Thursday, February 15, 2007

The facility staff was completing the preparations; everything was going according to the plan. The operations manager and I would periodically make eye contact. My client’s staff were standing and watching. Out side the door the early press arrivals were snacking on the coffee and sweets.

Word came that the client’s executives were in the building and the celebrity spokesperson had also arrived. The client’s staff began moving about and joining conversations and when the execs entered the room they began inserting themselves into the conversations. The operations manager caught my eye and he rolled his. I smiled and kept moving about. The facility staff picked up their pace to get finished and get out. All eyes followed the spokesperson’s movement through the room and then backstage followed by the little man, the publicist.

I checked my watch and found my client contact, suggesting he get his people on the dais and confirmed that everyone had their speeches. The venue staff were gone, except for those manning the refreshment tables. My client contact confirmed they were ready. I took one last walk around the room, in front of the podium there was a piece of cord on the floor so I picked it up and signaled for the doors to be opened.

I watched from the back of the room; the introductions went off with out a hitch. In front of me was the little man, a moronic twit. His boss is fine, a bit vacuous, but nice. But the publicist, I’m not sure I’ve met a more irritating man in my life. In a way though he brings me a small amount of satisfaction, a man that I can look down on literally as well as figuratively.

I’m still holding the cord, worrying it like a rosary. We’re into the questions time. No one blew their lines, there were no disasters, if Murphy were to walk into the room wearing a belt bomb, all would expect me to throw my scrawny body over him and later I’d take a bullet because it happened. My mind began to wander, the cord, the twit. I could use the cord as a garrote, and drag him through the curtains behind us. No one would notice and no one would miss him...

Then it was over, everyone was smiling, it was a success. Someone asked if I were going to the luncheon, I wasn’t, the hired help weren’t invited. One of the writers came by and gave me a hug, an old friend from when I first came to Paris and tended bar in a gay dive. He asked if I’d join him for lunch, I accepted.

Kim

1 Comments:

Anonymous VJ said...

Well Done Kim! And lunch with a far more entertaining crowd, probably. I don't think you've ever spelled out what exactly Kim & Co. does, and this goes a long way to help explain that. Thanks for the insight. Cheers & Good Luck! 'VJ'

8:38 AM  

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