Unravelled (5 page)

I was not the only one being sized up. I allowed my eyes to rove over Ray. His dark skin and light blue eyes told me that he’s the product of a mixed race union, and for a small town executive assistant he was dressed just a tad too trendily. Having spent time with Juan during the hostile make-over taught me a few things and Ray’s shaved head, perfectly ironed shirt hanging informally over expertly pressed pants and up-to-date shoes indicated something that was confirmed by his subtle, yet alluring cologne. My assistant is a perfectionist and he’s batting for the other team. This was going to be one ray of light (pardon the pun) in a dark situation.

After terse introductions, Mr Wall Street’s rude impatience prompted me to ask Ray to take me to our new office so we could get started and we left Mr Rudeness without me even greeting him. My mother would not approve. My grandmother would be proud.

The next few hours were dedicated to clearing the room of empty boxes and other junk, stealing furniture from absent employees and trying to create a workspace. Ray and I talked a lot about what furniture should go where, but didn’t get personal in our conversation. And not once did I complain about the size of the room. I somehow thought it was a test and was not going to give Mr Wall Street the satisfaction of allowing this to get the better of me. It didn’t stop me from silently calling him all the foul names in every language I’ve ever learned. My mind was quite occupied with finding new adjectives to describe Mr Wall Street with, and before I could say “oaf”, we had our littlest office set up. Kind of.

The two desks are in an L-shape and Ray’s desk almost takes the whole space of one wall. It’s a tight squeeze to get behind my desk and that is to blame on the two filing cabinets that flank the wall to my right. The door is directly across from my chair and when it’s open six people can fit into our littlest office. Six people who are standing tightly against each other and breathing shallowly. Well, once we had desks and chairs to sit in, Ray and I started poring over the files that were sent from above. We didn’t pore for long. What have these people been doing? The only real progress that had been made was the marketing. This festival is very well advertised and that is it. We have seven weeks left and counting.

I then spent a few hours going over the last two festivals and came out on the other side flabbergasted. How did they manage to pull it off? There was little to no organisation, the paperwork was a total mess and most of their expenses weren’t even logged. What these documents provided me with was contact details for potential contractors, but since we still didn’t have a location, I had no idea what or whom we might need. There is so much to be organised and from experience I know that seven weeks might seem like a lot, but really isn’t enough to organise something of this calibre. I don’t think
Erin
would ever be able to repay me for this one. And I plan to never make him forget about this.

I had a little car incident late in the afternoon, after which I went home and had a leisurely evening in my little villa recovering from a very full first day. I discovered a phone (I am still waiting for my new cell phone – my insurance company was predictably outraged and now I have to buy it myself) and decided to give my friend Pam a call. After the day I had, actually the two days I had, I needed to hear a friendly voice and I was and still am too ticked off at
Erin
to phone him. We talked a lot about her new exhibition – a compilation of her favourite artworks. She owns a gallery that owes its reputation to all the controversial exhibitions Pam hosted there in the last twenty years.

She’s Erin’s aunt and I’ve known her for almost as long as I’ve known
Erin
. In the beginning I thought her to be extremely eccentric, but she turned out to be a tower of strength in my life and has become a very dear friend to me. She often bounced her nutty ideas for exhibitions off me and I used her as a sounding board. Her astute observations and advice prevented me numerous times from doing something even more stupid than usual. After a nice long chat with her last night, I had a wonderful night’s rest, but just couldn’t get myself going this morning.

I had the full intention of going into the office early this morning, but Blossom was his usual neurotic self and delayed my departure with a whole forty minutes. I deliberate on what has to be done today when I reach the security gate at the company parking lot. Roger, the security guard, gives me a toothy smile and opens the gate for me. He was a total angel yesterday afternoon when Bomb didn’t want to start. He found the problem (lack of fuel – again) and got his cousin to bring me a can of petrol and then made me promise to fill my car up – which I did.

I give Rose, at reception, a beaming smile and am about to turn the corridor towards my office when I decide to pay
Mr Wall Street
a visit. I haven’t spoke to him since Tuesday morning after he introduced me to Ray, and only waved at him across the mammoth swimming pool yesterday afternoon. A wave which he half-heartedly returned. I take the lift to the top floor (in Villsburg, that’s the fourth floor) and walk into his secretary Agatha’s office. She’s not at her desk which is unusual if I believed office gossip.

She has quite the reputation in the office. Nowhere is it truer that it is the PA of the big boss who runs the company. I would never even suggest it to Mr Wall Street, but from the water cooler gossip, it seems like Agatha runs this office with an iron fist. No one gets into his highness’ office without Agatha’s approval. That is why I’m so surprised to find her desk empty. I thank my stars for it, because facing the dragon-lady without enough coffee in my system is not the way to start my working day.

It is only when I’m sitting down across from Mr Wall Street, and I watch his expression fluctuate between astonishment and annoyance that I recall I didn’t knock. Oops. He’s busy on the phone and interrupts the other person to tell them that he’ll call them back in a short while.

“Good morning Ms Fields.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out in a controlled sigh. I’m beginning to see a pattern here – it seems like
Mr Wall Street
breathes deeply more often when I’m around. “What can I do for you? I am rather busy and my secretary seems to have disappeared.”

“Oh, yes. I was surprised that Agatha wasn’t guarding your door.” He frowns and I continue brightly. “I just wanted to pop in and say “hi”. And would like to invite you to visit us downstairs when you have time, so I can bring you up to date with our progress.”

My attention is drawn to a steaming cup of coffee next to the phone. The lack of caffeine in my system this morning is due in part to Blossom and in part to my own laziness. “Do you mind?” I say and reach for the coffee. For a moment it looks like he is going to become territorial over his coffee and defend it, but he surprises me by pushing the cup towards me.

“By all means, Ms Fields. Help yourself to my coffee.” He regards me for a moment while I sip on this heavenly brew. Juice for the gods. I wish we had a coffee machine in our littlest office. “How do you find your accommodation?”

I peer at him over the now half-empty cup. “Very comfortable, thank you. Blossom and I have settled in very nicely.”

He blanches at the mention of Blossom and this response strengthens my resolve of keeping a very big distance between us. He might be very yummy, but he will be as bad for my health as chocolate cake. Too rich, too tempting and once you commit to it (him), you regret it for a long time and you never seem to be able to shake it off. I take the last few sips and put the cup on his desk with a blissful sigh.

“Thanks for the coffee. Remember to pop in when you have time.”

“You are welcome and I will try to pay you a visit some time this afternoon.”

“Great. See you later.” I get up and make my way to the door.

“Oh and Ms Fields...” Something in his voice makes me turn around very slowly and face him with dread, “You might want to check your make-up.”

The corner of his mouth is twitching with suppressed amusement. I pull myself up a little higher, recalling my ‘confident posture’ and acknowledge his suggestion with a slight nod and a quiet “thank you”.

It is all I can do to not run to the ladies room. My controlled leisurely I-don’t-care pace takes me straight to the ladies room and a dreaded mirror.

I am at my desk, sipping another coffee after having washed mascara off my cheeks. That was the result of my long eyelashes wet with fresh mascara and a grand sneeze this morning. I forgot to check my face after I squeezed my eyes shut during the earthmoving sneeze caused by Juan’s recommended perfume. I’m sitting here trying to remember who else, beside Mr Wall Street and Roger, was witness to my make-up blooper.

My mind is taken off my vanity crisis when Ray walks into the office in all his perfectionist splendour.

“Good morning doll,” he purrs as he puts his perfect briefcase containing perfectly organised documents and a perfectly healthy home made lunch on the floor next to his perfect desk.

I was struck speechless when he opened this magic briefcase the first day. I mean, it is just not natural! I’m organised and orderly (with a few slip-ups now and then), but he’s more organised than an army of ants. One would think this is an antisocial quality, yet he has really good rapport with everybody as the last two days have proved. He also seems to be informed about everything and everybody.

“I heard you had a little adventure yesterday with that jalopy of yours.” Damn Roger! I can’t determine whether it is disapproval of my car or amusement at the incident that I detect in his voice. “You are providing the information flow of this company with an overload of events. On the way here I also heard something about your make-up.” He inspects my face while I silently curse Rose at the front desk who was the only other person I saw before Mr Wall Street drew my attention to the barcode-look under my eyes.

“Looks fine to me,” he declares, “but what happened to your sharp dress sense?”

Oh calamity of calamities! I follow his eyes and see that I’m wearing my black pin-stripe suit’s pants with my dark blue pin-stripe suit’s jacket. I should have listened when Juan told me to never buy duplicates.

“I must have had a bout of colour blindness this morning.” I say in a lame voice. Bottom. I’ll have to pay more attention in the mornings. Maybe I should consider a refill on my coffee since it doesn’t look like my present two cups will be enough for this day.

Ray and I are still getting to know each other and I can see that it is the courtesy of not getting too personal with new acquaintances that is making my perfectionist assistant hesitate to continue his onslaught regarding my attire. He takes a breath and seems like his ready to bypass the new-acquaintance-courtesy when Jamie glides into the room and freezes all activity with his attention arresting appearance.

Jamie is the nephew and also the godson of Jeremy Brown, the quiet council member I met on my first night here. If ever I’ve seen a surprising relationship, it is the one between Jamie and his uncle. I’ve spoken to Jeremy twice in the last couple of days – once over the phone and yesterday when he dropped in by the office. It would be easier to cast him into the role of a stereotypical farmer: conservative, old-fashioned and not really open to new ideas – and nothing could be further from the truth. Jeremy has proved to be an invaluable source of suggestions, help and astonishing offers. But it is the bond between him and Jamie that really caught my attention.

Why, you may ask? Well, Jamie is not really what I would call mainstream. As a teenager he must have sought an identity and found himself accepted into and identifying with the Goth culture. As he is standing in my office right now, at the tender age of twenty three, he is still the poster boy for the Goth movement. Dressed all in black and with enough body piercings to stock a small Chinese jewellery shop, he has surprised me almost as much as his uncle. When Jeremy came in yesterday, he addressed his uncle with great respect and affection. I could see there was a mutual respect between the two men and a deep bond that made me regard both in a different light.

“Good morning Jamie,” I say, grateful that he interrupted Ray’s thoughts on my dress sense. “How are you this morning?”

Jamie stares at me for a few long moments before he speaks in his soft, well-modulated way.

“Morning, Alex.” He nods to Ray. “Morning. I just wanted to check in and see what’s on the plate for today.”

Before I can speak and discuss today’s agenda, Ray starts speaking. “She’s already washed it off, as you can see.”

Jamie turns towards Ray with disappointment visible on his spooky white face. “Apparently it looked like the Japanese characters tattooed on Rose’s son-in-law’s arm. Just finer, smaller and messier.” He stares at my face again, which I can feel slowly changing to a warmer colour.

“Could we please not talk about this and get to work?” I’m ignored and the two of them continue to discuss my car-episode yesterday afternoon, my make-up and my clothes.

“Is that how it is worn in the city? Same style, two colours or were you inspired this morning?” The question is addressed to me, but Jamie doesn’t wait for an answer. He turns to Ray and they snicker at his question. I choose to ignore them and get back to my computer. After a while they run out of steam and it’s all business. We deliberate the day ahead and compare to-do lists.

Jamie is part of the IT team and has some free time between computer breakdowns and he offered to help with the festival, but seems more dedicated to baiting me about my appearance than what he is to making the festival work. Actually, that’s not true at all. He’s been a tremendous help in the last two days, and has roped in reinforcements when we ran out of ideas and resources, and needed some more grey matter. I am benefiting greatly from the smooth running of the computers and am hoping that the system will behave itself for a while. The rest of the morning and most of the afternoon is dedicated to phone calls and people coming in and out of my matchbox office.