“Oh god.Elz, you lush."I pop into the kitchen and steal a big stainless steel mixing bowl from a wire rack."Here."
She rolls to her back on the padded booth seat and holds the bowl on her stomach, patting the bowl affectionately."Juuuust in case."She stabs a wavering finger roughly in the direction of the courtyard."Go forth and mingle!I shall en-sober-ize myself."
I pat the top of her foot as I shuffle out of the booth."Just stay here, please.I don't need to hunt you down again."
"One time!That happenedONE TIME!"
"I had to hire a P-I, Elz."I pause for effect."He found you inReno.”
"It was a very unique sequence of events.There may have been alotof cocaine involved."
"You don't say," I deadpan."You really need to stop with that shit, Elz.It's bad for you."
"It's bad for you," she mocks in a nasally voice."So are donuts.So is smog.So is everything."
"Yeah, but you candiefrom that shit."
She flips me off."Not today, Satan."
"Stay—there."
"Yes, Mother."
As I head for the courtyard, I hear her muttering in Spanish again—something about how if she wanted a nagging wife, she'd become a lesbian.Or something.My Spanish isn't good enough to keep up with her when she mutters like that.
The rest of the evening is fine.We reach our fundraising target and then some.I do a few interviews for the bloggers and influencers I invited as the guests filter away, and then eventually the courtyard is empty.
I check on Eliza—passed out, still hugging the mixing bowl.I toss a spare tablecloth over her waist for modesty purposes, grab an unopened bottle of champagne and a clean flute, and collapse into a chair at one of the bistro tables, kicking off my heels as I pour myself a drink.The catering staff bustles around me, cleaning up; one of them, an older woman, puts some leftover food onto a plate and brings it to me.
"Oh god, thank you!"I say."I haven’t had a chance to eat."
She just smiles, nods, and carries a tray of empty flutes into the kitchen.
I pick and sip, and slowly, the courtyard empties, except for me, my bottle, my flute, and my food.
"Excuse me?"A female voice startles me out of my thoughts—a disjointed jumble of to-do list items for tomorrow.
The owner of the voice is a stunning woman, a few years older than me, with dark reddish-auburn hair and piercing blue eyes.She's dressed in an understated Little Black Dress that fits her curvy body so perfectly it has to be a custom piece—the kind of fashion statement you can only make with the kind of extreme wealth that means you never have to think about the cost of anything.
I peer up at her, exhausted; I've been up for over twenty-four hours now."You sort of missed the event."
She laughs."I know.We were invited to several events this evening and couldn't make it to all of them, but my husband is passionate about this cause.We were hoping we could still make a donation."
"Of course!"I push away the exhaustion and force myself into Businesswoman Mode.
The event tonight was a fundraiser for a nonprofit specializing in rescuing victims of human trafficking—the nonprofit in question is a newcomer to the SoCal fundraising scene, which is probably why they hired us instead of one of the bigger, more well-known event planners.
"Come this way, if you please."I wrench my feet into the torture devices formerly known as shoes and get to my feet."I'm Demi Kaplan."
She takes my outstretched hand and shakes it."Delia."Something in the way she didn't add her last name tells me the omission was on purpose.
I lead her back into the restaurant to where Nathaniel, our numbers guy, is still tabulating."Nathaniel?We have a last-minute donation."
Nathaniel doesn't look up, but slides toward me the information sheet explaining the various ways to transfer funds; his fingers fly on the calculator in front of him as he sorts through handwritten checks— most of our donations are digital these days, but a few old-school donors still like the act of writing a physical check.
"I feel bad," I tell her."We ran out of gift bags a long time ago.I don't even have any food to offer you."I spy a box of champagne and grab a bottle."Drink?"
Delia smiles as she eyes the information sheet and then scans the QR code with her phone."I wouldn't say no to a glass of champagne.It's been a long day."
