Southern Charm by Tinsley Mortimer Read Free Book Online Page B

of which were second nature to Ruth. Did the cater waiters reallyneed to be wearing those ties? Were flowers even necessary? Where would we store the gift bags? I tried my best to answer these questions with educated guesses: Yes? Maybe? Under the stairs?
    Before I knew it, we had solved all of the last-minute problems. The event was set to start in five minutes, my feet were already numb from standing and running all day in my once-precious Mary Janes, and little half moons of mascara had collected under my eyes. I stood in the corner and tried desperately to tidy myself up with the help of a cocktail napkin and a glass of Pellegrino.
    â€œMintyyyyyy!”
    Ruth’s voice came bellowing from somewhere in the back room of the store.
    â€œYes?” I shouted, limping in the direction of her voice.
    â€œI need you on the door,” Ruth barked, emerging from the back room wearing a little headset and holding the clipboard I’d brought from the office.
    I noticed the clipboard was already locked and loaded with a copy of the massive Excel list I’d been working on since my first day. Ruth shoved the clipboard in my direction and handed me a headset.
    â€œBut I thought Nina was handling the door.”
    Nina was one of the more senior assistants. I was told that maybe I would “shadow” her and observe the process of manning the guest list, but it wasn’t even a possibility that I would handle the entire operation. What on earth was going on? I started to hyperventilate slightly.
    â€œI just fired her. So, anyway, I need you to be wearing this at all times. There are going to be cancellations and additions and fires to be put out and they’re all going to happen last-minute,” Ruth explained, not missing a beat. She stared directly at me. This was Ruth’s way of saying, “Are you in or are you out?”
    â€œOkay.” I gulped. “Got it.” I grabbed the headset and put it on. I held the clipboard over my chest like it was a bulletproof vest.
    â€œRight at the door. List only. No exceptions,” Ruth said. “If you have any problems, you just radio over to me. But I don’t want to be bothered with bullshit. Got it?”
    â€œYes, of course. Got it,” I said.
    The guests started arriving almost immediately, and the process seemed simple enough at first. I would just ask for their name, they would give it to me, I would find it on the list and then check them off. They would smile at me and enter the party. And that was that. But sometime around six thirty P.M ., the guests started to arrive at a more rapid pace. Maybe it was my nerves or inexperience (or both), but it seemed like it was taking me longer to find names and the line of people waiting outside was growing longer and more impatient.
    â€œHellloooo,” I heard one voice screaming from the back of the line. “Are you kidding me? Honey, pick up the pace!”
    One man, who was wearing a floor-length mink coat and a pair of oversized, black-rimmed plastic glasses, insisted that he had received an invitation but had forgotten to RSVP and could I please just let him in? He said he was a friend of the president of Hermès and it would really be a problem if I turned him away.
    As he made me flip through the list again, five more people tagged onto the back of the line until it was looping halfway around the block. I had no choice but to radio Ruth over.
    She arrived in less than thirty seconds.
    â€œWhat’s the problem here, George?” she said, not so much as glancing in my direction. Ruth knew everyone .
    â€œOh, Ruth, hi!” he said, suddenly turning very shy and conciliatory. “How are you? I’m just explaining to this lovely young lady here that I received an invitation but I totally forgot to RSVP. Can you believe it? So sorry, I’m such a flake.”
    â€œYou’re not on the list, George, go home,” she said.
    She turned around and walked