Part 25 (2/2)
My initial panic eases a bit and I scan the messages, which are mostly from Allie and Sheryl, the head waitress at the cafe.
Liv, get over here now. Where are you? She says you approved this... omfg, a police officer is asking for our permit.
WHERE ARE YOU?? Can't reach Dean, cell not working.
Am getting worried!
What the...?
My heart plummets with a sickening sense of dread. I look at the date on the screen. I think frantically, pulling up my calendar and schedule.
Oh, no.
Becky Harrison's birthday party. Becky Harrison's fifth birthday party-which I a.s.sured Allie we could handle and I would take care of-started at eleven o'clock this morning.
Oh my G.o.d.
Not only did I forget, I was thoroughly occupied.
Without even bothering to check my voicemails, I hammer out a quick text to Allie. I have no good excuse, so all I can do is admit to my hideous mistake.
I am so sorry. On my way right now.
I scribble a note for Dean-Had to run to the cafe. I love you madly-then I race downstairs to the parking lot.
I force myself not to speed too much as I drive to the cafe. All the pleasure of the past fifteen hours disintegrates as the weight of embarra.s.sment, regret, and responsibility crashes over me. I park at the curb and run across the street, yanking open the front door.
A barrage of noise hits me-children yelling and crying, the clatter of plates and silverware, a customer's angry voice, the stomp of footsteps on the stairs. Parents are cl.u.s.tered around the front counter, apparently trying to collect their children.
I drop my bag and run upstairs to the Castle Room, which is a disaster of raucous children, messy tables, and spilled food and drinks. Allie is standing near the serving station, her hands up in a placating gesture as a blond woman shouts angrily at her.
I hurry over. ”Allie.”
She turns, her eyes widening at the sight of me. She's red-faced with stress and near-panic. A new wave of regret slams into me so hard I almost can't catch my breath.
”Excuse me.” I step between her and the angry woman, feeling the tension tight enough to break. ”Are you Monica Harrison? I'm Liv West.”
”Liv.” Monica's mouth compresses, her furious gaze darting from Allie to me. ”Where the h.e.l.l have you been? You told me you'd be here to run Becky's party.”
”I'm terribly sorry.” My chest constricts. ”I'm... I'll handle everything, I promise.”
”It's a little late for that now,” Monica replies bitterly, spreading her hand out to indicate the chaos. ”This is a disaster. You'd better believe I'm not paying you a dime, and if you don't refund my deposit, I'm suing you.”
”Of course we'll refund your money. I'll get things straightened out right away.”
Monica hardly looks placated, but she turns to another frazzled-looking mother who is trying to drag a resistant five-year-old toward the door.
I face Allie, whose eyebrows pull together with concern. ”Liv, where have you been? Is everything okay? Nicholas?”
”Yes.” I press my hands to my cheeks and close my eyes. ”Everything's fine. I just... I'm sorry. I f.u.c.ked up. I completely forgot about the party.”
Silence falls. I open my eyes to look at her. Her expression hardens with anger.
”You forgot,” she repeats.
”I forgot.”
”You told me you were planning everything. You told me we could handle it.”
”I know.”
”Where were you?” she asks.
”I was busy,” I confess. ”I forgot, Allie. I don't have any other excuse.”
”Why didn't you answer my calls and texts?”
”My phone was off.”
”All morning?”
”Yes.” I hold up my hands in surrender. ”And Dean got a new cell number that I forgot to give you. Allie, what happened?”
”A f.u.c.king disaster, that's what happened,” she hisses. ”Rachel is outside with the police officer and the band, who refuse to leave unless they're paid even though they haven't performed.”
Allie waves her hand toward the window. ”You'd better do something about the officer now. I've been trying to corral the kids and get them to their parents, not to mention dealing with one seriously p.i.s.sed-off mother.”
I shut off the guilt buffeting me like a storm and hurry back downstairs. Outside, a few children are chasing each other on the gra.s.s while their parents watch from the terrace. The band equipment is stacked to one side, five musicians standing with their arms crossed, their expressions sullen and mutinous.
I go to where Rachel is talking to a police officer and a curly-headed young man who looks like the Pieman.
”Excuse me.” I take a deep breath and extend my hand to the policeman. ”I'm Liv West, officer. I apologize for the confusion.”
”No confusion, ma'am.” He frowns at me. ”Pretty clear you needed a permit for the band, and you don't have one.”
”I'm sure we can straighten this out,” I tell him, though at the moment I'm not sure about that at all.
”You Liv?' the musician asks, jerking his chin up. ”I'm Marty Groman, aka the Pieman. Look, we came here to play and thought you had everything set up. The police officer won't even let me play my guitar, and now we've got a ton of disappointed kids. That's not how we work. Slice of Pie makes kids happy, you know?”
”I know. I'm sorry.” If only sorrys could fix everything. ”Look, could you guys please get your equipment packed up? I promise, you'll be paid the full amount.”
”It's not just about the pay,” Marty says, hitching his guitar over his shoulder. ”I mean, it's bad for our rep if we leave a place with a bunch of upset kids.”
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