Minnie Chase Makes a Mistake (23 page)

Minnie had fully expected Bachmann to backtrack on her offer of a speech writer but, no, the woman was as good as her word. Better in fact, as the speech was already written. Minnie felt relieved that she didn’t have to think about it. 

‘My speech writer will pull it together,’ Bachmann had said after the drive to Pillar’s Point. ‘You just need to deliver.’ She had invited Minnie to the Mayor’s Office opposite the public library on Larkin Street, so Minnie was on familiar territory. She walked up the steps and through the gilded doors. In the foyer, Minnie was impressed by its beauty and grandeur. What a breakthrough, she mused, to be formally invited into Bachmann’s world, instead of tracking her down like a stalker. 

The writer hadn’t just pulled it together, he had painstakingly honed each sentence, sharpened each word so that Minnie could not fail to deliver. Bachmann had obviously made it clear that there was to be no opportunity for spontaneity. 

Bachmann sat on top of her desk and continued. ‘We’re talking around a couple of thousand words, which equates to about 10 minutes’ talk time.’ Minnie’s eyes popped open, horrified. She had imagined running through a few words. After all, ‘I’m really sorry,’ couldn’t take long to say. Faced with Bachmann’s plan Minnie thought she would rather be Tasered and jailed again than speak in public. Bachmann simply batted away Minnie’s concern.

In the end, the speech wasn’t 10 minutes but it was close. Minnie couldn’t help calculating. The numbers involved far too many zeros for comfort. She could see them in her head, looking back at her, 2,000 words and 13,000 characters. She was drowning in zeros in an already stressful situation. Even nine minutes’ talk time seemed interminable in Minnie’s opinion. 

The speech appeared to cover all the points that Greene and Dr Levchin had insisted she make. Minnie couldn’t go wrong, Bachmann said so.

Minnie had only three days to arrange to deliver her public apology after her latest dismissal from Greene’s garden. She welcomed the deadline. She needed closure. She was here in San Francisco to pursue Greene and to briefly escape James George. She needed to resolve both problems, soon. It was frantic. Sid Zane was frequently on the phone to her. He was going to be in San Francisco at a conference and would be able to catch Minnie’s ‘live broadcast’ – Bachmann’s words. Sid also told Minnie he was going to bring along some supporters. Jackson promised he would be there. Angie planned to watch live, too, as it was to be streamed over the Internet. Minnie was going to make her speech at Central Gardens in the heart of Silicon Valley – another one of Bachmann’s bright ideas. 

Rumours were spreading that Minnie was issuing a statement relating to Greene and this was generating interest in the wake of the recent frenzied press attention. Minnie repeatedly forewarned Sid that Greene wanted to distance himself from the disease but spared him the blackmail details. Minnie knew that whatever was written in the speech, she was not going to discredit Sid. An apology, a denial of Greene’s situation and lavish praise about Levchin Care Clinics should be enough to get her off the hook. If it didn’t, well, she would follow Greene’s lead and cross that bridge when she came to it. Angie wasn’t happy that Minnie was giving in to blackmail demands, but Minnie knew it was best. A text came through from Angie, brief and to the point: ‘
Be true. I love you
.’

Minnie told herself repeatedly that there was nothing to get worked up about. She had to stand up in front of a few people, say some pre-written words and go home. Yes, it was a live broadcast but there was nothing spontaneous about this event. Bachmann had made sure of that. She had made sure that the speech covered all the demands leaving no space for signature Minnie mishaps. She also coached Minnie on her delivery, telling her how to breathe and when to pause. 

In spite of the support Minnie was starting to get nervous. Bachmann had seized the moment rather too vigorously in Minnie’s opinion. Minnie suspected it was her way of making up to Greene – to assuage her guilty conscience after bolting from The Savoy on THAT night.

The day of the speech arrived all too quickly. Bachmann told Minnie that ‘her people’ in the campaign bus would pick Minnie up at her motel. She would meet Minnie there. Hitching a lift on a sausage was not quite the way Minnie would have chosen to arrive. Inside, however, was a hotbed of drama and glamour; Parker Bachmann’s world on wheels. The luxurious bus was fitted out with squashy sofas, immaculate desks, even a granite-topped hi-spec kitchen. Rails of designer clothes shimmered down one interior wall; a display of power in the form of shoulder-pads and sharp tailoring that made Minnie feel ill-at-ease in her chiffon and lace floral dress. People bustled back and forth, Bachmann was due to arrive soon.

In spite of the air-con it was stuffy on the bus. It combined with her panic to make Minnie feel rather unwell. She could actually hear her stomach making gurgling noises as it flipped and turned. Minnie’s mind scrambled to find the word for a phobia about being sick in public. Emetophobia – she had suddenly developed a paralysing phobia that was about to kick in the minute she walked off this bus onto the podium. 

She tried to sit quietly in a corner reading through the speech. She still had almost 45 minutes before the scheduled talk time. 

Then Bachmann swept onto the bus. A vision of a woman destined for the top. She looked stunning in her roaring red Democrat dress that showed off her arm-wrestling biceps and shapely calf muscles.  

She took one look at what Minnie was wearing and immediately pulled her towards the rail of clothes, clearly underestimating their height and shape differences. She was a little short of six foot while Minnie was a little over five foot. Where Bachmann was carved, Minnie was curved. Firm musculature versus soft sponge
.

Bachmann whisked a bright satin dress off its hanger and held it aloft. Horrified, Minnie backed away as though it were Satan not satin before her. The material looked extremely clinging and unforgiving.

‘No!’ said Minnie.

‘Perfect,’ trumpeted Bachmann. She reached over and pulled Minnie towards her. There ensued an awkward tussle as Minnie clamped her arms to her sides, and the all-powerful Bachmann prised them upwards as though using a corkscrew on a wine bottle. 

Minnie gave in, realising that struggle was futile. Her own dress was yanked off and the satin number was hauled down over her head and briskly belted by Bachmann in four fearsome tugs. Minnie now stood in front of Bachmann, the designer dress, cut to show off Bachmann’s shapely legs, draped well below her knees. Elsewhere, the satin material strained under the arms and around Minnie’s middle. 

Bachmann stood back to assess the makeover and her expression said it all. Minnie was still Minnie and no amount of expensive material was going to change this.

‘Put your own dress back on,’ barked Bachmann, reluctantly accepting a rare defeat.

‘People will be listening to me, not looking at me,’ said Minnie, feeling even more hot and flustered as she tried to remove the clinging satin without showing off her mis-matching underwear to the entire Bachmann bus.

‘Have you looked out the window recently?’ asked Bachmann. Minnie straightened her dress and shuffled over to the window. She couldn’t believe her eyes. Hundreds of people were milling around. Horrified, she turned to Bachmann. ‘The campaign bus was a mistake. People think
you
are making a speech. Go out and tell them there has been a mix-up. Tell them it’s me not you! Make them go away.’

‘No, I don’t think so. People are here to hear you. I’m not complaining though,’ said Bachmann, with a huge smile. ‘I plan to work the crowd once you’ve said your bit. Give me chance to hammer home some health bill plans.’

Minnie’s stomach reacted violently and noisily. Bachmann looked alarmed. ‘You’re not going to be sick, are you? What are you doing – what’s wrong with your hand?’

‘I’m frightened, I’m shaking,’ said Minnie stuffing her hands behind her back away from Bachmann’s prying eyes. 

‘I wouldn’t do that darling. People might take it the wrong way,’ said Bachmann without a touch of sentimentalism. ‘People are gathering to hear you speak. This is your chance to say something significant,’ said Bachmann. ‘To redeem yourself.’

‘It is just an apology,’ mumbled Minnie.

‘It is
never
just an apology,’ replied Bachmann, ‘And don’t mumble.’

Bachmann moved over to a desk. ‘You should be used to going live over the Internet. It’s not like it’s the first time you’ve done it,’ shouted Bachmann to Minnie while she talked on the phone at the same time.

‘I was unaware what was going on the last time,’ said Minnie stiffly. 

‘Don’t you dare shrivel and cry,’ instructed Bachmann, throwing down her phone and striding over to Minnie.

‘I’m not susceptible to tears,’ said Minnie quietly. She was more worried that she would drop dead in front of a thousand people as fear paralysed her heart muscle. She was already struggling to get her breathing under control.  

‘No drinks,’ bellowed Bachmann when she spotted Minnie reaching for a Coke. ‘And for Heaven’s sake, definitely not carbonated ones. What are you thinking?’

Minnie’s throat was parched. ‘Well could I have a cup of tea instead?’ She hoped it would steady her nerves.

‘Tea?’ Bachmann wrinkled her nose.

‘Yes… if possible.’ Minnie had no cut-off point when it came to tea, even in hot situations. It was her comfort drink.

Bachmann paused and then reluctantly barked out the order for someone to fetch Minnie the hot drink. She then proceeded to talk Minnie through the speech, the pauses, the breathing exercises and, ultimately, the well-executed smile.

‘You’ll do a piece to camera. You’ll be wired with a mike. Whatever you say will be streamed live on the Internet. As nervous as this makes me, I’m assured even
you
can’t go wrong – just follow the teleprompter.’

The people kept coming. It was a quiet, continuous flow; heads bobbing in the sunshine. 

Even Parker Bachmann started to look alarmed. ‘I wonder if I should notify the city police; it’s like a goddamn rally out there.’ She spoke as though an anti-capitalist carnival was about to kick off on the street. Fifteen more minutes passed and more people congregated.

Minnie peeped out of the window. ‘Sid,’ she whispered, ‘what have you done?’ 

As though reading her thoughts, there was a last-minute text message from Sid Zane:
‘I brought a few friends ;-)’
 

Then it was time. It all seemed surreal to Minnie. She clutched Bachmann’s hand and didn’t want to let go. Once again she was surprised at the strength of the woman as Bachmann reclaimed her hand, but not without a rough, last-second squeeze that Minnie didn’t miss. Bachmann was not as heartless as the media would have people believe. Then the moment was over and Bachmann practically pushed Minnie down the steps of the bus. Show time. 

Minnie didn’t even have time to put down her cup. She was hurried to the stage and took one last gulp of tea to soothe her sandpaper-rough throat. There was a sudden hush on the streets. 

Bachmann’s final words to Minnie were to instruct her to walk out in front of the crowd with a powerful stride, head held high. Minnie had every intention of following orders but, as she had sadly come to realise, her life never went according to plan. There was a default in her blueprint that perpetually reverted to chaos. 

Instead of a stride, she appeared to stagger onto the makeshift podium clutching her right eye. She was clearly unsteady on her feet. The crowd inhaled and held its collective breath, waiting for Minnie to speak. It was clear that something was wrong. This resulted in another kind of silence; the dreaded awkward one. People exchanged puzzled looks that said: what is wrong with this woman? Minnie swayed, her hand covering her face.  

‘What the hell are you doing?’ Angie shouted at her laptop screen. ‘Minnie, are you
drunk
? C’mon,’ she urged. ‘Keep it together.’

Cracks started to show in the silence pierced by noises from the crowd. There was a natural ripple of movement as hundreds of people began to look around. Nervous coughs could be heard, people muttered and whispered. There was shuffling within the crowd as people transferred the weight from one foot to another. 

Minnie stood with her hand over her eye, while seemingly attempting to steady herself on her feet. Someone from Bachmann’s team glided over to her. There was a murmured exchange to see if she was okay and Minnie nodded. She seemed to convey the message that she was. 

The crowd continued to wait. At this point, Angie stuffed her face into a cushion. She couldn’t bear to see Minnie humiliate herself in front of an audience like this. She dreaded to think how many hundreds of thousands of times it would be viewed online. 

Minnie peeped out from behind her fingers. She could see the black teleprompter standing out against the blue sky. There were no clouds. She looked at the sea of faces, expectant and waiting to hear what she had to say. The words were cued up. The speech would start to roll the minute she started to speak. The timing was all taken care of – when she paused, the teleprompter would fall in line. She just needed to start talking. But she couldn’t. She just stood there, swaying but saying nothing.

The sun had turned up the heating but a slight breeze was moving the warm air around, alleviating the city’s humid stickiness. The intermittent silence seemed to put the whole world on hold. Minnie still had a distorted view because her hand was over her face but she could make out heads; hundreds of heads. The atmosphere was relaxed although there was a definite air of anticipation. 

Minnie followed Bachmann’s breathing instructions – deep inhalations, not shallow gulps. She had also been told to take regular pauses to allow the words to ‘resonate.’ 

The unnaturally deep breaths were easing the pain in Minnie’s stomach, reassuring her that she wasn’t going to be sick. She told herself that she was going to make a simple speech and then she was going home, to reclaim her life. She reminded herself of the adage: ‘Think before you speak’, although ‘Breathe before you speak’ seemed a better call right now. She took another deep breath and opened her mouth.