The girl nods eagerly, and CJ inclines her head to have her follow us. Before we do, I realize how I know her.
“Celeste, right? You’re doing the social media internship with us.”
She nods. “Howard never should have told me that my MLK Day post was ‘too woke.’”
“Excellent,” I say. “You’ll be perfect.”
So now there are three of us dodging drumsticks, oiled-up ass cheeks, and continent-sized wigs to reach Howard, who’s ranting to Elaine as we approach.
“—been a setup from the beginning,” he’s saying. Or screaming, actually; the music’s still going full force, so he has to bellow his complaints. “Why would Maxine hire people who have some kind of grudge against me? What did I do to that chef? Who hates me enough to let those geese loose?”
When Howard spots us, CJ squeezes my hand with a murmured, “I’ll let you handle this” and melts backward with our wannabe-influencer camerawoman.
“Wyatt! You’ve gotta do something!” Howard screams when he spots me. “We’re losing the investors. Go and…” He waves his arms toward their table. “Go and do something! Get them back!” Then he turns on his wife, who’s standing behind him, holding out his discarded tux jacket. “Did you screw over somebody who might be out to bring us down?” he asks her as he angrily jams his arms into the sweaty, wrinkled tux coat.
Elaine shouts back, “You’re being paranoid, Howard!”
CJ, who’s moved to the AV booth, catches my eye over Howard’s shoulder, and I can read what she’s thinking: You’re not paranoid if they really are out to get you.
“Howard,” I shout. “I’m sure Elaine’s got nothing to do with this!”
“Then who?” He gestures around the room. “Someone out to tank the IPO? Someone poisoning my food and bringing out filth entertainment?” He sneers as one of Hollis’s buddies approaches him arm in arm with a drag queen in sparkly fishnets. “Do not!” Howard barks at them. They dramatically roll their eyes and veer off toward greener pastures at a nearby table.
The next person to approach us is Reese, who’s clearly alarmed by our CEO’s extremely public meltdown.
“Howard, we need to take this someplace less public!”
She sets a hand on his arm to guide him toward the service entrance, but he shakes her off with a hiss.
“No, what we need is for you to do your fucking job and figure out which competitor is trying to destroy me!” When she opens her mouth to try to make him see sense, he screams, “Goddammit, woman! Go figure it out!”
Reese and I exchange a look, and for the first time in at least two years, there’s no anger or accusation in our silent exchange, just mutual acknowledgment of what a horrible man our boss is. Then she catches sight of CJ standing with Celeste and her phone, and the moment’s over.
“You want to make this all up to me?” She waves a hand between me, her, and CJ. “Fix this shit so I don’t lose my job!” Message delivered, she spins away and walks to the investor table, and good luck to her if she’s going to try to bring Franklin and Gerry around after all of this.
Howard’s spinning in literal circles now, flinching at each cymbal crash and trumpet blare.
“I need to go someplace private to talk this through!” he yells over yet another round of “Carol of the Bells,” courtesy of the Second City Drum and Bugle Corps.
“Gee, where’d you get that idea?” I ask. He misses my sarcasm, but instead of guiding him to the service hallway as Reese suggested two seconds ago, I steer him toward the nook in the trees where my girls and I watched the jugglers. It’ll feel a little less exposed, but there’s a better chance that someone important will hear him if he says something incriminating.
“Did you do this?” he asks me once we’re tucked into the trees. I’ve turned us so he’s facing me and the wall while remaining partially visible to the people at the closest tables, which now includes Celeste and her phone. As a bonus, I can see CJ in the gap between the trees and the wall now that she’s standing with Patty in the AV booth.
“Me?” I shout back. “Why would I?”
“How the fuck should I know! Maybe you finally figured out that I want to gut your whole division of bleeding heart pussies. Trying to help morons ask inconvenient questions, thinking they can make better decisions on their own. You people are a menace!”
Oh, he’s really saying things now, and I’m annoyed at myself for making this grand finale so grand. The whole party really ought to be hearing this. As casually as I can, I thumb my own phone’s camera on and flip to video, hoping to capture at least some of what he’s saying over the thunderous music.
“Wow,” I say loudly. “You really wanted to cut my unit to make sure our clients don’t know when you’re steering them toward bad investments?”
I risk a peek around the decorated branches toward CJ, who’s waving and pointing to her soundboard. I twitch my brows together in a question, so she points to the neckline of her dress, then toward me.
Wait, not toward me. Toward Howard and the lapel mic still attached to his jacket.
She can tell when it clicks in my brain and makes a knob-twirling gesture before disappearing from sight. A moment later, Howard’s amplified voice adds to the wall of sound.
“—the only one smart enough to work the system!” he’s saying. Unfortunately, not only is the live music still reverberating through the room, but if anything, it’s crescendoing. Still, the people seated nearest to our hiding spot are starting to turn their heads our way, likely out of curiosity about what Celeste is so interested in filming.
