And true to her word, Biz negotiated an even bigger advance this time. But the advance came with both the outline and expectations. Fast turnaround, Biz said. Strike while the iron is hot.
Chapter Twenty-One
The kids are at the afterschool robotics club, Connelly’s at the history department meeting, and the presentation for Hank is rock solid. Sasha doesn’t know what to do with herself for the next three hours.
She plays with the dog, pets the cat, shadow boxes, paints her nails. She’s not good with free time. She never has been.
Her gaze falls on the save the date cards she whipped up for Will, Naya, Caroline, and Ellie—the core team from the firm. She sighs with disgust.
She can’t put it off forever. The date for the gala is coming whether she actually plans the thing or not.
She copy and pastes Linda’s home address from school directory into her notes app, grabs her purse, and heads to the Metro station.
The Red Line spits her out right near Linda’s apartment building. She stops at the cookie food truck on the corner and picks up an assortment of fresh-baked, still-warm cookies. Valentina McCandless taught her daughter to never show up anywhere unannounced or empty-handed. She figures ignoring both instructions in one visit is a bridge too far.
She takes the stairs to the third floor, stands in front of Linda’s door, and gives herself a last-minute pep talk.
“People like it when you ask them for help.”
She knocks.
Linda opens the door, surprise flickering across her face before settling into polite welcome. “Sasha. I wasn’t expecting you.”
“I know. I’m sorry to drop by unannounced. I have a favor to ask.” She holds up the bag of cookies. “I brought a bribe.”
Linda laughs and steps back, gesturing for her to come inside. “I do love those cookies. Are they still warm?”
“Of course.”
The apartment smells like earth and green things.
Sasha stands just inside the doorway, taking it in. Plants are everywhere. Dozens of them, maybe hundreds. Hanging from macramé holders, crowding windowsills, climbing trellises mounted to the walls.
“I know,” Linda says with a self-deprecating laugh. “It’s a bit much. But they keep me company.”
“It’s beautiful,” Sasha says honestly.
They settle in the living room. Linda on a worn armchair, Sasha on the sofa, both surrounded by philodendrons and ferns and succulents in every shade of green.
Sasha takes a breath and goes for it. “I’m supposed to be planning a First Amendment gala. My firm is sponsoring it, and I thought maybe I could highlight banned books and the freedom of the press. But, I’ll be honest, I have no idea what I’m doing. It occurred to me that you’re probably plugged into the bookish community here. Maybe you could point me in the right direction?”
Linda laughs. “Well, you’re in luck. I’ve planned more fundraisers than I care to count. Library benefits, scholarship dinners, you name it. I love event planning! I’d be happy to help—if it’s not overstepping, of course.”
“Are you kidding? That would be amazing.”
“It’s nothing. I’ll enjoy it. And it’ll give us something to talk about while we’re shelving books.”
She disappears down the hall and returns with a thick binder. “These are samples from past fundraisers I’ve organized. Library benefits, mostly, but the principles are the same.”
They spend an hour going through logistics. Venue options, catering considerations, invitation design, silent auction strategies. Linda is knowledgeable and organized, pulling relevant examples from her files with practiced efficiency.
“You’re a lifesaver,” Sasha says. “I was drowning.”
“Oh, I enjoy this sort of thing. Keeps my brain sharp.”
Sasha glances around at the plants. “You must spend hours caring for these.”
“I do. It’s meditative. And they’re excellent company. They listen without judgment.”
