Two Bar Mitzvahs (No Weddings #3)(32)
She laughed softly and shivered. With a slight turn of her head, she glanced up at me with a warm smile. “You look incredible yourself. I’ve never seen you in linen.”
“Don’t get used to it. I’m more of a jeans and T-shirt guy.”
She turned fully in my arms and stared up at me. In slow motion, she drew a finger along the muscle in my forearm, then bit her lip when she tucked the tip of it under the rolled cuff below my elbow. “It’s not the attire, but the man underneath I see and want.”
I smacked her ass, then kissed her deep and slow. “When the public party ends, our private party will begin.” With a sigh, I planted my hands on her shoulders and separated her body from mine before we got carried away. Others first. “The cake looks perfect, Maestro. Thank you.”
While we lingered for our last private seconds, I paid closer attention to the cake’s details. A likeness of our club—in all its rust-and-chrome, shabby-chic glory—stood on one end. On the other side, she’d depicted dark inner-city alleys, complete with towering buildings with graffiti painted on the walls. But both ends were barren of people. The closer your gaze drew to the center, the more people populated the scene. The middle featured a park, full of life from the green grass, trees, and geese floating on the lake to the people engaged in various park activities, like Frisbee, a softball game, and a picnic.
“This truly is a masterpiece, Hannah.”
A member of the press we’d invited stepped into view, edging behind the bar. “Mind if I start taking photos?”
For the next few minutes we posed for some of the night’s publicity shots. The party hadn’t officially started, but we were close. I took a deep breath and relaxed as much as possible for the short time with Hannah before I needed to migrate over to the DJ booth.
Guest headcount had almost reached capacity, but people sat at tables or stood on the dance floor, waiting. The low-volume soundtrack streaming through the speakers kept them all tame, and the waitresses hustled, making sure everyone had a drink in hand.
Once the obligatory photos were done, I glanced around and spotted Kristen waving us over. I put a hand at Hannah’s back and urged her toward my family and our friends who’d gathered up in the larger VIP section. “C’mon, Maestro. Showtime.”
Darren manned the DJ booth in the far corner of the room, and I wound through the crowd on the dance floor as quickly as possible to join him. At my nod, he faded the music down, then gave me the microphone.
I scanned the crowd, which hushed as the lights dimmed over them and brightened on me. I tapped the mic once to verify the thing worked before speaking. “We all want to thank you for coming here tonight. This weekend is special for us as we pass a milestone. One year ago today, Loading Zone opened its doors, marking the transformation from a decrepit, abandoned warehouse into a successful business.
“Not only did we provide valuable jobs—thumbing our nose at the local down economy—but we included each employee in a portion of the profits, making them a part of our family. And we’ve all worked hard to make every guest who comes here feel at home.”
A rolling wave of cheers and applause thundered through the room.
“But tonight is about more than Loading Zone. And the celebration serves as more than tonight’s good time. On the invitation, you were encouraged to wear fair-trade attire, from your clothes and jewelry to your handbags and shoes. For some, you only had to go to your closets. For many, you had to shop for the very first time from merchants who support fair wages and living conditions.
“What you may not know is that we make every effort possible to do the same in the running of our business: where we buy our alcohol, what decorated the bar you’re standing in, the cutting-edge bathrooms my sister Kiki designed. We even scrutinize what goes inside them, down to the toilet paper that wipes your ass.”
Laughter erupted. I grinned, then shrugged unapologetically.
“I want you all to think about where you buy your goods from, not just tonight, but every day. Every one of your purchasing decisions can make a difference in someone’s life halfway around the world.”
I glanced at my mom, nodding to her. “My mother, Victoria Michaelson heads a charity that supports fair trade as one element of its cause. One hundred percent of your two hundred and fifty dollar entrance ticket goes toward her foundation.”
Kristen approached the DJ booth, and I leaned down while she stretched up and whispered into my ear. My eyes widened in surprise, but she nodded. I whispered back a question, to which she nodded again.
“Ladies and gentlemen, Kristen’s just informed me that not only have the ticket sales raised half a million dollars. But through additional private donations of guests tonight, and through our website, we’ve topped one million dollars in total donations. And I’ve confirmed that the donation banner will remain active on both Loading Zone’s and Invitation Only’s websites for you to contribute on an ongoing basis.”
Still astounded, I blinked. “Wow. Tonight has turned into more than any of us had hoped for. Your generosity never ceases to amaze me. Oh, one more thing before we knock this party off the hook. Please take a moment to appreciate the cake designed and created for tonight’s event by Invitation Only’s very own Hannah Martin.
“She illustrated perfectly what’s transpiring here tonight and what all of us can do afterward: leave our comfort zones and step toward one another. Life isn’t about business. It isn’t about buildings, neighborhoods you were raised in, or the social class you think you ‘belong to.’ No” —I shook my head, scanning the crowd of people who nodded in agreement— “life is about the people you choose to include, showing them what kindness means.”