All she wanted to do was lie here in this chair for about another two days. But the workmen were now trying to shove the tent stakes into the tubs of palms placed around the deck. Celeste heaved a sigh and got up. She struggled to pull a tent stake out of a tub. Just as she yanked it from the sandy soil, her phone rang. She dug it out of her pocket and glanced at the screen. It was Devon.
“Hey, girl!” Celeste squealed, tucking the phone between her cheek and shoulder and wiping her dirty hands on the back of her shorts. “I haven’t talked to you in forever!”
“I know.” Devon’s voice sounded tinny. “They keep us crazy busy here—we’re in classes all day and then rehearsals at night. I’m meeting so many awesome people though—
like actors from the Royal Shakespeare Company! Can you believe it?”
“That’s so great,” Celeste said. “How’s Scotland? Is it amazing? Does it look like Braveheart?”
“Totally. I keep expecting Mel Gibson to show up in all that blue face paint. Hey, how’s everything going there? Are you excited for the festival?”
“Yeah,” Celeste said. “I’m nervous though! There are going to be so many celebrity types around, and everything has to be perfect.”
“Look, you’re an awesome party planner,” Devon
reassured her. “I’m sure you’ve been working your ass off.”
Celeste smiled at the phone and sat down on one of the pool lounges. “Yeah. Nick and I have been up until, like, dawn every night going over things.”
“Oooh, how’s that going?” Devon’s voice dropped.
“Have he and Travis torn each other’s arms off yet or what?”
“No, they’ve been really good. I mean, I explained to Travis that it’s just business and he was totally cool about it. I mean, he knows how important all this is.”
“Yeah …” Devon sounded doubtful. “Travis has such a wicked temper though. Just watch it.”
Celeste scowled a little. “Well, don’t worry, he’s not even going to be here. He’s going to the beach that weekend with his buddies.”
Loud whiny music started up on Devon’s end of the phone. “What is that?” Celeste asked.
“Oh my God, it’s bagpipes. Don’t ask—they actually call us to our classes and meals that way. It’s insane. I feel like I’m turning plaid. Anyway, I have to go to monologue rehearsal. But I’ll be home right after the festival, so at least you have that to look forward to!”
Celeste heard her named being called and looked up to see her father standing in the doorway of the office, his arms folded and his face already red—hopefully with heat and not annoyance.
“Oh boy, got to go,” Celeste said. “Dad alert. Be good!”
“Not likely! Talk to you later.” Devon clicked off.
Celeste shoved the phone into her pocket and walked over to stand beside her father. She folded her arms too, and for a long moment, they surveyed the hive of activ-ity buzzing in front of them: the massive tent flapping, workmen nailing up supports for the arches of palm fronds, the huge bar being wheeled in, and the giant tubs of flowers and ferns being unloaded from trucks and placed around the perimeter of the pool deck.
Dad cleared his throat and Celeste looked up at him, suddenly anxious. Did he think it was tacky or something? Maybe he was worried about money. She didn’t want him to regret giving her this responsibility. Celeste fished around in her stack of papers for the budget and cleared her throat.
“Dad, I know this all looks really crazy right now, but believe me, it’s going to come together great. And it’s actually under budget, if you can believe that.” She offered him the clipboard, which he accepted and studied, leafing through the rest of her preparation papers: copies of invoices, lists, contact names, and cell numbers. “Look, Dad, we even have a spreadsheet with background on all the important guests—food prefer-ences and allergies, special requests, and names of partners. One of the VIPs’ wives is allergic to pepper, so we’ve even confirmed that the caterers will leave it out of the passed hors d’oeuvres completely.” Celeste told him.
Her father raised his eyebrows and nodded slowly.
He still hadn’t spoken, and Celeste couldn’t read his expression. He handed her back her clipboard and then squeezed her shoulder.
“Celeste,” he rumbled. “You’ve always worked hard.
I’m really proud of you. You’ve done a great job.”
Celeste could feel her face turning pink. Her dad draped his heavy arm around her shoulders and gave her a brief hug before turning and heading back into the office. Celeste heaved a sigh of relief. The festival hadn’t even started and she already felt like a success.
Chapter Twenty-two
Celeste stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around her head. The desert twilight was spreading its rays throughout her room, and the soft warm air was blowing through the window, but she didn’t have to even glance outside. She could hardly believe it was actually here—the opening of the Palm Springs Film Festival.
It seemed like with all the planning and anxiety and last-minute emergencies, the day itself would never come.
But it was finally here. In half an hour, she had to be out at the main entrance to welcome the first set of guests.
Then the opening cocktail party would start. And then Nick’s party, the first big one of the festival, would be later that night.
Celeste smoothed on some Bath & Body Works
vanilla lotion. Laid out on her bed was definitely the coolest party dress she’d ever owned: a pink silk Marc Jacobs, knee-length, with a thick fold of fabric over one shoulder. And the shoes were Prada. She’d hardly been able to believe it when she’d found them at the Junk ’n’
Jive vintage clothing store in town. She slipped the cool silk over her head and looked in the mirror. The dress fit perfectly, just skimming the curves of her body.
She applied a little mascara and
