Page 7 of The Parent Playbook
“Yes, Mom.” His face is earnest. I believe him.
“I’m going to find out if there’s a place you can hang with a TV.”
“Did you know that screens are bad for children under the age of three?”
“Lucky for you,” I gently poke his nose, “I couldn’t afford a TV before you were the age of eight. Cheeky monkey.”
“Moooooom.” He swats my hand that has already returned to my phone to check the time.
“Here we go.”
A quick exhale to prepare myself and wish I’d worn warmer stockings. The breeze stings my cheeks, but I’d better get used to it. Hockey arenas aren’t known for their heating systems. Thankfully, tonight’s event is in the Regent’s Hotel, so named for a onetime visit from the King of England, and it’s still a big pull for tourists. King or not, the place is a gorgeous sprawling estate with gardens that in daytime are every color of the rainbow, and at night are illuminated by thousands of solar-powered twinkling lights. If it weren’t for the fact that I’m here for a wretched evening of backside-kissing, it would be magical.
At least there will be food. There’s always food at these things, and I love a goodhors d’oeuvres.
Walking up to the Regent’s Hotel feels like stepping onto the set of some old-timey movie where everyone’s decked out in pearls and fedoras. The place is a slice of 1920s America, dropped right in the middle of Maple Falls like it took a wrong turn at Seattle and decided to stay. The steps leading up to the massive carved doors are lined with flickering lanterns, giving off a glow that makes the whole scene unnervingly inviting.
“Angel!” Ian, who works the door at the Regent’s, can always be counted on for a big smile that reaches his eyes. He and my mom were neighbors when they were kids, and he’s looked out for me ever since I was born. “I figured I’d see you here tonight, what with the Happy Horizons Ranch being the charity of honor.”
I give him a big hug and feel my shoulders relax a little. The stress of the event is a little less knowing Ian is around.
He nods toward my car. “Andy came along?”
“He did, but we both know it’s not a good look for me to have him in tow. Any ideas?”
He purses his lips and then snaps his fingers. “Yes, the billiard room was vacated for journalists’ storage, but there’s the annex that has a big TV in it.”
And down go my shoulders an inch more. “I was hoping you might say something like that.”
“Even better, one of the player’s kids is already in there. He can have a buddy.”
As long as this kid doesn’t become a co-conspirator in political manipulation, that sounds safe enough.
“And I’ll keep an extra eye on them.” Ian winks.
“You’re a lifesaver.”
“You know it. Go on in. I’ll take care of Andy.”
I push through the doors—feels like swinging open the gates to a castle, not a bouncy one—and I’m hit with the buzz of the event. The lobby is a spectacle of marble and gold, with the chandelier overhead that’s so big it probably has its own zip code. Jazz, laughter, and the clinking of glasses make a cocktail of sound that’s surprisingly intoxicating.
Journalists are snapping photos like we’re celebrities here to grace the pages of some gossip rag. “Maple Falls’ night of nights,” I mutter under my breath, unable to help the smirk tugging at my lips when I see a giant poster promoting Happy Horizons.
I can do this.
The attendees are done up in semi-formal garb, looking like they’ve stepped out of a time machine, or at the very least, raided some vintage store on the way here.
As I reach the coat check, I have to take a moment to appreciate both the absurdity and the grandeur of it all. I’m trying to keep kids from missing a meal, and yet there’s wealth like this just around the corner. I don’t begrudge the place—it brings in lots of money for the fine folks of Maple Falls—but every now and then, it makes me salty.
Maybe that’s part of why these shmancy hockey players get my goat.
Not that I’ve met any of them yet. They got into town yesterday, and word is that eventheyhardly know each other.
“Here.” I hold out my coat to the man waiting at the counter. He looks a bit surprised. It could be he knows who I am, since I’ve had stories run in the paper about Happy Horizons, and Ibet I stand out like a sore thumb in this place. “Yeah, yeah. I’m attending tonight. I’m not the media, and obviously not a hockey player, but my charity got chosen by the Ice Breakers and I know how to show my appreciation.”
“Ah, of course. I thought I recognized you, you’re?—”
“Angel Davis, of Happy Horizons fame. Yep. But tonight instead of chasing tykes and errant goats, I get to sip fancy drinks.”
