for your gang a few years back!”
“Guilty,” he says, looking bashful. And now I’m fantasizing about the arsenal of toys he’s been hiding from me in our room.
“All eyes were on you that night, that’s for sure,” she jokes. “This must be your partner.” She gestures to me and he freezes up.
We are planning partners. That much is true. Correcting them seems unnecessary given the circumstances, so instead, I jump in to save him.
“We were just hoping to see about getting some of this light artistry assembled near the entryway of Havensmith to welcome guests for the annual charity gala. Is there any way you and your team could swing that?”
“We know it’s short notice,” Hector adds.
“Oh, that is a fabulous idea. We have a bunch of lights left over that we can repurpose. I’d love a side project to keep the cheer going.”
“The event is on the twenty-third—this Friday—so the turnaround will be quite tight,” I say.
“I work fast, but I don’t work for free,” she says, getting right to the point. I appreciate their business acumen and can tell she’d be a strong supporter.
“Right,” I say. “What if we promised you prime advertising space at the event? Maybe we print and lay table cards on each place setting? No cost to you, of course. You own a business, right?”
“I do,” she says.
“We’re expecting a sold-out event,” Hector mentions. “And it’s all to benefit the SBA.”
“I’ll tell you what. Since you two seem very sweet, throw in lunch for my crew and a donation to the Wind River LGBTQ Center, and I’m in.”
“Done and done,” I say. “Is the LGBTQ Center responsible for that rainbow crosswalk downtown?”
“Yes! It was a Pride Month project about four or five years ago. Our organizers are always thinking of fun ways to uplift the community in such a small town. Our meeting space is in the studio apartment above Moon Beans,” they say.
It’s funny Noelle has never mentioned this, but I guess it never came up. My mind is already thinking about how next year’s gala could aid the LGBTQ Center. But I really shouldn’t be getting ahead of myself.
I give her my email address. I’m a bona fide professional as we talk shop. She makes suggestions for what fixtures might look nice along the main circle.
“Wendy, we need you over by the snack stand,” says a young boy with a walkie-talkie glued to his hand.
“A woman’s work never ends,” she says with an exaggerated eye roll. “We’ll set this up ASAP.”
Wendy leaves us to wait. For the first time, that sense of connection I was craving before coming here doesn’t just extend to Hector. It extends to this community too.
Even half-drunk, I’m committed to making this gala great for citizens like Wendy who give so much. She deserves to get a little back.
