by Kirsten Lee
I can see he plans to go on about this and decide to, once again, go against my recent training. I ask Ray, Andy and Jamie to wait outside to a few minutes, and as they gratefully bustle out of the room I feel my grandmother’s passionate nature rising in me together with my blood pressure. How could I ever have found this boor attractive? I watch the door close and then turn blazing eyes on Mr Wall Street.
“Mr Montgomery. When you offered me office space I did not expect a cubicle. Also, when you enlisted the help of Cole and Fields, there was an understanding that we – I – would get all the help I needed since this was a disaster with a date.” I’ve lost the quiver in my voice and am giving him a full view of the Fields temperament. Grandma would be proud. “If you want this event to be a success within six weeks and one day, I need you to cut me some slack. These people that you just treated like idle slackers have been a great help to me. Every single one of them has helped me in the past three days to accomplish a few weeks’ worth of work. Now I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep your reprimands for me in the privacy of your office or the side of the road. I can’t afford to lose the volunteered help that I have at the moment because you are practicing being the big bad wolf. Be assured that where your precious event is concerned everything, I repeat, everything I do has a purpose. We don’t have time to waste and you should be the first to recognise that and give me the benefit of the doubt.”
Take me on about my dress-sense, my personal life, especially my taste in men and you will have me back down in a second. But when it comes to my job I’m so sure of what I do, that it would be better for somebody – Mr Wall Street – to leave me to do what I am best at. My little outburst must’ve taken the big man by surprise because he’s now leaning against the wall pinching the skin between his eyes and breathing deeply. Or maybe he’s contemplating my demise. Either way I am not expecting to get an apology from him this millennium, so I give him a very flat smile (I’ve practiced this in front of the mirror) and say, “If you feel ready now, I would like to call Ray, Andy and Jamie in so that we can give you a complete update.”
Without waiting for a reply the door next to him opens as if they were called and the three men come in from their position of eavesdropping. I almost expect to see a glass in Ray’s hand to have helped him hear what was happening on this side of the door. They come in and once again I think fondly of my large office in the city with its small conference corner when the five of us try to find a place to park our behinds so that we can have this meeting.
I’m behind my desk and the three men have divided themselves around Ray’s desk. I get the impression that they want to put as much distance between them and the ogre. I am not surprised. Mr Wall Street is still leaning against the wall by the door, but at least is not longer pinching his nose and breathing deeply.
Ray is the first to break the awkward silence from behind his desk. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve organised the venue and transportation. Ms Fields?” He neatly throws the presentation ball at me and I catch it without faltering.
“Jamie here is Jeremy Ashwood’s nephew. Now I’m sure that you know that Jeremy used to have a dairy about twenty minutes out of town. He recently moved it to another location and all the stables and barns are still in place.” I take a breath and Jamie takes over.
“Alex ... um, Ms Fields came up with the cool idea of transforming the buildings into theatres and showrooms. Show Mr Montgomery the plans, Ms Fields.” I smile at Jamie’s attempt at formality. There has been no place for formality the way we’ve been working in the last few days. It was an unspoken understanding of too much work and no time for pretence. He obviously is trying to give me more credibility in front of Mr Wall Street and I have even more respect for this Goth creature. I roll out the large printed plans of the dairy, which Jeremy brought yesterday, on my desk and point to a cluster of buildings to the left of it.
Mr Wall Street pushes away from the wall and takes the two steps necessary to be in front of my desk. He gives me a narrowed look before he looks down at the plans. I manage to not pull a face at him and explain.
“These are stables which we will utilise as individual showrooms for the more prominent visual artists. These rooms are not very big, but with good lighting their works will be done justice to.” Mr Wall Street lifts his eyebrow when I mention good lighting and I elaborate. “I just got off the phone with one of the best lighting companies in this field. They’ve been very gracious concerning the lateness of our booking and our budget restraints and I’ve worked with them before, so I know the quality of their work.” I did not mention that the sleazy owner of this very sought-after company managed to get a date out of me, which I am dreading like the next appointment with my gynaecologist. I draw Mr Wall Street’s attention back to the plan and point to a barn on the south east side of the complex.
“This will be our main event’s hall. A stage will be erected inside and it will host our prime performances. It is a large space and ought to seat eight hundred people comfortably. These are the other two barns which will be used as concert halls.” I point to a building at the northern end and one on the far eastern side. “They are situated far enough from the other to not interfere with sound and people moving around. The smaller one will be used for the opening ceremony for which we’ll create a ballroom setting for the opening night.”
“And all this is still within budget?”
“Oh yes. This is where all these people have been so helpful with. The tables and chairs for the opening ball will be provided by the hotel just outside of town. Andy,” I nod at the usually quiet young man beside Ray’s desk, “is from accounting and his mother is the manager of the hotel. They will also provide us with all the crockery and catering equipment – all at the fraction of the normal rates. Earl’s pub will provide us with alcohol which he will sponsor most of.” Earl Foxx, my teddy-bear ally has also proved to be quite a resource. One of the four businesses he owns is a pub and he’s been extremely helpful.
The three of us spend another hour bringing Mr Wall Street up to date. I outline the plan for transportation which became a necessity when we realised that parking space will be limited on the grounds and most people would prefer to enjoy the beer garden and wine testing stalls without having to worry about the drive back into town. Andy seems to be quite well connected in town. When we discovered our transportation dilemma, he told us that his aunt is the head of the local bus company, and with his help we managed to come to an agreement with them.
Andy is the star in the accounting department with a head for numbers, but not for social skills. However, when he heard of our little logistical problem he came up with this very timely suggestion and actually spoke to me about it. It is very clear that he adores his aunt, but when I spoke to her over the phone she sounded more like a military commander than Auntie Maude, the head of the bus company. Her voice softened perceptibly every time she talked about Andy and I knew the adoration went both ways. He speaks for the first time during the meeting and as usual I have to listen carefully to understand his mumblings. No one ever taught this man to speak up.
“Auntie Maude has organised two busses that will travel from the centre of town to the farm every half an hour.” I can see that Andy is not going to offer any more information and Mr Wall Street looks at me expectantly.
“The bus service will run from eight in the morning still two in the morning. That’s usually when the music shows end and people will need lifts. After that people will have to walk.” Mr Wall Street nods and I continue to the next point, “It seems like accommodation won’t be a serious problem. Earl has put up a sign in his pub and a lot of residents have responded by opening their homes. The idea is for the residents to also profit from this event. They’ll be renting out rooms for a regulated fee and a lot of people have shown an interest in this. The problem comes when we need to accommodate all the vehicles on the farm. It will be easier for everyone, including the roads and the traffic police
, if the patrons use the bus service.”
I answer a few questions to clear up some uncertainties Mr Wall Street has and then decide that now is as good a time as ever to give him some bad news.
“Elena cancelled.” The popular singer was to be one of the main attractions. “Her agent said that she got an offer that had more certainty and he advised her to accept it.”
“There is nothing you can do to get her back?” Mr Wall Street asks after a groan that accompanied the realisation of the impact this cancellation can have.
“It is not like I have not been trying.” I say a bit miffed. “My second problem is that I can’t get hold of Zondra. I need to know what kind of contract was signed and the legal implications of the cancellation, but every time I try to get hold of our so-called legal advisor, I am either put on hold for ten minutes or I am told that she’s in a meeting.”
“But have you tried contacting Elena?” I don’t like the accusing tone of his voice.
“No,” I say very slowly, trying to control my annoyance. “All communication is directly with her agent, which is normal practice with artists and I’ve just told you what her agent said.”
“Did you try to negotiate with him?” I can feel my ire rising higher. This man does not seem to have any faith in my abilities. I close my eyes for a moment trying to calm down, but all I see behind my eyelids is images of me hitting Mr Wall Street over the head with a skittle. Jamie gives a nervous giggle as I take more time to compose myself. I’ve worked so hard the past few months on the new me and I’ll be damned if one man will ruin all that. Maybe I took to long to calm down, but when I open my eyes, Mr Wall Street looks ready to breathe fire.
“Ms Fields, please be in my office in ten minutes.” With that he leaves the room and stalks off to the elevator. I take a shaky breath and look at the three stunned faces staring at me like the hear-no-evil, see-no-evil and speak-no-evil monkeys.
“I haven’t seen him like this with anyone,” Ray offers his unsolicited opinion. “You seem to rub him up with wrong way, girl.” He looks at the other two questioningly as if they could offer an answer to this complex problem. A slow knowing smile crawls over his cheeks like lava down a mountain and then he offers me a volcanic viewpoint. “Maybe you rub him up the right way.” He tilts his head to one side and the evil man asks me in a sultry voice, “Does he rub you up the right way, honey?”
I had to control myself with Xena-like strength to not explode, and I manage to whisper in a strangled voice, “No, he does not. I find Mr Montgomery overbearing and unaccommodating.” I feel my mouth in danger of running away from me and I move around my table towards the door. “I am expected at a meeting,” I say and leave the room with as much dignity as I can muster under the circumstances – these circumstances being my face having acquired an unwelcome glow and Andy muttering, “My lady doth protest too much.”
In the elevator I think of how I’m able to semi-control my responses to other people, but seem to experience communication-breakdown between my brain and mouth whenever I’m around Mr Wall Street. Usually I need a certain amount of provocation before I speak my mind. But with Mr Wall Street I just need to see him blink and that is enough for my mind to switch off and my mouth to acquire a life of its own. For a millisecond I wonder if I’m dilly, but this daft thought is interrupted by the elevator stopping on Mr Wall Street’s floor and the doors open like the magic doors of a haunted house in a horror movie. Where is the scary organ music?
I step onto the lush carpet and promise myself to breathe deeply and count to ten – ok, at least to five – before replying to anything Mr Wall Street says. Agatha is at her desk and when she looks up I’m on the receiving end of a disapproving look.
“Ms Fields.”
“Hello, Agatha.” I try in my friendliest voice. “Mr Montgomery is expecting me.”
“I know.” She returns to her computer and finishes whatever she was typing before she buzzes Mr Wall Street to tell him the black sheep of Villsburg has arrived. I secretly wonder what she was typing and after toying with a few options, come to the firm decision that it is an erotic novel. This puts a smile on my face which immediately disappears when Agatha nods me to Mr Wall Street’s office. I bring back the image of her typing away and using words like “engorged member”, which makes it easy for me to give her my best toothpaste-ad smile before I walk to the door in my confident posture. I tone down my smile a tad and stand in front of the door trying to get my face into an appropriately respectful yet assertive expression when the door bursts open and I find myself eye to mouth with the purported recipient of my now startled facial expression.
For a moment Mr Wall Street looks at me in total surprise, but recovers remarkably well. Very politely he invites me into his office and I follow wondering about the expression on my face. The last few seconds came upon me just too quickly to be sure what I look like at the moment. Deep in thought I sit myself down on the chair in front of his large mahogany desk. I come back to reality when he sits down in his chair and sighs loudly.
“Well,” I say.
“Yes,” he says.
Another moment of silence. This is awkward. I am about to speak, but Mr Wall Street stops me with a finger in the air. Another thing he seems to do often in my presence. I don’t think that he’s pointing at something on the ceiling that I should look at, so I wait for him to say his piece.
“Ms Fields, I first want to apologise for my brisk manner earlier on.” Brisk manner? He was growling like a junkyard dog, but an apology is an apology and I’m rather taken aback by it. “In all fairness, you have to see this from my point of view. I walk into your office and find a crowd of people in a very jolly atmosphere. I’m sure you can see how it appeared to me.”
I concede to his point with a little nod. He continues, “I fully approve of all the help you are receiving and will get this message across to those involved. However, I cannot afford to lose too much productivity in my own company and would appreciate it if you could keep that in mind during this project.” I will not get annoyed. I will not get annoyed. “I would also like to propose a truce. I can see that you don’t find me agreeable, but for the sake of this project, let’s put our edgy start behind us and try to work on this together.”
Well, give me a wig and call me Tina! Now seems to be a very good time to think before I speak and I do so. Maybe a little too long, because Mr Wall Street’s look is going from expectant to strange, and that’s when I decide that I’ve thought enough and can speak now.
“Mr Montgomery, I don’t think a truce is necessary, since I don’t find you disagreeable. I agree that we’ve had an edgy start, but I was more under the impression that you found me disagreeable. I actually find you agreeable.” My fingers are crossed on my lap.
“Then why are you always so contrary?”
“What do you mean by contrary?” What ever does he mean?
“You seem to revel in disagreeing with me.”
“I do not.” And then I smile. “Okay, maybe you push my squabble button, but it doesn’t mean that I find you disagreeable.” I cannot believe we are having this conversation! I feel a very strong urge to end this and get on with my day. My life. I give him a bright smile which I hope looks real. “Now that we have that out the way, do you have any comments on the progress we’ve made so far?”
He looks as if he wants to pursue the matter I’m trying to get away from, but to my everlasting delight returns to business talk. “I’m duly impressed with all the arrangements you’ve made so far. As you rightly said, you’ve made more progress in three days than the others had in four months.”
“Not without any help.”
“Noted.” I think he got the point that I need the people he growled at and pushing it any further might cause him to growl at me. Again. So, I smile and simply nod. “I also appreciated the update this afternoon.” My, but this man is full of compliments. What happened on the way from my office to his? “I would like it if we can have an up
date meeting like that every other day.”
“Sure, no problem.” Wow, I could actually work with this man if he continues to be like this.
“I also want to reiterate that you have all the support you need.”
Now I’m getting a little bit suspicious. Is he handling me or is he being sincere? I make the conscious decision to believe it is the latter. And so it seems like Mr Wall Street and I have agreed upon a seize fire. I must admit being a little disappointed – I enjoyed the sparring.
I leave his office wondering if I’ve ever heard anyone use the word ‘reiterate”.
Chapter 6
“We should’ve taken my car.”
“Ray, stop whining and just hold the door.”
Not a day goes by without a mishap. Day one, it was the roadside incident; day two, the neighbour’s dog; day three, Bomb without fuel; day four, my make-up and today this. I’m facing the falling apart of my make-over and might have to call Juan. I truly hope that it won’t come to that.
Ray and I are following Jamie who is on his very big, very black motorbike, to his uncle’s farm. We all thought it would be a good idea to see the place before I present it as an option at the council meeting tonight. A few of the members have been grumbling again about having a meeting on a Friday evening, but one phone call from Mr Wall Street had them all agree and thus I feel the need to be prepared to the teeth for this meeting. There is no way they will get the better of me.
Mr Wall Street had another super-duper important meeting to attend to this morning and informed us, via Agatha, the dragon-lady, that he won’t be able to go to the farm with us. I snottily informed him, via Agatha, that this was also very important and threatened to make crucial decisions without his input. Somehow I think that message will never make it to him – Dragon-lady appears to strongly disapprove of me and my responses to Mr Wall Street.
“Alex, this door is going to fall off and take me with it.”