Natalia Read online

  Chapter One

  “The camel just took a huge dump next to the leopard cage.”

  Natalia Pachetti suppressed a grimace as her assistant Carrie’s voice crackled through her headset. Sloan Winslow would not be pleased to have a large dromedary defecate in the middle of her fiftieth birthday gala. Fortunately, as an event planner for the crème de la crème of Manhattan society, Natalia was prepared for any sort of disaster.

  Even camel shit.

  “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  She pulled her phone out of her dress pocket and dialed the head of maintenance at Manhattan’s Peninsula Hotel. She’d known including a menagerie of animals native to Northern Africa to enhance the atmosphere of Sloan’s Moroccan themed birthday celebration came with risks. It wasn’t as though they were house-trained.

  For that reason, she’d called a meeting with Aaron, the head of maintenance well in advance of the gala to ensure that he would have several maintenance staff on site and available the evening of the party.

  “Aaron, it’s Natalia,” she said when he answered. Pitching her voice louder to be heard over the sound of Chaabi music piping through the speakers, she said, “We’ve got a code brown. Apparently, the camel ate too much fiber.”

  “I’m right on it, Miss Natalia,” he said with a chuckle.

  She slipped her phone back in her pocket and scanned the room. She’d really outdone herself she thought, unable to keep her mouth from curving into a half smile. Other than the minor - but expected - mishap with the camel, so far everything tonight was going as smooth as silk.

  As it should. Sloan Winslow was one of the most prominent socialites in all of Manhattan. She regularly hired Elite Events, the event planning company Natalia had worked for for the past five years, to plan and execute all of her major events both in Manhattan and at her summer home in the Hamptons because she knew she could count on them for their impeccable taste and seamless execution. Hiring Elite all but guaranteed that her functions would be feted in the society pages as among the most extravagant and awe inspiring of the social season.

  Over the course of her employment, Natalia had assisted in planning polo matches, charity balls, and even a sweet sixteen party for Sloan’s middle daughter which had cost nearly half a million dollars and included an appearance by the teenager’s favorite K-pop band.

  But tonight, instead of merely assisting her boss Tricia Collins, founder and owner of Elite Events, in managing one of Sloan’s events, Natalia was running the whole show. When Tricia had first proposed the idea, Natalia had been simultaneously thrilled and terrified.

  “You’re going to do an amazing job,” Tricia reassured her when Natalia raised her concerns. “For the past couple of years, it’s really been you who’s had your feet on the ground, organizing everything and coordinating everyone. Besides, I’m still here for you to help with planning and bounce ideas off of. But this time it will be you who will deal directly with Sloan and you who will be on site and in charge the night of the party.”

  Not for the first time, Natalia suspected Tricia’s delegation of Sloan’s birthday party had as much to do with her faith in Natalia’s abilities as with her desire not to have to deal with Sloan Winslow on a regular basis. Sloan had very specific, exacting tastes and was compelled to outdo herself with every event year after year. Which was fine because money was no object and she was willing to pay through the nose for whatever outlandish thing she wanted.

  But she was also flaky, had a terrible time making any decisions, and had a habit of calling them at the last minute - sometimes the day of the event - to ask for major changes to everything from the decor, the menu, and everything in between.

  Once she had even asked to change the venue of her Valentine’s Ball the day before event. It seemed she had met a hotelier while vacationing in Paris. She wanted to move the ball from the Fairmont Plaza to his newly opened place in Manhattan so he could benefit from the publicity. Sloan had gotten her way, of course. And tacked on to the already exorbitant budget for the ball was a not insignificant cancellation penalty from the Plaza.

  There was no question Sloan would expect her fiftieth birthday celebration to be unforgettable, not just to her, but to the three hundred guests in attendance. So far, Natalia was pleased to observe, she was delivering in spades.

  At Natalia’s suggestion they had settled on a Moroccan theme. At first Sloan had been skeptical as apparently Jillian Gaffney had hosted an “Arabian Nights” gala two years ago. “I saw the pictures from that party,” Natalia said with a conspiratorial grin. “This will be so much more fabulous, no one will even remember Jillian’s party.”

  Sloan had quickly bought into her vision. Now as Natalia saw the way she and her team had brought it to life, a deep sense of satisfaction settled over her.

  The ballroom of the Peninsula had been transformed into what looked like a giant Berber tent. Bright swaths of heavy silk hung from the ceiling and the scent of incense added to the exotic atmosphere. Right now, guests were enjoying cocktails and Moroccan inspired appetizers like mini kebabs and kefta stuffed puff pastries.

  In addition to the usual cocktail tables, Natalia had also created several lounging areas with sumptuous silk poufs surrounding low tables. Several of the guests lounged around the low tables in small, intimate groups. A haze of smoke wafted to the ceiling as many of them partook in the hookah pipes placed on the low tables.

  Most of the women had dressed to go with the theme, creating a sea of brightly colored, elaborately embroidered and beaded silk caftans. There must have been a run black eyeliner at Sephora as every makeup artist in the city was instructed to create a kohl rimmed, Cleopatra eye.

  Most of the men were in tuxes, although some had dressed in djellabas or thobes, no doubt at the behest of their wives or girlfriends. Natalia had even gotten the servers in theme and had rented thirty colorful tunics for them to wear for the evening.

  As for herself, Natalia wore her regular uniform for these sorts of events. It consisted of a simple black sheath dress that barely hinted at the curves of her body, the hem of which hit her at mid-calf. It was not the most flattering cut for her petite frame, but she’d learned a long time ago that playing up her looks in any way usually resulted in her being hit on by at least one inebriated guest. She was sure there were more uncomfortable things than to have the head of an investment bank grab your ass while you were serving him canapés as his wife looked on but Natalia had yet to experience them. Accompanying the dress were kitten heeled black pumps that had cost nearly half a month’s rent. But they were so comfortable and added a touch of style to her otherwise dowdy outfit.

  Her hair and makeup were similarly understated. She’d blown her naturally wavy brown hair straight and pulled it into a sleek ponytail that hung midway down her back. A little tinted moisturizer, blush, mascara and lipstick gave her a polished look that didn’t make her look like she was trying too hard. It was exactly the look she was going for. Understated and elegant, setting her apart from the lavishly attired guests while also distinguishing her from the rest of the servers and event staff.

  Her gaze scanned the room like the Terminator, cataloging every detail. “Josiah,” she said into the mic of her headpiece, “the hummus on the buffet table needs to be replenished, and one of the centerpieces looks like it’s drooping.”

  She started toward the half of the room that had been set up with regular dining tables that could seat ten each. While Sloan was game for most of the Moroccan theme, she had put the kibosh on Natalia’s idea to have the guests eat dinner at low tables while seated on cushions. “I will not have my guests eating dinner on the floor,” Sloan had sniffed.

  Natalia had done her best to keep the party theme alive with the table decor, draping the tabl
es and chairs in brightly colored silks and linens. They were set with exotically decorated ceramics Natalia had found in a shop on Astoria Boulevard in Queens, and the centerpieces featured flowers native to Northern Africa. She glanced at her watch. With dinner service set to start in twenty minutes, she had just enough time to do another table check to make sure each and every element was perfect.

  She moved around the tables, straightening a knife or fork here, or plucking a dry leaf from one of the centerpieces there. As she looked up, she saw Carla, one of the newer servers, talking to one of the guests. He was a famous, award winning actor who had a reputation for drinking too much and getting belligerent. Looked like tonight was no different. He seemed agitated as he pushed a glass forcefully into Carla’s hands. Carla turned and walked away to fulfill whatever request he’d made, and as she did so, Natalia didn’t miss the way she rolled her eyes so hard all she could see were the whites of her eyes.

  She once again called to Josiah over her headset and told him about the interaction. “Can you please remind her about the standards of conduct we expect our waitstaff to adhere to?”

  She felt a little pinch of guilt, having to reprimand someone who had shown herself to be an otherwise a very hard and reliable worker. Natalia knew firsthand what assholes some of these people could be. Most of the people in this room and at the other events Elite put on had more money than God. With that kind of wealth came an expectation that they could have what they wanted, when they wanted, regardless of how outlandish, inconvenient, or how rudely requested.

  Nevertheless, Tricia made it clear from day one that everyone staffing any event was to be unfailingly polite, to smile at all times, and never give any sign of anger or irritation. That included an exasperated eye roll behind a guest’s back.

  It was a skill that hadn’t come easily to Natalia. She grew up in a boisterous Italian family where emotions were big and swung from one end of the spectrum to the other in the blink of an eye. They could go to laughing with each other to yelling at each other and back so quickly it was enough to give a person whiplash.

  Her parents had owned a couple of pizzerias in Greenwich, Connecticut, just over the border from New York. Starting from the time she could carry a glass of water without spilling it, Natalia was expected to help out. Her parents treated the customers like family. That is with a combination of tough love and teasing that came right up against the line of offending. The customers who got it loved it; it made them feel like they were part of the Pachetti family. The customers who didn’t gave them gave them two star reviews on Yelp and complained about the rude service.

  But busting a customer’s chops to build rapport was a real no no in the world of high-end event service. A lesson she’d learned the hard way during college. She’d been hired as a cater waiter to serve at a high-end charity event. While serving a male guest who was wearing a particularly obnoxious sport coat decorated with tiny whales, she’d paraphrased one of her favorite lines from the movie Caddyshack.

  “Nice jacket,” she’d said as she reached in to serve him his lobster bisque. “Did you get a free bowl of soup with that?”

  Though his tablemates had been amused, he had not. Natalia was left begging her manager to keep her job as she promised to never let any remark like that ever pass her lips again.

  At least not while serving a bunch of uptight society types.

  To say swallowing her pride and begging for her job was not in Natalia’s nature was an understatement. But the cater waiter gigs provided steady, decently paying work. Work she needed if she wanted to be able to pay her tuition. In addition, she had the opportunity to make great connections with the event planners and staff at various hotels and catering halls that might be helpful once she graduated with her degrees in marketing and hospitality management.

  She’d learned quickly to keep a smile on her face and her mouth shut unless she had something nice to say. She worked hard and often went above and beyond the call of duty to help with set up and decorating. Event managers soon learned that she had a keen eye for design.

  Two years after she graduated, she was working as a part time concierge and still waiting tables at events to stretch her paycheck. One of her friends had got her an in with Elite Events and soon she was regularly called in to work their events. One evening, Natalia was examining the buffet before the guests arrived at a charity auction, straightening silverware, spacing the wineglasses so they were exactly equidistant. Then she surreptitiously made adjustments to the large floral centerpiece. It was a small difference, but by moving the paperwhites to the front and the roses to the back somehow made the arrangement more balanced.

  She’d nearly jumped out of her skin when she’d turned to see Tricia just a few steps away, observing her. Instead of firing her for messing with a centerpiece that had to have cost hundreds, if not thousands, of dollars Tricia had praised her for her attention to detail and ability to see what changes needed to be made to transform a presentation from merely pretty to extraordinary.

  She’d hired Natalia on the spot to come to work at Elite full time, and five years later she had become Tricia’s right hand woman, her point person for managing all of the company’s major events. In addition to putting Sloan’s birthday party solely on her shoulders, Tricia had also been making not so subtle hints about it being long overdue for her to bring in a partner.

  Natalia knew if tonight went off without a hitch, it would be a game changer for her career.

  Satisfied that all of the dinner tables were set and decorated to her precise specifications, she once again glanced at her watch. Dinner service was scheduled to start in fifteen minutes. She discreetly approached Sloan to let her know they would begin urging their guests to find their assigned tables. She knew it would take at least fifteen minutes to get the chattering guests to pause their conversations and abandon their appetizers to make their way to the dining area of the ball room.

  Natalia went to the DJ table in the corner and made an announcement over the sound system that dinner would soon be served. As expected, most of the guests barely paid any attention. However, the servers took that as their cue to make their way through the cocktail lounge and urge the guests to take their seats.

  After dinner was served, the party guests would be treated to a floor show featuring belly dancers, followed by more drinking and dancing into the wee hours of the night.

  Twenty minutes later when the last guest had taken his seat, Natalia signaled to the trio of musicians to begin playing. That was the cue for Sloan to make her grand re-entrance on the back of the camel. The guests laughed and clapped as the animal was led across the stage erected in front of the dinner tables.

  Natalia waited on the edge of the stage as the camel’s handler helped Sloan down. She held her breath as the camel was led away, crossing their fingers they wouldn’t have another code brown just as Sloan was taking her place in the spotlight. She breathed a sigh of relief as the camel exited without incident and handed Sloan the wireless microphone that would allow her to be heard over the din of conversation and the clatter of plates and silverware as the servers placed kale salads in front of the guests.

  “I just wanted to say thank you to everyone for coming tonight and helping me to celebrate this milestone in my life,” Sloan began. “I never understand why people complain about getting old, because with every year that passes, my life becomes richer and more fulfilling.”

  It seemed a bit ironic to hear Sloan wax poetic about the joys of aging when her plastic surgeon was not only here tonight but seated at Sloan’s table.

  As Sloan continued, Natalia became aware of a commotion somewhere in the middle of the room. Her brow knit with concern, she hurried off the stage and toward the noise.

  “Oh my God, what the hell is in this salad??”

  Natalia’s stomach fell as she saw New York Giants’ quarterback Riley Pierce kneeling next to his wife, supermodel Alexandria Chermovsky Pierce, wearing what could only be described
as a frantic expression on his face.

  Next to Pierce stood a server named Todd, who was wringing his hands. His face was as white as a sheet. Natalia hurried closer, then stopped short as she got a better look at Alexandria’s face. Her already bee-stung lips had swollen to twice the size and were an angry shade of red. The hectic color spread through cheeks so puffy they could give the Stay Puft Marshmallow Man a run for his money. Her famously luminous green eyes which had graced hundreds of magazine covers, were barely visible through her inflated eyelids and black rivers of mascara coursed down her cheeks.

  “It’s - it’s,” Natalia stammered, “a Moroccan kale salad with a pomegranate vinegar and walnut oil dressing.”

  Pierce wheeled on her, his expression going from frantic to homicidal. “My wife is allergic to walnuts! You need to call an ambulance right now!”

  Natalia felt like she was going to throw up as she dialed 911. The room erupted into chaos as Pierce grabbed his wife’s purse and pulled out a yellow cylindrical object which she finally registered was an EpiPen.

  As she explained to the EMS dispatcher what was happening, she watched Pierce shove the hem of his wife’s green silk caftan almost up to her waist. In a practiced move he drew his arm back and stabbed the tip of the pen into the muscle of Alexandria’s thigh. Pierce dropped the pen to the floor and wrapped his arms around his sobbing wife. “It’s ok, baby, it’s ok. The paramedics are on their way.”

  He turned to Natalia and with a look so vicious it was a wonder she didn’t burst into flames on the spot said, “Congratulations. You nearly killed my wife.”

  Chapter 2

  “I can’t believe after five years, after everything you’ve done and had to put up with, Tricia actually fired you.”

  Natalia looked at her best friend Cora McLaughlin from the corner of the sectional couch that took up most of the minuscule living room of her one bedroom fifth floor walk-up on the Upper East Side. She’d spent most of the last two days in the same position, curled under a blanket and wearing the same pajama bottoms and tank top she’d pulled on after her Saturday morning meeting with Tricia that had spelled the end of her career with Elite Events.