Bliss, Inc. (Indigo Love Spectrum) Read online

  “What about Wayne? He’s pretty cool. I bet he didn’t talk about his colon.”

  “You’re right, he didn’t.”

  “See?”

  “He talked about his prostate exam, which has apparently left him with a form of post-traumatic stress disorder.” Paige shook her head in disgust. “God knew what he was doing when he decided women should give birth instead of men. The human race would have been extinct by now.”

  “Wasn’t it Carol Burnett who said the world would be a different place if men had to be in stirrups?”

  Paige chuckled. “Amen to that. Listen, we’d better hit the showers.”

  The two women headed for the locker room.

  Since her divorce Paige hadn’t felt a spark with anyone until that night at the Marriot. That night she shed her good-girl persona and went with the moment. It wasn’t romance but it felt good. It was also a world away from where she’d started.

  * * *

  Paige’s father was a CPA and her mother a nutritionist. The life her parents had seen for her didn’t include fabric swatches and centerpieces. They wanted both her and her sister Siobhan to choose dignified professions. Paige chose law. However, she continued to read Bride’s as often as the Law Journal, The New York Times, and The Wall Street Journal. After she joined one of New York City’s most prestigious firms, she met and got engaged to Joshua Carter. Six years her senior, Joshua was great on paper: good looking, intelligent, and a successful tax attorney.

  With military precision Paige organized her wedding for 300 guests within eight short months. In fact she’d rated an announcement in the Holy Grail of wedding sections, the New York Times Weddings and Celebrations. Life was good, and after Max was born, it seemed Paige had a lock on the whole happily-ever-after thing. Unfortunately she, like Princess Diana, had realized after the fairy-tale nuptials that the reality of marriage was a far cry from happily-ever-after. Joshua was a good BMW (black man working) but he was a neglectful husband. Everything and everyone else came before family. After six years of marriage, Paige and Joshua divorced.

  Still determined to have it all, Paige threw herself into work and motherhood. She navigated her way through PTA bake sales, teacher meetings, and science projects while putting in long hours as the head of acquisitions and mergers. She was the picture of success, yet something was missing. Then one day the answer became clear courtesy of the unlikeliest person, a colleague.

  Forty-four-year-old Helen McDougal was an uptight, by-the-book company lawyer. She hated joking, talking, or milling about on company time. She didn’t mind music as long as it was the obscure Irish folk song collection she played all day. Helen was so picky about her personal workspace that she shampooed the carpet in her office every day without fail. Although most offices housed two lawyers, Helen’s office was the exception. In fact, when the higher-ups wanted to make sure somebody quit, they’d assign him or her to Helen’s office and wait for the inevitable. Most people quit before they could requisition another desk. So when Helen happily announced her engagement to a semi-famous Irish folk singer twenty-one years her senior, there was a sense of shock. Everyone had believed she was a lesbian. While Helen was a good attorney, she lacked the skills and the patience to plan a wedding. So when Paige stepped in to help she was genuinely relieved. As for Paige, she happily planned every detail of the wedding, including helping Helen find the perfect gown. The wedding went over so well that Paige got a bear hug from the usually stand-offish Helen. It was then that Paige realized exactly what was missing from her legal career: passion. At thirty-two Paige quit the fast track, became an entrepreneur and opened Bliss Inc.

  * * *

  A well-manicured slice of prime Long Island real estate, Park Lane Estates took great pride in its reputation for exclusivity and a wholesome family-friendly image. At first glance Paige had thought it was a recruitment village for Stepford, but Park Lane boasted one of the best school districts on Long Island, which convinced Paige to live in Barbie and Ken’s neighborhood. After the divorce she retained the house and primary custody of Max. There was only one downside: Paige also got to keep the perfect neighbors next door, the Sheratons.

  Bill and Susie Sheraton’s marriage was right out of the Eisenhower years. A tall, fit and trim blond, Bill Sheraton III worked as an advertising executive in New York City. His wife Susie was a petite brunette who weighed 105 pounds if she weighed an ounce. Then to add insult to injury, she had four children, two of whom attended the same high school as Max.

  As Paige pulled in she noticed the driveway was empty. I guess Max drove to school for the tutoring sessions. She checked her watch and then looked around before opening the car door. I should be in the clear. She got out and made a break for the back door.

  “Yoo hoo! Paige!”

  Paige stopped dead in her tracks, looked up at the sky and mouthed the words, “Why me?” She slowly turned around. “Hi, Susie.”

  Susie walked over to the fence. “Hey there, neighbor. I just wanted to remind you that we’re having a meeting of the homeowners association next Monday night.”

  “I’ll mark my calendar.” Before Paige could say another word, Susie spoke again.

  “There’s been a rash of falls this winter due to homeowner negligence and we had to assess fines on those who didn’t abide by the rules.”

  “I take it that didn’t go over so well.”

  “No, but as the president of the association I felt it was within my scope of authority to fine the offenders. Nevertheless we voted on the matter.”

  Paige stopped herself from snickering out loud. Susie was just a hair shy of being five feet tall, so being the president of the homeowners association often brought out the Napoleon complex in her.

  “Do you think you can make the meeting, Paige?”

  “I’m not sure what’s on my schedule, but I will try to make it.”

  “Good. “ Susie glanced toward her kitchen window. “What are those kids doing?”

  “I see you have to go. Have a good evening.”

  “You, too, Paige.”

  Holding an armful of magazines, notebooks, and fabric swatches as well as her briefcase, Paige deftly turned the security alarm off. After setting everything down she glanced at a large stack of mail on the counter. “Bills and more bills.” A look of relief came over her as she kicked her two-and-a-half-inch pumps off and wiggled her toes. “That feels so much better,” she sighed aloud.

  Just as Superman transformed into Clark Kent when not saving the planet, Paige shed her Super Wedding Planner persona, too. She let her hair down and slipped into a comfortable pair of jeans and a shirt before settling into the less-than-romantic task of paying bills online.

  Just before she sat down she put on XM radio’s classical station. Beethoven’s Ninth. What a civilized way to pay bills. She went into her bag to get her calculator and saw her broken blind date glasses. She smiled when she thought about how they broke.

  “Mom? What are you smiling about?” Max asked as he came into the room.

  The question from her son brought her back to reality. “Nothing. I just remembered something funny, that’s all.”

  Maximillian Holden Carter was Paige and Joshua’s pride and joy. With soft, curly brown hair and light brown eyes her long, lean, and athletic son wasn’t hard on young ladies’ eyes. He was starting at Cornell in the fall. To make a little extra money he’d signed up to tutor juniors and some seniors for the SAT a couple of times a week.

  “So how did tutoring go?”

  “Not too bad. A lot of the kids in my group had problems with some of the sections. I told them they have a lot to think about with the new SATs.” Max stretched. “Is there any more pie?”

  He actually made it for a whole two minutes before he thought about his stomach. “I think so, Max,” she answered.

  “Did you want a slice, Mom?”

  “No, sweetie. Have at it.”

  Max’s cell phone rang and she heard him setting up another t
utoring session while he heated up the pie. It all goes by so fast. It feels like I brought him home from the hospital yesterday and now he’s headed to college. She sighed. I’m so proud of him.

  Once Monday evening wound down Paige was too exhausted to peruse the Sunday Times announcement section. Instead, she put it to the side for the next morning when she was properly caffeinated.

  CHAPTER 2

  Rejuvenated the next morning, Paige was already onto her second cup of coffee as she leafed through the Times. And they say we look alike. It looks like they used the same photographer and pose for every woman, Paige thought as she turned the page. It’s like a reunion of every skinny girl I hated in high school and college. She chuckled.

  Suddenly Paige’s eyes widened. Is that a girl with meat on her bones? She took a closer look.

  Hiram and Isabelle Klein proudly announce the engagement of their daughter Jennifer Miriam Klein, 29, to Michael Selby Smythe, 26. The two plan on marrying in December of this year.

  Hiram Klein. That was just the kind of event that could put Bliss on the map. The wheels of her mind turned. “This could be big.”

  Once Max was off to school, Paige hurried to the office and went to work on the proposal. Bliss had experience with high-end weddings, but society weddings would take things to another level. Paige stared at her screen. The guest list would likely rival War and Peace in length, which meant a venue large enough to hold everyone yet elegant enough to make people take notice. She thought for a moment. The Waldorf, The Plaza, and The Grand Hyatt would be good choices, and they had worked with them before. Ideas sizzled like butter in a pan as Paige’s fingers flew across the keyboard.

  Oblivious to the world, she didn’t hear her motley crew of event planners trickle in. Thirty-four-year-old office manager Stuart Ames, the African-American heterosexual version of Colin Cowie, was the first to arrive. His only problem was most women thought he was gay once they found out what he did for a living, which put a damper on his social life. He was hopeful that one day the right woman would look past his profession.

  Thirty-five-year-old Daisy Martinez referred to herself as Bliss’s in-house lipstick lesbian. She was an EOW (equal opportunity wedding planner) who did wedding and commitment ceremonies. Eve McMillan was thirty-eight and married without children. A well-traveled woman, multicultural weddings were her forte. The newest kid on the block was forty-four-year-old receptionist Deidre Patterson, who had been with Bliss for nearly four years. Not quite ready for prime time, she assisted the other planners with their events. It was the team that made Bliss successful, and Paige knew if she got the Klein wedding they would be essential to making the event the toast of the town.

  By 9:45 Paige had the proposal finished and added a copy of Bliss’s contract as well. She knew she could find a listing in the phone book, but having the right number wasn’t as important as the name of the right person to speak with. While that information wasn’t public, Paige knew just who to call.

  Despite having the modern convenience of a BlackBerry, Paige relied on her old Rolodex to get Laura Sandling’s number. Bliss had planned her wedding six years ago and the former Laura Rice still worked for the Times. After exchanging pleasantries, Laura gave her the number she needed.

  She had to call Samantha Brillstein, Mr. Klein’s personal secretary. Paige knew she needed more than just a great proposal and good references; she needed luck and a prayer or two. She took a deep breath and dialed.

  “Mr. Klein’s office, may I help you?”

  “Good morning. I’m trying to get in touch with Ms. Brillstein.”

  “I’m Samantha Brillstein. How can I help you?”

  “Ms. Brillstein, my name is Paige Baldwin. I’m the owner of Bliss Inc., a wedding planning services company.”

  “Yes, Ms. Baldwin. We are currently looking at proposals. If you like you can fax your proposal to my attention.”

  She was relieved not to have to make her pitch over the phone. “Thank you.”

  “The fax number is 212-555-3768.”

  Paige wrote the number down and repeated it back to her.

  “That’s correct. If we like your proposal you will hear from us between Wednesday and Friday of this week for an interview.”

  “Very good then. I’ll fax it right over.”

  “Good luck.”

  “Thank you, and thanks for your time.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Paige emerged from her office a little after ten o’clock.

  “Good morning, everyone.” She smiled.

  “You’ve certainly been busy this morning,” Adriana said with her hand on her hip.

  “I know, Adriana. I was a woman on a mission.” She walked over to the fax machine. “I saw something in the Times wedding announcements section and I think it could be the springboard Bliss needs for a higher profile.” She crossed her fingers.

  The fax beeped as it began transmitting the proposal.

  “Who is it?”

  “It’s the Jennifer Klein/Michael Smythe wedding.”

  “Klein, as in the textile empire?” Adriana asked.

  “Yes, the one and only textile king.”

  “That would be sweet. Is that what you were doing? Preparing a proposal?”

  “Yes, I got here extra early to make sure I could get it all done as quickly as possible.”

  “You’re really on top of it.”

  “I really think we have a shot, Adriana. The competition will be stiff but I think we have what it takes.”

  The fax finished its transmission.

  “I guess we’ll find out soon enough.” Adriana leaned against the counter.

  “We certainly will. They’re only calling back the people they’re interested in for an interview.”

  “I’ll say a prayer.”

  “So will I.”

  “Oh, by the way, Stuart, I need you to call Troy at the Jade Terrace and see what time Bob’s people can do the flower installation for the Allan/Lord wedding.”

  “Will do, boss lady.”

  “Working with them has been a breeze. The wedding should come off without a hitch,” Daisy chirped.

  “It’s going to be an elegant event. Still, I have this odd feeling about them.” Paige tapped her fingers on the desk.

  “So do I, Paige.” Stuart interjected.

  “You only feel that way because you have a crush on Patricia,” Daisy teased.

  The usually unflappable Stuart became flustered. “I do not. I just think she’s a very nice woman.”

  “Not to mention how hot you think she is. Just admit it, brother. I won’t hold it against you. I think she’s hot too,” Daisy joked.

  It would have been far easier for Stuart if he didn’t work in an office filled with women; maybe then his crush wouldn’t have been so obvious. As fate would have it, he’d become smitten with Patricia from the first day she came in for her consultation with her dad.

  With nowhere to hide, Stuart picked up the phone. “I have to make a phone call.”

  Paige felt bad. “You have to stop torturing him, Daisy. The poor guy is in love with a woman he can’t have.”

  “Okay, Paige, I’ll back off.”

  Stuart hung up the phone. “Tony said Bob could come Saturday morning. I’ll call and let Bob know.” He quickly retreated to the break room.

  Paige waited until he was out of earshot. “I still think there is something off-kilter about this wedding; I just can’t put my finger on it. But maybe my radar is off on this one.” She shrugged.

  “Are we covering the rehearsal dinner?” Daisy asked.

  “No, just the wedding.”

  Paige went back to her office to catch up on paperwork. In between phone calls and consultations she said a silent prayer that her proposal would be enough to get her an interview.

  Paige had grown up in the supermodel era when every girl wanted to see her face on the cover of Seventeen magazine. As a result modeling schools popped up like weeds, attracting
eager girls and their parents’ hard-earned money. Although Paige was tall enough to be a model, she wasn’t model size and there was no such thing as a plus model division in any of the major or small modeling agencies. As a consolation of sorts Paige’s parents sent her to Ms. Francine Watkins’s charm school for young ladies. Since Paige was enamored with the Gilded Age, her parents didn’t have to twist her arm to make her go.

  A petite and regal woman, Ms. Watkins was born and bred in Maryland, just outside of Baltimore. Her style was a combination of southern gentility and cosmopolitan sophistication. A school teacher for thirty years, Ms. Watkins had seen the evolution of young women and she wasn’t happy with what she saw. So she opened a charm school to show young women how to be proper ladies.

  She liked to tell her “girls” all about her very stern mother, whom she referred to as Nanny Jack. Her philosophy was simple; poor was a state of being and not a state of mind. She instilled a sense of decorum in her children and Ms. Watkins shared it with her girls.

  Paige learned how to enter a room, how to sit properly, and how to get in and out of a car without flashing her undies or your see you next Tuesday, as Ms. Watkins referred to it. She may have been proper but it turned out she wore a short skirt or two in the sixties.

  Spinning around in her chair, she faced the window for the first time that day. The sun shone brightly on this clear and cloudless day and the horizon seemed to go on forever, a perfect day for entering new territory. Paige knew she had the skills and the chops to navigate her way through the world of high society. She felt her opportunities were boundless if she could just make it past the first gargoyle.

  CHAPTER 3

  With his shoulder bag packed, high school history teacher Matthew Smythe erased the day’s lesson from the board. Then a young man knocked on the open door.

  “Hey, Mr. S., do you have a minute?”

  “Sure, if you don’t mind the eraser dust. What’s on your mind, Derek?”

  “I want to know if you could do a reference letter for my scholarship application.”