Unravelled (6 page)

We’ve organised a meeting with the committee Friday late afternoon, by which time I hope to present them with a well laid out plan for the festival. It’s been a lot of work considering what I started with, but I know that the more organised the plan is, the easier it is to delegate and to have things done. At the meeting we will fine tune the deadlines with the members’ input and only then can different tasks be assigned to each member.

This is me at my best. My personal life might be a disaster and my make-over mostly undone, but the moment I have to organise something, my life comes together. In this creative, organisational challenge I find order in my chaos, calm in my storm. And I love the interaction with people. The more people around me, the more ideas I come up with. I’m also beginning to love the challenge of this particular disaster with a date. That may be one of the reasons why
Erin
so cheerfully passed this on to me, but I’m still miffed at him. I spend a few moments on a coffee break wondering how my dear friend is doing. He’s most likely organised an arsenal of friends to cater to his every whim, while he’s sipping a glass of collector’s wine and his leg resting on an ottoman.

My mind wanders back to business and I pick up the phone. Some of the performers require basic lighting, but most of the visual artists’ works are very dependent on the lighting, which has made this a priority. After a lot of phone calls I reluctantly phone the one place I kept as a last resort.

“Bill’s lighting.” The voice that answers sounds as greasy as the man it belongs to.

“Hello Bill, it’s Alex Fields speaking.”

“Alex! Baby! It’s been too long. What can I do for you, or to you today?” I close my eyes and concentrate on keeping the sandwich I had for lunch down. This man gives me indigestion.

“I need your help, Bill.”
Erin
, you owe me! I tell slime-ball Bill about the festival deadline and give him the specs for what we’ll need. He remains mostly quiet through my quick run-down and I can hear him working on his computer as I speak. “Would you be able to do this?” I ask with a wince.

“For you baby, I’ll do anything.” I know he’s not referring to lighting and I barely manage to not slam the phone down. “I’m gonna have to do some juggling, but I’ll manage to fit you in. It’s gonna cost you though.”

“Bill, I’m on a tight budget here. I’m going to need you to cut your six hundred percent profit margin to fifty percent for me on this one.”

“Baby, you’re killing me!”

“Bill, please.” I put on my sexy voice at the same time as I put my hand over my eyes and shake my head fatalistically. “Do this one for me,” I croon into the receiver. Yuck!

It’s only when I agree to go for dinner with Bill that he agrees. I’m horrified at the prospect of breaking bread with him, but hugely relieved that he’ll do the job. He might be of a derelict character, but he knows what he’s doing and is one of the best in the market. Not only will he provide us with the right equipment, but he also agrees on terms that still puts me within budget.

“Thanks Bill.”

“Don’t thank me yet, baby. You’ll be thanking me plenty after dinner.” A shiver grabs me by my shoulders and shake me for a full five seconds at that thought.

“It will only be dinner, Bill.”

“That’s what you say now, baby.”

“And what I’ll be saying later. Bill, thank you again and I’ll see you soon.”

“Good bye, sugar.”

“Good bye, Bill.” I put the phone down and sound erupts around me. I’ve been so involved in this disturbing phone call that I didn’t notice what’s been going on around me.

There are eight people sardined into my office. They’ve all been talking
sotto voce
while I was on the phone and are going at it full throttle now. I sip on coffee number six and realise that I’m feeling a bit jittery from too much caffeine. I put the mug down on my desk amidst papers and perched bums and catch snippets of three conversations around me. Amazingly it all relates to the festival. People entered our wee office in a steady stream the whole day, first giving my face a thorough inspection before continuing around me.

Someone makes a joke and everyone bursts out laughing. The merry sound explosion bounces around the room and threatens me with permanent hearing loss. It makes me think of a very productive meeting in a pub. We only need the beer and bad music to complete the picture in my head. I’m about to join Jamie and Ray in a discussion about the showroom for the visual artists when a familiar growl cuts through the merriment like a samurai sword through a main artery, and all the noise bleeds to silence.

Chapter 5

“Ms Fields, a word please.” He might say this in a quiet manner, but the look on most of the faces in the room confirms my interpretation of it. Mr Wall Street definitely does not look like Mr Congeniality at this very moment. He gives the crowd of faces in my office a pointed look and waits. It really is true that less is more. Without him saying another word and just standing in the doorframe with one eyebrow lifted, everyone seems to get the message and after collecting some papers and softly uttered ‘see-ya-later’s’, they start filing out the room, squeezing past him with muttered apologies.

I ask Jamie and Andy from accounting to stay. After a brief disagreement about where to have our “word” – which ends in a stare-down –Mr Wall Street concedes to my insistence that it will be quicker to have it here since we’re all here in any case.

“Ms Fields, this is highly irregular. When I offered you office space, I did not intend for my company to be disrupted by meetings of this calibre.” He says the word ‘meetings’ as if it tastes like aloe. “And I do wish you would keep the noise level down.”

I can see he plans to go on about this and decide to, once again, go against my recent training. I ask Ray, Andy and Jamie to wait outside to a few minutes, and as they gratefully bustle out of the room I feel my grandmother’s passionate nature rising in me together with my blood pressure. How could I ever have found this boor attractive? I watch the door close and then turn blazing eyes on Mr Wall Street.

“Mr Montgomery. When you offered me office space I did not expect a cubicle. Also, when you enlisted the help of Cole and Fields, there was an understanding that we – I – would get all the help I needed since this was a disaster with a date.” I’ve lost the quiver in my voice and am giving him a full view of the Fields temperament. Grandma would be proud. “If you want this event to be a success within six weeks and one day, I need you to cut me some slack. These people that you just treated like idle slackers have been a great help to me. Every single one of them has helped me in the past three days to accomplish a few weeks’ worth of work. Now I would greatly appreciate it if you would keep your reprimands for me in the privacy of your office or the side of the road. I can’t afford to lose the volunteered help that I have at the moment because you are practicing being the big bad wolf. Be assured that where your precious event is concerned everything, I repeat, everything I do has a purpose. We don’t have time to waste and you should be the first to recognise that and give me the benefit of the doubt.”

Take me on about my dress-sense, my personal life, especially my taste in men and you will have me back down in a second. But when it comes to my job I’m so sure of what I do, that it would be better for somebody –
Mr Wall Street
– to leave me to do what I am best at. My little outburst must’ve taken the big man by surprise because he’s now leaning against the wall pinching the skin between his eyes and breathing deeply. Or maybe he’s contemplating my demise. Either way I am not expecting to get an apology from him this millennium, so I give him a very flat smile (I’ve practiced this in front of the mirror) and say, “If you feel ready now, I would like to call Ray, Andy and Jamie in so that we can give you a complete update.”

Without waiting for a reply the door next to him opens as if they were called and the three men come in from their position of eavesdropping. I almost expect to see a glass in Ray’s hand to have helped him hear what was happening on this side of the door. They come in and once again I think fondly of my large office in the city with its small conference corner when the five of us try to find a place to park our behinds so that we can have this meeting.

I’m behind my desk and the three men have divided themselves around Ray’s desk. I get the impression that they want to put as much distance between them and the ogre. I am not surprised. Mr Wall Street is still leaning against the wall by the door, but at least is not longer pinching his nose and breathing deeply.

Ray is the first to break the awkward silence from behind his desk. “You’ll be pleased to hear that we’ve organised the venue and transportation. Ms Fields?” He neatly throws the presentation ball at me and I catch it without faltering.

“Jamie here is Jeremy Ashwood’s nephew. Now I’m sure that you know that Jeremy used to have a dairy about twenty minutes out of town. He recently moved it to another location and all the stables and barns are still in place.” I take a breath and Jamie takes over.

“Alex ... um, Ms Fields came up with the cool idea of transforming the buildings into theatres and showrooms. Show Mr Montgomery the plans, Ms Fields.” I smile at Jamie’s attempt at formality. There has been no place for formality the way we’ve been working in the last few days. It was an unspoken understanding of too much work and no time for pretence. He obviously is trying to give me more credibility in front of
Mr Wall Street
and I have even more respect for this Goth creature. I roll out the large printed plans of the dairy, which Jeremy brought yesterday, on my desk and point to a cluster of buildings to the left of it.

Mr Wall Street pushes away from the wall and takes the two steps necessary to be in front of my desk. He gives me a narrowed look before he looks down at the plans. I manage to not pull a face at him and explain.

“These are stables which we will utilise as individual showrooms for the more prominent visual artists. These rooms are not very big, but with good lighting their works will be done justice to.” Mr Wall Street lifts his eyebrow when I mention good lighting and I elaborate. “I just got off the phone with one of the best lighting companies in this field. They’ve been very gracious concerning the lateness of our booking and our budget restraints and I’ve worked with them before, so I know the quality of their work.” I did not mention that the sleazy owner of this very sought-after company managed to get a date out of me, which I am dreading like the next appointment with my gynaecologist. I draw Mr Wall Street’s attention back to the plan and point to a barn on the south east side of the complex.

“This will be our main event’s hall. A stage will be erected inside and it will host our prime performances. It is a large space and ought to seat eight hundred people comfortably. These are the other two barns which will be used as concert halls.” I point to a building at the northern end and one on the far eastern side. “They are situated far enough from the other to not interfere with sound and people moving around. The smaller one will be used for the opening ceremony for which we’ll create a ballroom setting for the opening night.”

“And all this is still within budget?”

“Oh yes. This is where all these people have been so helpful with. The tables and chairs for the opening ball will be provided by the hotel just outside of town. Andy,” I nod at the usually quiet young man beside Ray’s desk, “is from accounting and his mother is the manager of the hotel. They will also provide us with all the crockery and catering equipment – all at the fraction of the normal rates. Earl’s pub will provide us with alcohol which he will sponsor most of.” Earl Foxx, my teddy-bear ally has also proved to be quite a resource. One of the four businesses he owns is a pub and he’s been extremely helpful.

The three of us spend another hour bringing Mr Wall Street up to date. I outline the plan for transportation which became a necessity when we realised that parking space will be limited on the grounds and most people would prefer to enjoy the beer garden and wine testing stalls without having to worry about the drive back into town. Andy seems to be quite well connected in town. When we discovered our transportation dilemma, he told us that his aunt is the head of the local bus company, and with his help we managed to come to an agreement with them.

Andy is the star in the accounting department with a head for numbers, but not for social skills. However, when he heard of our little logistical problem he came up with this very timely suggestion and actually spoke to me about it. It is very clear that he adores his aunt, but when I spoke to her over the phone she sounded more like a military commander than Auntie Maude, the head of the bus company. Her voice softened perceptibly every time she talked about Andy and I knew the adoration went both ways. He speaks for the first time during the meeting and as usual I have to listen carefully to understand his mumblings. No one ever taught this man to speak up.

“Auntie Maude has organised two busses that will travel from the centre of town to the farm every half an hour.” I can see that Andy is not going to offer any more information and Mr Wall Street looks at me expectantly.

“The bus service will run from eight in the morning still two in the morning. That’s usually when the music shows end and people will need lifts. After that people will have to walk.” Mr Wall Street nods and I continue to the next point, “It seems like accommodation won’t be a serious problem. Earl has put up a sign in his pub and a lot of residents have responded by opening their homes. The idea is for the residents to also profit from this event. They’ll be renting out rooms for a regulated fee and a lot of people have shown an interest in this. The problem comes when we need to accommodate all the vehicles on the farm. It will be easier for everyone, including the roads and the traffic police, if the patrons use the bus service.”