The Shocking Launch Lounge
Returning to the scene of the Gifts of Grace Book 3 launching, I am shocked anew. Gone is the beautiful Executive Lounge where about 200 people celebrated the new book on grace.
It's back to where it was 48 hours before the event! Empty, dusty, work in progress. The gaggle of construction workers are also back with a vengeance. I click my camera to record the images my eyes can't believe.
“What happened to my venue?!” I shriek, turning to my friend Lita, the building owner/developer, who flashes her laser pen on the crevices up the ceiling and down the floor, twirling it around every corner.
“Oh,” she replies sweetly, “that was temporary, Grace. I just put it up for your book launching.”
The female version of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde barks orders to about 20 burly architects and engineers who follow us around with pad and pen as we go up and down floors during one of her surprise inspection of the construction.
“Install those mirrors tomorrow morning!” “Follow up the tile supplier!” “Security has been lax!”
“Yes, ma’am,” they say, as their names are called. I hear slurred excuses for delays.
“No excuses!” she groans, catching on.
“That’s where the grand piano will be, Grace,” she coos.
"Wow." All I see is an indentation on the wall.
“And up there will be the oil paintings of dancers. It will be beautiful!” she adds.
“Oh, I’m sure, b-b-b-ut,” I can't get over my launch venue—where I cried and laughed with thanksgiving—getting whammed just like that.
To her, that was last week, over and out. Today is another day.
Getting back to cool, clean fairyland that is her office, I give her this, with my scrawled note of thanks.
(Back copy reads: "You are receiving this card from someone whose life you have touched, as inspired by Grace D. Chong's book, Gifts of Grace. OMF Literature Inc.)
This is three postcards in one given away by OMF during the book launching. I also give her a small album of photos taken at the now-gone beautiful lounge of the launch.
“For documentation,” I try to sound all-business because she hates mush. “Thank you for everything,” I say with rehearsed nonchalance.
“Pooh!” she waves me off, and serves a scrumptious strawberry shortcake from her fridge. She calls out to her staff to help us finish off the sugar bomber.