Everyone paid attention, because I try to never waste people’s time; I believe in positive energy, and I know what I’m doing. At college I’d majored in musical theater, with vague thoughts of becoming a director or set designer, but these goals had evaporated once I’d met professionals who were actually good at them. Most of the people in the musical theater program ended up doing something else, but it had been a buoyant four years of painting backdrops, hot-gluing headdresses and learning the jazz routines I still occasionally practiced when alone in an elevator. As my great-aunt Miriam had once remarked, “So, Carter, let me understand this musical theater nonsense—you’re being gay for credit, right?”

That’s what college had been for me: a time to fully assemble my personality. After arriving in New York I’d interned in a publicist’s office, I’d written mini-reviews of sex toys and lubricants for a website called ManBatter.com, I’d bartended in Broadway theaters, having to defend the obscenely expensive cocktails on the grounds that they’re poured into sippy cups; I’d worked almost salary-free at a startup dedicated to renting scrupulously laundered luxury bed linens, which remained an off-putting and unsuccessful concept; I’d had fun as a rich lady’s social secretary until her accountant had advised her to economize, so she’d fired me, and I’d walked dogs, delivered sustainable floral arrangements (made from newsprint and recycled plastic bags), taught Slow Pilates to seniors, and eventually began to worry that I was drifting, embarrassing my family and coming dangerously close to moving to California, as if that was a career.

I’d met Cassandra while cater-waitering at one of her events; I’d been unable to resist rearranging a stack of glowing, lit-from-within Lucite cubes into an impromptu Christmas tree, and she’d been impressed and hired me. I’d learned the ever-shifting basics of event planning: interviewing clients to coax out their must-haves; drafting sketches and building three-dimensional models; combing the city for quirky DJs, inventive chefs and off-duty acrobats; in short, applying my imagination to every occasion. I’d soon realized that event planning is pure theater and that if I put my mind to it, I could surprise and delight people who were dreading a conference or reunion or Midtown fountain pen trade show. My favorite moment is always overhearing a guest comment, “I can’t believe it, but I’m actually having a great time!”