Page 9 of Size Game

“Haha! Totally.”

“Later, man.”

“Later.”

I take to the internet again to find this company and am quite surprised when it comes right up. I find the number and give it a call. A pleasant woman picks up with a thick Brooklyn accent. I ask her if they do kids’ parties, and she tells me that they do all sorts of parties, fromAtoZ.

She starts to tell me about the rates for different things, and I interrupt her. “Who do you have that would be able to plan this? Do have someone specific or what?”

“Nah. All our plannahs can do any pahty. You should come by today and pick one. You can tawk to ’em and find one that fits you.”

“Thank you. I’ll be by around one.”

“We’ll see yah then.”

I continue through my day, getting all of the reports out that need to be done. The floor coffee wench, as she is so lovingly referred to, comes by to get everyone their coffee. She knows that’s what we call her, and she seems to enjoy it. Unlike most companies, she is not one of our interns. She works in accounting but has to get up to stretch every now and then. Plus, she’s a bit older and seems to enjoy flirting with the young men when she brings them coffee.

She comes into my office and brings me a cup, filled to the brim. I thank her and she smiles, then winks. I look down at my latte to find a little heart drawn in the foam. I smile at her and blow her a kiss before she walks out to give the next person their cup. Sweet lady.

The hours are long and go by slowly, but they pass nonetheless. Once the clock strikes 12:20 p.m., I rise and head to the elevator. I’ve planned a little extra time, knowing that I’m going to have to answer at least five questions on my way across the floor.

The car is already waiting for me downstairs and takes me straight to the planner’s building. It’s in a more artsy neighborhood with paintings on the sides of most of the buildings. Theirs seems to have been drawn up by a group of people and has all sorts of party-related things on it. There are cakes, balloons, piñatas, doves, banners. It looks like all of the parties in a four-block radius exploded here on the wall.

I walk in the door, and there’s a woman standing at a desk shuffling papers. She turns to me immediately and welcomes me; from her accent, I recognize her as the woman I spoke to on the phone. She takes me into a large meeting room with a few planners sitting around a large table. They seem to be ready to let me look through their portfolios.

The second I walk in the room, my eyes are drawn to a gorgeous woman with thoughtful brown eyes and a mane of brown hair—Claire. I pause for a second, as does she. I keep my eyes locked with hers as I sit at the head of the table.

The Brooklyn woman gives a short spiel, the same one I gave her over the phone. She asks when the party is supposed to be. I tell her a week from Saturday. She looks over the room and about a third of the planners leave; apparently they are already booked.

“Okay, hon, you can look through their portfolios and tawk with ’em. They’ll getcha all settled.”

“Thank you. But I have already made my decision.”

“Who’s it gonna be?”

“Claire.”

The rest of the planners leave the room. None of them seem offended. I imagine they all get quite a bit of work all around the city. The Brooklyn woman follows them out and leaves myself and Claire in the room.

“So, you’re a party planner?”

“I told you I work parties.”

“I thought you meant as a waitress or bartender or something. Not as the head honcho.”

We sit together and talk for a while. Claire has a large portfolio out in front of her with pictures of parties she has done before. Right now, it is open to a few pages of children’s parties. She also has a large sketchbook where she is jotting down notes and drawing out ideas.

I tell her that I’ll have to find a seamstress to make my girl a princess dress. She tells me that she knows of a few in the area that can have it done by the date of the party. She seems to have the answers to all of my questions.

After a while our conversation is back on each other and not the party at all. I don’t mind. She is such an enthralling person that I can’t help but be drawn in. I want to drown in her eyes, in her mind.

“You never mentioned you’re a dad.”

“Yeah. She’s about to be five.”

“Where’s Mom?”

I go silent for a moment, then compose myself. “She’s passed on.”