Aug. 22. Meet with the printer to design the look of the ball, starting with the invitation. Since this is the 25th anniversary, I want to concentrate on the history of Bill and Marie Selby and reflect what the ball might have been like if they had hosted it.

Even though Marie was not at all about being fancy, she was a woman of her class and quite refined. She liked to wear housedresses and tennis shoes downtown and was known to be an excellent car mechanic, but she was also an accomplished pianist and artist. She was a friend of Bertha Palmer and Mable Ringling, so she could have put together a glamorous party if she put her mind to it.

Sept. 15. First committee meeting. I share with the committee what is already in place, including the colors—black, white and turquoise with splashes of lime. They’re secretly based on what colors will look best on the chairwoman, since I always like to match my dress to the theme.

Trying to think of the actual title of the ball has been agony, and I end up with “Age of Elegance.” It’s meant to reflect the time in Hollywood when movies had a Great Gatsby look and feel. That’s what I hope we can create. Sara Bagley suggests top hats, long white gloves, strings of pearls and a huge martini glass with orchids for the centerpieces—perfection!

Looking around the room, I’m excited about the great age mix and the number of both old and new committee members. It’s decided to start the ball with cocktails at the mansion. The committee brainstorms great ideas, such as having antique cars and silver candelabras along the promenade. We start praying right then and there for no rain the night of the ball.

Oct. 6. Drive to Orlando to select fabric for my gown. I have all my ball gowns custom made. I make a yearly trek to a little hole-in-the-wall store in Orlando that has the most exquisite fabrics. The trip up I-4 is a pain, but not only do I end up with one-of-a-kind gowns (no easy feat in this town), but I also get to meet up with old friend and now Orlando-ite Betty Sandhagen, wife of former local SunTrust president Ray Sandhagen. By the time she arrives at the fabric store for our gossipy, fun lunch, it’s pouring rain and reminds us both of the year she and Margarete van Antwerpen chaired the Mud Ball—I mean the Orchid Ball—and we were all up to our knees in slimy, gooey muck.

Back at the store, I have to choose among the multitudes of shimmering silk taffetas and intricate laces. I spot the perfect one—a turquoise-teal taffeta and a lace that dances with sparkling turquoise, lime and lavender iridescent beads. I’m trying out a new pattern for this special dress, which I think will be perfect. I find most of my patterns in the wedding-gown section of the Vogue pattern book and just have my seamstress take off trains and extraneous bows and doodads.

Nov. 10. “Save the Date” cards go out. They don’t really reflect what the final invitation will look like, which to me is a cardinal sin. Well, one side does, the other does not. One side is perfect (the side I designed!), looking like a note from Marie Selby. It’s crisp and clean and even has her actual monogram—a replica of a design used above the shower in the Selby house.

The other side is a line drawing of a woman holding an orchid. I’m not particularly fond of the drawing, but Dona loves it. I originally liked the concept of the design, but the execution didn’t capture what I had imagined. The card is a compromise, though a bit schizophrenic. The line drawing will go on the sponsor packet and on the sign listing the sponsors the night of the ball, and my side will be used on the actual invitation and program.

December. Holidays are in full swing and no thoughts about Orchid Ball for a few weeks, thank goodness.

Jan. 16. It is the day that will live in infamy. The patron letter, which asks people to become patrons of the event, arrives in my mailbox. I actually feel faint when I see it. It contains a multitude of mistakes, has a P.S. tacked on the bottom, and even misspells my own name. I want to die.