Tuesday, December 15, 2009
Monday, November 23, 2009
Season 2 Chapter 26
Because we all went to the same grade school, then middle school, and finally high school, everybody knew everyone. It didn’t matter where in the social food chain you were; it was almost arbitrary to play a part and fill the spectrum with archetypes. But I remember when the two Jennifers with the same last name were differentiated by their middle names, long before any mention of her could only be in reference to the pretty, popular one. I remember that thuggish, white trash kid Steve Berryholt as a troubled weirdo that you were better off avoiding well before his sickly peach-fuzz moustache, not yet having blossomed into a more dangerous, low class version at puberty. The same goes for Elisha Collins who worked on an English class project with me, and Jocko Dellham who used to play kickball with me and some of the other local kids.
There’s a picture in the yearbook where those shrews who where the cheerleaders and homecoming queens are posing with Denise Silvio, who most of them probably played dolls with or had tea parties years ago. Denise had Cerebral Palsy, and was not part of that elite clique, though the smiles and friendly poses with her in her wheelchair sold a completely different image altogether. She’d never get invited to their parties or have lunch with her, but a photo op was like a time machine and peeled away all the bullshit and pettiness. Similarly, I was friendly with a few of the band geeks, and was almost one of them if I’d have stuck with clarinet, but after hearing The Velvet Underground & Nico, I picked up a guitar. Though we didn’t cross those boundaries at school, it was after watching the Spring Talent Show we hatched the idea to form a band. We were decent, but clearly not good enough to be serious about pursuing.
That summer we played anywhere and everywhere we could because Mark Russell was enlisting in the Navy, and he was the most talented of the bunch. There were a few originals sprinkled in with the covers but we mostly played the same set in the coffee houses and drinking establishments that would let four underage kids play for an hour before their main act or on a Tuesday when they’d otherwise have nothing. Todd Cochran and I both knew Mandy from school, but their families were neighbors, and they were far friendlier than she and I. Her older sister Janet and I - that was another story (also lending itself to part of my sister scoring legacy).
She and I met briefly a few months prior at a party; she’d come back home for the weekend from college, which was only an hour’s drive, and we’d hit it off. Janet and I had a few dates, and while it wasn’t terribly serious, it was a long distance relationship with fair convenience and a small source of pride for a younger man who was able to land a college girl. She’d come into town one particular August night we were playing a set at Toes Tavern, a grimy watering hole on the southside of town. Patiently, she watched from the audience as we entertained the uninterested and distracted crowd. To my surprise, Janet was not the only girl in attendance waiting for me.
I was working in a pizzeria and used to have all the local shop girls come through on their breaks, so it was only a matter of time before I became flirtatious with one of them. I had made mention of the band playing and promptly forgot I’d even made the proposition, but sitting in a corner with one of her co-workers was Helene, clearly there to acknowledge her interest in me. In a panic, I quickly determined the best way to survive the situation was to split them up. Before the two worlds collided, I greeted Janet and told her that I was going to be a little while packing the gear with the band, which would probably not be any fun for her to sit through, and that if she wanted to go home, I’d swing by her place to pick her up after I was done, in no more than 40 minutes or so. The idea of sitting by yourself in a seedy place with nothing to do was easily defeated by the comfort of home, and I’d avoided having two camps upset ant the lack of attention I was paying them. And being charming comes much more naturally when nobody is over your shoulder ready to burst into a fit of jealousy.
It was not harsh, but I could only imagine how Janet would have felt knowing she was waiting in queue for me to take care of other business and was not a top priority. But I was getting a little of that feeling now, holding court back on the terrace that overlooked the pool, the bar behind me inhabited by different faces but the same flavor of nightbird. Waiting for my chance to chat candidly with Gaston Burnett was taking forever, and while I could feel my guts quiver anxiously to talk to him, I was just as concerned about losing some of the fire and adrenaline from making it though the engagement with all my limbs intact. My gin didn’t taste any better now that I was free of the pressure, and I was disappointed that it didn’t. Should the air not be sweeter and cleaner with deep breaths of freedom?
Nell had gone to talk with Mason about their exclusivity since my talk didn’t end in a riot, which would be considered a success to her but a little shy of my hopes of anarchy. But just in case the attendees did get that roused, at that time I had retreated to the service ways between the ballrooms, where I thanked the girls who added to my stage antics and paid them for their time. Soon it was just Carla and I and a canvas duffle bag full of gorilla masks.
“Thanks for helping out,” I said
“If they were selling tickets I would have paid any amount to watch,” Carla said sweetly.
“No,” I smiled, “really, thanks. You helped me get those girls and –“
“They were happy to get paid to keep their clothes on and not have to grind up against any sleezebags for a change. And I like to think that by helping them get away from that I’ll have to deal with them less professionally.”
“Don’t be so fast to stop eager, young girls from earning their tuition.” I was serious about that. A world without objectified women who are ridding horny men of their money is not one worth living in. “And I mean, thank you for not tipping Nell off to any of this. My plan already had a bunch of holes in it, but that would have torn it apart.”
Carla added, “Watching Nell drink herself into a stupor was also a selling point. It was either she have a heart attack or drown herself to be able to sit idly by.”
“Ever have to defuse a bomb, especially when you know it can explode at any moment? Nell is smart enough not to jump in the path of the explosion.”
“No casualties either. Not even yourself.”
“Yelling ‘Sheldon Akbar’ wasn’t quite the endgame I had in mind.”
“Thankfully,” she said. “But what is your endgame?”
I hadn’t thought of that. You spend all your time cracking the shell and getting through defenses that you don’t have any plans afterwards because you never thought you get that far.
“Probably just open my mouth and see what comes out. It’s always kept me in trouble before.”
Carla smiled and gave me a hug. “Go and wrap this up. You can give me the recap tomorrow.” She started to leave but continued. “I hope it doesn’t weird you out or anything, but I have you as an emergency contact.”
“You really want me in an emergency?”
“I just feel that I can depend on you, that you’re a man without compromise. It’s a rare thing to find.”
“I’ll take the responsibility then, since you put it that way. I just hope that I never get that call.”
It would have made the time pass if she’d not left, but being reflective is best coupled with a boozy state, even if the company is worth keeping. No sooner than I’d thought it, Britta and Zia came outside, fresh from a rendezvous.
“Getting into trouble, ladies?”
“Not enough so far,” said Britta. “You conquer the world, hero?”
“Sure, and we even agreed to an armistice. Got the enemy to come here and sign too.”
“Shall we celebrate,” asked Zia.
“Wouldn’t want to take you away from other opportunities.”
“Oh, please,” Zia said, “We just finished playing together for some of those boys in there. It’s time we actually had some physical contact with a man tonight.”
“Even if it’s me, it will have to wait…looks like my date is here.” Gaston Burnett entered the bar, looking like the fox who not just got into the henhouse, but changed the locks and put in an alarm system.
“Didn’t peg that as your type,” Zia lamented.
“No, you’re both way more my type. Hang around if you’re not preoccupied, and I try to do my best to not leave you ladies without plans.”
“We can’t promise anything,” Britta said.
“Neither can I,” I admitted.
Gaston saw I was outside and strolled out.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.
“No sir, I was just enjoying the atmosphere. It’s nice outside.”
He took a glimpse at Zia and Britta lounging in the corner and agreed, “Yes, you make a good point. Not the first, either.”
“I was worried all my forward thinking and being shockingly reasonable would have fallen on deaf ears. Not a lot of virgin minds in there.”
“Thankfully so…you basically told my advertisers to be concerned about the content that surrounds their products, all because of a little attention from one of our mistakes.”
“A little mistake?”
“Sure. A learning experience for Mason. You look confused. Let’s have a drink,” Gaston said, and gestured at the bartender. It was less than a minute later when they brought over another gin and tonic, and a bottle of ancient scotch that probably cost a month’s rent in certain parts of town.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his full glass, and swallowing the whole thing with a few mighty gulps. “Gotta get the first one out of the way before you can really begin to enjoy the second.”
“I know the feeling,” I said, masking my shock at the manhandling of that scotch. “But I don’t see how you can treat it like a little thing, Mr. Burnett.”
“Please, call my Gaston. I don’t worry about Mason so much. I taught him well, and while he still has a way to go, I’m not so concerned with what he does. There will be some setbacks and some negative response, but it’s hardly going to be the Achilles heel of our operations. I told Mason from day one that he was getting covered in blood and dropped in shark-infested waters, and he’s handled himself in a way that makes me proud.”
“I lost my job and my position on account of this.”
“You lost it for what you said and did, not my ennui about how it played out. Is the issue with me, or our company, or your own actions?”
I paused to keep my composure, including that in my hands which wanted to give Gaston a right cross for his flippant attitude. “You’re right, it was my own doing. It just when you say or do what’s right, it’s supposed to have positive results.”
“You think things didn’t turn out well?” Gaston studied me for a moment. “Sheldon, I think you may be too focused on the ‘little picture’. Attention to detail is good, but you’re too concerned with pleasing yourself by making your opinion and thoughts heard. That should never be more important than the message you have.”
“I may not have had the podium to spread it from, but I know the right people heard it,” I said defensively.
“That is true, Sheldon. And I can appreciate that because there was a time I thought like that too. Let me share a tale with you about my early days…I used to go to our stations in the morning and say hello to everybody, just to let them know that I was still involved there and so that they could see I was not some figure who was out of touch with them. This was what I did until soon, there were plenty more stations. And then other fields we diversified into. And you know what happened? I couldn’t get to all the stations in the morning. Or companies. And I didn’t meet all the people who worked for me. Sure, there were familiar faces I certainly recognized, but you could throw out a name and I’d be just as ready to believe you it was theirs for my own lack of knowing. But they all knew who I was, no matter how many more bricks they added to raise me up in a tower above them.
I didn’t feel bad about it, either. You’re not wrong, but at this level those are not real concerns. Business is war, and it’s foolish to spend time thinking about leading on a personal level. You have to reach everybody, and so the message has to be simple. Sometimes the message is loud and clear and yet it fails because it was incorrectly understood. Other times the things you’re telling them are the wrong message. But when you’re overseeing armies, you look at the overall aim of your campaign and deal with achieving it. Your generals have to deal with the battles and skirmishes and get you the big win. They don’t have to claim every victory as long as the end result is.”
“I never pegged you for a big war analogy guy.”
Gaston tore through another giant glass of scotch, though not as voraciously as the first. “It’s that damned History Channel. I just end up watching it whenever I’m in my room traveling. They’re always playing something about World War Two, which I almost got tangled up in, so I have an interest in it. May buy the channel in a year or so if the numbers are right. And for all we know, they could be a bigger mess then Ephimria. But messes can be cleaned up, and Mason makes a few. But again, things worked out. Your boss is very happy because she and my boy finalized their business dealings. My friends and associates, were not only enlightened but entertained, and you’ve proven that David does not need to fear Goliath, and can respect him as an opponent.”
“Begrudgingly, though. Overlords are still overlords, whether they dominate their subjects or simply absorb them into their empire.”
“Did you ever feel like you were too good for this business?”
“Perhaps better than,” I said, “but not too good for it. It doesn’t take someone like me to point out what’s good or bad or right or wrong, as long as somebody is thinking about it.”
“Sure. And that’s normal. But Ephimria could be an oil company or an arms manufacturer or a shoe factory and it wouldn’t matter. A family is still a family even if one of the uncles is disliked.”
“Or a son,” I added.
“Or a father,” Gaston replied. We had a small laugh, and then I took a few sips of my drink to try and catch up to the dent Gaston was making on the bottle with his third full glass.
“You’re not all bad, Mr. Burnett. Maybe half, but not all.”
He smiled and shrugged. “I know my reputation, and it was not easily earned. But if you’re going to be a bastard, you have to be unapologetic. You have to create a persona that makes you a formidable foe, and sometimes you even need to become it. Which is why I’m going to finishing this glass and retire back to the penthouse to prepare for those two lovely ladies to arrive, and then do things that would make rock stars and Vikings blush.”
“Charming. And here I though it was blood sacrifices and the blood of newborns.”
“Not since my doctor ordered me to cut back on the souls of the innocent. But what is decadent to most is ordinary to people like me.”
I interrupted,” There aren’t many people like you.”
“And so the majority view is it’s an obscenity of excess,” he countered to wrestle the conversation back. “And I could give a shit about what the common man thinks. And you’re not, which is why we’re talking.”
“Doesn’t that level of arrogance ever bother you? You should hear yourself.”
“As should you. I know that you’ve had to come to terms with what happened, and I do believe that you’d do it all again, the exact same way if you were faced with the same situation. Mason, he’s figuring it out, but he may be anticipating things too much. He needs a curveball thrown at him every once in a while. Like this Ephimria thing. Mason has to be able to not let a situation get the better of him. Even if that means getting someone like you to hand him his lumps in front of everybody. I’m too old to give him a spanking, even when he deserves it. But in the end, he’ll learn, or be punished for not.”
It was chilling to see a man so comfortable and confident with the incredible amount of power he wielded. Most of the top dogs are so full of pride and swagger that they become their own worst enemies, but Gaston Burnett knew how to be in the crosshairs and not even flinch. Which is why what he said next surprised the shit out of me.
“Sheldon, there’s no way you’re ever going to get your old job back, you know that,” he said matter of fact. It wasn’t as though I’d expected much of a chance, but just that he was saying it was stunning. “And let’s face it, you’re not going to work in front of a camera again. Not on any of my networks. Ever. And that’s not even coming from me…those are the ruffled feathers of Mason, which I’m inclined to go with.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was, Sheldon. But you don’t wait for lightning to strike twice.”
“Shouldn’t Mason be here to enjoy drawing blood?”
“This isn’t personal, Sheldon…he’s got no interest in jamming spurs in just to see you buck. Besides, you seem to be doing alright opening your mouth to people. I’ve done a few private speech gigs myself, and they’ve paid handsomely. You know what else does? Consulting.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“Listen to me…I’m old but I’m not dead yet, and I’m still the final word in my company. I can let Mason run it the way he wants to, even if that means making him think he’s running it the way he wants to. I’m not sure yet how or what I’m going to do, but you’re a resource Sheldon, and thank God you’re more sage and smart than abrasive. I’ll come up with a use for you that won’t be a detriment to me.”
“You seem pretty confident about that. How do you know I won’t say no?”
“If I figure out the right application for your sensibilities, you won’t be able to. You can still chat away to people – what I have in mind won’t prevent you from doing both, but I will eventually call you with an offer.”
“Great. I’ll be waiting at home by my phone.”
“If you feel like it. But I’ll make sure I call when you’re home.”
“You got somebody to deal with that for you too?”
“Knowing where you live was one of the first things I took care of when I heard about his whole Ephimria clash you had. Of course I can get to you.”
I hoped that he meant ‘get a hold of you’ when he said ‘get to you’, but that wasn’t a point worth lingering on, and apparently Gaston felt the same by dusting off a fourth blast of scotch.
“Thanks for your time, Sheldon. I will be in touch.” He bowed his head as a gesture and took the bottle with him. Zia made her way over.
“Does the hero get a ticker-tape parade?”
“I think the question is, does he deserve it?”
“Why be hard on yourself when you can be hard on us,” she suggested, not looking for my downturn in demeanor to spoil her chances.
“You’re both in for a very profitable and interesting evening, I assure you. I’m sure you know where the penthouse suite is.” Zia nodded. I pulled out her card from earlier and flipped it over, writing. “This is my number. Go have fun, take care of business, but hold on to my number. I think you’re going to find yourself in situations that require discretion, and that’s a very important person you’re getting involved with. Very important and powerful. Some would even say dangerous. Anything…out of the ordinary or interesting comes up, don’t forget that number. It’s really for his safety and much as it is yours.”
She looked at it suspiciously. “Hmmm…I’m not sure about this. What’s in it for you?”
“Probably nothing, but I’m doing my good deed and setting you up with one of the few people who can allow you to retire decades before you planned. Just remember me and call me if you ever think you have a reason to.”
“And I know when that will be, right?”
“You will.”
They slinked away, headed for great opportunity.
There’s a picture in the yearbook where those shrews who where the cheerleaders and homecoming queens are posing with Denise Silvio, who most of them probably played dolls with or had tea parties years ago. Denise had Cerebral Palsy, and was not part of that elite clique, though the smiles and friendly poses with her in her wheelchair sold a completely different image altogether. She’d never get invited to their parties or have lunch with her, but a photo op was like a time machine and peeled away all the bullshit and pettiness. Similarly, I was friendly with a few of the band geeks, and was almost one of them if I’d have stuck with clarinet, but after hearing The Velvet Underground & Nico, I picked up a guitar. Though we didn’t cross those boundaries at school, it was after watching the Spring Talent Show we hatched the idea to form a band. We were decent, but clearly not good enough to be serious about pursuing.
That summer we played anywhere and everywhere we could because Mark Russell was enlisting in the Navy, and he was the most talented of the bunch. There were a few originals sprinkled in with the covers but we mostly played the same set in the coffee houses and drinking establishments that would let four underage kids play for an hour before their main act or on a Tuesday when they’d otherwise have nothing. Todd Cochran and I both knew Mandy from school, but their families were neighbors, and they were far friendlier than she and I. Her older sister Janet and I - that was another story (also lending itself to part of my sister scoring legacy).
She and I met briefly a few months prior at a party; she’d come back home for the weekend from college, which was only an hour’s drive, and we’d hit it off. Janet and I had a few dates, and while it wasn’t terribly serious, it was a long distance relationship with fair convenience and a small source of pride for a younger man who was able to land a college girl. She’d come into town one particular August night we were playing a set at Toes Tavern, a grimy watering hole on the southside of town. Patiently, she watched from the audience as we entertained the uninterested and distracted crowd. To my surprise, Janet was not the only girl in attendance waiting for me.
I was working in a pizzeria and used to have all the local shop girls come through on their breaks, so it was only a matter of time before I became flirtatious with one of them. I had made mention of the band playing and promptly forgot I’d even made the proposition, but sitting in a corner with one of her co-workers was Helene, clearly there to acknowledge her interest in me. In a panic, I quickly determined the best way to survive the situation was to split them up. Before the two worlds collided, I greeted Janet and told her that I was going to be a little while packing the gear with the band, which would probably not be any fun for her to sit through, and that if she wanted to go home, I’d swing by her place to pick her up after I was done, in no more than 40 minutes or so. The idea of sitting by yourself in a seedy place with nothing to do was easily defeated by the comfort of home, and I’d avoided having two camps upset ant the lack of attention I was paying them. And being charming comes much more naturally when nobody is over your shoulder ready to burst into a fit of jealousy.
It was not harsh, but I could only imagine how Janet would have felt knowing she was waiting in queue for me to take care of other business and was not a top priority. But I was getting a little of that feeling now, holding court back on the terrace that overlooked the pool, the bar behind me inhabited by different faces but the same flavor of nightbird. Waiting for my chance to chat candidly with Gaston Burnett was taking forever, and while I could feel my guts quiver anxiously to talk to him, I was just as concerned about losing some of the fire and adrenaline from making it though the engagement with all my limbs intact. My gin didn’t taste any better now that I was free of the pressure, and I was disappointed that it didn’t. Should the air not be sweeter and cleaner with deep breaths of freedom?
Nell had gone to talk with Mason about their exclusivity since my talk didn’t end in a riot, which would be considered a success to her but a little shy of my hopes of anarchy. But just in case the attendees did get that roused, at that time I had retreated to the service ways between the ballrooms, where I thanked the girls who added to my stage antics and paid them for their time. Soon it was just Carla and I and a canvas duffle bag full of gorilla masks.
“Thanks for helping out,” I said
“If they were selling tickets I would have paid any amount to watch,” Carla said sweetly.
“No,” I smiled, “really, thanks. You helped me get those girls and –“
“They were happy to get paid to keep their clothes on and not have to grind up against any sleezebags for a change. And I like to think that by helping them get away from that I’ll have to deal with them less professionally.”
“Don’t be so fast to stop eager, young girls from earning their tuition.” I was serious about that. A world without objectified women who are ridding horny men of their money is not one worth living in. “And I mean, thank you for not tipping Nell off to any of this. My plan already had a bunch of holes in it, but that would have torn it apart.”
Carla added, “Watching Nell drink herself into a stupor was also a selling point. It was either she have a heart attack or drown herself to be able to sit idly by.”
“Ever have to defuse a bomb, especially when you know it can explode at any moment? Nell is smart enough not to jump in the path of the explosion.”
“No casualties either. Not even yourself.”
“Yelling ‘Sheldon Akbar’ wasn’t quite the endgame I had in mind.”
“Thankfully,” she said. “But what is your endgame?”
I hadn’t thought of that. You spend all your time cracking the shell and getting through defenses that you don’t have any plans afterwards because you never thought you get that far.
“Probably just open my mouth and see what comes out. It’s always kept me in trouble before.”
Carla smiled and gave me a hug. “Go and wrap this up. You can give me the recap tomorrow.” She started to leave but continued. “I hope it doesn’t weird you out or anything, but I have you as an emergency contact.”
“You really want me in an emergency?”
“I just feel that I can depend on you, that you’re a man without compromise. It’s a rare thing to find.”
“I’ll take the responsibility then, since you put it that way. I just hope that I never get that call.”
It would have made the time pass if she’d not left, but being reflective is best coupled with a boozy state, even if the company is worth keeping. No sooner than I’d thought it, Britta and Zia came outside, fresh from a rendezvous.
“Getting into trouble, ladies?”
“Not enough so far,” said Britta. “You conquer the world, hero?”
“Sure, and we even agreed to an armistice. Got the enemy to come here and sign too.”
“Shall we celebrate,” asked Zia.
“Wouldn’t want to take you away from other opportunities.”
“Oh, please,” Zia said, “We just finished playing together for some of those boys in there. It’s time we actually had some physical contact with a man tonight.”
“Even if it’s me, it will have to wait…looks like my date is here.” Gaston Burnett entered the bar, looking like the fox who not just got into the henhouse, but changed the locks and put in an alarm system.
“Didn’t peg that as your type,” Zia lamented.
“No, you’re both way more my type. Hang around if you’re not preoccupied, and I try to do my best to not leave you ladies without plans.”
“We can’t promise anything,” Britta said.
“Neither can I,” I admitted.
Gaston saw I was outside and strolled out.
“I hope I’m not interrupting,” he said.
“No sir, I was just enjoying the atmosphere. It’s nice outside.”
He took a glimpse at Zia and Britta lounging in the corner and agreed, “Yes, you make a good point. Not the first, either.”
“I was worried all my forward thinking and being shockingly reasonable would have fallen on deaf ears. Not a lot of virgin minds in there.”
“Thankfully so…you basically told my advertisers to be concerned about the content that surrounds their products, all because of a little attention from one of our mistakes.”
“A little mistake?”
“Sure. A learning experience for Mason. You look confused. Let’s have a drink,” Gaston said, and gestured at the bartender. It was less than a minute later when they brought over another gin and tonic, and a bottle of ancient scotch that probably cost a month’s rent in certain parts of town.
“Cheers,” he said, raising his full glass, and swallowing the whole thing with a few mighty gulps. “Gotta get the first one out of the way before you can really begin to enjoy the second.”
“I know the feeling,” I said, masking my shock at the manhandling of that scotch. “But I don’t see how you can treat it like a little thing, Mr. Burnett.”
“Please, call my Gaston. I don’t worry about Mason so much. I taught him well, and while he still has a way to go, I’m not so concerned with what he does. There will be some setbacks and some negative response, but it’s hardly going to be the Achilles heel of our operations. I told Mason from day one that he was getting covered in blood and dropped in shark-infested waters, and he’s handled himself in a way that makes me proud.”
“I lost my job and my position on account of this.”
“You lost it for what you said and did, not my ennui about how it played out. Is the issue with me, or our company, or your own actions?”
I paused to keep my composure, including that in my hands which wanted to give Gaston a right cross for his flippant attitude. “You’re right, it was my own doing. It just when you say or do what’s right, it’s supposed to have positive results.”
“You think things didn’t turn out well?” Gaston studied me for a moment. “Sheldon, I think you may be too focused on the ‘little picture’. Attention to detail is good, but you’re too concerned with pleasing yourself by making your opinion and thoughts heard. That should never be more important than the message you have.”
“I may not have had the podium to spread it from, but I know the right people heard it,” I said defensively.
“That is true, Sheldon. And I can appreciate that because there was a time I thought like that too. Let me share a tale with you about my early days…I used to go to our stations in the morning and say hello to everybody, just to let them know that I was still involved there and so that they could see I was not some figure who was out of touch with them. This was what I did until soon, there were plenty more stations. And then other fields we diversified into. And you know what happened? I couldn’t get to all the stations in the morning. Or companies. And I didn’t meet all the people who worked for me. Sure, there were familiar faces I certainly recognized, but you could throw out a name and I’d be just as ready to believe you it was theirs for my own lack of knowing. But they all knew who I was, no matter how many more bricks they added to raise me up in a tower above them.
I didn’t feel bad about it, either. You’re not wrong, but at this level those are not real concerns. Business is war, and it’s foolish to spend time thinking about leading on a personal level. You have to reach everybody, and so the message has to be simple. Sometimes the message is loud and clear and yet it fails because it was incorrectly understood. Other times the things you’re telling them are the wrong message. But when you’re overseeing armies, you look at the overall aim of your campaign and deal with achieving it. Your generals have to deal with the battles and skirmishes and get you the big win. They don’t have to claim every victory as long as the end result is.”
“I never pegged you for a big war analogy guy.”
Gaston tore through another giant glass of scotch, though not as voraciously as the first. “It’s that damned History Channel. I just end up watching it whenever I’m in my room traveling. They’re always playing something about World War Two, which I almost got tangled up in, so I have an interest in it. May buy the channel in a year or so if the numbers are right. And for all we know, they could be a bigger mess then Ephimria. But messes can be cleaned up, and Mason makes a few. But again, things worked out. Your boss is very happy because she and my boy finalized their business dealings. My friends and associates, were not only enlightened but entertained, and you’ve proven that David does not need to fear Goliath, and can respect him as an opponent.”
“Begrudgingly, though. Overlords are still overlords, whether they dominate their subjects or simply absorb them into their empire.”
“Did you ever feel like you were too good for this business?”
“Perhaps better than,” I said, “but not too good for it. It doesn’t take someone like me to point out what’s good or bad or right or wrong, as long as somebody is thinking about it.”
“Sure. And that’s normal. But Ephimria could be an oil company or an arms manufacturer or a shoe factory and it wouldn’t matter. A family is still a family even if one of the uncles is disliked.”
“Or a son,” I added.
“Or a father,” Gaston replied. We had a small laugh, and then I took a few sips of my drink to try and catch up to the dent Gaston was making on the bottle with his third full glass.
“You’re not all bad, Mr. Burnett. Maybe half, but not all.”
He smiled and shrugged. “I know my reputation, and it was not easily earned. But if you’re going to be a bastard, you have to be unapologetic. You have to create a persona that makes you a formidable foe, and sometimes you even need to become it. Which is why I’m going to finishing this glass and retire back to the penthouse to prepare for those two lovely ladies to arrive, and then do things that would make rock stars and Vikings blush.”
“Charming. And here I though it was blood sacrifices and the blood of newborns.”
“Not since my doctor ordered me to cut back on the souls of the innocent. But what is decadent to most is ordinary to people like me.”
I interrupted,” There aren’t many people like you.”
“And so the majority view is it’s an obscenity of excess,” he countered to wrestle the conversation back. “And I could give a shit about what the common man thinks. And you’re not, which is why we’re talking.”
“Doesn’t that level of arrogance ever bother you? You should hear yourself.”
“As should you. I know that you’ve had to come to terms with what happened, and I do believe that you’d do it all again, the exact same way if you were faced with the same situation. Mason, he’s figuring it out, but he may be anticipating things too much. He needs a curveball thrown at him every once in a while. Like this Ephimria thing. Mason has to be able to not let a situation get the better of him. Even if that means getting someone like you to hand him his lumps in front of everybody. I’m too old to give him a spanking, even when he deserves it. But in the end, he’ll learn, or be punished for not.”
It was chilling to see a man so comfortable and confident with the incredible amount of power he wielded. Most of the top dogs are so full of pride and swagger that they become their own worst enemies, but Gaston Burnett knew how to be in the crosshairs and not even flinch. Which is why what he said next surprised the shit out of me.
“Sheldon, there’s no way you’re ever going to get your old job back, you know that,” he said matter of fact. It wasn’t as though I’d expected much of a chance, but just that he was saying it was stunning. “And let’s face it, you’re not going to work in front of a camera again. Not on any of my networks. Ever. And that’s not even coming from me…those are the ruffled feathers of Mason, which I’m inclined to go with.”
“Are you kidding me?”
“I wish I was, Sheldon. But you don’t wait for lightning to strike twice.”
“Shouldn’t Mason be here to enjoy drawing blood?”
“This isn’t personal, Sheldon…he’s got no interest in jamming spurs in just to see you buck. Besides, you seem to be doing alright opening your mouth to people. I’ve done a few private speech gigs myself, and they’ve paid handsomely. You know what else does? Consulting.”
“I’m sure it does.”
“Listen to me…I’m old but I’m not dead yet, and I’m still the final word in my company. I can let Mason run it the way he wants to, even if that means making him think he’s running it the way he wants to. I’m not sure yet how or what I’m going to do, but you’re a resource Sheldon, and thank God you’re more sage and smart than abrasive. I’ll come up with a use for you that won’t be a detriment to me.”
“You seem pretty confident about that. How do you know I won’t say no?”
“If I figure out the right application for your sensibilities, you won’t be able to. You can still chat away to people – what I have in mind won’t prevent you from doing both, but I will eventually call you with an offer.”
“Great. I’ll be waiting at home by my phone.”
“If you feel like it. But I’ll make sure I call when you’re home.”
“You got somebody to deal with that for you too?”
“Knowing where you live was one of the first things I took care of when I heard about his whole Ephimria clash you had. Of course I can get to you.”
I hoped that he meant ‘get a hold of you’ when he said ‘get to you’, but that wasn’t a point worth lingering on, and apparently Gaston felt the same by dusting off a fourth blast of scotch.
“Thanks for your time, Sheldon. I will be in touch.” He bowed his head as a gesture and took the bottle with him. Zia made her way over.
“Does the hero get a ticker-tape parade?”
“I think the question is, does he deserve it?”
“Why be hard on yourself when you can be hard on us,” she suggested, not looking for my downturn in demeanor to spoil her chances.
“You’re both in for a very profitable and interesting evening, I assure you. I’m sure you know where the penthouse suite is.” Zia nodded. I pulled out her card from earlier and flipped it over, writing. “This is my number. Go have fun, take care of business, but hold on to my number. I think you’re going to find yourself in situations that require discretion, and that’s a very important person you’re getting involved with. Very important and powerful. Some would even say dangerous. Anything…out of the ordinary or interesting comes up, don’t forget that number. It’s really for his safety and much as it is yours.”
She looked at it suspiciously. “Hmmm…I’m not sure about this. What’s in it for you?”
“Probably nothing, but I’m doing my good deed and setting you up with one of the few people who can allow you to retire decades before you planned. Just remember me and call me if you ever think you have a reason to.”
“And I know when that will be, right?”
“You will.”
They slinked away, headed for great opportunity.
---
I’ll admit that there was more time after that night to sit around a wait for things to happen than I’d expected. Immediately after landing the deal, Nell took off for Europe to work on other opportunities. Having a friend in Burnett Media was going to pay off handsomely, just for the sheer volume of doors it opened by being associated with them. She sent me thanks in a lavish gift basket with champagne and caviar and other overpriced delicacies that I called Cami over to enjoy, seeing as it should go to waste on my untrained palette. Just to show here there were no hard feelings or awkwardness. Cami was able to restrain herself, but warned me not to be surprised if she called sometime, looking for…well, she said somebody who would appreciate the finer things, but I had my own idea what that was polite speak for.
Sunday was clear that Nell would be angling for bigger and better things for me, her wild card and closer, though I thought I was just exceptional for retaining the new car smell for longer than normal.
“You can’t do high schools and felons anymore,” she laughed, “but that’s not where you want to be anyway. When the time comes, and the right group is lined up, she’s going to pull the trigger and send you in.”
“Anything look like it’s coming up,” I pressed her.
“Oh, Sheldon…you’ll have a chance to get back out there and work your magic. In the meantime you get to do whatever you want and get paid for just waiting. You’ll get the call, but until then, figure out your hobbies and don’t lose any of that charisma.”
So I made sure that the place was clean and I kept up with my exercise and diet, keeping what passed in my case as peak form for when I actually had to do something. It had been close to a month I was living a simple, slightly monastic life when my phone finally rang. It was unfamiliar, hearing it chime after a long run of silence, and the first two rings were taken just to make the identification that it was the phone and that it should be answered. Who was it and what was I in for?
“Hello…”
Monday, November 16, 2009
Season 2 Chapter 25
“Before I finally get around to making some sort of a point, I have one more story to tell you. Please direct your attention to the immense screen directly behind me.”
The screen changed from dark to bright white. Into the frame stepped a young man in a Hang Ten t-shirt with long hair tucked behind his ears. He wore heavily framed spectacles and had a small patch of hair nestled just below his lower lip. If the image were not in black and white, you would have been able to tell that the shirt contained an array of brown, yellow, and white stripes. He stared with stoic intensity through his lenses into the lens of the camera and said in a familiar voice, “Do something.”
The ensuing footage following the man’s statement was a montage of all-too-familiar third world tragedies and triumphs—starving children, mothers holding their infected babies, skinny men holding out their hands for bread or jobs, children frolicking around the village water pump, an overcrowded classroom, a little boy with a cleft palate, etc.
Over the imagery the man’s voice continued, “You can make the difference. Together we can change the world. But you have to…”
The screen quickly cut back to the man’s face.
“Do something. Call now to find out how you can become a part of Aid First.”
Left on the screen was an 800 number and the logo for Aid First. Then the screen went dark, and the spotlight shined its beam on me again.
“Compelling stuff, eh?”
It’s always nice to get folks to think about someone other than themselves, but that’s not what I ultimately was trying to do. I wanted the commercial to sink in, so the impact of what I had to say could be felt with the proper intensity.
“Now please don’t try to call that 800 number. That little spot debuted in 1991. And the man with the long hair and the goofy glasses you may recognize. Yes, he was a little skinnier and a little hairier, but that guy was me. Back then I was an intern for MTV News, and I was a somewhat known on-air correspondent. I had a little cachet with Generation X. And to answer the question that’s bugging you presently, I have no idea what happened to that t-shirt.
“That guy in the commercial was pretty serious. From a first person perspective I can say without a doubt he was. He really believed in what he was doing. It wasn’t his idea, but it didn’t take much convincing to get him to use the trust he’d built up with the young folks and point them towards the noble cause of serving humanity. You’d think altruism would have been my primary motivator in this situation, and it definitely was a factor, but I’ll show you, now, what really sealed the deal for me. For those of you who know me well, this will come as no surprise.”
Within a second or two, the giant portrait of a stunning brunette was projected on the screen behind me. I made sure not to look at it for fear of losing what little concentration I had at the moment.
“The angelic visage over my shoulder here belonged to my girlfriend at the time. To say I was whipped is an understatement. She was smarter than me, and she was funny, and, well, she looked like that. I ended up marrying her. At that time she happened to be head of marketing at Aid First. She got me the little side job as their spokesperson. Together we were going to change the world. I never actually visited Africa, Central America, or any far off impoverished nation. I was obsessed then, as I am today, with life in my own backyard. The only bits of the Aid First organization I came in contact with were the motivational gatherings they organized throughout the country. They called them ‘Do Something Rallies’. I trusted that we were doing a good thing—that my wife was doing a good thing.
“Over time little ugly truths surfaced that began to chip away at that trust. And the little ugly truths got bigger and bigger until…”
I paused for effect. I let the suspense bubble over, and I didn’t quite let it resolve.
“Well, I first started to suspect something was amiss when a passerby on the street said to me, ‘Hey, Sheldon, have you volunteered lately for Aid First, you fucking asshole!’ Not kidding at all. That’s exactly what she said. I’ll never forget it. So I figured it was about time I call the 800 number and see what the girl may have been so upset about.
“You pretty much would have been dealt two options when you called the 800 number. (A), give us money, or (B), volunteer. I had money, but the angry girl seemed to have a problem with volunteering, so I opted to volunteer. I was directed to go to an Aid First volunteer center for orientation. When I got there, I sat through a lengthy video presentation about the importance of being a part of Aid First—how millions of people depended on the work we do. It really got you in the mood to take some action and do your part. After the video, I was ready to get to work. Well, the work they wanted us to do was… You guessed it. Go out and get more money-- door-to-door, over the phone, on the street corner. Get money for Aid First. In fact they made you sign a pledge for how much money you were going to bring in. They didn’t make me sign a pledge because I was Sheldon, the TV ad guy, but I took a pledge sheet from them to see what everyone was signing. It turned out, after reading the fine print, the pledge was legally binding. This meant that if you didn’t pull in what you pledged, you had to come up with the money yourself. And there was a minimum pledge you could make. And if you didn’t make your pledge, they’d hound you for the rest of your life. I always wondered how my wife was able to afford a Porsche working for a non-profit. It was all starting to make sense. I circled and highlighted the parts of the pledge sheet I had issues with and threw it in my wife’s face. She agreed it didn’t seem right, and was going to look into it.
“It didn’t take long before the New York attorney general began to investigate Aid First. You see this guy behind me?”
I pointed my thumb back at the screen again showing a photo of a man in a suit in handcuffs being led away by marshals.
“He was the head of Aid First. He was indicted and convicted on many counts of fraud and embezzling. It turns out Aid First really didn’t do much besides collect money. Oh, there were a few little things here and there they did for photo ops and propaganda, but almost all of the money went straight into this guy and his inner circle’s pockets. My wife was in the inner circle. Don’t worry about her. She finished her community service long ago. The divorce papers were signed right around that time as well. Honestly, there were a lot of other things between us I could go on about, and a lot of times I was probably the bad guy, but this little shenanigan made it a lot easier to walk away. Not to mention Mr. Raid First Aid Last was giving my wife more than money.
“You can take all this as cautionary tale—an ethical no-brainer, if you will. That’s fine. I don’t mind. You should get all that. But we’re talking about you and me here today. Mainly we’ve been talking about me so far. Of course I was hurt by my wife’s betrayal. But the thing that really just destroyed me was the hit to my integrity—to my reputation. In a way I was the most public face of Aid First. I was too blinded and too naïve to see what was really going on. I associated my name and face with a brand that was complete bullshit. It wasn’t an easy thing to bounce back from. I look different now, but I’m still that guy. I had to pound it out in the minor leagues, get my internet video show going, and slowly regain the trust I had squandered. That was a lot of extra time spent regaining lost ground. The main take away from this is not ‘Learn from your mistakes’ or ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’. You think I’m up here to throw platitudes at you? No, the take away is…”
Large white words on a black background filled the screen behind me appearing one after the other with the last few chords of the famous Richard Strauss tone poem blaring from the speakers.
“It’s so simple. It’s almost silly to put it up there. But it’s absolutely amazing how many people in the world do not get this or choose to ignore it.”
I raised my hand.
“I still catch myself slipping every now and then because it’s always easy to take a shortcut. But to make a habit out of cutting corners at the expense of integrity without feeling any regret is an illness. It’s also costly when it comes to business. Someone who is psychotic doesn’t believe he is crazy. An addict is almost always in denial. And it’s easy to rationalize compromised values in a get rich quick scheme. Yeah, you made money. Even if your actions aren’t illegal though, there is still a quantifiable loss in trust and good alternative opportunities. I’m not going to dwell on what’s legal and illegal because that’s only a subset of what’s right and wrong. In an age of bloggers, youtubers, and instant news delivery, it’s becoming harder and harder to pull a fast one. So why even bother in the first place, seriously. Why waste the resources covering your tracks, when you could be using those same resources to make stuff people want and are happy to pay for. Why assume, like I did, that the enterprise you’re involved in has no negative impact. You think it’s making you rich, but it’s slowly dragging you down.
“Hey, if you’re a cheater, and you die on top, then you win. Hooray for you. But you’ve just set up your progeny to deal with your mess. You just fucked your legacy over. I mean you’re dead, so what do you care if someone is pissing on your tombstone. What do you care if every biography about you shows that you were a complete asshole. You’re dead. It doesn’t matter to you anymore. All players have their haters, right? Maybe you like being despised by normal people. But you have a disease you don’t know you have. To you, all the haters are assholes—they’re the anomalies. You’re somehow the good guy for swindling everyone’s money. You’re some kind of reverse Robin Hood. You can’t be blamed for all the suckers out there. Someone had to relieve these suckers of their cash surplus. It might as well have been you. And right now, you’re so delusional that you probably think I’m talking about someone else. You’re a cancer, motherfucker—plain and simple.
“All this vitriol is great way to kick up the drama, but to really drive home the point, we need to talk dollars and cents. It’s the language everyone will understand. We need to look at a real world example.”
Behind me on the large screen, a giant Ephimria logo came into focus. A bit of a murmur rose up in the crowd.
“Yeah, I’m going to go there. The last time I railed against this stuff, I was in the throes of one of my own vices and was in no condition to talk let alone stand up. Now that I have this wonderful opportunity and the power of hindsight, I’d like to set the record straight and present a more coherent argument.
“As a product by itself, I really don’t have any problem with Ephimria. If it was marketed as a dietary supplement as the FDA approved it, then we’d be cool. It’s proven that the human body needs certain vitamins and minerals, and Ephimria definitely had some of those vitamins and minerals. But Ephimiria needed a way to distinguish itself from the plethora of other brands and generic vitamins. Ephimria was marketed as a wonder drug that could take care of almost any ailment. If it did everything, you could charge more for it, and sell more of it. Pay some TV doctors to recommend it. Pay some celebrities to swear by it. Use a global media network to drop non-stop references to Ephimria. It’s everywhere, and everyone is using it. Neighbors are selling it to their neighbors.
“The marketing originally had a vagueness to it that sort of cushioned it from any claims of false advertisement. But as the campaign grew, more and more official spokespersons loosened up a little too much when describing what Ephimria could do. And without clinical trials, that’s just a no-no. Here are the numbers. A little over three hundred million dollars on marketing for over a billion dollars in gross sales is a pretty darn good for a year. Recently settling a class action lawsuit for close to a billion dollars, after discovering that Ephimiria performed no better than a placebo, pretty much kills all that profit. It’s sort of like driving drunk and calling 911 on yourself.
“The funny thing is that a couple weeks ago, this wasn’t an issue for Burnett Media. Ephimria was just some other tarnished brand. Mason Burnett had already sold his entire stake in Ephimria for three billion long before the class action suit popped up. But a couple weeks ago, the story broke about the sale. Ephimria wasn’t a bunch of punk kids. It was hatched by a global powerhouse. Now Burnett Media is being sucked into the Ephimria vortex. Now every instance where Ephimria showed up in Classic News Channel programming can be found on all your favorite video sites. The takedown notices just can’t keep up with the uploaders. No surprise that ratings are considerably down across all of Burnett’s properties. Burnett Media is an easy target for the other media companies to pick on. None of your shows are fully covering the story, further damaging your image.
“I have no doubt you’ll survive this. Soon most people will have forgotten about it. Heck, I couldn’t imagine boycotting Another Fifteen Minutes with Cami Theroux for more than a week or two. But I have to ask, was it worth it? From a financial perspective, I think you’d have to answer, ‘No.’ There were much wiser investments. The money Mason pulled out of Ephimria does not match the lost ad revenue for Burnett Media. The bad taste in everyone’s mouth will also suppress future ratings.
“Just stick to making good content. Invest in good content. Regain trust, and don’t do anything to waste it. Make this a part of your culture, and be serious about it. Fill your company with people that have fun making good content. Avoid people that have fun screwing other people over. You’ll have fun. You’ll make more money. This isn’t a drug I’m trying to sell you. I’m just a guy in suit that cost a lot more than yours did, telling you what he knows. Thank you. Now let’s bring back out those monkey girls.”
Carla and friends stormed back out on the stage amongst flashing lights to the sound of Animal Collective’s “In the Flowers”—the part right after the initial mellow section when the drums finally kick in. I could definitely hear applause. They were probably glad it was over. I walked off the stage to sit down at Nell’s table.
Nell handed me a glass of champagne and leaned in to tell me, “Now, that wasn’t so terrible. You’re a gifted speaker, Sheldon. I’m proud of you.”
It was the tipsiest I’d seen her. I made sure my lav mic was off.
“We’ll see what the natives have to say.”
It didn’t take long. Mason made his way over to our table and gave me the compulsory handshake.
“Gutsy speech, Shel. I didn’t think you’d go there.”
“Oh, I went there alright. Thanks for the figures by the way. They made for some pretty charts.”
“Transparency, right? It’s unnatural for me, but I’m trying. Uh, my dad wants to have a chat a little later. You don’t want to decline this invitation.”
“I wouldn’t dream of turning down a tête-à-tête with your pops.”
The screen changed from dark to bright white. Into the frame stepped a young man in a Hang Ten t-shirt with long hair tucked behind his ears. He wore heavily framed spectacles and had a small patch of hair nestled just below his lower lip. If the image were not in black and white, you would have been able to tell that the shirt contained an array of brown, yellow, and white stripes. He stared with stoic intensity through his lenses into the lens of the camera and said in a familiar voice, “Do something.”
The ensuing footage following the man’s statement was a montage of all-too-familiar third world tragedies and triumphs—starving children, mothers holding their infected babies, skinny men holding out their hands for bread or jobs, children frolicking around the village water pump, an overcrowded classroom, a little boy with a cleft palate, etc.
Over the imagery the man’s voice continued, “You can make the difference. Together we can change the world. But you have to…”
The screen quickly cut back to the man’s face.
“Do something. Call now to find out how you can become a part of Aid First.”
Left on the screen was an 800 number and the logo for Aid First. Then the screen went dark, and the spotlight shined its beam on me again.
“Compelling stuff, eh?”
It’s always nice to get folks to think about someone other than themselves, but that’s not what I ultimately was trying to do. I wanted the commercial to sink in, so the impact of what I had to say could be felt with the proper intensity.
“Now please don’t try to call that 800 number. That little spot debuted in 1991. And the man with the long hair and the goofy glasses you may recognize. Yes, he was a little skinnier and a little hairier, but that guy was me. Back then I was an intern for MTV News, and I was a somewhat known on-air correspondent. I had a little cachet with Generation X. And to answer the question that’s bugging you presently, I have no idea what happened to that t-shirt.
“That guy in the commercial was pretty serious. From a first person perspective I can say without a doubt he was. He really believed in what he was doing. It wasn’t his idea, but it didn’t take much convincing to get him to use the trust he’d built up with the young folks and point them towards the noble cause of serving humanity. You’d think altruism would have been my primary motivator in this situation, and it definitely was a factor, but I’ll show you, now, what really sealed the deal for me. For those of you who know me well, this will come as no surprise.”
Within a second or two, the giant portrait of a stunning brunette was projected on the screen behind me. I made sure not to look at it for fear of losing what little concentration I had at the moment.
“The angelic visage over my shoulder here belonged to my girlfriend at the time. To say I was whipped is an understatement. She was smarter than me, and she was funny, and, well, she looked like that. I ended up marrying her. At that time she happened to be head of marketing at Aid First. She got me the little side job as their spokesperson. Together we were going to change the world. I never actually visited Africa, Central America, or any far off impoverished nation. I was obsessed then, as I am today, with life in my own backyard. The only bits of the Aid First organization I came in contact with were the motivational gatherings they organized throughout the country. They called them ‘Do Something Rallies’. I trusted that we were doing a good thing—that my wife was doing a good thing.
“Over time little ugly truths surfaced that began to chip away at that trust. And the little ugly truths got bigger and bigger until…”
I paused for effect. I let the suspense bubble over, and I didn’t quite let it resolve.
“Well, I first started to suspect something was amiss when a passerby on the street said to me, ‘Hey, Sheldon, have you volunteered lately for Aid First, you fucking asshole!’ Not kidding at all. That’s exactly what she said. I’ll never forget it. So I figured it was about time I call the 800 number and see what the girl may have been so upset about.
“You pretty much would have been dealt two options when you called the 800 number. (A), give us money, or (B), volunteer. I had money, but the angry girl seemed to have a problem with volunteering, so I opted to volunteer. I was directed to go to an Aid First volunteer center for orientation. When I got there, I sat through a lengthy video presentation about the importance of being a part of Aid First—how millions of people depended on the work we do. It really got you in the mood to take some action and do your part. After the video, I was ready to get to work. Well, the work they wanted us to do was… You guessed it. Go out and get more money-- door-to-door, over the phone, on the street corner. Get money for Aid First. In fact they made you sign a pledge for how much money you were going to bring in. They didn’t make me sign a pledge because I was Sheldon, the TV ad guy, but I took a pledge sheet from them to see what everyone was signing. It turned out, after reading the fine print, the pledge was legally binding. This meant that if you didn’t pull in what you pledged, you had to come up with the money yourself. And there was a minimum pledge you could make. And if you didn’t make your pledge, they’d hound you for the rest of your life. I always wondered how my wife was able to afford a Porsche working for a non-profit. It was all starting to make sense. I circled and highlighted the parts of the pledge sheet I had issues with and threw it in my wife’s face. She agreed it didn’t seem right, and was going to look into it.
“It didn’t take long before the New York attorney general began to investigate Aid First. You see this guy behind me?”
I pointed my thumb back at the screen again showing a photo of a man in a suit in handcuffs being led away by marshals.
“He was the head of Aid First. He was indicted and convicted on many counts of fraud and embezzling. It turns out Aid First really didn’t do much besides collect money. Oh, there were a few little things here and there they did for photo ops and propaganda, but almost all of the money went straight into this guy and his inner circle’s pockets. My wife was in the inner circle. Don’t worry about her. She finished her community service long ago. The divorce papers were signed right around that time as well. Honestly, there were a lot of other things between us I could go on about, and a lot of times I was probably the bad guy, but this little shenanigan made it a lot easier to walk away. Not to mention Mr. Raid First Aid Last was giving my wife more than money.
“You can take all this as cautionary tale—an ethical no-brainer, if you will. That’s fine. I don’t mind. You should get all that. But we’re talking about you and me here today. Mainly we’ve been talking about me so far. Of course I was hurt by my wife’s betrayal. But the thing that really just destroyed me was the hit to my integrity—to my reputation. In a way I was the most public face of Aid First. I was too blinded and too naïve to see what was really going on. I associated my name and face with a brand that was complete bullshit. It wasn’t an easy thing to bounce back from. I look different now, but I’m still that guy. I had to pound it out in the minor leagues, get my internet video show going, and slowly regain the trust I had squandered. That was a lot of extra time spent regaining lost ground. The main take away from this is not ‘Learn from your mistakes’ or ‘What doesn’t kill you only makes you stronger’. You think I’m up here to throw platitudes at you? No, the take away is…”
Large white words on a black background filled the screen behind me appearing one after the other with the last few chords of the famous Richard Strauss tone poem blaring from the speakers.
Integrity is Worth is Longevity.
“It’s so simple. It’s almost silly to put it up there. But it’s absolutely amazing how many people in the world do not get this or choose to ignore it.”
I raised my hand.
“I still catch myself slipping every now and then because it’s always easy to take a shortcut. But to make a habit out of cutting corners at the expense of integrity without feeling any regret is an illness. It’s also costly when it comes to business. Someone who is psychotic doesn’t believe he is crazy. An addict is almost always in denial. And it’s easy to rationalize compromised values in a get rich quick scheme. Yeah, you made money. Even if your actions aren’t illegal though, there is still a quantifiable loss in trust and good alternative opportunities. I’m not going to dwell on what’s legal and illegal because that’s only a subset of what’s right and wrong. In an age of bloggers, youtubers, and instant news delivery, it’s becoming harder and harder to pull a fast one. So why even bother in the first place, seriously. Why waste the resources covering your tracks, when you could be using those same resources to make stuff people want and are happy to pay for. Why assume, like I did, that the enterprise you’re involved in has no negative impact. You think it’s making you rich, but it’s slowly dragging you down.
“Hey, if you’re a cheater, and you die on top, then you win. Hooray for you. But you’ve just set up your progeny to deal with your mess. You just fucked your legacy over. I mean you’re dead, so what do you care if someone is pissing on your tombstone. What do you care if every biography about you shows that you were a complete asshole. You’re dead. It doesn’t matter to you anymore. All players have their haters, right? Maybe you like being despised by normal people. But you have a disease you don’t know you have. To you, all the haters are assholes—they’re the anomalies. You’re somehow the good guy for swindling everyone’s money. You’re some kind of reverse Robin Hood. You can’t be blamed for all the suckers out there. Someone had to relieve these suckers of their cash surplus. It might as well have been you. And right now, you’re so delusional that you probably think I’m talking about someone else. You’re a cancer, motherfucker—plain and simple.
“All this vitriol is great way to kick up the drama, but to really drive home the point, we need to talk dollars and cents. It’s the language everyone will understand. We need to look at a real world example.”
Behind me on the large screen, a giant Ephimria logo came into focus. A bit of a murmur rose up in the crowd.
“Yeah, I’m going to go there. The last time I railed against this stuff, I was in the throes of one of my own vices and was in no condition to talk let alone stand up. Now that I have this wonderful opportunity and the power of hindsight, I’d like to set the record straight and present a more coherent argument.
“As a product by itself, I really don’t have any problem with Ephimria. If it was marketed as a dietary supplement as the FDA approved it, then we’d be cool. It’s proven that the human body needs certain vitamins and minerals, and Ephimria definitely had some of those vitamins and minerals. But Ephimiria needed a way to distinguish itself from the plethora of other brands and generic vitamins. Ephimria was marketed as a wonder drug that could take care of almost any ailment. If it did everything, you could charge more for it, and sell more of it. Pay some TV doctors to recommend it. Pay some celebrities to swear by it. Use a global media network to drop non-stop references to Ephimria. It’s everywhere, and everyone is using it. Neighbors are selling it to their neighbors.
“The marketing originally had a vagueness to it that sort of cushioned it from any claims of false advertisement. But as the campaign grew, more and more official spokespersons loosened up a little too much when describing what Ephimria could do. And without clinical trials, that’s just a no-no. Here are the numbers. A little over three hundred million dollars on marketing for over a billion dollars in gross sales is a pretty darn good for a year. Recently settling a class action lawsuit for close to a billion dollars, after discovering that Ephimiria performed no better than a placebo, pretty much kills all that profit. It’s sort of like driving drunk and calling 911 on yourself.
“The funny thing is that a couple weeks ago, this wasn’t an issue for Burnett Media. Ephimria was just some other tarnished brand. Mason Burnett had already sold his entire stake in Ephimria for three billion long before the class action suit popped up. But a couple weeks ago, the story broke about the sale. Ephimria wasn’t a bunch of punk kids. It was hatched by a global powerhouse. Now Burnett Media is being sucked into the Ephimria vortex. Now every instance where Ephimria showed up in Classic News Channel programming can be found on all your favorite video sites. The takedown notices just can’t keep up with the uploaders. No surprise that ratings are considerably down across all of Burnett’s properties. Burnett Media is an easy target for the other media companies to pick on. None of your shows are fully covering the story, further damaging your image.
“I have no doubt you’ll survive this. Soon most people will have forgotten about it. Heck, I couldn’t imagine boycotting Another Fifteen Minutes with Cami Theroux for more than a week or two. But I have to ask, was it worth it? From a financial perspective, I think you’d have to answer, ‘No.’ There were much wiser investments. The money Mason pulled out of Ephimria does not match the lost ad revenue for Burnett Media. The bad taste in everyone’s mouth will also suppress future ratings.
“Just stick to making good content. Invest in good content. Regain trust, and don’t do anything to waste it. Make this a part of your culture, and be serious about it. Fill your company with people that have fun making good content. Avoid people that have fun screwing other people over. You’ll have fun. You’ll make more money. This isn’t a drug I’m trying to sell you. I’m just a guy in suit that cost a lot more than yours did, telling you what he knows. Thank you. Now let’s bring back out those monkey girls.”
Carla and friends stormed back out on the stage amongst flashing lights to the sound of Animal Collective’s “In the Flowers”—the part right after the initial mellow section when the drums finally kick in. I could definitely hear applause. They were probably glad it was over. I walked off the stage to sit down at Nell’s table.
Nell handed me a glass of champagne and leaned in to tell me, “Now, that wasn’t so terrible. You’re a gifted speaker, Sheldon. I’m proud of you.”
It was the tipsiest I’d seen her. I made sure my lav mic was off.
“We’ll see what the natives have to say.”
It didn’t take long. Mason made his way over to our table and gave me the compulsory handshake.
“Gutsy speech, Shel. I didn’t think you’d go there.”
“Oh, I went there alright. Thanks for the figures by the way. They made for some pretty charts.”
“Transparency, right? It’s unnatural for me, but I’m trying. Uh, my dad wants to have a chat a little later. You don’t want to decline this invitation.”
“I wouldn’t dream of turning down a tête-à-tête with your pops.”
Monday, November 9, 2009
Season 2 Chapter 24
If you’ve never been to the Beverly Hills Hotel, I suggest you get yourself invited there…it is a great hotel and it has a terrific ballroom. This was the site of the Burnett Media Old White Rich Motherfucker’s Fancy Dress & Backpatting Social, thought the sign on Salon A just said “Private Event”. If you were to send a suicide bomber into the room, you’d probably wipe out half the shitty television programming and advertising. But instead, they were sending me, and I could take them all out if I wanted. I was lounging by myself on the terrace overlooking the pool, bar lightly packed behind me with entertainment types; not the kind I was going to be standing in front of shortly – those were industry types.
There were three or four agencies represented there with their jr. suckasses and glorified mailroom attendants. A couple of struggling actresses and baristas passing for models mixed in for good measure. There were a few unkempt looking guys – writers, and your run-of-the-mill studio development veep next to PR debutants. All of them the shallow, unimportant entertainment fragment of media. My crowd was in the Crystal Ballroom, and actually made important plays in the industry, not angling for a chance to bask in the limelight. Fame and recognition aren’t shit. It’s power that matters. If you ever went into Trader Vics or Dantana’s or one of those old school steakhouses in the day, you wouldn’t see these poseur pieces of crap. There’d be a bunch of plain looking people who didn’t try to get themselves into the background of a paparazzi shot. Guys who didn’t need to have their name known, but folks respected who they were because of what they made happen.
It was my fair maiden gin and I, gazing down on a trio of college gals gabbing around some chaise lounges, oblivious to my voyeurism. I could have been three or four deep already, but this was my one and only drink, and I was just looking to shave some of the edge off before my walk to the gallows. Honestly, I could have spent the evening looking out into the night sky, enjoying the muted coolness that passed for autumn in California. I caught a wisp of vanilla and jasmine as she came towards me in a splendidly clingy black cocktail gown. There was enough room to land a plane in the span between the small panels of low cut fabric, but a pair of perfectly enhanced breasts were blocking any change of air traffic navigation.
“Nice night,” she said, walking towards me with a measured but deliberate gait.
“It still could be,” I replied, smiling briefly but then turning my attention back to the field of stars and calm night sky.
“Buy me a drink and maybe it can be.”
She sashayed over to the railing and rested her elbow on it, leaning so that both her breasts and legs crept a bit more out of the dress for display.
“I wish that I could, seeing how a drink makes work a little more tolerable, but I’m about to have one of the most intense nights of my life, and sadly, it won’t be on top of you.”
She pouted and bit her lip playfully, “But I think you want too.”
“Doing and saying what I want to has never been the problem. It’s not that has.”
Another equally beautiful gal in a gold trimmed white tank dress snuggled up to her friend and looked over at me. There was maybe a finger’s width before her dress rode up to show of panties. If she was wearing any.
Miss White leaned over and whispered in Miss Black’s ear and then giggled. And jiggled. “My friend thinks you’re cute,” Miss White said. “Let all have a drink together.”
“If in a few hours when I’m done you’re both still unoccupied, then I’ll introduce you to some guys who can give you the keys to their car and not worry if they ever see it again.”
Their eyes lit up.
“But I warn you,” I added, “they are not as charming or attractive as me,” which got a smile out of the girls.
Neither had a purse, but somehow, when they came over to be, they were able to produce a business card. There was only a phone number on it.
Miss White extended her dainty hand. “Britta,” she introduced, leaning forward so that her dress gently slipped away at the midsection, making the plunging neckline plunge much further.
“Sheldon,” I said, cupping her hand.
Miss Black received my hand from Britta, and caressed it softly. “Zia,” she said.
“A pleasure ladies, but I’m afraid I have to finish this drink and go radically realign some perspectives.”
“Are you sure we can’t realign yours,” Zia asked.
Goddamn it.
There were three or four agencies represented there with their jr. suckasses and glorified mailroom attendants. A couple of struggling actresses and baristas passing for models mixed in for good measure. There were a few unkempt looking guys – writers, and your run-of-the-mill studio development veep next to PR debutants. All of them the shallow, unimportant entertainment fragment of media. My crowd was in the Crystal Ballroom, and actually made important plays in the industry, not angling for a chance to bask in the limelight. Fame and recognition aren’t shit. It’s power that matters. If you ever went into Trader Vics or Dantana’s or one of those old school steakhouses in the day, you wouldn’t see these poseur pieces of crap. There’d be a bunch of plain looking people who didn’t try to get themselves into the background of a paparazzi shot. Guys who didn’t need to have their name known, but folks respected who they were because of what they made happen.
It was my fair maiden gin and I, gazing down on a trio of college gals gabbing around some chaise lounges, oblivious to my voyeurism. I could have been three or four deep already, but this was my one and only drink, and I was just looking to shave some of the edge off before my walk to the gallows. Honestly, I could have spent the evening looking out into the night sky, enjoying the muted coolness that passed for autumn in California. I caught a wisp of vanilla and jasmine as she came towards me in a splendidly clingy black cocktail gown. There was enough room to land a plane in the span between the small panels of low cut fabric, but a pair of perfectly enhanced breasts were blocking any change of air traffic navigation.
“Nice night,” she said, walking towards me with a measured but deliberate gait.
“It still could be,” I replied, smiling briefly but then turning my attention back to the field of stars and calm night sky.
“Buy me a drink and maybe it can be.”
She sashayed over to the railing and rested her elbow on it, leaning so that both her breasts and legs crept a bit more out of the dress for display.
“I wish that I could, seeing how a drink makes work a little more tolerable, but I’m about to have one of the most intense nights of my life, and sadly, it won’t be on top of you.”
She pouted and bit her lip playfully, “But I think you want too.”
“Doing and saying what I want to has never been the problem. It’s not that has.”
Another equally beautiful gal in a gold trimmed white tank dress snuggled up to her friend and looked over at me. There was maybe a finger’s width before her dress rode up to show of panties. If she was wearing any.
Miss White leaned over and whispered in Miss Black’s ear and then giggled. And jiggled. “My friend thinks you’re cute,” Miss White said. “Let all have a drink together.”
“If in a few hours when I’m done you’re both still unoccupied, then I’ll introduce you to some guys who can give you the keys to their car and not worry if they ever see it again.”
Their eyes lit up.
“But I warn you,” I added, “they are not as charming or attractive as me,” which got a smile out of the girls.
Neither had a purse, but somehow, when they came over to be, they were able to produce a business card. There was only a phone number on it.
Miss White extended her dainty hand. “Britta,” she introduced, leaning forward so that her dress gently slipped away at the midsection, making the plunging neckline plunge much further.
“Sheldon,” I said, cupping her hand.
Miss Black received my hand from Britta, and caressed it softly. “Zia,” she said.
“A pleasure ladies, but I’m afraid I have to finish this drink and go radically realign some perspectives.”
“Are you sure we can’t realign yours,” Zia asked.
Goddamn it.
---
I didn’t have much in the way of control. But even though I couldn’t back out, Nell was kind enough to not hover over me or ask when I wanted to charge a little to the company. I doubt she would have signed off on my expenditures without lengthy discussion, so order to make me happy and stay happy about getting up in front of the Burnett Media group and their esteemed colleagues, she had to let me do the engagement the way I wanted to. I straightened the cuff of my navy Brioni pinstripe suit so that it sat just right over my pique front Stefano Ricco shirt, and checked the knot on the Salvatore Ferragamo silk tie that was Windsor knotted. Ng, the tailor at Neiman Marcus had made the pant cuff his at just the perfect height so my John Lobb Oxfords would be shown in all their glory. I had a Patrick Bateman moment impressing myself with the wardrobe I’d selected and Nell paid for, but hey, be happy and stay happy.
I took a slow, deep breath and closed my eyes. Fuck you Burnett Media. Fuck you Ephimria. I exhaled, pushing all of that out of my mind. Inhale power, exhale force. The amber glow of the room faded and no longer glistened like an aura behind my closed eyelids. I opened my eyes and the room was like a black ocean. The incoherent mumbling of the room slowly faded the longer they sat in the dark, and I enjoyed as the moments ticked by, stretching out seemingly longer and longer as they waited for what was going to happen.
There was a low rumbling. Double bass and contrabassoon sustained a double low C, joined shortly by an organ hitting the same note. Thanks to digital editing and one of Vedodius’ mix engineers, we stretched that out a good thirty seconds longer than it was in the regular score before the brass fanfare kicked in. The horns and trumpets, trombones and tubas delivered the arguably the most recognizable three notes in modern composition; the C-G-C melody followed by their climax in natural overtones and timpani drums pounding out. A spot light shown on a monolith at the center of the stage, draped in a black cloth. Around it, half a dozen monkeys started to stand, and as they were reaching full extension, the sheet was drawn away, revealing the monolith to be a giant television with two radio broadcast antenna flanking the sides. A neon colored Burnett Media was made to look like it was being zapped between them, arcing so that a small satellite in between the two words bridged the connection. It went perfectly, timed to the final crescendo of the Einleitung. If I could see, I bet a tear would be hanging off the corner of old Gaston Burnett’s eye. There’s no topping Also Sprach Zarathustra for an opening.
There were applause, but the opening was not finished as the last triumphant note rang out. Before it faded, the distortion of guitars kicked in, and adults who’d never listed to anything heavier than James Taylor or bothered to see what their teenagers had been focused on in their rooms got blasted by the fury of Soundgarden’s “Jesus Christ Pose”. A row of strobe lights fired off at the audience as the monkeys undulated to the grinding riffs and frenetic drumming, unzipping their monkey costumes to reveal women clad in leather bodysuits. The display rotated around, bringing me to face the audience as my monkey masked sexpots writhed in strobe-motion. I stepped off the display which completed its rotation back to the broadcast monolith, and raised my hand. Waiting for the right downbeat, I dropped my arm and the music cut, and a small burst of sparklers ignited at the foot of the stage in emphasis as the strobes switched to full power and sustained a blast of light that made us stringy stick figures in its glare for a moment. The room cut back to blackness, the only light coming from the Burnett Media logo on the stage.
A spattering of applause came, less than the response to the Zarathustra portion. Maybe I should have warned them of the seizure-causing possibility from those strobes. Or my dirty monkey babes. Eh….fuck ‘em. The lights came up to around half brightness and I was alone on stage. I clasped my hands and gave a slight bow of acknowledgement to the room. One of the monkey gals brought out a stool, which had an empty champagne flute and a lavaliere mic, which I clipped in the lapel of my coat. A hand towel was flopped over one of the rungs. I nodded at my monkey assistant in thanks and surveyed the room.
“Clearly, Cam Branson and his pal Jimmy will not be here to perform their ventriloquist act tonight.”
There were nervous laughs, but still a good number of dazed and confused people in the room.
“Good evening everyone, and thank you for attending tonight’s dinner and mini-gala. For those of you attending your first one of these, I assure you, this is not typical. And for those of you who have been privileged to have returned to another one of these evenings, aren’t you glad it’s not typical?”
More nervous laughs, folks still settling in and calming down from their shock assault by simian dancers and alternative rock.
“My name is Sheldon, and we’re stuck together for the next hour or so. I promise you that no matter how rough things get, I’m not leaving. So let me point out the exits are here, here and here,” I added gesturing with both hands to the emergency exits on either side of the room. “I won’t take it personally if you want to save yourself the embarrassment of having to walk out in the middle by leaving now.”
Everybody stayed put.
“Well, okay then, now you’ve been warned. As I said, my name is Sheldon, and some of you may recognize me from years of television that was playing in the background while you were eating dinner or falling asleep or maybe even having a romantic moment. So in a way, perhaps some us are a little more intimately acquainted than others. Most recently, I had a little program called Another Fifteen Minutes on your fine Classic News Channel.”
I paused for the rudimentary applause that followed – not for my show but the channel itself.
“Thank you, whichever one you’re clapping for. But since we are here regarding Burnett Media and we are fortunate to have it’s founder and other top brass here, let us take a moment to say thanks to them for host this event and congratulate them on the excellent ratings and ad revenue so far in this quarter.”
My ape bitches crisscrossed the room with large trays of champagne, distributing the glasses to all the tables. The display behind me turned to reveal my cane and a bottle of Moët White Star, which I took and brought back to my stool.
“Shortly after I received the good news that I would be speaking to you all tonight, I celebrated by getting stabbed in the leg. Other than the fading tingle of nerve damage, which continues to be less frequent, I got a short supply of painkillers and this nifty little plank. So you know, there are easier ways to get painkillers, so don’t try this at home, okay? One of my associates got this for me, and though I regret that I’m not turning into Dr. Gregory House and getting to flip pills and bound about with a cane, I’m happily just as fractious and gruff. Just a few more doctors visits and physical therapy before this’ll be just another trinket of affection, so I’m trying to make the most of it now.”
I held the shaft firm and twisted the top, working both in opposite directions until it unthreaded from the scabbard. Drawing the blade from the sheath, I admired it and displayed it for the onlookers.
“This was much more practical than a wheelchair with a flamethrower.” A better response of laughs than before.
“So over the past few weeks I’ve had my share of free time healing and preparing for tonight, so I tried to perfect this,” I said, exchanging the empty cane for the champagne. “But all that practice has resulted in a lot of champagne that I couldn’t let go to waste. Let’s hope I can pull this off in front of an audience. And not only just in my socks and underwear.”
I held the bottle out and gave a good swing at it, angling it slightly to whisk the cork up and out, which it did with a satisfying pop. Some effervescent mist sprayed out, but there was no geyser, and more importantly, I didn’t take off a finger in the process. I poured myself a glass and re-sheathed my blade.
“To our hosts, Burnett Media and Gaston Burnett…cheers!”
The room resonated with cheers and applause, as Gaston Burnett, who was in a table towards the back stood up and waved in acknowledgement.
“Sir,” I asked, “Can I have my old job back?”
He shrugged and held out his hands, which made the salutations taper off into mild amusement.
“Well, we’ll look into that later,” I said nodding and then sipping the champagne. I put it down on the stool, and as I wiped my hands with the towel, shook my head no.
“Okay ladies and gentlemen…and marketing and advertising folks, we’re done with the silly stunts and breaking the ice, so let’s just talk. And by talk I mean you sit there approvingly while I prattle on, occasionally taking a moment to make a dent in this bottle. You okay there, boss?”
Nell was sitting a table on the far left of the room, looking as though she was trying to rein in a full blown panic attack. I turned to one of the chimp gals, “Bring her a full bottle, please.” Nell slowly held up her hand and raised two fingers, which titillated the audience.
“A woman after my own heart,” I added, raising my glass in salute to her.
“As I said before, I was, up until recently, part of the Classic News Channel family. Before that I worked across the television landscape for quite a few networks, doing everything from copy editor to newsroom manager to producer. I’ve been in this business longer than many of you have had your mistresses, and I even know some of them because I made the introductions. Nine or ten years ago I was able to attend a similar event, enjoying endangered species and drinking exquisite vintages, back when Burnett was just a midsized newspaper and radio company that was partnering with my old employer NewsCorp for distribution. Legal issues keep me from discussing the circumstances as to why I’m here before you instead of with you, but that doesn’t say anything sharing about my feelings.”
If Mason Burnett’s sphincter tightening at the thought of that could be described as anything, I would guess that it would be like that of a black hole or whirlpool, and thankfully, it wasn’t drawing us all into it. I had to take a glance at my helpers in their sexy outfits to wash the mental image away to continue.
“It made me very sad and angry to have to leave this industry, because for so long it had been my life and identity. But I had a responsibility as a journalist, entertainer and producer to uphold, and that also extends to my actions and feelings and abilities. That’s one of the ideas I will be touching upon – responsibility. One of the best things to happen to me leaving my career was the opportunity to reflect on it and reevaluate my responsibilities – to myself and to my employers. And sometimes, like tonight, you have to do something that’s asked of you even though you do not want to.” I added, “With the help of much alcohol and focusing my attention on unrequited feelings of affection, one can deal with anything.”
"A young lady who I know, an associate, was kind enough to share the story of Billy Ransom with me not long ago, which has some parallels. Apparently, he was one of those guys who also had himself a “crisis of faith” and they would say in the ecumenical world. Now Billy, he was a former tobacco executive, a company man who spent his years saying ‘go team’ and really meant it. And like all good servants, he was rewarded with some terminal cancer, the side effect of enjoying your own products. By the time he’d found all this out, he’d already left the company and rattled the feathers of some of the top birds for reasons that are not really known to this day. He was a public speaker by then, and once he saw his days were numbered, he ended up booking a gig with his old employer.”
One of my lady primates came on stage to deliver a manila envelope.
“During his talk, Billy Ransom opened up a manila envelope, just like this and shot six of his former co-workers before shooting himself.”
I reached into the envelope and gripped the cool metal in my hand. Surprise, you motherfuckers.
I took a slow, deep breath and closed my eyes. Fuck you Burnett Media. Fuck you Ephimria. I exhaled, pushing all of that out of my mind. Inhale power, exhale force. The amber glow of the room faded and no longer glistened like an aura behind my closed eyelids. I opened my eyes and the room was like a black ocean. The incoherent mumbling of the room slowly faded the longer they sat in the dark, and I enjoyed as the moments ticked by, stretching out seemingly longer and longer as they waited for what was going to happen.
There was a low rumbling. Double bass and contrabassoon sustained a double low C, joined shortly by an organ hitting the same note. Thanks to digital editing and one of Vedodius’ mix engineers, we stretched that out a good thirty seconds longer than it was in the regular score before the brass fanfare kicked in. The horns and trumpets, trombones and tubas delivered the arguably the most recognizable three notes in modern composition; the C-G-C melody followed by their climax in natural overtones and timpani drums pounding out. A spot light shown on a monolith at the center of the stage, draped in a black cloth. Around it, half a dozen monkeys started to stand, and as they were reaching full extension, the sheet was drawn away, revealing the monolith to be a giant television with two radio broadcast antenna flanking the sides. A neon colored Burnett Media was made to look like it was being zapped between them, arcing so that a small satellite in between the two words bridged the connection. It went perfectly, timed to the final crescendo of the Einleitung. If I could see, I bet a tear would be hanging off the corner of old Gaston Burnett’s eye. There’s no topping Also Sprach Zarathustra for an opening.
There were applause, but the opening was not finished as the last triumphant note rang out. Before it faded, the distortion of guitars kicked in, and adults who’d never listed to anything heavier than James Taylor or bothered to see what their teenagers had been focused on in their rooms got blasted by the fury of Soundgarden’s “Jesus Christ Pose”. A row of strobe lights fired off at the audience as the monkeys undulated to the grinding riffs and frenetic drumming, unzipping their monkey costumes to reveal women clad in leather bodysuits. The display rotated around, bringing me to face the audience as my monkey masked sexpots writhed in strobe-motion. I stepped off the display which completed its rotation back to the broadcast monolith, and raised my hand. Waiting for the right downbeat, I dropped my arm and the music cut, and a small burst of sparklers ignited at the foot of the stage in emphasis as the strobes switched to full power and sustained a blast of light that made us stringy stick figures in its glare for a moment. The room cut back to blackness, the only light coming from the Burnett Media logo on the stage.
A spattering of applause came, less than the response to the Zarathustra portion. Maybe I should have warned them of the seizure-causing possibility from those strobes. Or my dirty monkey babes. Eh….fuck ‘em. The lights came up to around half brightness and I was alone on stage. I clasped my hands and gave a slight bow of acknowledgement to the room. One of the monkey gals brought out a stool, which had an empty champagne flute and a lavaliere mic, which I clipped in the lapel of my coat. A hand towel was flopped over one of the rungs. I nodded at my monkey assistant in thanks and surveyed the room.
“Clearly, Cam Branson and his pal Jimmy will not be here to perform their ventriloquist act tonight.”
There were nervous laughs, but still a good number of dazed and confused people in the room.
“Good evening everyone, and thank you for attending tonight’s dinner and mini-gala. For those of you attending your first one of these, I assure you, this is not typical. And for those of you who have been privileged to have returned to another one of these evenings, aren’t you glad it’s not typical?”
More nervous laughs, folks still settling in and calming down from their shock assault by simian dancers and alternative rock.
“My name is Sheldon, and we’re stuck together for the next hour or so. I promise you that no matter how rough things get, I’m not leaving. So let me point out the exits are here, here and here,” I added gesturing with both hands to the emergency exits on either side of the room. “I won’t take it personally if you want to save yourself the embarrassment of having to walk out in the middle by leaving now.”
Everybody stayed put.
“Well, okay then, now you’ve been warned. As I said, my name is Sheldon, and some of you may recognize me from years of television that was playing in the background while you were eating dinner or falling asleep or maybe even having a romantic moment. So in a way, perhaps some us are a little more intimately acquainted than others. Most recently, I had a little program called Another Fifteen Minutes on your fine Classic News Channel.”
I paused for the rudimentary applause that followed – not for my show but the channel itself.
“Thank you, whichever one you’re clapping for. But since we are here regarding Burnett Media and we are fortunate to have it’s founder and other top brass here, let us take a moment to say thanks to them for host this event and congratulate them on the excellent ratings and ad revenue so far in this quarter.”
My ape bitches crisscrossed the room with large trays of champagne, distributing the glasses to all the tables. The display behind me turned to reveal my cane and a bottle of Moët White Star, which I took and brought back to my stool.
“Shortly after I received the good news that I would be speaking to you all tonight, I celebrated by getting stabbed in the leg. Other than the fading tingle of nerve damage, which continues to be less frequent, I got a short supply of painkillers and this nifty little plank. So you know, there are easier ways to get painkillers, so don’t try this at home, okay? One of my associates got this for me, and though I regret that I’m not turning into Dr. Gregory House and getting to flip pills and bound about with a cane, I’m happily just as fractious and gruff. Just a few more doctors visits and physical therapy before this’ll be just another trinket of affection, so I’m trying to make the most of it now.”
I held the shaft firm and twisted the top, working both in opposite directions until it unthreaded from the scabbard. Drawing the blade from the sheath, I admired it and displayed it for the onlookers.
“This was much more practical than a wheelchair with a flamethrower.” A better response of laughs than before.
“So over the past few weeks I’ve had my share of free time healing and preparing for tonight, so I tried to perfect this,” I said, exchanging the empty cane for the champagne. “But all that practice has resulted in a lot of champagne that I couldn’t let go to waste. Let’s hope I can pull this off in front of an audience. And not only just in my socks and underwear.”
I held the bottle out and gave a good swing at it, angling it slightly to whisk the cork up and out, which it did with a satisfying pop. Some effervescent mist sprayed out, but there was no geyser, and more importantly, I didn’t take off a finger in the process. I poured myself a glass and re-sheathed my blade.
“To our hosts, Burnett Media and Gaston Burnett…cheers!”
The room resonated with cheers and applause, as Gaston Burnett, who was in a table towards the back stood up and waved in acknowledgement.
“Sir,” I asked, “Can I have my old job back?”
He shrugged and held out his hands, which made the salutations taper off into mild amusement.
“Well, we’ll look into that later,” I said nodding and then sipping the champagne. I put it down on the stool, and as I wiped my hands with the towel, shook my head no.
“Okay ladies and gentlemen…and marketing and advertising folks, we’re done with the silly stunts and breaking the ice, so let’s just talk. And by talk I mean you sit there approvingly while I prattle on, occasionally taking a moment to make a dent in this bottle. You okay there, boss?”
Nell was sitting a table on the far left of the room, looking as though she was trying to rein in a full blown panic attack. I turned to one of the chimp gals, “Bring her a full bottle, please.” Nell slowly held up her hand and raised two fingers, which titillated the audience.
“A woman after my own heart,” I added, raising my glass in salute to her.
“As I said before, I was, up until recently, part of the Classic News Channel family. Before that I worked across the television landscape for quite a few networks, doing everything from copy editor to newsroom manager to producer. I’ve been in this business longer than many of you have had your mistresses, and I even know some of them because I made the introductions. Nine or ten years ago I was able to attend a similar event, enjoying endangered species and drinking exquisite vintages, back when Burnett was just a midsized newspaper and radio company that was partnering with my old employer NewsCorp for distribution. Legal issues keep me from discussing the circumstances as to why I’m here before you instead of with you, but that doesn’t say anything sharing about my feelings.”
If Mason Burnett’s sphincter tightening at the thought of that could be described as anything, I would guess that it would be like that of a black hole or whirlpool, and thankfully, it wasn’t drawing us all into it. I had to take a glance at my helpers in their sexy outfits to wash the mental image away to continue.
“It made me very sad and angry to have to leave this industry, because for so long it had been my life and identity. But I had a responsibility as a journalist, entertainer and producer to uphold, and that also extends to my actions and feelings and abilities. That’s one of the ideas I will be touching upon – responsibility. One of the best things to happen to me leaving my career was the opportunity to reflect on it and reevaluate my responsibilities – to myself and to my employers. And sometimes, like tonight, you have to do something that’s asked of you even though you do not want to.” I added, “With the help of much alcohol and focusing my attention on unrequited feelings of affection, one can deal with anything.”
"A young lady who I know, an associate, was kind enough to share the story of Billy Ransom with me not long ago, which has some parallels. Apparently, he was one of those guys who also had himself a “crisis of faith” and they would say in the ecumenical world. Now Billy, he was a former tobacco executive, a company man who spent his years saying ‘go team’ and really meant it. And like all good servants, he was rewarded with some terminal cancer, the side effect of enjoying your own products. By the time he’d found all this out, he’d already left the company and rattled the feathers of some of the top birds for reasons that are not really known to this day. He was a public speaker by then, and once he saw his days were numbered, he ended up booking a gig with his old employer.”
One of my lady primates came on stage to deliver a manila envelope.
“During his talk, Billy Ransom opened up a manila envelope, just like this and shot six of his former co-workers before shooting himself.”
I reached into the envelope and gripped the cool metal in my hand. Surprise, you motherfuckers.
---
The flash of the camera made several of the people in the room gasp, as I drew it from the envelope and popped a shot.
“Can everybody lean in towards the center a little,” I asked. “I may not have gotten everybody in that one.”
There was mumbling and stunned reactions, and I looked over at Nell, who facepalmed herself. I snapped a photo of that too. And took a few more of the crowd, who were gathering their wits and checking to see they didn’t soil themselves. And from the back, cutting through the fog of noise was Gaston Burnett, chortling with belly laughs at the absurdity and results of the prank. It quieted the room down as their top dog didn’t seem to be afflicted with the same chickenshit fears that I would bother to waste a bullet on any of them. Nell didn’t even bother to pour a glass and drank directly from the bottle. I handed the digital camera off to an assistant, who I gave a little slap on her rump.
“Grrrrr,” she grunted and turned back around to look at me. Even underneath the mask I could feel the disapproving scowl. I just shrugged and raised my glass to her, finishing the glass and pouring another. Sorry, Carla, but that ass was just too luscious not to give a slap too. It wasn’t what we’d discussed as I hatched my grand presentation, but since there was no way to get anybody in there to watch me dance to their organ music, you knew that being part of the circus was the only way you could observe it.
The conversation went like this ten days ago:
“Can everybody lean in towards the center a little,” I asked. “I may not have gotten everybody in that one.”
There was mumbling and stunned reactions, and I looked over at Nell, who facepalmed herself. I snapped a photo of that too. And took a few more of the crowd, who were gathering their wits and checking to see they didn’t soil themselves. And from the back, cutting through the fog of noise was Gaston Burnett, chortling with belly laughs at the absurdity and results of the prank. It quieted the room down as their top dog didn’t seem to be afflicted with the same chickenshit fears that I would bother to waste a bullet on any of them. Nell didn’t even bother to pour a glass and drank directly from the bottle. I handed the digital camera off to an assistant, who I gave a little slap on her rump.
“Grrrrr,” she grunted and turned back around to look at me. Even underneath the mask I could feel the disapproving scowl. I just shrugged and raised my glass to her, finishing the glass and pouring another. Sorry, Carla, but that ass was just too luscious not to give a slap too. It wasn’t what we’d discussed as I hatched my grand presentation, but since there was no way to get anybody in there to watch me dance to their organ music, you knew that being part of the circus was the only way you could observe it.
The conversation went like this ten days ago:
“You’re seriously going to make them think you’re going to shoot them?”
“You say that like it’s a bad idea,” I defended myself. “It’s not illegal, I mean, I’m not making an actual threat.”
“Well,” Carla thought, “I don’t think it actually constitutes one, but it’s not in good taste.”
“These are television and media businesspeople. They don’t even understand what good taste is. If I had women gyrating doing a strip tease in gorilla suits…only something as stupid and bizarre as that could faze them. And maybe not even that”
“I don’t know that Nell is going to go for it.”
“Probably not,” I reckoned. “But if I’m going to go down in a blaze of glory, it should be spectacular.”
“Why does it have to be like that?”
“It doesn’t, but when I set out to do something, I don’t like to have to compromise. I just like to go at things head on. You may have noticed I’m a little direct.”
“Tact never worked for you,” she questioned.
“Let me ask this – I’ve been playing it cool with you instead of being aggressive. Where has that gotten me?”
“That’s different, Sheldon.”
“I don’t see how?”
“It’s complicated…”
“Look Carla, it’s not a bald spot – I just got a haircut that was too short so it looks like – “
“That’s not it at all,” she interrupted.
“It’s just what then?”
“I’m just not ready to be involved with anyone…and it’s not for lack of interest in you or anything like that. This divorce, Rochelle. It’s hard to deal with that and still do my job. And doing talking gigs. As much as I want to, there’s no room for me to handle it, or put the time in that it requires. And that wouldn’t be fair to you, or me.”
“Has the time we’ve spent together not done anything to change that,” I asked.
“It’s made it worse,” Carla admitted. “Because it is harder now that I have feelings for you.”
“But not strong enough to follow through on those feelings…”
“Sheldon, that night at the ballet, I was so tempted to come inside afterwards…I think about that a lot. But if I did, I don’t think things would have worked out well.”
“I wasn’t that drunk. It would have still worked,” I smiled.
“That’s not what I was worried about. I wanted to, and I still think about if I did. But this is hard for me.”
“If you’re not ready, then I understand. I don’t like it, but you’re not leaving me with much choice.”
“No, I’m not.” And with that, Carla kissed me. Not a peck on the cheek but on the mouth. It was unexpected, and once I realized it was happening, it turned from a kiss to an embrace. I lost track of how long it was, but it could not have been as long as it felt, which is always the hallmark of a good kiss.
“That’s not complicating this at all.”
Carla smiled back. “When isn’t it complicated?”
“Tell me…how do you feel about putting on a gorilla suit and watch things get complicated?”
“As long as I don’t have to do any dancing.”
---
“Okay, so where were we? Yes, responsibility and regret. The more you have of one, you get more of the other. When I was a student in college, I briefly interned at a local television station. Now, I’d already worked broadcast consoles and even done some spoof programming, but this was my first time inside a real facility. Having learned the technical aspects and practiced them, I was far more learned than many of the actual, paid personnel at the station regarding their equipment. And did I have a chance to show any of that skill or knowledge? Absolutely not!
I was the most well educated janitor the place had ever seen. It was slow there, because it was the holidays, so a lot of folks were either traveling or with their families, and I figured that would be exactly the time I could show my stuff and make myself useful, perhaps wrangle a job there at some point in the future. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the production manager called me into his office, which reeked of cigars and cheap aftershave. He put his sweaty hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Sheldon, I have a very important task for you. Can you take care of this for us?’ As you could imagine, I was filled with excitement.
‘Okay, son,’ he said, ‘we need you to go over to University Hospital.’
‘No problem,’ I told him. ‘Should I take a camera and some recording equipment or what exactly is the story?’
‘We need you to get some thing for Mr. Clarkstern. His medicine is available and we need you to pick it up.’
‘His medicine?’
‘Yes, his ear medicine’
‘You want me to go to University Hospital, now, to pick up ear medicine for the station owner?’
‘Technically, it’s his father’s ear medicine. He’s also Mr. Clarkstern.’
‘It’s almost 3:30 and that’s across town,’ I protested, but it mattered little to him.
Needless to say, I did go across town, as rush hour started, to pick up the ear medicine for the father of the station owner. And if you’re wondering if that helped in any way, shape or form to get me in their good graces, think again. It was one of the first professional experiences I had that made me want to question authority, and certainly not the last. I’m not going to ask any of you to raise hands or anything like that, but I guarantee all of you have had those moments where you wonder what the hell your boss is thinking, am I right?”
There were some sight nods and people smiling in agreement. “Mason,” I said, you better not be nodding your head,” to which father and son both laughed along with the rest.
“There is a culture of servitude, where we are put through our paces and expected to jump through hoops of fire because we’re told to, and it’s done out of blind allegiance. Loyalty is not the same as devotion, and people do not understand the difference anymore. And the worst part is that somebody made you have to do terrible things while you paid your dues, so eventually you have to make the next one after you pay theirs. I hate to be the one to say it, but doing the job is the dues, not the stupid, power play shit that happens to coincide with it. And while respecting your bosses is important, you should respect them enough, and yourself, to not take an extra helping of crap just because they’ve got a spoon.
Supposing you’re actually in a position where you’re not being subject to outrageous demands, then you absolutely have to open your mouth and keep from rubber stamping something it. I regret that I ran that errand because it was nothing more than a power play with my lack of position being taken advantage of, and while I took on that responsibility, it was one of the last times I would ever agree to something without knowing what I was getting in return. And as some of my former colleagues know, when something didn’t agree with me, somehow I was going to make my feeling known.” A brief pause to dab some sweat from my brow and sip a little more champagne.
“I feel like I got a lot of that chutzpah from my mother. That and her love of libations,” I continued.
“When I was five or so, we were out at Woolworth’s doing some shopping, when a man who was doing a marketing study asked if we could spare a few moments. It was for Matchbox cars, and they had a whole table full of new toy cars, all of which were prototypes for upcoming lines. They would show me a few at a time and ask me what I thought of them, which ones I liked the most, and why. They would make different pairings and offer them up to me, noting what choices I made and then ask even more questions. It whole thing probably took 15 or 20 minutes, and afterwards we went one our way to continue shopping.
My mother took me to the toy department there and told me to pick out a toy car for myself. I didn’t understand why, because when I was being good, she would tell me we were going to the toy store, and she hadn’t mentioned it at all. When I asked, my mother said it wasn’t right to show a child all those toys and have them play with them, and then not give them a toy when they were done. The disparity of fairness was clear but the gravity of the meaning grew as I got older and could see where it was necessary to assert myself in calling situations out that didn’t’ seem right or were not fair.
For the record, I picked out a red 1955 Cadillac convertible with a white stripe running down the side that had a little plastic Popeye in the driver’s seat.”
I was the most well educated janitor the place had ever seen. It was slow there, because it was the holidays, so a lot of folks were either traveling or with their families, and I figured that would be exactly the time I could show my stuff and make myself useful, perhaps wrangle a job there at some point in the future. It was a Thursday afternoon, and the production manager called me into his office, which reeked of cigars and cheap aftershave. He put his sweaty hand on my shoulder and said, ‘Sheldon, I have a very important task for you. Can you take care of this for us?’ As you could imagine, I was filled with excitement.
‘Okay, son,’ he said, ‘we need you to go over to University Hospital.’
‘No problem,’ I told him. ‘Should I take a camera and some recording equipment or what exactly is the story?’
‘We need you to get some thing for Mr. Clarkstern. His medicine is available and we need you to pick it up.’
‘His medicine?’
‘Yes, his ear medicine’
‘You want me to go to University Hospital, now, to pick up ear medicine for the station owner?’
‘Technically, it’s his father’s ear medicine. He’s also Mr. Clarkstern.’
‘It’s almost 3:30 and that’s across town,’ I protested, but it mattered little to him.
Needless to say, I did go across town, as rush hour started, to pick up the ear medicine for the father of the station owner. And if you’re wondering if that helped in any way, shape or form to get me in their good graces, think again. It was one of the first professional experiences I had that made me want to question authority, and certainly not the last. I’m not going to ask any of you to raise hands or anything like that, but I guarantee all of you have had those moments where you wonder what the hell your boss is thinking, am I right?”
There were some sight nods and people smiling in agreement. “Mason,” I said, you better not be nodding your head,” to which father and son both laughed along with the rest.
“There is a culture of servitude, where we are put through our paces and expected to jump through hoops of fire because we’re told to, and it’s done out of blind allegiance. Loyalty is not the same as devotion, and people do not understand the difference anymore. And the worst part is that somebody made you have to do terrible things while you paid your dues, so eventually you have to make the next one after you pay theirs. I hate to be the one to say it, but doing the job is the dues, not the stupid, power play shit that happens to coincide with it. And while respecting your bosses is important, you should respect them enough, and yourself, to not take an extra helping of crap just because they’ve got a spoon.
Supposing you’re actually in a position where you’re not being subject to outrageous demands, then you absolutely have to open your mouth and keep from rubber stamping something it. I regret that I ran that errand because it was nothing more than a power play with my lack of position being taken advantage of, and while I took on that responsibility, it was one of the last times I would ever agree to something without knowing what I was getting in return. And as some of my former colleagues know, when something didn’t agree with me, somehow I was going to make my feeling known.” A brief pause to dab some sweat from my brow and sip a little more champagne.
“I feel like I got a lot of that chutzpah from my mother. That and her love of libations,” I continued.
“When I was five or so, we were out at Woolworth’s doing some shopping, when a man who was doing a marketing study asked if we could spare a few moments. It was for Matchbox cars, and they had a whole table full of new toy cars, all of which were prototypes for upcoming lines. They would show me a few at a time and ask me what I thought of them, which ones I liked the most, and why. They would make different pairings and offer them up to me, noting what choices I made and then ask even more questions. It whole thing probably took 15 or 20 minutes, and afterwards we went one our way to continue shopping.
My mother took me to the toy department there and told me to pick out a toy car for myself. I didn’t understand why, because when I was being good, she would tell me we were going to the toy store, and she hadn’t mentioned it at all. When I asked, my mother said it wasn’t right to show a child all those toys and have them play with them, and then not give them a toy when they were done. The disparity of fairness was clear but the gravity of the meaning grew as I got older and could see where it was necessary to assert myself in calling situations out that didn’t’ seem right or were not fair.
For the record, I picked out a red 1955 Cadillac convertible with a white stripe running down the side that had a little plastic Popeye in the driver’s seat.”
---
“What else do you have,” Fran asked me, as we sat at his kitchen table.
“Not much,” I shared. “I was hoping that the Billy Ransom bit would send everybody running for the door. At least, those who didn’t leave after the opening, or who didn’t stroke out from the lights.
“You’re fucked.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What’s there to tell? It’s a week away and I still don’t have my thoughts in order.”
“So you’re going to talk about taking responsibility for yourself and how that’s something lacking in the biz these days, what else do you feel you need to say about the state of things?”
“Besides owning up to the fact that taking risks is the only way to accomplish anything truly satisfying?”
“Well, that’s something. It was a risk to start talking to people.”
“A forced risk,” I corrected.
“Maybe you can spin that somehow and leave out the ‘resigned under a veil of secrecy and shame’ part”
“I’m killing myself trying to find any relevant part from my life and experiences to keep these people involved and not slit their wrists with a butter knife.”
Fran posed a question. “What is the angle that these other speakers have?”
“You mean, what gimmick?”
“Does it have to be that way?”
I was still wobbling around on the crutches, which were reaching their limit for usefulness. “When I get back from the bathroom, I will let you know.”
“There’s no bathroom break when you’re on stage, Shel.”
He was right.
“Okay,” I told him after thinking about it in my urinary moment of solitude. “There are four types of speakers – people who had something bad happen to them, overcome it, and then incorporate that into their talks. There are people who have some quirky talent and use that to showcase what they say, and people who have a particular career and talk about it. And then there’s people who are famous and parlay their celebrity status into a speaking gig.”
“And you’re somewhere between the third and fourth, and that’s being generous with the celebrity part.”
“Did I ever tell you about when I was near three years old and I met my childhood friend Jed McMahon on a playground? I was too young to recall, but my mother told me the story of our first interaction. We were playing in a sandbox at the park – “
“Wait,” Fran said. “How is that relevant?”
“It’s about a celebrity…Jed was in that movie The Goobers. It’s a cult classic with him and a bunch of other child stars.”
“Your point?”
“Hmmm…you’re right.”
“Okay, you can go on with the responsibility angle, but you’ve also got all kinds of ammo and angles with Ephimira.”
“But I can’t come right out and clobber them. I’d be safer wearing a Yankee’s jersey in Boston.”
“You can’t jam a hand grenade up Burnett Media’s ass and pull the pin either, but you can find a more subtle way to blow them up.”
“You should call in a bomb threat,” I said without any hint of humor.
“You know that’s not what I was going for.”
“I know, but it would help.”
“You’ve got Ephimria, you’ve got wild stories from the show (keep my name out of that, okay), you’ve got fire and brimstone feelings about the state of media and why they can’t keep a decent show on the air but clone all the shit ones. You can find a way to get those feeling across without being too offense. This thing is just a way for Burnett to suck up to their constituents…they wine and dine and show them a good time. You just have to be interesting and entertaining, and you being unable to stop being you, can also be slightly subversive and sarcastic. Stop trying to make it the most important thing ever in your life, and just get them to not throw their chairs at you. If you get out of there alive then you’ll probably land the deal for Nell. And if not, you tried.”
“Yeah, tried and failed.”
“Not tried and died,” Fran modified. “And if you really fuck it up and she fires you, then at least you’ll have more free time to hang out with me. I’ll even ask Mel to call upon her sister to come and pay a visit to cheer you up.
Monday, November 2, 2009
Season 2 Chapter 23
My crutches were lame. They pointed out to everyone in the room that I lacked the ability to ambulate in a normal manner-- that I was in fact lame. They were the temporary underarm kind, which invited a constant drone of “What happened?” from nearly everyone I encountered. Answering with a few particular conditions such as knee surgery for an old nagging sports injury or brutal ski accident could quickly conclude the conversation in most cases. I began to use “Tripped on a curb” for the folks I had encountered earlier in the week. These types of conditions people can get their heads around relatively quickly. A knife wound is not one of those conditions. Once you say, “Knife wound,” the concerned citizen inevitably wants to know the whole story. If I were in the Bronx, no one would bat an eyelash. But I wasn’t in the Bronx.
Luckily one time when I responded with “Knife wound,” a curious woman replied indignantly, “Okay, I get it. Too embarrassing to talk about. Sorry for showing a little compassion.”
To which I replied, “You seem to have the terms intrusive and compassionate confused with each other. I gave you exactly what you wanted.”
I almost wished I were using forearm crutches. If my crutches were forearm crutches, no one would be asking me what happened. They would all assume I was palsied. Plus I could throat punch people without losing a crutch.
A cane was what I needed. A cane has a slim and low profile. A cane adds an air of sophistication and mystery. When the cane is in use by one hand, your other hand remains free to wave and grab ass. A cane is great place to hide stuff. A cane is simply a great all around prop.
The painkillers put me in a weird mood. The idea popped into my head that I needed a cane sword. I would be ready for the next knife fight, and I would have the biggest knife. I actually found a cutlery shop, which carried a variety of cane swords. I really liked the ones with the dragonheads and skulls but felt their aggressive and morbid symbolism would telegraph that my cane concealed a deadly weapon. It was the moment I decided on a very simple model that I pictured myself at the airport the next day navigating the security gauntlet. My cane sword dream evaporated as I pictured the TSA agent confiscating my instrument of death.
How about a cane with a built-in booze flask? That would put two things I needed in one awesome package. Then I realized that there wasn’t a zip-lock bag in the world big enough to hold a cane. The specter of the TSA ruined my dream once again. At least with my injury I’d be getting a choice seat on the plane albeit without a cane.
My experience at Orlando International Airport the next day was actually quite pleasant. Nell had reserved a wheelchair for me. I bypassed pretty much every line the airport could throw at me. My crutches had a much easier time making it through the x-ray machine than any sword cane would have had. The skycap pushing me around was a jovial fellow. I let him do most of the talking.
“You know, Shel, I’m getting pretty close to retiring, and I finally have enough saved up to get my little barbeque shack started. I make a mean brisket, my friend. When I open up, I want you to be one of my first customers. Next time you’re in town, I guarantee you Gary’s Grease Pit will be open for business, celebrating fast cars and good eats. I know having the word “grease” in the name seems a little counterintuitive, but I heard of this place called the Heart Attack Grill that’s making it work. I wanted to steal a little of that magic I suppose. Plus the whole hot rod theme fits into the name. I can’t wait for you to try my brisket.”
We had already gotten past bonding over having sustained similar injuries. The knife that stuck me was matched by the piece of shrapnel Gary caught in his leg while serving in Vietnam. I left the man with a fat tip. I didn’t even care if he was making everything up about the restaurant and receiving the Purple Heart. If the man was emulating a person emanating positive vibrations, he deserved an Oscar.
I was the first passenger on the plane. I made myself a nice little ottoman using my carry-on luggage taking advantage of all the legroom by the bulkhead. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, so I pulled it out to take the call. I looked at the little display on the phone to see who was calling. The screen wasn’t even lit up. I unlocked the phone. There was no call. That was a little odd.
Recalling that radio transmitters and receivers weren’t cool to be using during take off, I went ahead and turned off my phone. A few minutes later, I felt it vibrating again. Didn’t I just turn it off? Maybe I thought I did but didn’t. I pulled out the phone again to take the call or maybe read the text message. The screen was dark. The phone was off. Did someone slip something in my drink? Was I starting to trip down a road I really did not want to go down while stuck on an airplane?
I held the phone in my hand to wait for the next phantom vibration. A few minutes later, I felt the vibration, but it wasn’t in my hand. It was in my pocket. I reached into my pocket only to confirm what I already knew. There was nothing in it. I kept my hand in my pocket waiting for the next wave. It came a few minutes later. Apparently the minor nerve damage I had incurred from the knife wound was causing an area of my left quadriceps to quiver involuntarily. It just had to be right where my phone sits in my pocket. I hoped this wasn’t going to be permanent thing. My phone always vibrates a little before it is about to ring. When this occurs, my hand just slips into my pocket. I had committed this to muscle memory long ago. This would be hard habit to unlearn. Now being a lefty had one more strike against it. Every camcorder I’ve ever owned was designed for righties. Ink smears, writing desks, and potato peelers confound me. I had to use my strongest punching hand to parry a knife attack from a righty. The list goes on and on.
After arriving at LAX and collecting our baggage, Nell intervened as I turned to catch a shuttle to where my car was parked.
“I hope you’re not driving home, Sheldon.”
“Well, I’m going to have to figure out how to do this eventually. I’ll have to take the brace off of course. All the pedal work is with my right leg, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Let’s not take any chances with Burnett Media coming up. I’m happy to drive you home.”
“I can’t just leave my car here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have Sunday and Peter take turns running errands for you. Their first task will be to retrieve your car. I want you focused, Sheldon. Now let’s go.”
The valet pulled up to the curb with Nell’s white 760. How could I resist?
“So how about a little horsepower demonstration once we get on the freeway?” I asked as the valet loaded our luggage.
“Such a juvenile request. We shan’t be driving recklessly with your leg the way it is.”
“Are you kidding? This thing has active knee protection. We could drive it straight into a wall if we wanted.”
“We’ll see.”
Nell did not disappoint. Once we made it out of the LAX loop, she floored it. It actually freaked me out a little. She was driving like she acted in business—impulsively at full speed.
“You’ve done this before.”
“When you have power, Sheldon, you use it.”
“So you don’t worry about the state taking that power away for mocking its rules and regulations?”
“Part of maintaining power is knowing when to use it most effectively. You take calculated risks. You operate on the fine line between hidden exploitation and abuse.”
“So that’s my problem. I haven’t been typing my risky moves into a calculator first.”
“You take on an armed assailant with only your fists. You insult the head of one of the largest corporations in the world with a drunken harangue. I’d say your calculator is broken, Sheldon.”
“So where do I get a new one? Do I need a new one?”
“If you had the same set of values I have, I could easily show you what you need to know. But based on what I know so far about what you value, Sheldon, I’d say you’ll be just fine without one. A Sheldon with a working calculator just wouldn’t be Sheldon.”
“This is exactly why I’m still having trouble wondering why I’m the guy to talk to Burnett.”
“You’ve heard the term ‘preaching to the choir’. That’s not what Burnett needs. I could send in Gorin, and everyone at Burnett would applaud and nod their heads at everything he would have to say. And they would be no better off after the experience. They would achieve zero growth. This is exactly why I tend to send Gorin to talk to internet startups and charitable organizations. He doesn’t tell them what they want to hear. He tells them what they need to hear.”
“Uh, I think your calculator might be a little on the fritz, Nell. Check your rearview.”
“Damn!”
The red and blue flashing lights of an LAPD Interceptor filled up the cabin of the BMW. Nell apparently had stepped a little too far over the line into power abuse territory and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road. The officer that approached was not imposing at all. The flashlight flicked on to blind and intimidate.
“License and registration,” came a sweet familiar voice.
“Hello, Carla,” said Nell delightedly.
“Oh my gosh! I didn’t realize this was your Beamer, Nell. You’re back from Talking Heads, and… you have Sheldon with you.”
“Hi, Carla.”
“I’m giving Sheldon a lift back to his place. He injured his leg in Orlando,” explained Nell.
“Oh no. What happened, Shel?”
“I, uh, cut myself shaving.”
“Don’t be modest, Sheldon. He was stabbed rescuing a young woman from a sexual assault. Our Sheldon is a hunk of heroic maculinity.”
Nell briefly retold the story to an entranced Carla.
“I don’t believe it. This is crazy. Sheldon, you have to tell me all about it. I don’t care how late it is. I’m coming by after my shift.”
Carla gauged our reaction almost to see if Nell and I had plans other than just a ride home.
“Okay. I might be asleep then, but you can always wake me. It’s no problem if you’re that eager to hear about it.”
“I am. Hey, I’m going to let you guys go of course, but I have to ask you really quick, Nell, have you been drinking at all?”
“No. I was just showing Sheldon how quickly the BMW can accelerate.”
“Well, next time try to just describe it to him rather than show him. I don’t want to see my friends getting hurt in an accident. Just to let you know, if I didn’t know you, I’d be writing up a citation for reckless driving right now, so consider yourself very lucky, and drive safe from now on.”
“Certainly, Carla. Thank you.”
“Bye, Shel.”
“See you later, Officer Diaz.”
We continued on to my place both coming down from the little adrenaline rush capped by the pleasant surprise of seeing Carla. I pulled my suitcase out of the trunk, and Nell helped me wheel it up to my apartment. There were no awkward moments. Nell gave me a quick hug and said good night. Once inside, I rounded up a couple pillows to help prop up my leg and crashed on my bed almost immediately.
Carla never stopped by after her shift like she said she was going to. I woke up the next morning and there were no messages on my phone and no notes on the door. I have to say I was a little disappointed. After seeing Carla in her uniform the night before, my dreams that night were filled with handcuffs and harsh interrogation techniques.
Fortunately, she did make it a point to stop by that day before her next shift started.
“Hey, hero, how’s it going?”
“Leg’s a little stiff and achy, but I have some killer meds to take care of it.”
“I brought you this.”
She handed me a gift.
“A cane. Awesome. This is completely unnecessary, but thank you. I will walk the streets now with much more panache.”
“Wait. Check this out.”
She grabbed the cane from me, twisted the handle and unsheathed the motherfucking sword.
“This is absolutely incredible. You read my mind. You’re psychic, Carla.”
“There is an engraved ‘S’ on it for Sheldon or Superman right here on the handle. I got you this simple one because I figured you wouldn’t go for something flashy.”
“Nope. This is perfect.”
“So give me all the details. I want to know how it went down.”
I expanded on the summarized version of the story Nell gave her the night before. Carla was enthralled. She wanted to hear it blow by blow with every bit of minutiae I could recall. Her morbid curiosity was unnerving yet exciting. Upon the conclusion of the story, Carla put her hand over her heart, smiled, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Sheldon, this heroic side of you makes me crazy.”
“So how about a little kiss for the hero?”
Carla stared at me for about ten seconds before responding.
“How about you work on getting that leg healed. We don’t want to tear any stitches,” she said as she closed her eyes over the last word.
Carla gave me tender kiss on my bed head before leaving. I spent the next half hour in my most unorthodox spank session. Pulling your pud without moving one of your legs is a very delicate procedure.
Luckily one time when I responded with “Knife wound,” a curious woman replied indignantly, “Okay, I get it. Too embarrassing to talk about. Sorry for showing a little compassion.”
To which I replied, “You seem to have the terms intrusive and compassionate confused with each other. I gave you exactly what you wanted.”
I almost wished I were using forearm crutches. If my crutches were forearm crutches, no one would be asking me what happened. They would all assume I was palsied. Plus I could throat punch people without losing a crutch.
A cane was what I needed. A cane has a slim and low profile. A cane adds an air of sophistication and mystery. When the cane is in use by one hand, your other hand remains free to wave and grab ass. A cane is great place to hide stuff. A cane is simply a great all around prop.
The painkillers put me in a weird mood. The idea popped into my head that I needed a cane sword. I would be ready for the next knife fight, and I would have the biggest knife. I actually found a cutlery shop, which carried a variety of cane swords. I really liked the ones with the dragonheads and skulls but felt their aggressive and morbid symbolism would telegraph that my cane concealed a deadly weapon. It was the moment I decided on a very simple model that I pictured myself at the airport the next day navigating the security gauntlet. My cane sword dream evaporated as I pictured the TSA agent confiscating my instrument of death.
How about a cane with a built-in booze flask? That would put two things I needed in one awesome package. Then I realized that there wasn’t a zip-lock bag in the world big enough to hold a cane. The specter of the TSA ruined my dream once again. At least with my injury I’d be getting a choice seat on the plane albeit without a cane.
---
My experience at Orlando International Airport the next day was actually quite pleasant. Nell had reserved a wheelchair for me. I bypassed pretty much every line the airport could throw at me. My crutches had a much easier time making it through the x-ray machine than any sword cane would have had. The skycap pushing me around was a jovial fellow. I let him do most of the talking.
“You know, Shel, I’m getting pretty close to retiring, and I finally have enough saved up to get my little barbeque shack started. I make a mean brisket, my friend. When I open up, I want you to be one of my first customers. Next time you’re in town, I guarantee you Gary’s Grease Pit will be open for business, celebrating fast cars and good eats. I know having the word “grease” in the name seems a little counterintuitive, but I heard of this place called the Heart Attack Grill that’s making it work. I wanted to steal a little of that magic I suppose. Plus the whole hot rod theme fits into the name. I can’t wait for you to try my brisket.”
We had already gotten past bonding over having sustained similar injuries. The knife that stuck me was matched by the piece of shrapnel Gary caught in his leg while serving in Vietnam. I left the man with a fat tip. I didn’t even care if he was making everything up about the restaurant and receiving the Purple Heart. If the man was emulating a person emanating positive vibrations, he deserved an Oscar.
I was the first passenger on the plane. I made myself a nice little ottoman using my carry-on luggage taking advantage of all the legroom by the bulkhead. I felt my phone vibrating in my pocket, so I pulled it out to take the call. I looked at the little display on the phone to see who was calling. The screen wasn’t even lit up. I unlocked the phone. There was no call. That was a little odd.
Recalling that radio transmitters and receivers weren’t cool to be using during take off, I went ahead and turned off my phone. A few minutes later, I felt it vibrating again. Didn’t I just turn it off? Maybe I thought I did but didn’t. I pulled out the phone again to take the call or maybe read the text message. The screen was dark. The phone was off. Did someone slip something in my drink? Was I starting to trip down a road I really did not want to go down while stuck on an airplane?
I held the phone in my hand to wait for the next phantom vibration. A few minutes later, I felt the vibration, but it wasn’t in my hand. It was in my pocket. I reached into my pocket only to confirm what I already knew. There was nothing in it. I kept my hand in my pocket waiting for the next wave. It came a few minutes later. Apparently the minor nerve damage I had incurred from the knife wound was causing an area of my left quadriceps to quiver involuntarily. It just had to be right where my phone sits in my pocket. I hoped this wasn’t going to be permanent thing. My phone always vibrates a little before it is about to ring. When this occurs, my hand just slips into my pocket. I had committed this to muscle memory long ago. This would be hard habit to unlearn. Now being a lefty had one more strike against it. Every camcorder I’ve ever owned was designed for righties. Ink smears, writing desks, and potato peelers confound me. I had to use my strongest punching hand to parry a knife attack from a righty. The list goes on and on.
After arriving at LAX and collecting our baggage, Nell intervened as I turned to catch a shuttle to where my car was parked.
“I hope you’re not driving home, Sheldon.”
“Well, I’m going to have to figure out how to do this eventually. I’ll have to take the brace off of course. All the pedal work is with my right leg, so it shouldn’t be a problem.”
“Let’s not take any chances with Burnett Media coming up. I’m happy to drive you home.”
“I can’t just leave my car here.”
“Don’t worry. I’ll have Sunday and Peter take turns running errands for you. Their first task will be to retrieve your car. I want you focused, Sheldon. Now let’s go.”
The valet pulled up to the curb with Nell’s white 760. How could I resist?
“So how about a little horsepower demonstration once we get on the freeway?” I asked as the valet loaded our luggage.
“Such a juvenile request. We shan’t be driving recklessly with your leg the way it is.”
“Are you kidding? This thing has active knee protection. We could drive it straight into a wall if we wanted.”
“We’ll see.”
Nell did not disappoint. Once we made it out of the LAX loop, she floored it. It actually freaked me out a little. She was driving like she acted in business—impulsively at full speed.
“You’ve done this before.”
“When you have power, Sheldon, you use it.”
“So you don’t worry about the state taking that power away for mocking its rules and regulations?”
“Part of maintaining power is knowing when to use it most effectively. You take calculated risks. You operate on the fine line between hidden exploitation and abuse.”
“So that’s my problem. I haven’t been typing my risky moves into a calculator first.”
“You take on an armed assailant with only your fists. You insult the head of one of the largest corporations in the world with a drunken harangue. I’d say your calculator is broken, Sheldon.”
“So where do I get a new one? Do I need a new one?”
“If you had the same set of values I have, I could easily show you what you need to know. But based on what I know so far about what you value, Sheldon, I’d say you’ll be just fine without one. A Sheldon with a working calculator just wouldn’t be Sheldon.”
“This is exactly why I’m still having trouble wondering why I’m the guy to talk to Burnett.”
“You’ve heard the term ‘preaching to the choir’. That’s not what Burnett needs. I could send in Gorin, and everyone at Burnett would applaud and nod their heads at everything he would have to say. And they would be no better off after the experience. They would achieve zero growth. This is exactly why I tend to send Gorin to talk to internet startups and charitable organizations. He doesn’t tell them what they want to hear. He tells them what they need to hear.”
“Uh, I think your calculator might be a little on the fritz, Nell. Check your rearview.”
“Damn!”
The red and blue flashing lights of an LAPD Interceptor filled up the cabin of the BMW. Nell apparently had stepped a little too far over the line into power abuse territory and gently pulled her car over to the side of the road. The officer that approached was not imposing at all. The flashlight flicked on to blind and intimidate.
“License and registration,” came a sweet familiar voice.
“Hello, Carla,” said Nell delightedly.
“Oh my gosh! I didn’t realize this was your Beamer, Nell. You’re back from Talking Heads, and… you have Sheldon with you.”
“Hi, Carla.”
“I’m giving Sheldon a lift back to his place. He injured his leg in Orlando,” explained Nell.
“Oh no. What happened, Shel?”
“I, uh, cut myself shaving.”
“Don’t be modest, Sheldon. He was stabbed rescuing a young woman from a sexual assault. Our Sheldon is a hunk of heroic maculinity.”
Nell briefly retold the story to an entranced Carla.
“I don’t believe it. This is crazy. Sheldon, you have to tell me all about it. I don’t care how late it is. I’m coming by after my shift.”
Carla gauged our reaction almost to see if Nell and I had plans other than just a ride home.
“Okay. I might be asleep then, but you can always wake me. It’s no problem if you’re that eager to hear about it.”
“I am. Hey, I’m going to let you guys go of course, but I have to ask you really quick, Nell, have you been drinking at all?”
“No. I was just showing Sheldon how quickly the BMW can accelerate.”
“Well, next time try to just describe it to him rather than show him. I don’t want to see my friends getting hurt in an accident. Just to let you know, if I didn’t know you, I’d be writing up a citation for reckless driving right now, so consider yourself very lucky, and drive safe from now on.”
“Certainly, Carla. Thank you.”
“Bye, Shel.”
“See you later, Officer Diaz.”
We continued on to my place both coming down from the little adrenaline rush capped by the pleasant surprise of seeing Carla. I pulled my suitcase out of the trunk, and Nell helped me wheel it up to my apartment. There were no awkward moments. Nell gave me a quick hug and said good night. Once inside, I rounded up a couple pillows to help prop up my leg and crashed on my bed almost immediately.
Carla never stopped by after her shift like she said she was going to. I woke up the next morning and there were no messages on my phone and no notes on the door. I have to say I was a little disappointed. After seeing Carla in her uniform the night before, my dreams that night were filled with handcuffs and harsh interrogation techniques.
Fortunately, she did make it a point to stop by that day before her next shift started.
“Hey, hero, how’s it going?”
“Leg’s a little stiff and achy, but I have some killer meds to take care of it.”
“I brought you this.”
She handed me a gift.
“A cane. Awesome. This is completely unnecessary, but thank you. I will walk the streets now with much more panache.”
“Wait. Check this out.”
She grabbed the cane from me, twisted the handle and unsheathed the motherfucking sword.
“This is absolutely incredible. You read my mind. You’re psychic, Carla.”
“There is an engraved ‘S’ on it for Sheldon or Superman right here on the handle. I got you this simple one because I figured you wouldn’t go for something flashy.”
“Nope. This is perfect.”
“So give me all the details. I want to know how it went down.”
I expanded on the summarized version of the story Nell gave her the night before. Carla was enthralled. She wanted to hear it blow by blow with every bit of minutiae I could recall. Her morbid curiosity was unnerving yet exciting. Upon the conclusion of the story, Carla put her hand over her heart, smiled, took a deep breath, and sighed.
“Sheldon, this heroic side of you makes me crazy.”
“So how about a little kiss for the hero?”
Carla stared at me for about ten seconds before responding.
“How about you work on getting that leg healed. We don’t want to tear any stitches,” she said as she closed her eyes over the last word.
Carla gave me tender kiss on my bed head before leaving. I spent the next half hour in my most unorthodox spank session. Pulling your pud without moving one of your legs is a very delicate procedure.
Monday, October 26, 2009
Season 2 Chapter 22
We found our way over to the “Towne Square”, which was one of the fully realized buildings to eat. The Royal Hall, as the sign announced, was deceptively small on the outside, but after passing into the foyer, a series of stairwells and ramps inside led to a massive subterranean complex. It was like a Union Station for corndogs and churros. Our group had gone down the different directions, but all of them put us at the base of a central stem, which we circled, noting the various thoroughfares that dumped you at Victoria’s Kitchen or the Pizza of Parliament. Marcus led us into the area called Tiny’s Tavern, which had long benches and tables and an impressive mahogany bar that wrapped along the walls and created a enclosure to the main dining area. Where we had entered looked like a pair of large doors and the grungy face of a watering hole, but being on the other side revealed the exterior to be some kind of one-sided mirror, allowing a clear view of the other eateries and diminishing the claustrophobic feelings that would occur once these chambers filled will thousands of people.
“Nice design with the walls,” I said to Marcus, who looked impressed at his accomplishments – even if he was manipulating the hands that designed and built it.
“It’s something that we wanted to do to create a private, intimate dining area but not seal it off from the rest of the space. Lets light in but keeps you from being able to look through, unless we want to change the opacity. We put the same stuff in the ceilings to give the impression that you’re not underground.”
“Sure, that too. I was actually marveling at the bar tops lining the joint,” I admitted, hoping he’d magically produce somebody behind there to get a pint or three. We were in a tavern.
Marcus ignored my meaning and went right on ahead with the scheme he intended, trying to impress Nell and show off his playground. “You can see in the skylights and even in the windows,” which Marcus pointed to as he proudly waltzed between the rows of furniture, “it looks just like you’re in an above-ground building.” He turned to Tawny, “We also have mirrors reflecting through.”
Gorin interrupted the display, “Yes. A periscope. We all know how that works. Do you have somebody who can get us a something to eat?”
Marcus pulled out a touchscreen phone and jabbed at it before burying it in his frock. A gaggle of wenches came out with plastinated parchments with our dining options. A man in a period suit observed from the recesses of the bar, and after they returned to him with our orders it appeared they were in training. More servers appeared to deliver the food and clear the plates, and aside from the random workman crossing outside, we were undisturbed.
The conversation was forgettable, and I had little to add as Marcus attempted to charm the literal pants off Nell while Gorin made his subtle digs, trying to dispel the magic and nuance that was being built up around us. Fortunately, the food was better than anticipated, and in addition to each of the entrées we wanted, the rest of the menu was made, allowing us to taste such epicurean delights as roasted suckling and rare fowls. My greatest hit was commending Marcus for providing utensils so that we didn’t need to eat with our hands like they did at Medieval Times, which sparked a lengthy oration on the historical detail he was paying to this project. It allowed for my mind to wander and shut off unnecessary parts to conserve energy. Currently, it was all power to the guts to process the feast.
I was thinking it was close to midnight, but we were only on the cusp of nine, and the coffee enema I’d had earlier was fading, coupled with the food coma. I still had that pill from Nell, and figured I wouldn’t need it if we spent much longer. By some miracle, Marcus stood and graciously elicited thanks for the meal, and told us to explore the rest of the grounds, but to be mindful of the construction and only go where it was not taped off. Nell got up to leave as well, but Marcus gently restrained her by the arm. I could see the disparagement in her eyes, but as our leader, she sacrificed herself to the clumsy charms of our host in order for us to make a clean break for freedom.
“We’ve got to be back by 10:30, so let’s reconvene at the gate mouth by 10,” she instructed, fashioning her own exit strategy.
The bickering between Gorin and Tawny continued once we got away from Nell, losing it’s charm and driving me into the heart of jolly ol’ nineteenth century England. It was nice to see so much disposable income and wealth being funneled into a boyhood fantasy that, when completed, could bilk families of their vacation dollars and create more delusion in the minds of children experiencing the park. I stopped by Yorkshire Park, which was only paved paths around an unfilled lake and post-braced saplings. A hedge maze was still being shaped, but the sod was partially rolled out and piles of it were still waiting to be spread in different parts of the quad.
Beyond that was what was probably their version of the Thames, which was filled with water, and there were some men in hip-waders making adjustments to the London Bridge supports, though they waved me across towards Big Ben Plaza, dispelling my concern that it was falling down. Below the clock tower was a post full of signs, their arrows directing traffic to almost a dozen side streets and alleys. It was a brisk evening – why not head down Jack’s Alley to cut through the buildings to get back to where everybody else is?
In my overtired mind, I was followed by a sheet of fog, and midway down the 500 winding yards of businesses and buildings, that cool film was quite real as it settled in around chest and head level. Behind me, I heard the echo of construction, but ahead there were some shapes moving in the vapor, outlined by the gas lamps periodically spaced down the row. About 15 feet away from the forms it became clear it was two people getting amorous on top of a barrel. Wearing period clothing. I tried to blend back into the shadows and mist, but my modern shoes made enough noise to call attention to my intrusion, and the obviously dressed prostitute turned to cry for help as she kept flailing beneath a man who was wearing a long coat.
“Sorry there guv’nah,” I said for interrupting their little scene, “but if the park’s not open, ain’t it a little early to be dispatching whores?”
Jack the Wannabe turned and scowled at me, and even in the shitty, replicated conditions of London weather, I could see the anger and mayhem in his eyes. He raised a ham hock sized fist and struck the whore-girl to quiet her before giving me his full attention. He menaced me with that fist, and fished a decently long shank out of his coat, gripping the rag-wrapped handle tightly. If you told me this morning I would be staring down a man wearing nothing but a coat and emulating one of history’s most enthralling killers, I’d have first laughed at the preposterousness of it, and then figured I was still on that bender from the night before.
I can’t speak too much for fight styles, technique, or having much experience in dust ups, but there are two things that I could recall at the moment. The first was an interview with Charlie Iron Horse, a bare-knuckle fighting champion on the Jemez Puelbo. He was a spirited old fella who was still tossing blows with guys a third his age. I asked him what the best advice he could give to somebody who knew nothing of pugilism.
“Sometimes, you’re just going to have to take a hit,” he said. “But, you can minimize how bad it will be if you’re moving towards your attacker. It makes it harder for them to hit you if you’re not in the place they were aiming for, and they may miss you entirely.”
“But if you still get hit?”
“What would you rather have, a car accelerating 10 feet and hit you, or give it another 50 or 60?”
“Can I just not get hit,” I asked.
“If you can, then you’re not in a fight.”
The second thing I recall was a gal who was my neighbor some years back. She and her roommate were living in El Paso before they came to know me, and this was back around the time there was a guy doing B+E’s the local papers called the Naked Burglar; yes, on account of his buck naked ass rummaging through homes. He picked the wrong window to pop the screen off and found himself bleeding from the groin when he realized the place wasn’t empty as he’d thought. Having something dangling and unprotected makes for a good target, and takes the spirit right outta ya.
So back to my predicament…
Lunging towards me was the madman, coat flapping like a cape, bits waving like a flag, looking to ventilate me more than I already was. Running, which is always a great option didn’t sound so great, because getting stabbed in the back, defenseless, is probably the worst way to start and finish a fight. So was getting stabbed in the face, bur you could throw more punches that way. I took and few steps forward, threw up my left forearm in anticipation of his thrust. I came off my feet and drove my right hand up. My balled fist made contact with Jack’s jaw and his head rolled back as my momentum pushed him off the ground and backwards. He landed hard on his back with me falling on top of him even harder. We were both winded, but he was stunned. And vulnerable.
I was happy to have the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my fist as well as the numbing shock of jawbone on bones, because the feeling of stranger’s cock against your hand is something you definitely do not want much sensation of. A few major league swings and there was no joy in Mudville for Jack. He was moaning and no longer as eager to dimple me with his shank, so I got up and went to check on the streetwalker, who was shivering with fear.
“You’re okay now,” I said, offering her my hand to help her up.
“Nice design with the walls,” I said to Marcus, who looked impressed at his accomplishments – even if he was manipulating the hands that designed and built it.
“It’s something that we wanted to do to create a private, intimate dining area but not seal it off from the rest of the space. Lets light in but keeps you from being able to look through, unless we want to change the opacity. We put the same stuff in the ceilings to give the impression that you’re not underground.”
“Sure, that too. I was actually marveling at the bar tops lining the joint,” I admitted, hoping he’d magically produce somebody behind there to get a pint or three. We were in a tavern.
Marcus ignored my meaning and went right on ahead with the scheme he intended, trying to impress Nell and show off his playground. “You can see in the skylights and even in the windows,” which Marcus pointed to as he proudly waltzed between the rows of furniture, “it looks just like you’re in an above-ground building.” He turned to Tawny, “We also have mirrors reflecting through.”
Gorin interrupted the display, “Yes. A periscope. We all know how that works. Do you have somebody who can get us a something to eat?”
Marcus pulled out a touchscreen phone and jabbed at it before burying it in his frock. A gaggle of wenches came out with plastinated parchments with our dining options. A man in a period suit observed from the recesses of the bar, and after they returned to him with our orders it appeared they were in training. More servers appeared to deliver the food and clear the plates, and aside from the random workman crossing outside, we were undisturbed.
The conversation was forgettable, and I had little to add as Marcus attempted to charm the literal pants off Nell while Gorin made his subtle digs, trying to dispel the magic and nuance that was being built up around us. Fortunately, the food was better than anticipated, and in addition to each of the entrées we wanted, the rest of the menu was made, allowing us to taste such epicurean delights as roasted suckling and rare fowls. My greatest hit was commending Marcus for providing utensils so that we didn’t need to eat with our hands like they did at Medieval Times, which sparked a lengthy oration on the historical detail he was paying to this project. It allowed for my mind to wander and shut off unnecessary parts to conserve energy. Currently, it was all power to the guts to process the feast.
I was thinking it was close to midnight, but we were only on the cusp of nine, and the coffee enema I’d had earlier was fading, coupled with the food coma. I still had that pill from Nell, and figured I wouldn’t need it if we spent much longer. By some miracle, Marcus stood and graciously elicited thanks for the meal, and told us to explore the rest of the grounds, but to be mindful of the construction and only go where it was not taped off. Nell got up to leave as well, but Marcus gently restrained her by the arm. I could see the disparagement in her eyes, but as our leader, she sacrificed herself to the clumsy charms of our host in order for us to make a clean break for freedom.
“We’ve got to be back by 10:30, so let’s reconvene at the gate mouth by 10,” she instructed, fashioning her own exit strategy.
The bickering between Gorin and Tawny continued once we got away from Nell, losing it’s charm and driving me into the heart of jolly ol’ nineteenth century England. It was nice to see so much disposable income and wealth being funneled into a boyhood fantasy that, when completed, could bilk families of their vacation dollars and create more delusion in the minds of children experiencing the park. I stopped by Yorkshire Park, which was only paved paths around an unfilled lake and post-braced saplings. A hedge maze was still being shaped, but the sod was partially rolled out and piles of it were still waiting to be spread in different parts of the quad.
Beyond that was what was probably their version of the Thames, which was filled with water, and there were some men in hip-waders making adjustments to the London Bridge supports, though they waved me across towards Big Ben Plaza, dispelling my concern that it was falling down. Below the clock tower was a post full of signs, their arrows directing traffic to almost a dozen side streets and alleys. It was a brisk evening – why not head down Jack’s Alley to cut through the buildings to get back to where everybody else is?
In my overtired mind, I was followed by a sheet of fog, and midway down the 500 winding yards of businesses and buildings, that cool film was quite real as it settled in around chest and head level. Behind me, I heard the echo of construction, but ahead there were some shapes moving in the vapor, outlined by the gas lamps periodically spaced down the row. About 15 feet away from the forms it became clear it was two people getting amorous on top of a barrel. Wearing period clothing. I tried to blend back into the shadows and mist, but my modern shoes made enough noise to call attention to my intrusion, and the obviously dressed prostitute turned to cry for help as she kept flailing beneath a man who was wearing a long coat.
“Sorry there guv’nah,” I said for interrupting their little scene, “but if the park’s not open, ain’t it a little early to be dispatching whores?”
Jack the Wannabe turned and scowled at me, and even in the shitty, replicated conditions of London weather, I could see the anger and mayhem in his eyes. He raised a ham hock sized fist and struck the whore-girl to quiet her before giving me his full attention. He menaced me with that fist, and fished a decently long shank out of his coat, gripping the rag-wrapped handle tightly. If you told me this morning I would be staring down a man wearing nothing but a coat and emulating one of history’s most enthralling killers, I’d have first laughed at the preposterousness of it, and then figured I was still on that bender from the night before.
I can’t speak too much for fight styles, technique, or having much experience in dust ups, but there are two things that I could recall at the moment. The first was an interview with Charlie Iron Horse, a bare-knuckle fighting champion on the Jemez Puelbo. He was a spirited old fella who was still tossing blows with guys a third his age. I asked him what the best advice he could give to somebody who knew nothing of pugilism.
“Sometimes, you’re just going to have to take a hit,” he said. “But, you can minimize how bad it will be if you’re moving towards your attacker. It makes it harder for them to hit you if you’re not in the place they were aiming for, and they may miss you entirely.”
“But if you still get hit?”
“What would you rather have, a car accelerating 10 feet and hit you, or give it another 50 or 60?”
“Can I just not get hit,” I asked.
“If you can, then you’re not in a fight.”
The second thing I recall was a gal who was my neighbor some years back. She and her roommate were living in El Paso before they came to know me, and this was back around the time there was a guy doing B+E’s the local papers called the Naked Burglar; yes, on account of his buck naked ass rummaging through homes. He picked the wrong window to pop the screen off and found himself bleeding from the groin when he realized the place wasn’t empty as he’d thought. Having something dangling and unprotected makes for a good target, and takes the spirit right outta ya.
So back to my predicament…
Lunging towards me was the madman, coat flapping like a cape, bits waving like a flag, looking to ventilate me more than I already was. Running, which is always a great option didn’t sound so great, because getting stabbed in the back, defenseless, is probably the worst way to start and finish a fight. So was getting stabbed in the face, bur you could throw more punches that way. I took and few steps forward, threw up my left forearm in anticipation of his thrust. I came off my feet and drove my right hand up. My balled fist made contact with Jack’s jaw and his head rolled back as my momentum pushed him off the ground and backwards. He landed hard on his back with me falling on top of him even harder. We were both winded, but he was stunned. And vulnerable.
I was happy to have the jolt of adrenaline coursing through my fist as well as the numbing shock of jawbone on bones, because the feeling of stranger’s cock against your hand is something you definitely do not want much sensation of. A few major league swings and there was no joy in Mudville for Jack. He was moaning and no longer as eager to dimple me with his shank, so I got up and went to check on the streetwalker, who was shivering with fear.
“You’re okay now,” I said, offering her my hand to help her up.
---
“Way to go, hero.”
There wasn’t a whole lot of pride in the way Nell said it. I was in a hospital bed, with a large roll of gauze wrapped around my left thigh.
“That definitely changed my plans for the evening,” Nell admitted to me.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing myself in to a sitting position. “I was really looking forward to going to sleep in a bigger bed. I thought the park wasn’t open. How’d I end up in the show?”
“As you probably figured, Marcus had employees there doing training while the construction was being done. But those two were having too much fun on their break.”
“It didn’t look like much fun.”
“And it probably won’t feel like it either when they both get out of here. They’re on another floor getting detoxified.”
“Detox?”
“Yes. Apparently a little angel dust goes a long way,” Nell said unimpressed.
“That’s not going to go over too well as an attraction once they open.”
“They’ve been fired and are going to have drug and assault charges brought up. I told Marcus that this isn’t going to me an issue for you…you’re not going to make a liar out of me?”
“You mean, make it a press issue?”
“Correct.”
“How about I not do the Burnett Media gig and we call it even?”
“Nice try, Sheldon. I feel bad this happened to you, but you to get Burnett for us, and it will go a long way for both of us.”
“Really,” I questioned.
“This isn’t a gilded cage I’m keeping you in,” Nell argued. “You may want to return to the business one day, and showing them you’ve moved past what happened won’t hurt those chances.”
“You’ve got an answer for every time I tell you I don’t want to do it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. You can keep fighting it, and I’ll come right back at you with more reasons why you’re going to do it. Good reasons.”
“Fine,” I said defeated, as I rubbed my leg and didn’t feel any pain. “I don’t remember too much after taking Jackie-boy down.”
“That’s shock. You wandered out of there with that blade sticking into your leg, not to mention plenty of blood you lost along the way. Add the morphine that you’ve got in you, and right there’s a good couple of hazy hours you’re not going getting back right away.
“Just keep me on this drip for another week and I won’t bring up the Burnett gig again.”
“You may get to dodge the last day of the convention, but you’re coming back with us after. I need you to be clear headed and thinking about what you’re going to say. Once we get back, your only focus is going to be that night. So for the next two weeks, all you have to do is prepare the best speech you’ve ever made for me, and not pick at your stitches.”
There wasn’t a whole lot of pride in the way Nell said it. I was in a hospital bed, with a large roll of gauze wrapped around my left thigh.
“That definitely changed my plans for the evening,” Nell admitted to me.
“Yeah,” I said, pushing myself in to a sitting position. “I was really looking forward to going to sleep in a bigger bed. I thought the park wasn’t open. How’d I end up in the show?”
“As you probably figured, Marcus had employees there doing training while the construction was being done. But those two were having too much fun on their break.”
“It didn’t look like much fun.”
“And it probably won’t feel like it either when they both get out of here. They’re on another floor getting detoxified.”
“Detox?”
“Yes. Apparently a little angel dust goes a long way,” Nell said unimpressed.
“That’s not going to go over too well as an attraction once they open.”
“They’ve been fired and are going to have drug and assault charges brought up. I told Marcus that this isn’t going to me an issue for you…you’re not going to make a liar out of me?”
“You mean, make it a press issue?”
“Correct.”
“How about I not do the Burnett Media gig and we call it even?”
“Nice try, Sheldon. I feel bad this happened to you, but you to get Burnett for us, and it will go a long way for both of us.”
“Really,” I questioned.
“This isn’t a gilded cage I’m keeping you in,” Nell argued. “You may want to return to the business one day, and showing them you’ve moved past what happened won’t hurt those chances.”
“You’ve got an answer for every time I tell you I don’t want to do it, don’t you?”
“Absolutely. You can keep fighting it, and I’ll come right back at you with more reasons why you’re going to do it. Good reasons.”
“Fine,” I said defeated, as I rubbed my leg and didn’t feel any pain. “I don’t remember too much after taking Jackie-boy down.”
“That’s shock. You wandered out of there with that blade sticking into your leg, not to mention plenty of blood you lost along the way. Add the morphine that you’ve got in you, and right there’s a good couple of hazy hours you’re not going getting back right away.
“Just keep me on this drip for another week and I won’t bring up the Burnett gig again.”
“You may get to dodge the last day of the convention, but you’re coming back with us after. I need you to be clear headed and thinking about what you’re going to say. Once we get back, your only focus is going to be that night. So for the next two weeks, all you have to do is prepare the best speech you’ve ever made for me, and not pick at your stitches.”
Monday, October 19, 2009
Season 2 Chapter 21
The end of my shift working the booth seemed like it took a couple revolutions around the sun before it finally arrived. Usually I could keep a conversation going from starting whistle to quitting whistle. In my hazy condition, I was a bit off my game. It didn’t help that I was able to condense our core message around perfecting the art of success into a one minute spiel. I checked my watch—11:04. An interested conference attendee ambled up to have a chat. I went through the motions, smiling, nodding, raising my eyebrows, and calling on the power of Thor to keep from wincing. I handed him one of our information packets. I figured that had to have taken five or six minutes. I checked my watch—11:06. Was it the coke, the caffeine, or me just wanting to draw the shades and climb back under the covers? Stimulants had their place in the theory of relativity. The booze last night helped, but I really should have asked one of the boys for an Ambien, Xanax, Valium, or even a joint. I wasn’t sure what was going to happen when I made it back to my room. The previous bouts of sleep were rare gifts squashed by my early morning.
I had just collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes when my phone began to make noises. Nell wanted to make sure I was going to make it to the lecture on web-based presentations. She really wanted me to get familiar with the latest tech. Had she been talking to Fran? She also had a special surprise for me and the rest of the Tanner gang. I rolled off my bed, slipped my shoes back on, and took the long elevator ride back down. Web-based presentation technology I could care less about, but oh, how I loved surprises. I had time for the three block walk to the convention center. Some dweeb rolled past me on a Segway scooter. I guess he really wanted a good seat.
The lecture turned out to be some decent entertainment. Most of the presentation was delivered via a high resolution projection. Some kid in jeans and a tight-fitting plaid shirt on the other side of the country conversed seamlessly with his khaki-wearing counterpart in Orlando. The kid was even able to field questions from the crowd hearing them through a microphone and spying the questioners’ expressions through a digital camera. After a while, I almost forgot he wasn’t actually in the room with us. I wanted to know who their ISP was. I try to stream porn, and I end up vacuuming the house while I wait for the video to buffer.
After the presentation, we reassembled at the booth, and Nell filled us all in on her little surprise.
“I have a little fun lined up for us tonight.”
Don’t tell me she was taking us to the Slit.
“A friend of mine works for one of the theme parks around here. He’s working on a new attraction and has invited us to come by for a sneak peek and dinner.”
Tawny started freaking out as if John, Paul, George, and Ringo walked into the room.
“Oh my God! I love Disneyworld! Omygawd. Omygawd.”
Nell smiled and almost looked like she enjoyed deflating Tawny.
“It’s not Disneyworld, dear.”
Maybe it was the Slit.
Gorin grunted. “This is Marcus Rhys Goodrich you speak of. I will come.” Beneath that beard I could sense a jaw of titanium-coated granite. I couldn’t tell if Gorin liked or wanted to kill this Marcus character.
Nell nodded.
She had also surmised what state I was in. As we dispersed, Nell handed me a little pill and whispered, “Just make sure you make it to the lobby by seven. The train won’t wait, and Marcus assures me, we will be impressed. You might want to cut that in half.”
Now my boss was my pill supplier.
I decided to save the whole pill for bedtime and managed to down quite a few cups of coffee before seven o’clock crept up on me. There was a time in my life when I could palpably sense a large dose of caffeine actively coursing through me. I think I was twelve.
I was looking forward to spending more time with the boss lady, but I had mixed feelings about getting cozy with Gorin and Tawny. We all piled into a plush limousine which magically transported us to our surprise destination.
Tawny was visibly excited. There was a twinkle in her eyes. I found it incredible how she had been able to hold on to that innocence and enthusiasm after coming down from that gold medal podium so long ago never to return. I don’t think I ever had that level of hopefulness even when I was a wee lad.
“Did I tell you guys I’m not really all that into surprises?”
“Afraid of the unknown, Shel?” Gorin asked.
“I just like to have all known information revealed as soon as possible, so I can act on it appropriately.”
“That’s not very much fun,” Tawny said.
“Yeah, it’s also not a lot of fun when the surprise is a block of blue cheese when I fucking hate blue cheese.”
“I think Sheldon has trust issues,” suggested Nell.
“You got me.”
“You have to open yourself up enough to let someone know you enough, so that person can invent a worthy surprise for you. Shall I reveal the details, Sheldon, and ruin the surprise for everyone?”
“Please, don’t, Nell,” cried Tawny.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s a surprise for me too. Marcus wouldn’t tell me anything about it, and I haven’t talked to him in over two years, so I have no idea what he has been working on. What I can say is that Marcus has worked on some amazing theme park experiences in the past. He knows how to please a crowd.”
“There are countless pop culture phenomena that do absolutely nothing for me. And the past does not automatically guarantee future success. I’m just saying.”
“So it’s the cynical Sheldon with us in the limo today.”
“Even if this elevates my consciousness to a previously unreachable dimension, I’ll be annoyed that I wasn’t better prepared to take full advantage of its enlightening powers.”
“No one ever threw you a surprise party?” Tawny asked.
“Someone has. Many have tried. It pisses me off every time.”
Tawny had to know. “Tell us about the worst surprise party anyone has ever thrown for you.”
If I couldn’t ruin the surprise for her, at least I could ruin her optimism over surprise parties.
“Well, my ex-wife pulled off quite a doozy when we were married, and she should have known better. It started off with her claiming that she had to go out of town on business during my birthday. No big deal. ‘You have to work. We’ll celebrate when you get back.’ So (A) I’m not even that sad about it. It’s not like my mamma telling me that it doesn’t look like she can afford to get me the camera I want for Christmas with me walking around dejected up until Christmas only to find out she could afford it, and now I’m angry at her for lying to me. I mean I was happy to get the camera, but I had already written it off and moved on with my life, and now she’s dumping it on me expecting me to be overjoyed. Sorry, Ma. It would have been nice to know you had gotten me the camera before I had already slipped a demo into my backpack at the store with my five finger discount. I can’t undo becoming a thief.
“So let me get back to the story. (B) I don’t think my wife is going to be home, so it’s not like I have to get home right away. I end up telling one of the few people at my work that wasn’t invited to the party about how my wife is out of town on my birthday. I mention that it’s no big deal. I’m not down in the dumps about it. I’m a little miffed that all my friends have shit going on. (They’re really going to my party.) This girl at work thinks, ‘Oh, you can’t be alone on your birthday. I’ll take you out drinking.’ This is a perfectly noble gesture. I’m not going to turn her down. It was my birthday. I was going to knock a few back regardless, and it’s a little less pathetic when you have someone to drink with.
“Hours go by. Everyone is wondering where the hell I am. I’m getting drunker by the minute with my new best friend and her girlfriends. No one can call me to see where I’m at because they’re all supposed to have ‘other plans’. Finally one of my buddies calls me up saying his schedule freed up and he wants to hang out. Maybe we could get a card game going with the other guys or watch a Stallone movie or Caddyshack or Blazing Saddles at my place. Of course I’m cool with that. I figure it wouldn’t be cool to just ditch my colleague and her crew, so I bring them with me. I open the door to my place at like a quarter to eleven surrounded by three young women, and there behind the door is everyone I know. You can kind of imagine how that looked to everyone at the party.”
“Well, Sheldon, being married means no more carousing with other women,” retorted Tawny.
“Yeah, I can understand that to certain degree, but this girl was trying to do something nice for me. I doubt she had any machinations for me. Yeah, I’m always walking a tightrope when women and intoxicating substances are involved, but in this case it was a pretty thick rope.”
“You need to hone your sixth sense, my friend,” advised Gorin.
“Up to that point I had told my wife many times how much I was not down for surprises. I figured someone who supposedly loved me would never consciously do something to me I admittedly despised. But you’re right, with all the other shit she did to me that I despised, I should have seen it coming. I was a little naïve.”
Nell reassured me, “Sheldon, this surprise should be nothing like your unfortunate past experiences.”
We finally arrived at a security gate and were promptly allowed to pass into the subterranean section of a rather large parking structure. A spunky minder and not Marcus Rhys Goodrich himself was there to meet us at the unloading zone. She guided us through a series of underground tunnels until we ascended a staircase back to the open air into what appeared to be a re-creation of a street in an idealized Victorian London with a touch of Dickens, a touch of Goth, and a touch of whimsy. Some of the facades were still incomplete, and the entire street was vacant except for a few anachronistic construction workers. We followed our minder and a row of gas lamps up the street to a grand gothic castle. The level of detail was awe-inspiring. We were in a world that nowadays in Hollywood would be rendered with a computer. We crossed the drawbridge and passed under the portcullis into the courtyard filled with multiple grotesque statues. We entered the main hall of the castle keep, and then our minder bid us adieu closing the giant door behind us.
“If I was in the fifth grade, this would be pretty fucking awesome.”
“This is kind of freaky,” whimpered Tawny.
Suddenly a series of multicolored flashing lights filled the room, and an explosion of thick smoke filled the other end of the room. As the smoke cleared, we saw a small very late middle aged man holding a wooden staff in what could only be called a wizard’s robe. He spoke in a loud and nasally voice. His accent was a Scottish/English hybrid.
“Welcome to MERLIN’S CASTLE!”
Then he had a puzzled look on his face.
“Nell, I didn’t know you were bringing friends.”
“I emailed. I texted. I left you a voicemail. I told you I was bringing my staff. You never got back to me. I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. You’re always such a gracious host, Marcus.”
It looked like Marcus was the one who was surprised.
“No. No problem at all. One second, while I make some adjustments.”
Marcus pulled up his robe to fish out his phone from a pocket in his jeans. He called to give new instructions to the kitchen and then returned his attention to our group.
“Um, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you all. I recognize you, Mister, uh, Sheldon and of course the great Ms. Tawny Prietch. Hello, Gorin. It’s always a pleasure. Uh, dinner will be arriving a little later, so please feel free to explore the castle while Nell and I discuss some matters. Come back in half hour and everything will be ready.”
Marcus extended his hand to each of us. Tawny gushed. Gorin, Marcus, and Nell exchanged glances as if to make sure Marcus’ suggestion was satisfactory. Apparently it was, so Tawny and I followed Gorin deeper into the castle to let Nell and Marcus talk about whatever it was they needed to talk about.
“Hey, Gorin, you seem to be a little more tuned in to what’s going on around here. I don’t want to pry, but what the hell is going on around here?”
“Marcus is genius, but he is idiot when it comes to women. I am certain he is infatuated with Nell.”
“And you? You’re a genius with the ladies.”
“I am practical.”
Gorin pulled out his mobile phone to show me a picture of him looking like a bearded douche bag on his yacht with a group of Ukrainian models.
“Can we talk about something else?” whined Tawny as we traversed the parapets.
“Okay, Tawny, let’s talk about your fat ass,” said Gorin out of left field.
“Fuck off, Gorin.”
“Uh, Gorin, Tawny is the antithesis of fat,” I said coming to Tawny’s defense.
“Tell him, Tawny.”
Tawny appeared defeated. Here I was with an extremely rich dude and a world class athlete, and it felt like they were rehearsing their lines for a crappy reality show.
“Tawny, I don’t know what Gorin is talking about, and it really doesn’t matter.”
“No, it’s okay. After I won the gold, I kind of went a little downhill trying to get my life together. After the constant routine of gymnastics dominating most of my life up until that point starting from early childhood, it was quite a shock to me emotionally and physically to not have that routine there. My metabolism was super screwed up from all the training and dieting. I just couldn’t stay thin and ballooned up fifty pounds—maybe sixty at the most. I was pretty miserable. If it wasn’t for Nell, I’d probably still be fat and sad.”
“So why are you trying to bring Tawny down, Gorin?”
“She steals my gigs all the time. She doesn’t have business, entrepreneurial background like me, but she does Fortune 500 events. Is silly.”
“Well, Sheldon is doing Burnett Media. How does that make you feel?”
“Yeah, Gorin, what’s your take on Burnett Media? I’ve got a checkered past with them, and somehow I’m in the hot seat on this one.”
“I also have past with Burnett Media. I immediately recuse myself from any dealings with them.”
“Really? You got to tell me about this.”
“After wall come down, I think I can help shape new free market in my home country. I buy radio and TV station in Russia. I always love TV. I like travel shows and information. But running honest station in Russia is very hard. Very early, Burnett Media wants to buy my station. They want into Russian market. Of course I refuse. A few years pass, and is more difficult to ignore suggestions from the state. Sometimes they ask me to change things nicely. Sometimes not so nicely. Sometimes my people get hurt. I need support from global power. I turn back to Burnett. They want majority share. Only way I accept is to remain as CEO. They agree. How long before I step down? Not one year. Manufactured evidence, doctored photographs, implicating me in human trafficking ring. I have to step down. This is Burnett Media. I do not like Burnett Media.”
“Holy fuck, Gorin. I have to say your Burnett Media story totally trumps mine.”
I had just collapsed on the bed and closed my eyes when my phone began to make noises. Nell wanted to make sure I was going to make it to the lecture on web-based presentations. She really wanted me to get familiar with the latest tech. Had she been talking to Fran? She also had a special surprise for me and the rest of the Tanner gang. I rolled off my bed, slipped my shoes back on, and took the long elevator ride back down. Web-based presentation technology I could care less about, but oh, how I loved surprises. I had time for the three block walk to the convention center. Some dweeb rolled past me on a Segway scooter. I guess he really wanted a good seat.
The lecture turned out to be some decent entertainment. Most of the presentation was delivered via a high resolution projection. Some kid in jeans and a tight-fitting plaid shirt on the other side of the country conversed seamlessly with his khaki-wearing counterpart in Orlando. The kid was even able to field questions from the crowd hearing them through a microphone and spying the questioners’ expressions through a digital camera. After a while, I almost forgot he wasn’t actually in the room with us. I wanted to know who their ISP was. I try to stream porn, and I end up vacuuming the house while I wait for the video to buffer.
After the presentation, we reassembled at the booth, and Nell filled us all in on her little surprise.
“I have a little fun lined up for us tonight.”
Don’t tell me she was taking us to the Slit.
“A friend of mine works for one of the theme parks around here. He’s working on a new attraction and has invited us to come by for a sneak peek and dinner.”
Tawny started freaking out as if John, Paul, George, and Ringo walked into the room.
“Oh my God! I love Disneyworld! Omygawd. Omygawd.”
Nell smiled and almost looked like she enjoyed deflating Tawny.
“It’s not Disneyworld, dear.”
Maybe it was the Slit.
Gorin grunted. “This is Marcus Rhys Goodrich you speak of. I will come.” Beneath that beard I could sense a jaw of titanium-coated granite. I couldn’t tell if Gorin liked or wanted to kill this Marcus character.
Nell nodded.
She had also surmised what state I was in. As we dispersed, Nell handed me a little pill and whispered, “Just make sure you make it to the lobby by seven. The train won’t wait, and Marcus assures me, we will be impressed. You might want to cut that in half.”
Now my boss was my pill supplier.
---
I decided to save the whole pill for bedtime and managed to down quite a few cups of coffee before seven o’clock crept up on me. There was a time in my life when I could palpably sense a large dose of caffeine actively coursing through me. I think I was twelve.
I was looking forward to spending more time with the boss lady, but I had mixed feelings about getting cozy with Gorin and Tawny. We all piled into a plush limousine which magically transported us to our surprise destination.
Tawny was visibly excited. There was a twinkle in her eyes. I found it incredible how she had been able to hold on to that innocence and enthusiasm after coming down from that gold medal podium so long ago never to return. I don’t think I ever had that level of hopefulness even when I was a wee lad.
“Did I tell you guys I’m not really all that into surprises?”
“Afraid of the unknown, Shel?” Gorin asked.
“I just like to have all known information revealed as soon as possible, so I can act on it appropriately.”
“That’s not very much fun,” Tawny said.
“Yeah, it’s also not a lot of fun when the surprise is a block of blue cheese when I fucking hate blue cheese.”
“I think Sheldon has trust issues,” suggested Nell.
“You got me.”
“You have to open yourself up enough to let someone know you enough, so that person can invent a worthy surprise for you. Shall I reveal the details, Sheldon, and ruin the surprise for everyone?”
“Please, don’t, Nell,” cried Tawny.
“I couldn’t even if I wanted to. It’s a surprise for me too. Marcus wouldn’t tell me anything about it, and I haven’t talked to him in over two years, so I have no idea what he has been working on. What I can say is that Marcus has worked on some amazing theme park experiences in the past. He knows how to please a crowd.”
“There are countless pop culture phenomena that do absolutely nothing for me. And the past does not automatically guarantee future success. I’m just saying.”
“So it’s the cynical Sheldon with us in the limo today.”
“Even if this elevates my consciousness to a previously unreachable dimension, I’ll be annoyed that I wasn’t better prepared to take full advantage of its enlightening powers.”
“No one ever threw you a surprise party?” Tawny asked.
“Someone has. Many have tried. It pisses me off every time.”
Tawny had to know. “Tell us about the worst surprise party anyone has ever thrown for you.”
If I couldn’t ruin the surprise for her, at least I could ruin her optimism over surprise parties.
“Well, my ex-wife pulled off quite a doozy when we were married, and she should have known better. It started off with her claiming that she had to go out of town on business during my birthday. No big deal. ‘You have to work. We’ll celebrate when you get back.’ So (A) I’m not even that sad about it. It’s not like my mamma telling me that it doesn’t look like she can afford to get me the camera I want for Christmas with me walking around dejected up until Christmas only to find out she could afford it, and now I’m angry at her for lying to me. I mean I was happy to get the camera, but I had already written it off and moved on with my life, and now she’s dumping it on me expecting me to be overjoyed. Sorry, Ma. It would have been nice to know you had gotten me the camera before I had already slipped a demo into my backpack at the store with my five finger discount. I can’t undo becoming a thief.
“So let me get back to the story. (B) I don’t think my wife is going to be home, so it’s not like I have to get home right away. I end up telling one of the few people at my work that wasn’t invited to the party about how my wife is out of town on my birthday. I mention that it’s no big deal. I’m not down in the dumps about it. I’m a little miffed that all my friends have shit going on. (They’re really going to my party.) This girl at work thinks, ‘Oh, you can’t be alone on your birthday. I’ll take you out drinking.’ This is a perfectly noble gesture. I’m not going to turn her down. It was my birthday. I was going to knock a few back regardless, and it’s a little less pathetic when you have someone to drink with.
“Hours go by. Everyone is wondering where the hell I am. I’m getting drunker by the minute with my new best friend and her girlfriends. No one can call me to see where I’m at because they’re all supposed to have ‘other plans’. Finally one of my buddies calls me up saying his schedule freed up and he wants to hang out. Maybe we could get a card game going with the other guys or watch a Stallone movie or Caddyshack or Blazing Saddles at my place. Of course I’m cool with that. I figure it wouldn’t be cool to just ditch my colleague and her crew, so I bring them with me. I open the door to my place at like a quarter to eleven surrounded by three young women, and there behind the door is everyone I know. You can kind of imagine how that looked to everyone at the party.”
“Well, Sheldon, being married means no more carousing with other women,” retorted Tawny.
“Yeah, I can understand that to certain degree, but this girl was trying to do something nice for me. I doubt she had any machinations for me. Yeah, I’m always walking a tightrope when women and intoxicating substances are involved, but in this case it was a pretty thick rope.”
“You need to hone your sixth sense, my friend,” advised Gorin.
“Up to that point I had told my wife many times how much I was not down for surprises. I figured someone who supposedly loved me would never consciously do something to me I admittedly despised. But you’re right, with all the other shit she did to me that I despised, I should have seen it coming. I was a little naïve.”
Nell reassured me, “Sheldon, this surprise should be nothing like your unfortunate past experiences.”
We finally arrived at a security gate and were promptly allowed to pass into the subterranean section of a rather large parking structure. A spunky minder and not Marcus Rhys Goodrich himself was there to meet us at the unloading zone. She guided us through a series of underground tunnels until we ascended a staircase back to the open air into what appeared to be a re-creation of a street in an idealized Victorian London with a touch of Dickens, a touch of Goth, and a touch of whimsy. Some of the facades were still incomplete, and the entire street was vacant except for a few anachronistic construction workers. We followed our minder and a row of gas lamps up the street to a grand gothic castle. The level of detail was awe-inspiring. We were in a world that nowadays in Hollywood would be rendered with a computer. We crossed the drawbridge and passed under the portcullis into the courtyard filled with multiple grotesque statues. We entered the main hall of the castle keep, and then our minder bid us adieu closing the giant door behind us.
“If I was in the fifth grade, this would be pretty fucking awesome.”
“This is kind of freaky,” whimpered Tawny.
Suddenly a series of multicolored flashing lights filled the room, and an explosion of thick smoke filled the other end of the room. As the smoke cleared, we saw a small very late middle aged man holding a wooden staff in what could only be called a wizard’s robe. He spoke in a loud and nasally voice. His accent was a Scottish/English hybrid.
“Welcome to MERLIN’S CASTLE!”
Then he had a puzzled look on his face.
“Nell, I didn’t know you were bringing friends.”
“I emailed. I texted. I left you a voicemail. I told you I was bringing my staff. You never got back to me. I assumed it wouldn’t be a problem. You’re always such a gracious host, Marcus.”
It looked like Marcus was the one who was surprised.
“No. No problem at all. One second, while I make some adjustments.”
Marcus pulled up his robe to fish out his phone from a pocket in his jeans. He called to give new instructions to the kitchen and then returned his attention to our group.
“Um, yes. It is a pleasure to meet you all. I recognize you, Mister, uh, Sheldon and of course the great Ms. Tawny Prietch. Hello, Gorin. It’s always a pleasure. Uh, dinner will be arriving a little later, so please feel free to explore the castle while Nell and I discuss some matters. Come back in half hour and everything will be ready.”
Marcus extended his hand to each of us. Tawny gushed. Gorin, Marcus, and Nell exchanged glances as if to make sure Marcus’ suggestion was satisfactory. Apparently it was, so Tawny and I followed Gorin deeper into the castle to let Nell and Marcus talk about whatever it was they needed to talk about.
“Hey, Gorin, you seem to be a little more tuned in to what’s going on around here. I don’t want to pry, but what the hell is going on around here?”
“Marcus is genius, but he is idiot when it comes to women. I am certain he is infatuated with Nell.”
“And you? You’re a genius with the ladies.”
“I am practical.”
Gorin pulled out his mobile phone to show me a picture of him looking like a bearded douche bag on his yacht with a group of Ukrainian models.
“Can we talk about something else?” whined Tawny as we traversed the parapets.
“Okay, Tawny, let’s talk about your fat ass,” said Gorin out of left field.
“Fuck off, Gorin.”
“Uh, Gorin, Tawny is the antithesis of fat,” I said coming to Tawny’s defense.
“Tell him, Tawny.”
Tawny appeared defeated. Here I was with an extremely rich dude and a world class athlete, and it felt like they were rehearsing their lines for a crappy reality show.
“Tawny, I don’t know what Gorin is talking about, and it really doesn’t matter.”
“No, it’s okay. After I won the gold, I kind of went a little downhill trying to get my life together. After the constant routine of gymnastics dominating most of my life up until that point starting from early childhood, it was quite a shock to me emotionally and physically to not have that routine there. My metabolism was super screwed up from all the training and dieting. I just couldn’t stay thin and ballooned up fifty pounds—maybe sixty at the most. I was pretty miserable. If it wasn’t for Nell, I’d probably still be fat and sad.”
“So why are you trying to bring Tawny down, Gorin?”
“She steals my gigs all the time. She doesn’t have business, entrepreneurial background like me, but she does Fortune 500 events. Is silly.”
“Well, Sheldon is doing Burnett Media. How does that make you feel?”
“Yeah, Gorin, what’s your take on Burnett Media? I’ve got a checkered past with them, and somehow I’m in the hot seat on this one.”
“I also have past with Burnett Media. I immediately recuse myself from any dealings with them.”
“Really? You got to tell me about this.”
“After wall come down, I think I can help shape new free market in my home country. I buy radio and TV station in Russia. I always love TV. I like travel shows and information. But running honest station in Russia is very hard. Very early, Burnett Media wants to buy my station. They want into Russian market. Of course I refuse. A few years pass, and is more difficult to ignore suggestions from the state. Sometimes they ask me to change things nicely. Sometimes not so nicely. Sometimes my people get hurt. I need support from global power. I turn back to Burnett. They want majority share. Only way I accept is to remain as CEO. They agree. How long before I step down? Not one year. Manufactured evidence, doctored photographs, implicating me in human trafficking ring. I have to step down. This is Burnett Media. I do not like Burnett Media.”
“Holy fuck, Gorin. I have to say your Burnett Media story totally trumps mine.”
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