“Listen, Bloom, I can talk to the Von Bizmarks about the budget—”
“Oh, no!” she cut in again, practically licking her lips. “A deal is a deal, am I right?” She paused to let this sink in. To a certain extent, Anna and Bloom were in the same boat regarding the luncheon. Bloom certainly wouldn’t risk her reputation to make Anna look bad. Or would she? “Of course, the choppers are separate.”
In the dining room, Anna took the head of the table to outline the logistics for the luncheon. “So . . . helicopters . . . ,” Anna said. Bloom was clearly distracted by Julie’s black-and-white lips facing her across the table. The three women all fingered their pens idly in silence.
“Let me think, let me think . . . ,” Bloom intoned, closing her eyes. After a few minutes she said, “Let’s move on to the theme. Present day, you said?”
“That’s right, with Coolwater as inspiration for the set.”
“OK, so that makes sense. Let’s just queue everything up to highlight the Castle. We’ll need a step and repeat out there. Can you resend all the invitations?”
“Already happening.” She had called the fulfillment center as soon as they’d decided on Coolwater. They were out of the crocus stamps that Mrs. Von Bizmark preferred, so Anna had had to authorize them to use any other flower stamps they had, sight unseen. There was no time for her usual due diligence.
Anna was finding it increasingly impossible to do everything perfectly. Was it that there was simply more to do? Or was she getting less good at her job? Unresolved tasks crowded her desk, like the Petzers. Anna pulled their extensive database sheet out of her ever-shifting piles of papers and eyed their addresses in New York, Palm Beach, Paris, and the Hamptons. She scanned their fourteen different numbers, including one labeled Mediterranean Yacht and another Vineyard Boat. Notably no email address for Mrs. Petzer. The notes section read:
Pippy Petzer assistant: Giosetta**
The ** was Anna and Julie’s secret code to indicate contacts with big, annoying, difficult personalities: assholes, basically. Anna would try to get to Mr. Petzer’s assistant first—no ominous asterisks next to her name, even though she held an intimidating “chief of staff” title.
“Oh, hi, Anna. Are you calling about a social date?” she asked. “Because all social dates go through Mrs. Petzer only. Do you have that number?” Efficient. Helpful. Normal.
Anna slowly dialed with dread, hoping for voice mail.
“Pippy Petzer’s office, Giosetta speaking.” The voice on the other end had this unnecessarily firm but rushed quality, like she was answering a red phone at the Pentagon.
“This is Anna calling from Bambi Von Bizmark’s office.”
“And?”
“Hello . . . I’m calling to follow up on an invitation the Petzers received from the Von Bizmarks to the Opera Ball?”
“Mrs. Petzer handles their social calendar personally.”
“Is she available?”
“No.”
“May I have her email address?”
“I would never share that information,” Giosetta said, as if Anna had asked for a list of all her prescription medications.
“May I leave a message?”
“Is it regarding the social calendar?”
“Yes!”
“Then you’ll have to call when she’s in and available to speak with you.” Click.
Anna put her head on the desk and groaned. She knew completing this task was not important, not in the real world. Whether Pippy Petzer attended Kissy Von Bizmark’s opera luncheon was obviously no life-or-death matter. But for Anna, existentially, it did signify her effectiveness, her overall potency as a professional.
Felix Mercurion was another fish too slippery for her to grasp. Neither he nor anyone from his camp had been in touch with the opera or Mrs. Von Bizmark. His gallery and private office seemed permanently closed. No one answered or returned her voice mails or emails. Anna shot off another round of emails to him. The good news was that Mrs. Von Bizmark didn’t mind his nonresponding; if he did not show up, he could neither embarrass nor outshine her.
And then there was the little matter of the foundation check. Anna dialed Richard at the opera. She just had to choose her words very, very carefully. You can do this, Anna reassured herself, doubt creeping all over her.
“Hello, Richard, it’s Anna in Bambi Von Bizmark’s office.”
“Hello?” Richard said, cautious already.
Be cool, Anna told herself. “Um, OK, so listen, Mrs. Von Bizmark forgot to give you the check the other day.”
“She can mail it.”
“Well, the thing is, Richard, we would prefer to put this on American Express right now, and you’ll have the money today.” And Mrs. Von Bizmark would have a solid few years of Botox and fillers; almost nothing would make her happier. Had she stunned Richard into silence? “So I was hoping to give you the credit card number.”
“For twelve point four million dollars?” Even he was impressed.
“Yup.” Anna had tested this limit one other time, when a fraudulent check had frozen the Von Bizmarks’ bank accounts and they’d had to put a Learjet on Mr. Von Bizmark’s Amex to the tune of $13.6 million. Anna also presumed that Richard was the sort of fundraiser who knew that life was uncertain—always better to get the money now rather than later.
“OK, Anna, what’s the number?”
“And we agree all profits from the sale of Mercurion’s art will benefit PS 342?”
“Well, obviously, this would all need to be discussed with Mr. Mercurion.”
“Have you heard from him recently?” Richard said nothing. So Mercurion was AWOL. Anna charged forward. “I think if the opera was good publicity, a school is even better. Max is already enjoying huge media response.” Again, huge was maybe overstating it, but that was a matter of opinion.
“Perhaps . . .” Richard bristled. “But he did want the opera to benefit.”
“Then isn’t it fantastic that the Von Bizmarks are underwriting the production?”
“Well, I suppose.” He sniffed.
“The thing is, Richard, by our calculations, you’re already ahead of the game, from a financial perspective, with the money you just received. Isn’t that right?”
“Well, not exactly . . . ,” Richard said uncomfortably.
“As you know, the school is an area of personal interest for the Von Bizmarks.” This was perhaps the best part of the job—when Anna could wield the force of her employers’ name for good.
“OK, Anna.”
Boom. She punched the air with her fist.
Anna rushed to find Josefina, eager to share this good news with the ones whose lives would be most impacted. She couldn’t help cherishing the rare feeling that she was accomplishing something good for the world—like she was herself, in fact, a good person deserving of good things. “It’s about your daughter’s school.” Josefina’s whole face opened up with expectation, and Anna realized how awful it would be if Mercurion’s pieces undersold. Or worse, failed to appear somehow. “Listen, it’s not completely one hundred percent certain, OK?” Josefina, as wide as she was tall, jumped up and down, stressing the walnut beneath her sneakered feet. Tears shot from her eyes. She grabbed Anna and squeezed her, saying, “Thank you thank you thank you!” loudly and directly into her ear.