Dream On(89)

Checking that my jacket’s single button is still fastened, I push my shoulders back and take a deep breath. Time to make an appearance at the last required work function of the summer. I just hope none of the other volunteers slip up and ask me questions in front of anyone, especially Andréa, Frank, or Glenn.

I roll my shoulders back and take a deep breath. This might be the ultimate “worlds colliding” scenario, but it’s only for a couple of hours. I’ll get through it. I have to.





When I join the group of Smith & Boone attorneys, Andréa greets me with a hug. “Hey, Cass. How’s it going?”

“Good.”

“Excited for the festival?”

“Yeah, can’t wait.”

“Oh, hold on…” Craning her neck, she lifts her arm. “Mercedes! Over here!” I look in the direction she waves, and sure enough, there’s Mercedes. Even on her day off, she looks impeccable. She’s traded her signature red for a flowing gray, knee-length sundress, sparkly sandals, and the largest sunglasses I’ve ever seen outside a tabloid magazine. Her normally loose hair is tied up into a tight bun, while a violet-and-red patterned scarf is wrapped around her head like a makeshift headband. She’s walking up West Twenty-Eighth toward Providence, which is the wrong way, since the entrance is at Jay Avenue, but pauses when she spots me and Andréa.

Pushing her sunglasses up her nose, she hikes her small white purse higher on her shoulder and walks over to us. Frank joins us a couple of minutes later, and soon, over two dozen summer associates and senior attorneys are milling in the street just outside the festival’s barricade. Glenn’s voice pierces through the chatter, music, and nearby traffic noises, and the Smith & Boone contingency quiets.

“Thank you all for being here! It’s delightful to see you outside of the office, and on such a beautiful August day. As I understand it, the Ohio City Flower & Beer Festival has more than twenty local vendors selling art and handcrafted items ranging from photography prints to paintings to artisanal baked goods, in addition to a variety of cut flowers and potted perennials. And three local microbreweries are offering beer tastings as well.”

My heart lifts. Hearing Glenn describe the festival makes it sound impressive. Despite the constant, low-level thrum of nerves I feel, pride trickles through my chest.

“David has purchased tickets for everyone, which you can use to buy lunch up to a twenty-dollar value, plus vouchers for two alcoholic beverages, should you choose to partake. Show your work identification at the entry booth to collect your tickets… and enjoy!”

Clapping follows Glenn’s pronouncement, and the Smith & Boone crowd begins to disperse.

Andréa turns toward me and Mercedes. “Well, what do you think? Do you want to grab lunch first, then check out the vendors?”

“Oh, you want us to have lunch… together?” asks Mercedes.

Frank leans forward. “Of course. You’ve both been stalwart associates this summer. Andréa and I thought it would be nice to have lunch—the four of us. What do you say?”

“Sure,” I blurt.

“Yes, thank you,” Mercedes murmurs.

Frank claps. “All right then. Shall we?” His blue-gray eyes sparkle as he exchanges an unreadable look with Andréa, whose lips crinkle in a tight smile. What are these two up to?

Before I can question further, we’re shepherded into the ticket booth. Jai and Anisha are sitting behind the table, checking ID’s, running credit cards for the other festival-goers, and handing out tickets. Jai winks at me when he catches my eye, but otherwise doesn’t say anything, for which I’m grateful. Before I can reach the table, someone tugs on my sleeve. Mercedes is behind me. Even though the tent is shaded, she’s still wearing her sunglasses. “I need to use the restroom. Can you collect my tickets for me?”

“Um, well, if you want to drink, you’ll need to show your ID.”

She waves me away. “I’m not drinking. I have to drive later. If you could pick up my lunch tickets, though, I’d appreciate it. Thank you.”

Without waiting for me to respond, she bustles out of the tent in the direction of the three portable toilets lined up at the corner. I shake my head in bewilderment. When you’ve gotta go, you’ve gotta go.

I step up to the table in front of Anisha, who smiles placidly as she looks at my driver’s license, giving away no hint that she knows me, bless her, and hands me a yellow wristband and a dozen red tickets. I almost walk away before I remember Mercedes. “Oh, and can I get six tickets for my coworker please?”

“Six tickets, coming right up,” she says, then catches sight of Frank peering at her curiously. “Oh, I mean. No, sorry. We can only give out prepurchased Smith & Boone tickets with a corresponding work ID. I’m afraid your friend will need pick up her tickets herself.”

Frank smiles genially. “You run a tight ship. I admire that. But I’m a senior attorney at Smith & Boone, and I can vouch that my colleague’s request is valid. The tickets are for Mercedes, right?” he adds to me.

“Yeah. She ran to the bathroom.”

He nods. “If you get any blowback for it, I’ll take the blame, okay?” Fishing his wallet out of his pocket, he produces a business card and hands it to Anisha. She blinks as she takes it, and looks between me and Frank. He has no idea that the person she’d get any blowback from is standing right here. The irony is almost enough to make me giggle.