ONE
“I
just don't see how we can do it, Hayley,” Fiona said. “We have the Met Costume
Gala that Saturday, Cancer the following week, and the Whitney wedding two days
later.”
“For Luke
Thompson, we'll find a way. And could you say Cancer Benefit , please.” Hayley
wrinkled her nose. “Cancer next week doesn’t sound that festive. Just the
opposite.”
Fiona laughed.
“Point well taken.”
“Listen, I’d
set my hair on fire if Luke asked me to. He wants us to do this party, so
we do it. And that’s that.”
Still shy as a
fawn in public, Hayley was a different person when she and Fiona were alone. Smart,
accomplished and irreverent. The two girls had become inseparable at Miss
Porter’s School, and beyond. They were roommates in college, had backpacked around
Europe after graduation, and eventually landed in a tiny apartment in St Mark’s
Place on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
It was an
ancient railroad flat, which meant that in 1910 three rooms were lined up in a
row, like train carriages, and the bathtub was in the kitchen. It was a quirky
little place but the girls loved it. The combination of Fiona’s creative ideas,
and Hayley’s uncanny ability to transform dreams into reality, changed an
eyesore into a charming little gem. That rare blend of skills was to prove
invaluable, when later they launched their joint venture from the fifth-floor
walkup. They started an event planning company which they called Celebration.
Outsiders wondered
what kind of glue made these two disparate personalities into such a cohesive
team. It was simple really. Fiona admired Hayley’s grit and determination to
overcome a background Dickensian in its bleakness. She took hard work and perseverance
to a new level.
Hayley, on the
other hand, was in awe of Fiona’s seemingly effortless ability to accomplish
whatever she set out to do. And instead of being full of herself because of it,
Fiona had a huge heart. She was capable of acts of profound compassion, such as
taking a lonely young girl under her wing and changing her life.
This morning,
twenty years after that event, the two women were sitting at the cluttered
round table that served as an operations center for Celebration . It was
the spring of 2013, and they had a burgeoning business.
“Could you not
set your hair on fire, no matter who requests it,” Fiona begged. “That blue
tint you thought was so cool has almost grown out.”
“If we do this
for Luke, I promise I’ll only dye it colors found in nature,” Hayley answered. “He's
family, Fiona. We taught each other how to kiss, underneath the stairs at that shelter
on 86 th Street.”
“You never
told me you were romantically involved with the hunkiest newsman on the air!”
Hayley laughed
dismissively. “Hardly. I was eight, he was nine. And it wasn't romance, it was
a science experiment. When I was sent to Miss Porter’s, we swore to be friends
for life, and we have been. Plus he looked after Mikey the best he could, after
I'd gone.”
Fiona stiffened
at the mention of Hayley’s younger brother. Mikey was trouble. But Hayley, who
usually had an infallible radar about people, could not see it. She had
practically raised the boy, in the absence of their will-o’-the-wisp mother,
and in Hayley’s eyes he could do no wrong.
Fiona had an
urge to say that Luke Thompson would have done better to watch out for the
people Mikey conned, but she thought better of it. It would only upset Hayley. Instead,
she said, “When am I going to get to meet this wonder?”
The investigative
reporter was a household name, and Fiona admired him for the work he did. And he
was a champion of the underdog, which made him extra special to her.
“He’s
hard to pin down. He’s always flying around the globe, covering disasters. Or
exposing corruption,” Hayley replied. “But when we plan this party for him,
which we absolutely, positively must , you'll finally meet him.” Although
she was usually indifferent
“I
just don't see how we can do it, Hayley,” Fiona said. “We have the Met Costume
Gala that Saturday, Cancer the following week, and the Whitney wedding two days
later.”
“For Luke
Thompson, we'll find a way. And could you say Cancer Benefit , please.” Hayley
wrinkled her nose. “Cancer next week doesn’t sound that festive. Just the
opposite.”
Fiona laughed.
“Point well taken.”
“Listen, I’d
set my hair on fire if Luke asked me to. He wants us to do this party, so
we do it. And that’s that.”
Still shy as a
fawn in public, Hayley was a different person when she and Fiona were alone. Smart,
accomplished and irreverent. The two girls had become inseparable at Miss
Porter’s School, and beyond. They were roommates in college, had backpacked around
Europe after graduation, and eventually landed in a tiny apartment in St Mark’s
Place on the Lower East Side of Manhattan.
It was an
ancient railroad flat, which meant that in 1910 three rooms were lined up in a
row, like train carriages, and the bathtub was in the kitchen. It was a quirky
little place but the girls loved it. The combination of Fiona’s creative ideas,
and Hayley’s uncanny ability to transform dreams into reality, changed an
eyesore into a charming little gem. That rare blend of skills was to prove
invaluable, when later they launched their joint venture from the fifth-floor
walkup. They started an event planning company which they called Celebration.
Outsiders wondered
what kind of glue made these two disparate personalities into such a cohesive
team. It was simple really. Fiona admired Hayley’s grit and determination to
overcome a background Dickensian in its bleakness. She took hard work and perseverance
to a new level.
Hayley, on the
other hand, was in awe of Fiona’s seemingly effortless ability to accomplish
whatever she set out to do. And instead of being full of herself because of it,
Fiona had a huge heart. She was capable of acts of profound compassion, such as
taking a lonely young girl under her wing and changing her life.
This morning,
twenty years after that event, the two women were sitting at the cluttered
round table that served as an operations center for Celebration . It was
the spring of 2013, and they had a burgeoning business.
“Could you not
set your hair on fire, no matter who requests it,” Fiona begged. “That blue
tint you thought was so cool has almost grown out.”
“If we do this
for Luke, I promise I’ll only dye it colors found in nature,” Hayley answered. “He's
family, Fiona. We taught each other how to kiss, underneath the stairs at that shelter
on 86 th Street.”
“You never
told me you were romantically involved with the hunkiest newsman on the air!”
Hayley laughed
dismissively. “Hardly. I was eight, he was nine. And it wasn't romance, it was
a science experiment. When I was sent to Miss Porter’s, we swore to be friends
for life, and we have been. Plus he looked after Mikey the best he could, after
I'd gone.”
Fiona stiffened
at the mention of Hayley’s younger brother. Mikey was trouble. But Hayley, who
usually had an infallible radar about people, could not see it. She had
practically raised the boy, in the absence of their will-o’-the-wisp mother,
and in Hayley’s eyes he could do no wrong.
Fiona had an
urge to say that Luke Thompson would have done better to watch out for the
people Mikey conned, but she thought better of it. It would only upset Hayley. Instead,
she said, “When am I going to get to meet this wonder?”
The investigative
reporter was a household name, and Fiona admired him for the work he did. And he
was a champion of the underdog, which made him extra special to her.
“He’s
hard to pin down. He’s always flying around the globe, covering disasters. Or
exposing corruption,” Hayley replied. “But when we plan this party for him,
which we absolutely, positively must , you'll finally meet him.” Although
she was usually indifferent
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