outfit

Molly kept her fingers clasped like a shabby, loose zipper behind her back as she followed the two women about. Things caught her attention, her comically round gaze strayed, and when she re-focused, it was always find Dolly had disappeared to some other dark corner of the swanky club/restaurant/entertainment venue. It was lucky Dolly had made such a fortune-- despite the rhyming name, the starlet’s assistant could never imagine being able to afford such a suave place for one night of fun.

And then to wake up, nurse the hangover, and do it all over again.

It was part of why she admired Dolly so much-- and also, unfortunately, part of what made Molly such a spastic woman when she was supposed to be on the clock. Dolly was unpredictable, not tamable, a femme fatale from one of those cinema films Frank had always taken her to see during their summer holidays. Dolly fit wherever she stood. But she also stood out. Molly wondered what it must be like.

Cringing past a skull-type-thing covered in roses and staring at her from the wall (it was perfectly lovely, really, and very unique, but it reminded Molly of the war), she shrug-shuffled toward her boss and the Calaveras owner. Everything in the place was spotless, meticulous well-chosen. Meredith could probably do Molly's own job in her sleep.

Molly pulled her hands to her front, waving them about her face (with a small black book and quill clutched in one) before breaking her silence.

“I’m sorry, before I forget, did we decide on a guest-of-the-guest policy?” She asked, cutting shyly into the conversation with a polite smile. She looked from Dolly, to Meredith, and back again. “I know we wanted the invitation to be simple and effective, and to keep the guest list to somewhat exclusive before the actual book tour starts, but what about dates?” She supposed now was the time to make her point. Her fingers grazed her throat and her smile became big, and then apologetic. “Is there anyone we’ve blacklisted from attending? And I assume there's an Age Line...”

Glancing discreetly over her shoulder, she again noticed the skull thingy. Well, one could hope.

Her hand came down beside her, grasping at a table's edge, and she turned to find herself inches from a very-expensive-indeed vase. Oops. She flashed another sorry look in Meredith's direction. "This should be cozy, right?" She laughed in a breathless voice.

outfit

Oh the plans they were making - this could be the biggest launch gala yet. Of course Dolly, as always, was plotting something mildly underhanded while keeping everyone believing it was above board. She'd get Thursby in her cross-hairs just to remind her who the top bitch in Dominik's life was. It wasn't that she cared or anything; but if Dolly knew women with too much pride (and she did) Niobe was thinking right about now she'd won. Of course she probably didn't know that a little less than a week ago Dom had taken to stalking her down at Calavera's - or the night he'd showed up at her flat hell bent on making up only to have the door slammed in his face. Dolly wanted the reporter to understand she hadn't won, she'd just gotten the sloppy seconds Dolly didn't want anymore. It was a matter of principle.

When Molly spoke, Dolly's blue eyes glanced back over her shoulder and a mile twitched on her lips. Oh little Molly - ironic way to think of her given their age difference, but Dolls did adore her. She was always in such a rush to please and could be counted on for nearly anything. As hard as Dolly could be on anyone else, for the people who worked for her the Diva persona was mostly for show. She kept her girls happy and in turn they kept her happy. It was a cozy arrangement that Dolly liked to think of as a friendship with a paycheck. Actually, Dolly felt rather awful that Molly would be working that night instead of enjoying the scene as a guest; however, she needed someone she could trust to oversee everything. It was going to be tricky tricky business and really Molly was the only one on her staff who could do the job to her satisfaction.

Dropping back she slid an arm through Molly's and bumped her cheek in a pseudo-kiss, "Darling, have I told you lately I would absolutely die without your constant vigilance? I honestly would," she squeezed the other woman's arm and grinned, "Trollhouse sent over a list of people who quote unquote 'won' tickets - looking at it I'd wager most of them were bought off, which only mildly upsets me because they really were supposed to be for fans," she scowled for a moment, then relaxed her features, she could not look wrinkly or tired for the night's events. "Of course given some of my...less than savory counter parts, I'd like to keep all ministry, especially Auror presence to an absolute minimum. Merlin, can you just imagine Daz having to rub elbows with one of the bastards that arrested Nate?" she made another face, and shook her head, curls bouncing. She hated to think of it actually. The whole thing would turn into a brawl - and the only brawling at the launch should be over Dolly herself.

Turning toward Meredith she tilted her head to one side, "Speaking of Nate, does the little troublemaker have the night off? And Candy Stevenson? I know it could put you in a terrible jam but Nate is techincally like family and I do just adore Candice. She's such a dear. Of course I don't want to leave you short staffed," she really didn't want to put Meredith in an awkward position, not the woman who had become her favorite host. As the three women stood in a semicircle she was struck by a horrifying thought, "Mere, Darling, what kind of security are you going to have posted tomorrow night? By no means is that wretch Skeeter going to get in. The beast would sneak in through the back or floo ducts if we leave them unguarded," there was a note of laughter to Dolly's voice, but she wasn't really joking. Her hate for Rita Skeeter went beyond mere annoyance anymore. If she could ruin the other woman's career she would. Of course you couldn't take down a powerhouse like Skeeter. If Dolly knew who Skeletor or Joan Rivers were she would have thought they birthed the unholy gossip monger creation, the resemblance was uncanny.

Meredith was having a difficult time containing her amusement at Dolly’s twitchy little second assistant. She was fairly certain that if the woman was showing discomfort over the décor, Meredith’s own personal style (namely, today’s heels and her every-present bloody cleaver earrings) were doing little to help.

It was the little things that brought so much joy, Meredith thought as she stood with the two women, her crimson-stained lips showing off a little side smirk that had been present or at least the last hour.

The twitchy one had a good head on her shoulder, obviously trying not to get too distracted from her duties as she followed along and scribbled things down.

“Careful, Ms. Pratt,” Meredith warned when she nearly ran into a expensive vase. “The standard Repairing Charm only does so much.”

The woman’s voice was light and relatively unthreatening. Relatively. Musn’t do to scare the help. During meetings, Meredith was accustomed to wearing her hat tilted just right so that any shadow would fall across half of her face- her good half- and leave the other, scarred side directly in the light. When the light was hard and direct enough, it could even give the illusion her entire face was affected. But every now and then, and for business hours, she left it untitled, or lightly angled so the shadows wouldn’t be quite so harsh. Like now, for instance.  She’d wear it the same for Valentine’s Day. Not really the day to show off scars. Using the shadows to hide the scarring was never even a question, unless she was forced to disguise herself.

Meredith made no comment about tickets being ‘bought’ off. Being in the business of ‘come tell Miss Meredith what you need’ she had had a hand in at least some of those tickets meant for ‘fans.’ Everyone there would be happy to lavish attention on Dolly, so what did it really matter what the faces looked like? Besides, she’d be at the school for plenty of fan attention soon enough.

“Believe me, I’ve no desire to have Calaveras crawling with Aurors even on a normal day,” Meredith assured Dolly. One or two, maybe three at the most. That was all she could handle, even if they were just having a nice meal with their wife.

“Security has been beefed up partly to discourage the DMLE from having an excuse to ‘moniter’ things,” Meredith said. “Normal guards are being doubled for the night-inside and out- and I’m cutting Calaveras off the Floo Network that entire day, with a few extra charms to ensure the only way anyone is getting in is through the guarded doors.”

Normally, Meredith had her staff cut off Floo Newtork from Calaveras and security charms every night at closing time. Meredith lived, as so many of Diagon Alley, right over her shop, and if that wasn’t enough reason to take precautions for, there was also the fact that the place housed many ‘sensitive’ items and personal secrets. That was another reason to beef up security; everyone was going to be staying in the main room except the staff. She didn’t want the chaos to create an opportunity for people to go snooping. A person ‘mysteriously vanishing’ right in her own establishment would so hurt business, after all.

“As for guests of guests, I’ll tell you what I’ve said before, my advice is yes to spouses and significant others, but otherwise no,” she said. “If you want to make a few exceptions on the side, it’s your call, but I’d rather not have that kind of guest of guest invitation open for public knowledge.

 “As for Candice and Nathan…I assumed you might want both present at the event itself,” Meredith said. “This weekend is really an all hands on deck sort of thing, but as long as Nate works hard today and the 14, he can attend your event as a guest. The same for Candice. She’s the one in charge of all the baked goods so as long as she helps prep a substantial amount of good beforehand, she can attend as well. I’ve already talked to both of them about it.”

Molly gulped hard, then nodded feverishly, a closed-mouth smile forcing itself across her lips. So the skulls and deadish decorations were irreplaceable. One of a kind. Priceless. Good to know...

After jotting it down quickly on her blooming page of notes, she stepped round more cautiously still and listened like an obedient puppy to the conversation between her boss-friend-famous-lady and the venue's owner (friend?). For someone who was rather close with Dolly, Molly Pratt was awfully wide-eyed in this world of night clubs and bars and red carpet guest lists.

But there was Dolly, soothing her even while she kept her on her pay roll. Like an older sister... who was younger and more photogenic. Molly's grin became more sincere, more relaxed, more silly. Strikingly similar to Frank's. She bumped shoulders with the St. James woman and shrugged off the praise, smile still in place. "It's what I'm paid to do, Dolly," she reminded her with a giggle. And then, more earnestly, "I just want to do the best job-- you've worked so hard on this next installment!" The novel was projected to break records. "I think it's about time you had your pumpkin pasties and ate them, too..."

She hardly had time to blush at the word pasties. Her quill found itself pressed to parchment once more, and Molly began to write hotly.

Trollhouse tickets - several or most bought off... by whom???

She caught Dolly's eye between lines, nodding gently and frowning. It was problematic. The fans could be a bit crazy, but most of them were harmless. It was the monied ones, the society people, they all had to watch out for. It made Molly's head spin at times, but she was getting the hang of it. She wasn't dense. She'd just grown up... differently... than all of these champagne-toasting, designer-swathed heiresses and gossip-mongers.

Then,

NO AURORS!

Dazmond and Nathan are top priority.

Security has been enhanced. Double security inside and at the doors. No Floo access.

No, really, no aurors.

Be discreet about guests of guests. (Yes to spouses and S/Os? No to others?)

Nathan and Candice have the night off, assuming they comply with Meredith's instructions. (Follow up with both!)

"Speaking of Miss Stevenson," Molly began, finally looking up for her notes. "The handling of dinner is always touchy for some-- how much of the food will be self-serve and open bar style, and which part of the evening will be a sit-down event?" She waited, her face quizzical but kind. They'd been given the expansive options and had decided on a menu ages ago, of course, but there were always last minute quirks: guests with allergies, awkward alcoholics in the extended family, and the rare friend of a friend who went a little overboard on the foodstuff swag.