AuntShecky
02-11-2009, 06:27 PM
Winter Dreams
Sunshine hugged the office windows while it concealed a red-hot poker behind its back. The A/C ratcheted up to “11" belied the hell simmering on the payment twelve stories below where poor souls sweated and suffered. The sensation was almost medieval, not unlike “the abominable fancy,” with a little twenty-first century guilt mixed in.
Marshall poked his head through the office door. “ Today’s V-Day! Did you forget?”
Leigh had forgotten, perhaps voluntarily. She remembered the day the firm landed the account. When she first heard the “Valedrella” she thought it was some kind of disease ripe for a PSA, in actuality a female recording artist, riding the one-name bandwagon to stardom. Valedrella’s handlers needed promotion for her very own perfume, and the day the firm landed the account, Valedrella’s big hit, “Someone to Share,” reverberated from every loudspeaker in the building until the back-beat of the reedy and repetitive ditty pounded through Leigh’s head, though presumably not as loudly as it would be that evening and the next at the Civic Center, for a leg of the pop star’s concert tour.
“She'll be here any minute--well, she’s late, you know how these big stars are--”
“Why me? Like I know from pop music these days. Not only that, I'm old enough to be the young lady’s grand--, er, mother. Can't Todd field this one?”
“Todd’s in Barbados.”
“Who goes to Barbados this time of year?”
“Well, Todd, apparently. But he did upload a plan for the Promotion before he left. All you have to do is run it by her people. Come on! It'll be fun.”
Yeah, the way looking for a computer file was fun. At the moment the desk monitor waved with streams of decimals, numbers, and tiny arrows, a few which were pointing heaven-ward, but most going in the other direction. The parallel bands differed only slightly in their respective speeds; even though they were flowing from left to right, they oddly evoked the runes of a dead language from an ancient land. She had a daily compulsion to check the electronic ticker tape, but never without trepidation, especially with the virulent rumors that summer about the shaky market and long-solvent and stately brokerage houses inexorably heading down the tubes. It was no use doing the math, for despite a general knowledge about basic risks and rewards, she hadn't the slightest idea of which specific stocks or companies to look at, nor could she really tell whether the market trend on any given day skewed good or bad for her.
Such uncertainty clouded plans about her own future, which included retirement, a prospect which she had simultaneously welcomed and dreaded. The actual date of her liberation was tentative, depending on a flock of factors, not the least of which would be financial. The nest egg had been laid in a wide-ranging henhouse, filled with a diversity of chickens of various breeds and fecundity; thus the eventual amount of her personal lump sum was tied up in a plan of which not even Trish down in Employee Relations could explain the complexity. Would the parachute be golden or worth less than a wad of aluminum foil? Nobody knew. Still, it might amount to Something, when so many in the world -- even in her own town– had Nothing.
Whatever the final sum would be, it was all Leigh would have to show for the decades she'd spent with the firm – that and the dubious satisfaction of a Job Well Done, which mainly consisted of injecting respectability into the reputations of companies, which, despite her euphuistic efforts in public relations, were forever to remain little and local--Muckenmeyer’s Beer, for instance, a vin ordinaire virtually unknown beyond the three-county area in which it was brewed and sold. There had been a scattering sample of pro bono public service announcements, too insignificant to amount to much. Such was life -- at least, her life.
And now a local girl had Made Good, almost instantly, the fabled “overnight” success. The career was so new that research uncovered few facts which Leigh could puff up into a bio. No highly-rated national “talent” show had discovered her, nor had Valedrella -- so young that it was almost depressing – invested sufficient time to study music and slowly rise through the usual ranks. So much for paying one’s proverbial dues. Maybe she had an uncle in the Business. There was no doubt, nevertheless, that she had already exploited the perks of stardom, underscored by the fact that she was already three and half hours late.
First through the door was the handler, extending his hand and loudly announcing his name, which Leigh instantly forgot, though she couldn't help noticing him from head –(a dead-giveaway toupee) - to toe (elevator shoes.) He strutted around Leigh’s office as if he owned the joint. It occurred to Leigh that this guy might've fancied himself to be a latter-day Napoleon, with Valedrella as his empire.
There was little doubt that the girl of the hour would much rather have been somewhere else. As she slumped into the first available chair – Leigh’s chair – Valedrella hardly grunted a greeting, her attention fully engaged by her cellphone, across whose miniature keyboard an iridescent thumbnail danced in 6/8 time. Above her bare midriff, she wore a negative-sized sleeveless top with a (presumably) ironic retro tie-dyed design; the hems of her pant legs ended just below the knee, as if cutting out to the coast to dig up a couple quarts of Littlenecks was an item on her to-do list for the later part of the afternoon. The star’s “ ‘do ” looked to be of the consistency – and color – of cotton candy, and the skin of her arms peeked out from bare bands hidden behind coils of jewelry from wrist to shoulder, where upon one of them spiked the blood-red talons of a tattooed dragon.
“Check it out!” The small bottle which the handler placed on the desk looked like a little egg-timer but instead of salt inside there a blue liquid, an exact match of the star’s hair. “It’s V-drell’s own personal fragrance. She created it herself!”
Ah, yes, Leigh thought, with chemistry near the top of the list of the star’s multi-talents. She loosened the cap of the bottle, and because she hadn't fallen off the back of a truck loaded with cabbages, she spritzed a bit of mist on her wrist, which she daintily sniffed. The handler cooed, “Like it? V-drell’s calling it ‘Winter Dreams.’ “
Another whiff did not smack of evergreen or gingerbread or any other aroma one would normally associate with the colder months of the year; instead the watered-down cologne emitted faint hints of sandalwood or the seashore, summery smells, more appropriate to the sultriness of that very day. If Valedrella herself had indeed invented the potion herself, she'd brewed it in her bathroom sink the night before. “Nice,” Leigh lied. “Mmm. ‘Winter Dreams.’ The name ties in with the music. Tell me, Valedrella, were you thinking of Tchaikovsky?”
“Huh? Wha?” She hardly looked up from her tiny text-messaging screen.
“Chai, who? What is he, a foreign political dude or somethin’?”
“The composer. That’s the title of his first symphony, right?”
Valedrella shrugged. “Whatever.”
A daydream intruded into Leigh’s brain. She saw herself comfortably retired in a sweet little country cottage where she'd have her books and her recorded music, and would require little else. Outside the window the star-dotted sky would turn the snow a deep blue and inside she'd sit and read in the soft glow of the fireplace, maybe a little cat would curl up and sleep in front of it - a simple plan for a simple life, with-- perhaps, if it weren't too late-- “someone to share.”
Turning her attention to the handler, “We're told that Valedrella’s fragrance will be all ready to market around November, is that right?”
“Yep! Right in time for the Christmas rush.” Visions of holiday shoppers marched into Leigh’s head, as unsettling as a nightmare. Parents and teenagers falling for the hype and shelling out hard-earned cash that would have gone to better use as college application fees. “Naturally, we're going coast-to-coast, but we thought we'd start the
promotion in V-drell’s hometown.”
Leigh nodded. “Nice sentimental touch. Let’s see what Todd –er, what’s been set up for you. Excuse me, dear,” she said while reaching past the young starlet in order to click the computer mouse. The stock market screen vanished making way for the letters of Vandrella’s name dancing like fireflies above a video of the star undulating to her own song. Beneath all of this was Todd’s game plan.Todd had set up a string of dates over a week in mid-November at which Valedrella would make personal appearances and sign autographs on– according to the implicit hope – the cardboard backs of the shrinkwrap packaging of each individual bottle of Winter Dreams. “Whew! Three different malls in one day. But maybe not so grueling. I bet you like malls, right, Valedrella?”
“Meh.” The scarlet dragon heaved upward while the pop star’s thumb didn't miss a beat on the handheld keyboard.
The handler craned his neck and squinted at the monitor. “What kind of security are we lookin’ at in these malls?”
“Excuse me? Oh, well, I imagine each of those shopping centers has its own security.”
“Uh-huh. No part-time, minimum wage rent-a-cops for V-drell! I'll tell ya that right now.”
“I'll call D.C. and see if the Secret Service can spare a contingent,” is what Leigh really wanted to say, but instead said “I'm sure we can work out something amenable to both parties. Now, about advertising on local TV, we can –“
One again, Marshall poked his head through the door. “Forgive me for interrupting. Hello, Valedrella! Al. Listen, I just got a call from the school district and they want to go ahead and have a special Valedrella Day at the High School tomorrow morning. The Mayor is going to present you will the key to the city.”
“Valedrella! Mr. Marshall is talking to you!” This came not from the handler in charge but from Leigh. “Did you hear? You're going to be honored at the high school tomorrow by hundreds of your peers.”
Finally, finally she put the cellphone down, in fact slamming it on Leigh’s desk. “Ugh. Like, do I have to? I'm mean, I'm like, it’s bad enough I gotta park it in this stinkin’ town for two freakin’ days. Now I gotta go listen to a bunch of geeks and skanks? Losers! I'm like, ew.”
“Excuse me? I'll have you know, young lady, those ‘losers’ are the ones who buy your CDs and download your videos. If you want them to buy your overpriced cologne I suggest that you treat your fans with a little more respect! You don't need public relations, you need a good spanking!”
“I'm not going to no damn high school!” At least the girl was showing a little life, certainly more than her video displayed. “I'm like, who needs it? Like, look where they are! And look where I am.”
“Marshall, are you going to stand there and let the help talk to your client like that? I shoulda known better than to throw our business into this one-horse burgh!”
Leigh tried not to look, but a glance over at Marshall saw him staring out the steamy window, perhaps at the account flying away like a bird. But she was hot now, getting hotter. She pointed her finger at Valedrella’s handler. “ And you! You parasite! Why don't you go get yourself a real job?” Then to Marshall, “I know, I know, I'm history.” Leigh grabbed her pocketbook and as she left the office she heard the handler say, “Wow. That was pretty rude.”
A ruder awakening would be in store for both “V-drell” and her handler, for though her stardom had risen with the velocity of light, by Thanksgiving it had fallen with an even speedier thud. Except for a brief clip on the occasional cable music channel show devoted to “one-hit wonders,” both star and song, as burnt as a meteor, had vanished from collective memory.
As for Leigh, before the word got out that day about her abrupt kiss-off to a long career, Leigh made quick stop down at Employee Relations where she managed to persuade Trish to draw up the retirement package, which she summarily signed to start the process rolling. Two months later Leigh discovered that she had really gotten out when the “getting was good,” with the investment firm in which her former employer had entrusted with pensions and annuities filing for bankruptcy, though the eventual sum didn't quite cover the totality of her dreams. It wasn't quite enough to purchase a cottage, but eventually she found a sweet rental. Her days were filled with volunteering at literacy centers and tutoring young adults who were studying for their G.E.D., in an effort to maximize whatever time she had left as a way of salvaging her life, still waiting for a fireplace, a cat, and “someone to share.” Little by little she was beginning to find ways to ward off summer heat and stave off winter chill, and every once in a while discovering how a tiny light could, at least for a split-second, extinguish the darkness.
Sunshine hugged the office windows while it concealed a red-hot poker behind its back. The A/C ratcheted up to “11" belied the hell simmering on the payment twelve stories below where poor souls sweated and suffered. The sensation was almost medieval, not unlike “the abominable fancy,” with a little twenty-first century guilt mixed in.
Marshall poked his head through the office door. “ Today’s V-Day! Did you forget?”
Leigh had forgotten, perhaps voluntarily. She remembered the day the firm landed the account. When she first heard the “Valedrella” she thought it was some kind of disease ripe for a PSA, in actuality a female recording artist, riding the one-name bandwagon to stardom. Valedrella’s handlers needed promotion for her very own perfume, and the day the firm landed the account, Valedrella’s big hit, “Someone to Share,” reverberated from every loudspeaker in the building until the back-beat of the reedy and repetitive ditty pounded through Leigh’s head, though presumably not as loudly as it would be that evening and the next at the Civic Center, for a leg of the pop star’s concert tour.
“She'll be here any minute--well, she’s late, you know how these big stars are--”
“Why me? Like I know from pop music these days. Not only that, I'm old enough to be the young lady’s grand--, er, mother. Can't Todd field this one?”
“Todd’s in Barbados.”
“Who goes to Barbados this time of year?”
“Well, Todd, apparently. But he did upload a plan for the Promotion before he left. All you have to do is run it by her people. Come on! It'll be fun.”
Yeah, the way looking for a computer file was fun. At the moment the desk monitor waved with streams of decimals, numbers, and tiny arrows, a few which were pointing heaven-ward, but most going in the other direction. The parallel bands differed only slightly in their respective speeds; even though they were flowing from left to right, they oddly evoked the runes of a dead language from an ancient land. She had a daily compulsion to check the electronic ticker tape, but never without trepidation, especially with the virulent rumors that summer about the shaky market and long-solvent and stately brokerage houses inexorably heading down the tubes. It was no use doing the math, for despite a general knowledge about basic risks and rewards, she hadn't the slightest idea of which specific stocks or companies to look at, nor could she really tell whether the market trend on any given day skewed good or bad for her.
Such uncertainty clouded plans about her own future, which included retirement, a prospect which she had simultaneously welcomed and dreaded. The actual date of her liberation was tentative, depending on a flock of factors, not the least of which would be financial. The nest egg had been laid in a wide-ranging henhouse, filled with a diversity of chickens of various breeds and fecundity; thus the eventual amount of her personal lump sum was tied up in a plan of which not even Trish down in Employee Relations could explain the complexity. Would the parachute be golden or worth less than a wad of aluminum foil? Nobody knew. Still, it might amount to Something, when so many in the world -- even in her own town– had Nothing.
Whatever the final sum would be, it was all Leigh would have to show for the decades she'd spent with the firm – that and the dubious satisfaction of a Job Well Done, which mainly consisted of injecting respectability into the reputations of companies, which, despite her euphuistic efforts in public relations, were forever to remain little and local--Muckenmeyer’s Beer, for instance, a vin ordinaire virtually unknown beyond the three-county area in which it was brewed and sold. There had been a scattering sample of pro bono public service announcements, too insignificant to amount to much. Such was life -- at least, her life.
And now a local girl had Made Good, almost instantly, the fabled “overnight” success. The career was so new that research uncovered few facts which Leigh could puff up into a bio. No highly-rated national “talent” show had discovered her, nor had Valedrella -- so young that it was almost depressing – invested sufficient time to study music and slowly rise through the usual ranks. So much for paying one’s proverbial dues. Maybe she had an uncle in the Business. There was no doubt, nevertheless, that she had already exploited the perks of stardom, underscored by the fact that she was already three and half hours late.
First through the door was the handler, extending his hand and loudly announcing his name, which Leigh instantly forgot, though she couldn't help noticing him from head –(a dead-giveaway toupee) - to toe (elevator shoes.) He strutted around Leigh’s office as if he owned the joint. It occurred to Leigh that this guy might've fancied himself to be a latter-day Napoleon, with Valedrella as his empire.
There was little doubt that the girl of the hour would much rather have been somewhere else. As she slumped into the first available chair – Leigh’s chair – Valedrella hardly grunted a greeting, her attention fully engaged by her cellphone, across whose miniature keyboard an iridescent thumbnail danced in 6/8 time. Above her bare midriff, she wore a negative-sized sleeveless top with a (presumably) ironic retro tie-dyed design; the hems of her pant legs ended just below the knee, as if cutting out to the coast to dig up a couple quarts of Littlenecks was an item on her to-do list for the later part of the afternoon. The star’s “ ‘do ” looked to be of the consistency – and color – of cotton candy, and the skin of her arms peeked out from bare bands hidden behind coils of jewelry from wrist to shoulder, where upon one of them spiked the blood-red talons of a tattooed dragon.
“Check it out!” The small bottle which the handler placed on the desk looked like a little egg-timer but instead of salt inside there a blue liquid, an exact match of the star’s hair. “It’s V-drell’s own personal fragrance. She created it herself!”
Ah, yes, Leigh thought, with chemistry near the top of the list of the star’s multi-talents. She loosened the cap of the bottle, and because she hadn't fallen off the back of a truck loaded with cabbages, she spritzed a bit of mist on her wrist, which she daintily sniffed. The handler cooed, “Like it? V-drell’s calling it ‘Winter Dreams.’ “
Another whiff did not smack of evergreen or gingerbread or any other aroma one would normally associate with the colder months of the year; instead the watered-down cologne emitted faint hints of sandalwood or the seashore, summery smells, more appropriate to the sultriness of that very day. If Valedrella herself had indeed invented the potion herself, she'd brewed it in her bathroom sink the night before. “Nice,” Leigh lied. “Mmm. ‘Winter Dreams.’ The name ties in with the music. Tell me, Valedrella, were you thinking of Tchaikovsky?”
“Huh? Wha?” She hardly looked up from her tiny text-messaging screen.
“Chai, who? What is he, a foreign political dude or somethin’?”
“The composer. That’s the title of his first symphony, right?”
Valedrella shrugged. “Whatever.”
A daydream intruded into Leigh’s brain. She saw herself comfortably retired in a sweet little country cottage where she'd have her books and her recorded music, and would require little else. Outside the window the star-dotted sky would turn the snow a deep blue and inside she'd sit and read in the soft glow of the fireplace, maybe a little cat would curl up and sleep in front of it - a simple plan for a simple life, with-- perhaps, if it weren't too late-- “someone to share.”
Turning her attention to the handler, “We're told that Valedrella’s fragrance will be all ready to market around November, is that right?”
“Yep! Right in time for the Christmas rush.” Visions of holiday shoppers marched into Leigh’s head, as unsettling as a nightmare. Parents and teenagers falling for the hype and shelling out hard-earned cash that would have gone to better use as college application fees. “Naturally, we're going coast-to-coast, but we thought we'd start the
promotion in V-drell’s hometown.”
Leigh nodded. “Nice sentimental touch. Let’s see what Todd –er, what’s been set up for you. Excuse me, dear,” she said while reaching past the young starlet in order to click the computer mouse. The stock market screen vanished making way for the letters of Vandrella’s name dancing like fireflies above a video of the star undulating to her own song. Beneath all of this was Todd’s game plan.Todd had set up a string of dates over a week in mid-November at which Valedrella would make personal appearances and sign autographs on– according to the implicit hope – the cardboard backs of the shrinkwrap packaging of each individual bottle of Winter Dreams. “Whew! Three different malls in one day. But maybe not so grueling. I bet you like malls, right, Valedrella?”
“Meh.” The scarlet dragon heaved upward while the pop star’s thumb didn't miss a beat on the handheld keyboard.
The handler craned his neck and squinted at the monitor. “What kind of security are we lookin’ at in these malls?”
“Excuse me? Oh, well, I imagine each of those shopping centers has its own security.”
“Uh-huh. No part-time, minimum wage rent-a-cops for V-drell! I'll tell ya that right now.”
“I'll call D.C. and see if the Secret Service can spare a contingent,” is what Leigh really wanted to say, but instead said “I'm sure we can work out something amenable to both parties. Now, about advertising on local TV, we can –“
One again, Marshall poked his head through the door. “Forgive me for interrupting. Hello, Valedrella! Al. Listen, I just got a call from the school district and they want to go ahead and have a special Valedrella Day at the High School tomorrow morning. The Mayor is going to present you will the key to the city.”
“Valedrella! Mr. Marshall is talking to you!” This came not from the handler in charge but from Leigh. “Did you hear? You're going to be honored at the high school tomorrow by hundreds of your peers.”
Finally, finally she put the cellphone down, in fact slamming it on Leigh’s desk. “Ugh. Like, do I have to? I'm mean, I'm like, it’s bad enough I gotta park it in this stinkin’ town for two freakin’ days. Now I gotta go listen to a bunch of geeks and skanks? Losers! I'm like, ew.”
“Excuse me? I'll have you know, young lady, those ‘losers’ are the ones who buy your CDs and download your videos. If you want them to buy your overpriced cologne I suggest that you treat your fans with a little more respect! You don't need public relations, you need a good spanking!”
“I'm not going to no damn high school!” At least the girl was showing a little life, certainly more than her video displayed. “I'm like, who needs it? Like, look where they are! And look where I am.”
“Marshall, are you going to stand there and let the help talk to your client like that? I shoulda known better than to throw our business into this one-horse burgh!”
Leigh tried not to look, but a glance over at Marshall saw him staring out the steamy window, perhaps at the account flying away like a bird. But she was hot now, getting hotter. She pointed her finger at Valedrella’s handler. “ And you! You parasite! Why don't you go get yourself a real job?” Then to Marshall, “I know, I know, I'm history.” Leigh grabbed her pocketbook and as she left the office she heard the handler say, “Wow. That was pretty rude.”
A ruder awakening would be in store for both “V-drell” and her handler, for though her stardom had risen with the velocity of light, by Thanksgiving it had fallen with an even speedier thud. Except for a brief clip on the occasional cable music channel show devoted to “one-hit wonders,” both star and song, as burnt as a meteor, had vanished from collective memory.
As for Leigh, before the word got out that day about her abrupt kiss-off to a long career, Leigh made quick stop down at Employee Relations where she managed to persuade Trish to draw up the retirement package, which she summarily signed to start the process rolling. Two months later Leigh discovered that she had really gotten out when the “getting was good,” with the investment firm in which her former employer had entrusted with pensions and annuities filing for bankruptcy, though the eventual sum didn't quite cover the totality of her dreams. It wasn't quite enough to purchase a cottage, but eventually she found a sweet rental. Her days were filled with volunteering at literacy centers and tutoring young adults who were studying for their G.E.D., in an effort to maximize whatever time she had left as a way of salvaging her life, still waiting for a fireplace, a cat, and “someone to share.” Little by little she was beginning to find ways to ward off summer heat and stave off winter chill, and every once in a while discovering how a tiny light could, at least for a split-second, extinguish the darkness.