Charity

God, I hate these things. There’s too many people I don’t care to know, food I don’t care to taste, and tabloids trying to get a glimpse into a world they’ll never understand. I guess the tabloids aren’t actually that bad. They can come in handy when I need to get away with something or need to take another step-up in my career. In fact, without them, the common public wouldn’t know to see me as this perfect successful woman. I would be a no-name, a loser. The Stars Talent Foundation wouldn’t be what it is today. I wouldn’t be who I am today. Overly glamorous charity events like this to fund the whole thing wouldn’t exist. Maybe I shouldn’t have taken over the responsibility of planning the event.

I typically spend most of my time hiding by the bar, only joining in conversations to persuade more donations. Starting a few years ago, most people have tried to avoid me on this night anyway because they assume I’m stressed. I guess there are some perks to the promotion.

“Greta?” I hear a voice call from behind me. People are starting to pile into the ballroom now. “Greta, is that you?”

I straighten up and turn around. I recognize the blonde boy from my first year of college. We were a part of the same project team in our business strategy cohort. I try to look pleasantly surprised that he is here, but to be honest, I dread seeing anyone who knew me before I became a brand.

“William Mason,” I say. “How are you doing?”

To my surprise, he still looks young. His eyes are full of life, his dimples still boyish, and he doesn’t look like he’s gained a pound since college. We are in our thirties now, and even though I don’t look the part, I pay to keep my youth. I doubt he does the same thing.

“I’m doing great,” he replies. “I got promoted last year to Senior Executive of Harding Realtors, so I got sent as part of the team to represent them at your gala.”

“Oh please,” I tease. “You wanted to come. Everyone does.”

“I cannot lie,” he starts. “I did tell my boss that I knew you personally, but I’m glad I came. This is really cool all you have managed to do.”

“Thank you,” is all I can think to say. I never know how to take compliments.

“I mean I can’t believe you seriously have been able to become the CEO of Stars Talent, basically reinventing the entertainment industry, and have pushed the Stars Talent Foundation to become one of the most impactful children’s art fundraisers all by the age of thirty. How did you do it?”

I hate this question. I get asked about it almost every time I go to interviews or press conferences. When I’m in front of a crowd of people, it’s easier to lie. I don’t know them. I can spin any tale I’d like and they’d believe it. Why wouldn’t they believe every word I say? With people like William, though, he knew me before the facade.

“The same as everyone else,” I lie. “I worked really hard, and took advantage of the opportunities that presented themselves to me. I guess I got lucky with what those opportunities were.”

We watch as the room begins to fill with more familiar faces: award-winning actors, Wall Street executives, promising young talent, and people who wouldn’t be famous if it wasn’t for their inheritance. I should start making my rounds and greeting my guests, but William keeps talking, saying things like “this is incredible” and “I wonder when I’ll reach this level.” He sounds like a child: naive and awestruck. I wonder when he’ll grow up.

I see more important people to impress, and as much as I respect William, this little reunion needs to end. He’s in the middle of another praise when I say, “I’m so sorry but I have to go catch up with someone real quick.”

We exchange goodbyes, and then he is on his way. I down the last sip of my champagne and place it on the bar. I don’t know if I put it back in the right spot, but that’s not my problem to deal with, someone else will take care of it.

I start my rounds by first introducing myself to the newbies. I congratulate them on their success and offer my guidance throughout the rest of their careers. It’s 50/50 whether they take it or not, but it’s a guaranteed way to have them interested in returning to the function next year. Some of these new talents are still pure. They believe in things such as staying loyal to those that helped them get here and playing nice with the competition. The other part of them are so eager to continue growing that they’ll jump at the chance to drop everyone else to work with me.

I then make my round to the established celebrities. I don’t know them too well, and unless they are my clients, I don’t really care to negotiate contracts or try to persuade them to sign one. They’re here for the same reason I am: to look good in front of the common. It’s especially touching to the press that even those I don’t work directly with will join me for such a good cause. These interactions are typically short. They don’t need to take up too much time, just enough to exchange greetings and acknowledge that we are still on good terms.

The last group I have to greet, is all the actual other businessmen and occasionally women. All of the CEOs are old, typically white, and inherited their fortunes from their fathers who were probably just as corrupt as they are. The occasional minority or woman probably worked their way to the top, but I doubt it. Each one of them has their secrets. God knows that I do, and that’s why I need events like this. Yes. Yes. I know that funding school art programs are important, but I don’t care about writing the check. I just need to be present to hand it over. The same goes for pretty much every single person in this room. It gives us a safety net to fall on in case any of our secrets get out because we can’t be that bad, right? Not if we throw money at underprivileged children.

I make my way through the usual sleazebags before reaching William and his group. His boss, Michael Harding, owns most of New York. Of course, these businesses are put under different names so no one catches on to the monopoly he holds, but only people who have enough money to not care know about this. Even the people who think they are in charge of his smaller firms don’t really have any power. Every boss has a boss even if they don’t know it.

“There’s the woman of the hour,” Michael greets. I first met him when I was working directly under the last CEO of Stars Talent, Stephen Trecker. He and Mr. Trecker ran in the same circles their whole lives. When Mr. Trecker passed away three years ago and I took over as CEO, Michael attached himself to me to grieve the loss of his friend. I found it strange that he didn’t consider turning to one of his ex-wives or kids to help him cope with the death of his friend, but I couldn’t judge him that much. It was that same grieving process that helped me to double the impact of this foundation four years ago.

“Hello, Michael,” I reply. I turn to his entourage. “And who did we bring with us today?”

“Just a few hopefuls for the future of my company,” he says. “You know, I am getting a bit old, and I think it’s time to think about who will take over when I’m gone.”

I take a scan at his prospects, and I’m not surprised that they all look like they could be his sons. Too bad he only ever managed to have daughters, otherwise he would have passed it along with the family name and keep his family’s legacy alive.

“I guess they look okay,” I say. “Maybe a little too young for my taste.”

They laugh at my joke, and we exchange small talk. I feel as Michael puts his hand on the small of my back. He gives it a small rub then pulls it back into his pocket. As I feel his touch, my eyes immediately lock with William’s. I try to look away and continue to be present in the conversation, but that one moment with William let me know that he saw Michael’s hand.

“I was told that you know Mr. Mason here, is that correct?” Michael asks. I lock eyes with William again and force a fake smile.

“Yes, we went to college together,” I reply.

“And did he do well in those classes?” he asks.

“He tried his best,” I joke. The entourage continues to laugh. Even William forces out one before finishing off his champagne.

“I need a refill on my drink,” William pipes up. “Greta, do you want to come with me?”

I put on the fakest smile I can and say, “sure, I could use another drink before I have to go speak.” I didn’t want to turn him down and embarrass him in front of his buddies, but inside I was rolling my eyes because I knew what he actually wanted. And, of course, once we have separated ourselves, he asks, “is everything alright?”

“Yes,” I say. I give him a look telling him to “drop it,” but he continues to stare at me as though I’m some scared puppy.

“Are you sure?” he asks. “Because if he in any way takes advantage of you, then we could say something. That’s not okay.”

“He is not taking advantage of me,” I state, and it’s true, but he won’t see that. One of the things that I admire about William is that he believes in doing the right thing, that hard work and playing by the rules will pay off. If I were to tell him what is really going on, he would have a coronary.

We make it to the bar and grab two new flutes of champagne, and I make eye contact with one of my assistants who’s keeping time of the event. And, from the grand hand gestures, people should be starting to take their seats, which means I have to go give a speech. I turn back to William and inform him that I have to go, and he replies, “okay, but if it happens again, I might say something.”

I almost lose my shit, but refrain as I remember the audience I have. William Mason is threatening to end my operations, and I can’t let him. This one person from my past wants to try and “do the right thing,” but will take down my empire if he does. I grab a hold of his arm and tell him, “if you say one word, your company goes down in flames.”

He takes a step back, looking startled. I don’t know if I’ve ever talked to him like that. I developed that tone after graduating, but he knows that I mean business. For now, I’ve silenced him, but I don’t know which voice is louder: mine or the one in the back of his head. He walks away, and I turn back to my assistant who is approaching me from the other side.

“Ma’am,” she says. “We have to get started soon.”

“Thank you,” I reply. I hand her my glass. “Have the rest of it. You could use a drink.”

She gulps it all down in one go. I’ve never been prouder of her.

She leads me to the stage at the back of the room. As I walk to the podium in the middle of it, most people get the hint to start settling down and heading to their tables. Out of courtesy, I make an announcement asking everyone to sit down and pay attention. Less than a second later, their attention is mine.

“Welcome to this year’s Stars Talent Foundation Dinner,” I start. “Thank you all for attending, and I’m sorry that this year’s tickets were a bit more expensive than they were in years past, but with prices for art supplies, musical instruments, and uniforms increasing significantly, we had to accommodate the needs of our children.” Looking out onto the crowd, I could see the fake smiles shared amongst my attendants. The prices were raised by a thousand dollars per ticket. For most of the people here, that is less than an hour’s worth of work. Not that they actually do anything but waste it anyway, they only care what the number is when people google what each of their net worths are.

I talk in circles for another ten minutes or so. No one is really paying attention anyways. As long as they catch snippets that sound inspirational, they’ll truly believe that they are here for a good cause. I finish by thanking them again and introducing my CFO to announce the winners of the silent auction before we get started with dinner. I take my seat at the table in the front and center. It’s just filled with more people that work for me.

As my CFO announces who won a yacht, I get a text from Michael.

“Tonight?” it reads. I look up in the direction of his table. Both he and William are staring at me. Completely different expressions are spread across their faces. I first give Michael an ingenuine smile, but he doesn’t know that I’m disgusted by him. Then I turn to William who still looks helpless and shake my head at him. By the end of the night, I’ll have about seven more messages like this one from Michael. I’ll have to turn those old men down though and schedule them for some time later in the week.

If the common public knew that this was how I actually made my deals, they would call me a “whore.” They would accuse me of “sleeping my way to the top,” and what if I did? I’m a woman for goodness sake. The people who run my field, men, just look at me as something to fuck anyway. I was never taken seriously until I reached the level I’m at now. Still, I’m patronized in every meeting I go to. Without pigs running Wall Street and every other aspect of the world for that matter, I wouldn’t have to do any of this. My assets could speak for themselves. But, that’s not how any of this works, and it’s naive for people to think that merit still counts for anything, that merit ever counted for anything.

They start passing dinner to the tables, and one of my assistants invites people to mingle with each other and return to the bar for more drinks now that they are serving more than champagne. I and several others get up and start heading towards the bar. Michael and William are two of those thirty other people. They walk together like father and son.

“Mr. Harding, Mr. Mason,” I greet both of them again. I slip Michael my extra hotel key for the night with the shake of a hand. I shake William’s hand as well so it doesn’t look too strange, but I can tell that he knows something is up.

I go to the bathroom across the hall and sit on one of those fancy circular couches they insist on putting in women’s bathrooms. I have to be back out in that crowd in less than ten minutes, so I take advantage of the quiet of the bathroom.

“It’s all going to work out,” I tell myself. “No one’s going to know, and you’re going to be okay. You just have to make it through one more hour.”

“Greta, is that you?” I hear. I roll my eyes at the sound of William’s voice.

“I’ll be out in a minute,” I reply.

“Greta, we’ve got to talk,” he insists. “What the hell is going on?”

He sticks his head into the bathroom. I don’t want to do it, but I fear I’m at a loss if I don’t. Finally, I just grab his arm and pull him into the bathroom.

“Okay, fine,” I huff. “I sleep with several of the men here for donations.”

“You’re prostituting yourself?” He asks.

“It’s less prostituting, and more like getting insurance,” I argue. He looks at me disgusted.

“You have everything going for you. Why would you risk yourself and your reputation for this?” he asks.

“I already ruined my reputation before it was even made,” I explain. His face changes from concerned to scared. “Everyone here has. Why do you think we do these things in the first place? I do the extracurricular stuff to protect myself. If they go after me, the young woman new to this crowd, they go down first. I have dirt on everyone here, including you. If you say one thing about my operations, you will be in a different country by morning. We’re running with wolves, and I’m staying at the front of the pack.”

He doesn’t respond. Just leaves with some sense scared into him.

I turn to the mirror and take a long look at myself. It takes one deep breath to put my face back on. Before I leave, I do my affirmations again, finishing with, “it takes a lot to get to the top, and sometimes taking down the top dogs is all you need to do. I took down Mr. Trecker after he promised me his fortune. At least I did it in the name of charity anyways.”