by Kirsten Lee
The two desks are in an L-shape and Ray’s desk almost takes the whole space of one wall. It’s a tight squeeze to get behind my desk and that is to blame on the two filing cabinets that flank the wall to my right. The door is directly across from my chair and when it’s open six people can fit into our littlest office. Six people who are standing tightly against each other and breathing shallowly. Well, once we had desks and chairs to sit in, Ray and I started poring over the files that were sent from above. We didn’t pore for long. What have these people been doing? The only real progress that had been made was the marketing. This festival is very well advertised and that is it. We have seven weeks left and counting.
I then spent a few hours going over the last two festivals and came out on the other side flabbergasted. How did they manage to pull it off? There was little to no organisation, the paperwork was a total mess and most of their expenses weren’t even logged. What these documents provided me with was contact details for potential contractors, but since we still didn’t have a location, I had no idea what or whom we might need. There is so much to be organised and from experience I know that seven weeks might seem like a lot, but really isn’t enough to organise something of this calibre. I don’t think Erin would ever be able to repay me for this one. And I plan to never make him forget about this.
I had a little car incident late in the afternoon, after which I went home and had a leisurely evening in my little villa recovering from a very full first day. I discovered a phone (I am still waiting for my new cell phone – my insurance company was predictably outraged and now I have to buy it myself) and decided to give my friend Pam a call. After the day I had, actually the two days I had, I needed to hear a friendly voice and I was and still am too ticked off at Erin to phone him. We talked a lot about her new exhibition – a compilation of her favourite artworks. She owns a gallery that owes its reputation to all the controversial exhibitions Pam hosted there in the last twenty years.
She’s Erin’s aunt and I’ve known her for almost as long as I’ve known Erin. In the beginning I thought her to be extremely eccentric, but she turned out to be a tower of strength in my life and has become a very dear friend to me. She often bounced her nutty ideas for exhibitions off me and I used her as a sounding board. Her astute observations and advice prevented me numerous times from doing something even more stupid than usual. After a nice long chat with her last night, I had a wonderful night’s rest, but just couldn’t get myself going this morning.
I had the full intention of going into the office early this morning, but Blossom was his usual neurotic self and delayed my departure with a whole forty minutes. I deliberate on what has to be done today when I reach the security gate at the company parking lot. Roger, the security guard, gives me a toothy smile and opens the gate for me. He was a total angel yesterday afternoon when Bomb didn’t want to start. He found the problem (lack of fuel – again) and got his cousin to bring me a can of petrol and then made me promise to fill my car up – which I did.
I give Rose, at reception, a beaming smile and am about to turn the corridor towards my office when I decide to pay Mr Wall Street a visit. I haven’t spoke to him since Tuesday morning after he introduced me to Ray, and only waved at him across the mammoth swimming pool yesterday afternoon. A wave which he half-heartedly returned. I take the lift to the top floor (in Villsburg, that’s the fourth floor) and walk into his secretary Agatha’s office. She’s not at her desk which is unusual if I believed office gossip.
She has quite the reputation in the office. Nowhere is it truer that it is the PA of the big boss who runs the company. I would never even suggest it to Mr Wall Street, but from the water cooler gossip, it seems like Agatha runs this office with an iron fist. No one gets into his highness’ office without Agatha’s approval. That is why I’m so surprised to find her desk empty. I thank my stars for it, because facing the dragon-lady without enough coffee in my system is not the way to start my working day.
It is only when I’m sitting down across from Mr Wall Street, and I watch his expression fluctuate between astonishment and annoyance that I recall I didn’t knock. Oops. He’s busy on the phone and interrupts the other person to tell them that he’ll call them back in a short while.
“Good morning Ms Fields.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a controlled sigh. I’m beginning to see a pattern here – it seems like Mr Wall Street breathes deeply more often when I’m around. “What can I do for you? I am rather busy and my secretary seems to have disappeared.”
“Oh, yes. I was surprised that Agatha wasn’t guarding your door.” He frowns and I continue brightly. “I just wanted to pop in and say “hi”. And would like to invite you to visit us downstairs when you have time, so I can bring you up to date with our progress.”
My attention is drawn to a steaming cup of coffee next to the phone. The lack of caffeine in my system this morning is due in part to Blossom and in part to my own laziness. “Do you mind?” I say and reach for the coffee. For a moment it looks like he is going to become territorial over his coffee and defend it, but he surprises me by pushing the cup towards me.
“By all means, Ms Fields. Help yourself to my coffee.” He regards me for a moment while I sip on this heavenly brew. Juice for the gods. I wish we had a coffee machine in our littlest office. “How do you find your accommodation?”
I peer at him over the now half-empty cup. “Very comfortable, thank you. Blossom and I have settled in very nicely.”
He blanches at the mention of Blossom and this response strengthens my resolve of keeping a very big distance between us. He might be very yummy, but he will be as bad for my health as chocolate cake. Too rich, too tempting and once you commit to it (him), you regret it for a long time and you never seem to be able to shake it off. I take the last few sips and put the cup on his desk with a blissful sigh.
“Thanks for the coffee. Remember to pop in when you have time.”
“You are welcome and I will try to pay you a visit some time this afternoon.”
“Great. See you later.” I get up and make my way to the door.
“Oh and Ms Fields...” Something in his voice makes me turn around very slowly and face him with dread, “You might want to check your make-up.”
The corner of his mouth is twitching with suppressed amusement. I pull myself up a little higher, recalling my ‘confident posture’ and acknowledge his suggestion with a slight nod and a quiet “thank you”.
It is all I can do to not run to the ladies room. My controlled leisurely I-don’t-care pace takes me straight to the ladies room and a dreaded mirror.
I am at my desk, sipping another coffee after having washed mascara off my cheeks. That was the result of my long eyelashes wet with fresh mascara and a grand sneeze this morning. I forgot to check my face after I squeezed my eyes shut during the earthmoving sneeze caused by Juan’s recommended perfume. I’m sitting here trying to remember who else, beside Mr Wall Street and Roger, was witness to my make-up blooper.
My mind is taken off my vanity crisis when Ray walks into the office in all his perfectionist splendour.
“Good morning doll,” he purrs as he puts his perfect briefcase containing perfectly organised documents and a perfectly healthy home made lunch on the floor next to his perfect desk.
I was struck speechless when he opened this magic briefcase the first day. I mean, it is just not natural! I’m organised and orderly (with a few slip-ups now and then), but he’s more organised than an army of ants. One would think this is an antisocial quality, yet he has really good rapport with everybody as the last two days have proved. He also seems to be informed about everything and everybody.
“I heard you had a little adventure yesterday with that jalopy of yours.” Damn Roger! I can’t determine whether it is disapproval of my car or amusement at the incident that I detect in his voice. “You are providing the information flow of this company with an overload of events. On the way here I also heard something about your
make-up.” He inspects my face while I silently curse Rose at the front desk who was the only other person I saw before Mr Wall Street drew my attention to the barcode-look under my eyes.
“Looks fine to me,” he declares, “but what happened to your sharp dress sense?”
Oh calamity of calamities! I follow his eyes and see that I’m wearing my black pin-stripe suit’s pants with my dark blue pin-stripe suit’s jacket. I should have listened when Juan told me to never buy duplicates.
“I must have had a bout of colour blindness this morning.” I say in a lame voice. Bottom. I’ll have to pay more attention in the mornings. Maybe I should consider a refill on my coffee since it doesn’t look like my present two cups will be enough for this day.
Ray and I are still getting to know each other and I can see that it is the courtesy of not getting too personal with new acquaintances that is making my perfectionist assistant hesitate to continue his onslaught regarding my attire. He takes a breath and seems like his ready to bypass the new-acquaintance-courtesy when Jamie glides into the room and freezes all activity with his attention arresting appearance.
Jamie is the nephew and also the godson of Jeremy Brown, the quiet council member I met on my first night here. If ever I’ve seen a surprising relationship, it is the one between Jamie and his uncle. I’ve spoken to Jeremy twice in the last couple of days – once over the phone and yesterday when he dropped in by the office. It would be easier to cast him into the role of a stereotypical farmer: conservative, old-fashioned and not really open to new ideas – and nothing could be further from the truth. Jeremy has proved to be an invaluable source of suggestions, help and astonishing offers. But it is the bond between him and Jamie that really caught my attention.
Why, you may ask? Well, Jamie is not really what I would call mainstream. As a teenager he must have sought an identity and found himself accepted into and identifying with the Goth culture. As he is standing in my office right now, at the tender age of twenty three, he is still the poster boy for the Goth movement. Dressed all in black and with enough body piercings to stock a small Chinese jewellery shop, he has surprised me almost as much as his uncle. When Jeremy came in yesterday, he addressed his uncle with great respect and affection. I could see there was a mutual respect between the two men and a deep bond that made me regard both in a different light.
“Good morning Jamie,” I say, grateful that he interrupted Ray’s thoughts on my dress sense. “How are you this morning?”
Jamie stares at me for a few long moments before he speaks in his soft, well-modulated way.
“Morning, Alex.” He nods to Ray. “Morning. I just wanted to check in and see what’s on the plate for today.”
Before I can speak and discuss today’s agenda, Ray starts speaking. “She’s already washed it off, as you can see.”
Jamie turns towards Ray with disappointment visible on his spooky white face. “Apparently it looked like the Japanese characters tattooed on Rose’s son-in-law’s arm. Just finer, smaller and messier.” He stares at my face again, which I can feel slowly changing to a warmer colour.
“Could we please not talk about this and get to work?” I’m ignored and the two of them continue to discuss my car-episode yesterday afternoon, my make-up and my clothes.
“Is that how it is worn in the city? Same style, two colours or were you inspired this morning?” The question is addressed to me, but Jamie doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns to Ray and they snicker at his question. I choose to ignore them and get back to my computer. After a while they run out of steam and it’s all business. We deliberate the day ahead and compare to-do lists.
Jamie is part of the IT team and has some free time between computer breakdowns and he offered to help with the festival, but seems more dedicated to baiting me about my appearance than what he is to making the festival work. Actually, that’s not true at all. He’s been a tremendous help in the last two days, and has roped in reinforcements when we ran out of ideas and resources, and needed some more grey matter. I am benefiting greatly from the smooth running of the computers and am hoping that the system will behave itself for a while. The rest of the morning and most of the afternoon is dedicated to phone calls and people coming in and out of my matchbox office.
We’ve organised a meeting with the committee Friday late afternoon, by which time I hope to present them with a well laid out plan for the festival. It’s been a lot of work considering what I started with, but I know that the more organised the plan is, the easier it is to delegate and to have things done. At the meeting we will fine tune the deadlines with the members’ input and only then can different tasks be assigned to each member.
This is me at my best. My personal life might be a disaster and my make-over mostly undone, but the moment I have to organise something, my life comes together. In this creative, organisational challenge I find order in my chaos, calm in my storm. And I love the interaction with people. The more people around me, the more ideas I come up with. I’m also beginning to love the challenge of this particular disaster with a date. That may be one of the reasons why Erin so cheerfully passed this on to me, but I’m still miffed at him. I spend a few moments on a coffee break wondering how my dear friend is doing. He’s most likely organised an arsenal of friends to cater to his every whim, while he’s sipping a glass of collector’s wine and his leg resting on an ottoman.
My mind wanders back to business and I pick up the phone. Some of the performers require basic lighting, but most of the visual artists’ works are very dependent on the lighting, which has made this a priority. After a lot of phone calls I reluctantly phone the one place I kept as a last resort.
“Bill’s lighting.” The voice that answers sounds as greasy as the man it belongs to.
“Hello Bill, it’s Alex Fields speaking.”
“Alex! Baby! It’s been too long. What can I do for you, or to you today?” I close my eyes and concentrate on keeping the sandwich I had for lunch down. This man gives me indigestion.
“I need your help, Bill.” Erin, you owe me! I tell slime-ball Bill about the festival deadline and give him the specs for what we’ll need. He remains mostly quiet through my quick run-down and I can hear him working on his computer as I speak. “Would you be able to do this?” I ask with a wince.
“For you baby, I’ll do anything.” I know he’s not referring to lighting and I barely manage to not slam the phone down. “I’m gonna have to do some juggling, but I’ll manage to fit you in. It’s gonna cost you though.”
“Bill, I’m on a tight budget here. I’m going to need you to cut your six hundred percent profit margin to fifty percent for me on this one.”
“Baby, you’re killing me!”
“Bill, please.” I put on my sexy voice at the same time as I put my hand over my eyes and shake my head fatalistically. “Do this one for me,” I croon into the receiver. Yuck!
It’s only when I agree to go for dinner with Bill that he agrees. I’m horrified at the prospect of breaking bread with him, but hugely relieved that he’ll do the job. He might be of a derelict character, but he knows what he’s doing and is one of the best in the market. Not only will he provide us with the right equipment, but he also agrees on terms that still puts me within budget.
“Thanks Bill.”
“Don’t thank me yet, baby. You’ll be thanking me plenty after dinner.” A shiver grabs me by my shoulders and shake me for a full five seconds at that thought.
“It will only be dinner, Bill.”
“That’s what you say now, baby.”
“And what I’ll be saying later. Bill, thank you again and I’ll see you soon.”
“Good bye, sugar.”
“Good bye, Bill.” I put the phone down and sound erupts around me. I’ve been so involved in this disturbing phone call that I didn’t notice what’s been going on around me.
There are eight people sardined into my office. They’ve all been talking sotto voce while I was on the phone and are goi
ng at it full throttle now. I sip on coffee number six and realise that I’m feeling a bit jittery from too much caffeine. I put the mug down on my desk amidst papers and perched bums and catch snippets of three conversations around me. Amazingly it all relates to the festival. People entered our wee office in a steady stream the whole day, first giving my face a thorough inspection before continuing around me.
Someone makes a joke and everyone bursts out laughing. The merry sound explosion bounces around the room and threatens me with permanent hearing loss. It makes me think of a very productive meeting in a pub. We only need the beer and bad music to complete the picture in my head. I’m about to join Jamie and Ray in a discussion about the showroom for the visual artists when a familiar growl cuts through the merriment like a samurai sword through a main artery, and all the noise bleeds to silence.
Chapter 5
“Ms Fields, a word please.” He might say this in a quiet manner, but the look on most of the faces in the room confirms my interpretation of it. Mr Wall Street definitely does not look like Mr Congeniality at this very moment. He gives the crowd of faces in my office a pointed look and waits. It really is true that less is more. Without him saying another word and just standing in the doorframe with one eyebrow lifted, everyone seems to get the message and after collecting some papers and softly uttered ‘see-ya-later’s’, they start filing out the room, squeezing past him with muttered apologies.
I ask Jamie and Andy from accounting to stay. After a brief disagreement about where to have our “word” – which ends in a stare-down –Mr Wall Street concedes to my insistence that it will be quicker to have it here since we’re all here in any case.
“Ms Fields, this is highly irregular. When I offered you office space, I did not intend for my company to be disrupted by meetings of this calibre.” He says the word ‘meetings’ as if it tastes like aloe. “And I do wish you would keep the noise level down.”