March 31. Flew to Michigan on the 29th and have spent two days with my four sisters-in-law preparing food for the funeral luncheon: hams, turkeys, potato salad, baked beans, Jell-O salads, pies and cakes. No Michael’s On East catering here, but in the lovely tradition of the rural Midwest, casseroles galore have been coming to the farm for our meals.

It is a strange dichotomy—a funeral in a small town and a charity ball in a sophisticated city. My mind has been spinning in both directions, along with trying to keep my husband and daughters comforted and on an even keel. Whenever I have a spare moment, I call home to get phone messages and check my e-mail to deal with any building crises.

I feel guilty to have the Orchid Ball on my mind during this family time, but if I weren’t keeping tabs on what was going on in Sarasota, I would feel guilty about that, too. By the time I get back on the plane tonight, I’m glad to have this distressing week almost behind me.

April 1. The day of the ball. Bright and early in the morning I go to the gardens to set up. I see tons of black chair cushions hanging from makeshift clotheslines. Lawn sprinklers were not turned off, and everything got drenched. Luckily we have a sunny and breezy, perfect-for-drying day, and everything is shipshape in a few hours.

A large group of volunteers and staff buzzes around the tent, attending to each facet of the decorations plan. Thank goodness they all showed up! The gardens are alive with activity. Visitors to the gardens stop to inspect what we’re doing, and more than one woman voices to her husband, “I wish we were attending tonight.”

The tent could not look more beautiful. It has a clear ceiling, which will show off the shadows of the huge tree branches that hang over the tent. The three regal chandeliers will look like they’re suspended from the stars. The black-and-white checkerboard dance floor is being noisily installed. Steve Patmagrian of New Atmosphere Productions is pin-spotting the centerpieces and installing his pièce de résistance, an arch over the entryway of the tent. It has the Selby monogram carved into it, the same one from the invitation and the program. It’s the details that count.

Phil Mancini comes to check on the tables, chairs and tent—all the nuts and bolts. His crew is in place and running on schedule.

Beneva Flowers’ trucks start to arrive. Delicate lime-green orchids explode from the toppers as they’re gently carried one by one to the tall glass pedestals in the center of each brilliant turquoise tablecloth. It looks lush beyond words. The black top hats, strands of white pearls and long white gloves are languidly arranged around the pedestals, making a tablescape that is at once fun and elegant. I am starting to get very excited. I love it when a plan comes together!

When I turn around to give the scene the final once-over before leaving to have my hair done, it almost takes my breath away. And it’s still daylight! At night it will be magical.

Driving home after the set-up, I call my husband, who’s still in Michigan. I realize I won’t be able to zip or unzip my gown for the evening. I know I can probably have a neighbor zip me up, but who can I ask at midnight to unzip my dress, so I won’t have to sleep in it?

“Give the valet parking guy a few extra dollars and have him unzip your dress,” he says. I can just hear the valet guys standing around telling their most outrageous stories with me as a central figure in them, so I tell him he’s insane and try to think of other options.

After phoning neighbors I barely know to see if they’ll be home this evening to zip me up, I find one who’s available. She kindly arrives at the appointed time, and I innocently ask what time she goes to bed. Fortunately for me, tonight it’s after midnight, since she’s calling bingo down at the Legion Hall. I ask if I can stop by on my way home so she can unzip me. She graciously says yes, thus saving my reputation and my pride.