by Kirsten Lee
Chapter 2
I’m late. Al proved to be a very jovial, helpful fellow who talked more than my aunt Theresa after three sherries. I would have made the meeting on time had Al just put the fuel in the car. But, alas, that is not how things happened. When Al discovered I was on my way to his town, he took it upon himself to inform me about Villsburg while making friends with Blossom, and by the time I tore Blossom away from him and got in the car, I knew that I had crossed the fashionably-late line.
I made a quick stop in the ladies’ and fluffed my hair the way Juan showed me. That, some powder and lipstick later, I now stand in front of the conference room door, ready. I reach to open the door and my hand freezes mid-air as I hear a heated discussion taking place on the other side of the door.
“I still don’t agree that we had to get an outsider to do this job.” A female voice, and the venom in it makes me flinch.
“Zondra, Adam explained to us that with his company being the main sponsor for the festival, it’s in their interest to ensure that it is a success.” A male voice. I know I will like this man. He sounds elderly – the way older, experienced people express themselves slowly and clearly. I wish Erin told me more about this whole bloody project. Granted, it was a bit difficult for him to give me the low-down while lying with his leg suspended in mid air and nurses fussing about, but still. I feel very unprepared.
A third voice speaks. Male and soft-spoken. Another ally? “This person comes highly recommended and from what I hear can work miracles. We need that.”
“We’re definitely going to need a miracle since none of the coordinators could work with you, Zondra.” Another male voice. Unfriendly.
“It wasn’t just me, George. They had difficulty working with you as well.” Wow, this woman has a tone that could perform laser surgery. She clears her throat and continues in a tone a bit more mellow. “All I’m saying is that I’m very sceptical. First, Mr Montgomery surprises us with his presence and participation in this project. Did any of you know that he took over from his grandfather?”
I hear a few quiet “no’s” and the woman, Zondra, continues. “I found out only yesterday that he’s been working here for three months already! Apparently he’s been living in Villsburg for six months, and had been travelling to the city frequently. For the last three months he still travels, but much less. He spends most of his time here.”
She must be talking about Erin’s friend, Adam Montgomery. He’s the reason I’m here. Well, him and Erin’s broken leg. Apparently he phoned Erin asking for a favour and as nice as Erin is, he said yes. And now I am standing behind a conference room door eavesdropping like a teenager!
Ms Venom continues. “Then he has the audacity to come in and take over our arrange...” A door opens inside the room somewhere which stops Zondra in the middle of her sentence and someone clears a throat in obvious discomfort.
“I took over from this committee, Zondra, because after six months and a shocking budget, your only accomplishment was to run off five coordinators. As you all know, this festival will be a reflection on my company and I will not tolerate anything less that the best.” The new male voice has the kind of quiet strength that one would not want to willingly challenge. He must have heard the conversation from an adjacent room before he entered in the middle of Ms Venom’s sentence. I cross my eyes and groan. My dear partner and friend told me that there were problems with the organising of this festival, but he did not prepare me for this. Five coordinators? A disliked Mr Montgomery, a Ms Venom and a room full of bad energy?
Erin, I hate you.
“So, where is this ever-so-highly-recommended coordinator of yours?” the man called George asks. For the second time today I make a diagnosis without a PhD in human behaviour. This is not a very amiable group of people. And I will have to work with them? Why me?
“I’m sure he has a good reason. He’s most likely delayed,” the old man says slowly. “I suggest we wait a little while longer. He might have difficulty finding the town.” He? HE? They think I’m a man? Oh bottom! It’s going to take some serious verbal tap dancing to work my way through this bog heap of hostility and misunderstandings.
Mustering courage from some inner source that I think I inherited from my grandmother, I hoist my large canvas bag over my right shoulder and get into my ‘confident posture’ – pull in the stomach, push out the chest and lift the chin. Opening the door, I stride confidently into a room with an atmosphere so thick you can hang an axe on it.
I only manage two confident strides when I’m pulled back to the door with a force that rattles my teeth and nearly dislocates my shoulder. While my teeth settle into their usual positions and my shoulder groans back into place, I try to figure out what or who just attacked me. Then a heavy realisation settles on me. ‘Incident’ number four just occurred. One of the many decorative pockets on my canvas bag got hooked by the door handle. I plaster a smile on my face, hoping it looks real and give the bag a tug. Nothing happens. Five pairs of eyes assess me as I give my bag another tug, this time with force.
The sound of tearing fabric fills the already atomic air and my favourite bag frees itself from its captor. This causes the door to first ricochet off the wall and then slam shut with a noise that sounds to me like the lid slamming on my coffin.
Triple bottom!
And – why me?
To my amazement I manage to contain a groan and a few expressive words, and raise myself back into my confident posture.
“Good afternoon,” I say with a voice that slightly resembles my own.
“Well, I’ll be damned.” The older, experienced voice – spiced with laughter – belongs to a teddy bear of a black man. My eyes connect with the laughter in his and I know I have an ally. I’m about to introduce myself when a familiar voice cuts through the air with the speed and sharpness of a samurai sword.
“Excuse me miss, but this is a closed meeting.” The venom-tipped arrows, aka words, miss my heart by a few inches and bounce off my armour. Remembering my training and with a smile still plastered on my face, I turn my charm on full blast.
“Ah, you must be Zondra!” I plonk my bag down on the table a bit too loudly and smile at her with the joy of seeing a long lost friend. I lean in and shake my head in wonder. “I’ve heard so much about you and your legendary style in court. Admirable,” I say in a reverent voice. She seems taken aback and at least I’ve succeeded in shutting her up for a while.
Part of the complete make-over of me, Alex Fields, included intensive training in people and business negotiation skills. Apparently I lacked severely in this area. I tend to say what’s on my mind, uncensored, and so Erin sicced his cousin Bart, an expert in business negotiations, professional conduct and corporate image, on me. At first I thought all the negotiation rules to be a bit pie in the sky and manipulative, but it seems like I might need those seven steps to ‘successful and amiable business relations’ today.
“Good afternoon everybody.” I slowly look around the room starting at my left and make eye contact with all the members as I work my way to the male presence standing to my right and just out of my peripheral vision – step number one. “I apologise profusely for being late, but I had some cah...” No. No! NO! I look into a pair of very familiar dark brown eyes and I can feel my lower jaw freeze in an open “ah” position.
Standing next to me, large as life, is no one else but Mr Wall Street himself. What is he doing here? He ought to be in another boardroom in some huge company in some huge city, not a municipal boardroom in Villsburg. Does his presence here mean that I’ll have to work with him? Bottom of all bottoms! It takes a second of rapid blinking (me) for the unwelcoming look (him) to penetrate my thunderstruck brain. I hold my confident posture, but not without difficulty, and recall step number two: Never let them attack and never let them defend. Be the first to befriend.
“Fancy meeting you again.” I stick out my hand, hoping he won’t notice the slight tremble, and give his reluctantly offered hand
a friendly shake. “Alex Fields. Very pleased to meet you, Mr...”
“Adam Montgomery.” Geez, I don’t know if my smile will ever be warm enough to thaw the ice coming from his eyes. His name takes moment to sink in. Is he the Mr Montgomery? Erin’s good friend and the man I will have to work with? The man I will have to work closely with?
What have I done in my previous lives to deserve such bad karma payback? From his conversations on his fancy-smancy phone this afternoon and the look he’s giving me right now, I don’t have to be psychic to know that the next seven weeks is going to be the equivalent of listening to little children practice their piano lessons – slow torture.
“Ms Fields,” he continues in a cordial voice that belies his look. “Let me introduce you to our committee.”
He starts with the man sitting to my left. Jeremy Ashwood. From the scant info I got from Erin I know a bit about all of them. Jeremy’s a farmer who’s been widowed for ten years. His family and farms keep him busy and content. Next to him is the unfriendly male voice. I shake hands with George Carlson, a man who looks like a stereotypical real estate developer. And that, incidentally, is what he does for a living. I also immediately distrust him. I’m sorry, but I just cannot trust a man who wears a gold signet ring on his little finger.
“And I’m Earl Foxx.” The smile the black teddy bear gives me is like a cup of hot chocolate on a cold, grey day: warm and giving me courage to go on. He looks like the family man everyone knows him to be and not like a successful business man with four businesses in town. My indulgence in his friendly gesture is rudely interrupted by Zondra.
“Zondra Brennet. We all expected someone different. I do hope that you’ll be able to handle a project of this size and importance.” I’m surprised that she uses multi-syllabic words, since she’s speaking to me as if I’m four years old. I should’ve stayed stranded on the side of the road.
“Is she your expert who will wave her wand and make this work?” George asks looking argumentatively at Mr Wall Street and then nods in my direction. “Is this little lady it?”
I have been called a lot of things, but never little. I have been told that my energy levels make me appear taller than my hundred and seventy centimetres. And with my J Lo physique I would not call myself little.
George and Zondra are now ganging up on Mr Wall Street and I let their arguments regarding my suitability for this job wash over me. Step number six: Don’t take things personally. I reach for my canvas bag and start unpacking while George continues his derogatory remarks that sound like the recording of cave-man gruntings.
They’ve moved away from my competency and are now taking Mr Wall Street on about hiring me without their involvement. It seems like the argument is back to where it started just before I entered the room and is getting decidedly heated. Earl and Jeremy are the only ones not raising their voices at this moment and I make a note in the back of my head to find out more about them. It’s quite obvious that I won’t be getting much help from Zondra and George, but Earl and Jeremy might just make the next seven weeks manageable. I’ve finished unpacking the paraphernalia from my canvas bag and am now rummaging through my handbag. Aha! Found it!
The shrill scream of the police whistle leaves startled looks and beautiful silence in its wake. I did violate rule number four: Don’t make any offensive sounds, but I successfully achieved rule number five: Always be in control. I stand for a moment and weigh my options, and then decide to go the whole hog.
“I was told four days ago about your dilemma and reluctantly agreed to give up my holiday on an exotic island to take this on. I did not know that I was going to have to work with this.” Now I’m breaking all the rules. Sorry Bart. “I asked for a progress report on any and all arrangements for this festival and after three phone calls and no report I had to come here empty handed. The only information I had was a bunch on sketchy descriptions of the people I was going to work with. And that I received from my partner, Mr Cole. Now, who can give me the information that I requested four days ago?”
“I’ve not been informed about your request, Ms Fields.” It’s Mr Wall Street speaking Ice language to me.
“How is that possible? I spoke to your assistant several times on Thursday and Friday.”
“Are you sure?” he asks.
I turn away from the group and face Mr Wall Street full on. “Yes, I’m sure. Her name is Cynthia and she kept on promising to email me the progress report.”
“That is not my assistant, Ms Fields.”
“She’s my assistant and I’ll have a word with her about this.” Zondra aka Ms Venom breaks into our stare-down. I hear Earl mumble something under his breath that sounds similar to “go figure”, but I decide to not go into that direction and turn back to the four people around the table.
“Well, that is all a moot point now. I had to come unprepared tonight and can’t even give you an estimate on what kind of subcontracting we would have to do. In order for me to give you a comprehensive plan, I need information on what’s been achieved so far, a mission statement if you have one, people involved, and artists who’ve been contacted. I need everything you have. I’ll also need the documents of the last two festivals.” This is all said in my no-nonsense business voice. I’m good at my job. I can feel my annoyed expression and am sure they can see that I am not in the mood for faffing about.
“I’ll have it on your desk tomorrow morning,” Mr Wall Street says with narrowed eyes weighing me and most likely finding me a few kilos too heavy. I ignore the fleeting desire to squeeze in my bum and stomach, and get back to business.
“I also need to know that you’re not going to fight me all the way on this. I’m hired to make this work and if you’re not going to work with me, this event will not be taking place. Thanks to the limited information I have about your festival and the fact that time is running out, I’d say that we need to work together. Do I have your support or am I going home?”
I am my grandmother’s offspring. I take no nonsense. I know that if Erin ever found out about me giving these people an ultimatum at the first meeting, I’ll have to listen to one of his ‘you can not speak like this to clients’ lectures. There’s a silence in the room which is beginning to make me wince inside and wish that I had stuck to those bleeding steps. But then, the gods smile on me and Earl is the first one to break the silence.
“You have my support and if I can help with anything, just ask.”
“Me too.” Man-of-few-words Jeremy Ashwood.
“Yes,” Zondra spits out the word with great reluctance. “Anything you need in the legal department, just phone my office.” But can I trust your assistant, I want to ask but bite my tongue.
“Mr Carlson?” I lift my eyebrow and give him my grandmother’s eat-your-vegetables look.
“Yes Ms Fields, you have my support,” he says with maximum insincerity while closing his ego-sized diary. This is not going to be easy, but strangely I’ve never liked easy and this challenge is becoming very intriguing to me.
“I’ll start reviewing the documents tomorrow.” I nod at Mr Wall Street who nods back in mutual recognition of the giving and receiving of documents. “Can we arrange a meeting before the end of this week? I’ll be able to give a better overview of everything and can give you a plan of action about how I would need your help and involvement.”
George starts to complain about his precious time when Mr Wall Street interrupts him in a tone that brooks no argument. “My secretary will be in contact with everyone to arrange it.”
He stands up from where he was leaning against the wall and walks to me at the front of the table, and addresses the group. “Thank you for making the time to be here tonight. I believe that this project can now officially be on its way with Ms Fields heading it and with the full support of this group. We’ll meet again before this week ends. Have a good evening and a good week.”
And with that he dismisses everyone. Amazing how much power one man has. One by one they leave the r
oom. Earl gives me a wink that I interpret as approval and Jeremy gives me a nod that I see as validation. These two men might just become my pillars in this project. Mr Wall Street walks them out and I can hear their voices as they go down the corridor. I shake my head in a doomsday-manner while packing everything back into my bag.
I know the moment Mr Wall Street steps back in the room. I can feel his energy tsunami fields hitting me from behind and I studiously ignore him. An unbecoming sound makes me look around to where he is standing with surprise written all over my face.
“It wasn’t me!” he says with a bit too much vehemence. “Rudolph gave him to me. He said the noise was disturbing him too much.” Standing next to him is a demure looking Blossom. I had left Blossom with the security guard after an embarrassed explanation. Mr Wall Street looks decidedly uncomfortable with an animal at such close proximity.
“Come here baby.” I throw an ugly look Mr Wall Street’s way and open my arms to the monster-dog. Like the over-grown puppy he is, Blossom leaps forward and throws himself against me. There are a few moments I think I’m going to lose my balance and land on my ample behind, but manage to stumble backwards until the conference table stops my journey. I now have a hairy black canine’s front paws on my shoulders and an adorably huge face blocking Mr Wall Street’s disapproving look.
I spend a moment wondering whether he disapproves of Blossom, of me personally, or whether he objects to me being the person who will run this project he is so concerned about. I had managed to get everyone’s, albeit reluctant, promises of support, yet Mr Wall Street said nothing and it seems that he’ll be playing an integral part in this art and culture festival.
“Do I have your support?” I ask past a fluffy ear.
“Pardon?”
“Do I have your support?” I ask more strongly and push Blossom’s head on my shoulder.
“Yes, of course you do. You’ll be working from our offices and you’ll have your own office and telephone and the use of my secretary and assistants.” How’s that for support?