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.”
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.”
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