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
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
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