The Prince's Cinderella. Andrea Bolter
room wasn’t large but Marie had never had a private office before so she had to admit it gave her a buzz. Inside, a sleek glass desk was topped with boxes and stacks of paper files. A telephone bank was off to one side. Four chrome chairs sat around a glass meeting table. One large canvas with an abstract design painted in pastel colors adorned the wall.
The lone window didn’t look out to the glitzy beachfront Promenade de la Croisette that Cannes on the French Riviera was known for but it did let in plenty of light. Not that it mattered, though. Marie was here to work, not to daydream out the window.
“When our events manager, Jic Gurov, suddenly quit, Alain at the Toulouse office recommended I bring you in,” Felice continued. “We’ll give it a try temporarily. You’ll have to jump right in. We have so much going on, and I don’t really have anyone to train you.”
“I’ll do my best.” Marie brushed her bangs away from her eyes. This was a career opportunity she could have never seen coming. A million thanks were due to Alain for recommending her for the job. Not only did he understand about the work in Toulouse that she’d had to leave unfinished, he’d also given her a glowing recommendation.
“I prepared this much for you.” Felice handed Marie a single piece of paper. “Here are the upcoming events that I can confirm.”
“Thanks.”
Felice was right that everything was happening so fast. One minute Marie was assistant to the events coordinator for the APCF, Alliance for Parentless Children of France, at its regional office in Toulouse, and now she was at the headquarters in Cannes with a chance to become the permanent events manager if she did a good job.
France’s largest nonprofit agency supporting orphaned children was a well-known organization with several field offices throughout the country. The agency was able to aid parentless children who were in the foster care system with case management, social services and transitional assistance into adulthood. An orphan herself, Marie had utilized the agency’s help when she was a teenager, and the organization hired her for a job after university.
“As you know, the most important date on the calendar is our annual fund-raising gala in three weeks. The proceeds from that evening finance all of our operations for the year.”
“Alain told me.”
“Unfortunately, I don’t think Jic has compiled all of the components for this event. Zander is coming by today to go over it with you in detail.”
“Who’s Zander?”
Felice heard her phone’s ping and answered it. “Yes? I’ll call her right back.”
Marie imagined that as the agency’s executive director, Felice must have many balls to juggle in the air at once. She had a matter-of-fact manner that was very professional. In her cream-colored suit, Felice lifted her eyeglasses from the chain hanging around her neck and put them on to respond to something else on her phone.
After smoothing the front of her gray trousers to try to straighten out any creases, Marie stood as tall as she could. She subtly reached behind her to tuck her blouse in tighter. At the office in Toulouse she did occasionally meet with important donors and was included in meetings, so she never dressed too informally for work. But if Felice’s high-end suit was any indication, Marie might need to up her look here. After all, this was Cannes, land of the rich and famous.
At this point, she certainly didn’t have money to go out and buy a new wardrobe, as much fun as that sounded. Taking a mental inventory of the clothes she did have, she figured she could put together a week of decent outfits to get started.
If she let it, Marie’s mind could start swirling. There hadn’t been any chance for the logistics of this unexpected job switch to be worked out. The agency was able to provide a room for her to stay in for the time being in one of its housing facilities in Cannes. But if the job became permanent, she’d have to find an apartment and give up the room she leased in Toulouse. Cannes would be a much more expensive place to live so she didn’t know what she’d be able to afford. Then again, if she were to get this position permanently, there’d be a substantial salary increase.
She’d have to keep the uncertainty from getting to her during this trial period. Temporary things didn’t always work out for her. One thing Marie Paquet had known all of her life was impermanence. There might be more of it to accept. Would that ever stop, would there ever be something in her life that she could count on?
Taking in the slow, measured breaths that her years spent in counseling taught her, she centered herself.
A young man came into the office and handed Felice a laptop. “Thank you, Clive.”
Marie followed Felice’s lead in bringing their chairs close together so that they could sit down at the table and huddle in front of the laptop. “This will be for your use. The login you had in Toulouse will work for general access. I’ll give you another password to get into the files we keep confidential because they contain donor information.”
“Do you know if the system logs the events chronologically, or alphabetically, or in some other order?”
“Let’s hope it’s chronologically so that you can prioritize.” Felice opened the laptop and clicked through several folders until she found what she was looking for. “Voila.”
“Great.” Marie was relieved that the files were located. She was going to need all the help she could get.
“Look at your list and tell me if this corresponds. Of course, the gala in May. The Regional Managers Retreat Weekend in June?”
Marie reviewed her list. “Yes. The entry says five meals. Two dinners, two breakfasts and one lunch. Continuous snack and beverage service for both days. Transportation to and from the hotel. Multiple media setups. Breakout classrooms. Writing supplies. Goody bags. Then there’s a handwritten note in red to check the hotel.”
Felice opened another folder. “Donor Appreciation Luncheon in July?”
“Yes, I have that on the list although there are no specifics except winery picnic.”
“Goodness, there’s almost nothing in here,” Felice sighed as she opened that file. “You’ll have to look though this yourself and see if there’s anything useful. It looks like Jic recorded his notes from meetings but didn’t highlight any decisions.”
Marie grabbed a pen and jotted Felice’s instructions onto her printed list.
“Next, Back-to-School Support Suppers in September.”
Marie’s fists opened and closed repeatedly. How well she remembered those suppers that the agency hosted to aid kids in foster care who were beginning their new school years. For some, including Marie, the start of the school year was wrought with either dread or apprehension. Dread if the previous year hadn’t gone well but they were returning to the same school. And apprehension if they were starting at a new school.
Kids could be cruel. But to orphans and other children in foster care, mercilessly so. The unkind ones already knew who the foster kids were, and would find ways to taunt and tease them. They’d yell out meanness to Marie that she was unwanted. That she had no family. That nobody loved her. Like many in her situation, Marie grew a thick outer shell and learned not to cry in front of the bullies. Not that she didn’t shed a million tears in private.
The September suppers the agency held had been a godsend for Marie. Psychologists, social workers and education specialists were all on hand to discuss problems and develop strategies. Without them, the pressure of the new school year might have swallowed Marie up and left her too isolated and anxious to have succeeded in her classes.
Now she was going to be part of creating those dinners that had meant so much to her. As an adult, she had long accepted the fact that she would never be part of a typical family. But by working at the agency she was in some small way making other orphans feel that somebody cared about them. In that, she felt great pride and satisfaction.
“There’s a note on my list to