Chapter 4 - The Collapse of Tyler's Party
Back at the Starlight Banquet Hall, Brenda was on the verge of hyperventilating.
The room, designed to comfortably hold one hundred and twenty guests, now felt like an abandoned airplane hangar.
Of the sixty-five people who had arrived at noon, barely twenty remained. Most of them were Tyler’s school acquaintances whose parents hadn't stayed for the party, leaving the kids stranded until pickup time at 3:00 PM.
Those remaining kids were bored, restless, and complaining loudly.
“Where is the candy cart?” whined a twelve-year-old in a soccer jersey. “My mom said there was gonna be a gourmet candy cart with giant lollipops!”
“Shut up, Kevin!” Tyler yelled. He was pacing near the empty stage, kicking an empty plastic cup across the linoleum. “Mom! Call the magician again! You said he was the best in the state! Why isn't he here? This party sucks!”
“Don’t use that language, Tyler!” Brenda shrieked. Her hair, usually sprayed into an immaculate blonde bob, was coming undone at the temples. Sweat was glistening on her forehead, ruining her foundation.
She marched into the venue hallway, her heels clacking like gunfire against the tiles, and hit redial on the magician’s agency.
“Listen to me!” she hissed into the receiver the second the line connected. “I paid for Mr. Marcus to perform at the Starlight Banquet Hall from one to two-thirty! It is now one-forty-five! This is gross negligence! I will sue your agency for breach of contract and emotional distress!”
The woman on the other end of the line didn't sound distressed. She sounded tired, administrative, and entirely unbothered.
“Ma'am, for the third time, what is the contract name?”
“Brenda Vance! Tyler’s thirteenth birthday!”
“I’m looking at the ledger right now, Mrs. Vance. The booking was made by a Sarah Vance. The credit card on file belongs to Sarah Vance.”
“I’m her sister! It was for *my* son!”
“At eight o'clock yesterday morning, Sarah Vance contacted this office,” the receptionist said calmly. “She confirmed that as the sole signatory on the contract and the owner of the payment method, she was exercising her right to change the venue address. The performer arrived at forty-two Elm Street at twelve-forty-five PM, as instructed by the client.”
Brenda’s vision went black around the edges.
*Forty-two Elm Street.*
My house.
“She… she stole him,” Brenda gasped, leaning against the hallway wall for support. “She stole my son’s magician!”
“Nobody stole anything, ma'am. The client who paid for the service redirected the service. If you’d like to book a performer on your own card, our weekend rate is four hundred dollars, but we have no available talent today. Have a lovely afternoon.”
*Click.*
Brenda stood in the hallway, her chest heaving, the phone trembling in her hand.
She turned and marched back into the hall, determined to save face, determined to gather what was left of her son’s dignity.
She walked over to the catering manager, an older Hispanic gentleman named Hector, who was standing by the kitchen doors with a clipboard.
“Hector!” Brenda demanded. “Bring out the sliders and the artisanal flatbreads now. We’re doing the food early.”
Hector looked up from his clipboard, his expression cool and completely devoid of warmth.
“I cannot do that, Mrs. Vance.”
“Excuse me? What do you mean you can’t do that? I have twenty hungry children in that room!”
“The flatbreads and gourmet sliders were part of the premium tier package,” Hector explained smoothly, holding up an invoice. “An invoice totaling eight hundred dollars, which was due yesterday at five PM. Your sister called yesterday afternoon. She canceled the premium tier and authorized a full refund to her American Express card. She left only the basic hall rental fee paid.”
Brenda’s jaw dropped so low it looked unhinged. “She canceled the food?!”
“She canceled the food she paid for,” Hector corrected her firmly. “You have the sheet cake you brought in yourself, and whatever snacks you purchased. That is all. Furthermore, your rental period ends at three PM sharp. Because your guest count has dropped below thirty, the facility rules require us to begin teardown at two-thirty. You have forty minutes.”
“You can’t do this!” Brenda screamed. Several parents waiting in the lobby turned to stare at her. “This is a child’s birthday! Where is the sympathy? Where is your heart?”
Hector looked at her for a long, quiet moment. He lowered his clipboard.
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“My grandson has cerebral palsy, Mrs. Vance,” Hector said, his voice dropping to a low, icy whisper. “I saw that video before your sister’s family walked out. If this venue were mine, I would have thrown you out onto the street thirty minutes ago. You have forty minutes. Start packing.”
***
