The evening officially ends around 10:30 p.m.
The guests have gone home. The photographs have been taken. The hugs have been exchanged. The memories have been made.
Knight of Xanadu heads off to get the car while a few attendees follow us back to the house to collect the clothes and belongings they had changed out of earlier in the day.
I know I should probably stay and clean up the room, but honestly, though, we are exhausted. It has been a very long day.
Before I leave, I walk back into the room that only moments earlier had been filled with laughter, conversation, and joy.
Now it is quiet.
The candles are still flickering.
Empty glasses remain on the tables.
Chairs sit slightly out of place.
The remnants of the evening are scattered throughout the room.
I straighten a few things as I walk around, but I know the real cleanup will have to wait until tomorrow.
Before leaving, I let the venue know we will return in the morning to finish packing everything up.
Then I quietly close the door behind me.
I wake up exhausted.
Perhaps it is physical exhaustion.
Perhaps it is event drop after coming down from such an incredible experience.
Maybe it is both.
For some reason, this event feels more exhausting than previous ones. I am not entirely sure why.
It takes everything I have just to get dressed and head back to the club.
When we arrive, I open the door and look into the room that had seemed so magical the night before.
It looks exactly as I left it.
The tablecloth is still on the table.
The candles remain where they burned the night before.
Wine glasses, dishes, serving pieces, and supplies are waiting to be packed away.
Yesterday, the room felt alive.
Today, it feels still.
I close the door and head downstairs for lunch before we begin the cleanup.
As I sit there, trying to focus, I realize I don’t feel well.
The exhaustion has finally caught up with me.
Before long, Knight of Xanadu makes the difficult decision to send me home and leave the cleanup and packing to him and our son.
The drive home feels much longer than it should.
It takes all of my energy simply to walk through the front door.
I send Knight of Xanadu a quick message to let him know I made it home safely.
Then I turn off my phone.
The next thing I know, it is almost six o’clock in the evening.
Sometimes people see the photos, the beautiful tables, the elegant service, and the smiles at the end of the night.
What they don’t see is this part.
The quiet room.
The cleanup.
The exhaustion.
The emotional and physical toll of months of planning have finally caught up to me.
This is the part that happens after the last guest leaves.
After our Frozen Elegance event, I remember going back to the club and packing everything away. I counted every fork, knife, glass, and plate, making sure everything was accounted for before it was packed and stored.
I suppose that during the upcoming week, as I rewash, sanitize, and repackage everything, I’ll do my inventory then. Before long, each item will find its way back into its storage container, ready for our September event.
Of course, not everything will make it back into storage just yet. Some of those items will be pulled right back out again for next weekend’s Xanadu Reserve members-only event.
The cycle continues.
Over the next few days, I’ll begin posting photographs, writing thank-you messages, reviewing feedback, and taking a hard look at the budget to understand where I missed the mark and what I can do better next time.
Because even after the guests leave, the tables are cleared, and the dishes are packed away, the work isn’t over. There are lessons to learn, improvements to make, and another event waiting somewhere on the horizon.
It would be easy to think the curtain closes when the room is packed away and the dishes are returned to storage.
In many ways, however, the most important part is only beginning.
Reflection.
Every event leaves behind lessons, and those lessons become the foundation for the next experience.
As I rested over the next few days, I found myself reflecting on what worked, what didn’t, and what I would do differently next time.
Lessons Learned
Every event teaches me something.
Some lessons reinforce what I already know. Others surprise me. A few challenge assumptions I didn’t even realize I had made.
Starry Night in Paris was no exception.
One of my biggest takeaways is that I probably won’t host another High Protocol event during the summer months. Whether it was because schools were letting out, families were beginning vacations, or calendars were simply too full, the event did not sell out. I don’t know if summer was the only factor, but it is certainly something I will consider when planning future events.
I also learned something about atmosphere.
While the room looked beautiful during the day, it became something entirely different after dark. The candles glowed more brightly. The room felt more intimate. The stars on the ceiling became more noticeable. The entire experience felt more elegant and immersive once the sun went down.
If I had to do it again, I would strongly consider designing the schedule so that more of the formal dining experience occurred after dark. During the summer, the days are getting longer and it’s harder to create that ambience.
Another lesson involved complimentary seats.
Over the years, I have occasionally offered people free admission to events. While the gesture comes from a place of generosity, this experience reminded me that people often value things differently when they have no investment in them. Moving forward, I will be much more selective about offering complimentary registrations.
Not every lesson was logistical.
One of the things I enjoyed most was sitting at a table with people I barely knew and learning about their lives, their journeys, and their experiences. There is something incredibly powerful about discovering that others share similar struggles, fears, hopes, and dreams.
Those conversations reminded me that none of us are as alone as we sometimes think we are.
This event also reinforced something I have been feeling for quite some time.
As valuable as online communities can be, they are not a substitute for face-to-face connection. Some of the strongest moments of the weekend came from conversations that happened between classes, during meals, and while working together to create something beautiful.
Relationships are built in shared experiences.
There is a depth of connection that simply cannot be replicated through a screen.
Of course, there were practical lessons as well.
The roasted quail was delicious, but the tiny bones made it more challenging to eat than I anticipated. Had I understood that aspect of the dish beforehand, I would have adjusted the service plan and placed the finger bowls earlier in the meal rather than after the second main course.
Fortunately, every event provides opportunities to learn, adapt, and improve.
That is one of the reasons I continue to do this.
No matter how many events I host, there is always something new to learn.
Planning the next event
One of the funny things about hosting events is that before one is completely finished, the next one has already begun.
We have several smaller events scheduled before our next major High Protocol gathering, but the planning for that event actually started months ago.
Unlike A Starry Night in Paris, this one will not be a one-day intensive. Instead, it will be a High Protocol Soirée held at a private kink venue.
The evening will feature a five-course dinner, live entertainment, cigar service, an indoor heated pool, and access to an 800-square-foot dungeon. It promises to be a very different experience, but one built upon the same principles of intentionality, hospitality, connection, and service.
In fact, registrations had already begun before A Starry Night in Paris had even ended.
And perhaps that is the final lesson of all.
There is no true finish line.
The candles burn down. The tables are cleared. The dishes are packed away. The guests return home.
But somewhere, in a notebook, spreadsheet, or late-night conversation, the next idea is already beginning to take shape.
The event may be over.
The memories may be made.
But the journey continues.
Because behind every elegant table, every carefully planned menu, every polished service, and every unforgettable experience is someone already dreaming about what comes next.
And that, perhaps, is what happens Behind the Curtain.
Bring a Little Xanadu Into Your Life
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