30-03-2019, 06:48 PM
A Little Night Music Ch. 03
"Cause no one's gonna warn you.
And no one's gonna yell attack.
And you don't feel the steel
til it's hanging out your back."
-AC/DC, "Night Prowler"
"In five...four..."
The technician finished the countdown with his fingers and pointed at Contessa Helena de San Finzione. She sat in a Louis XV chair, wearing a black Christian Dior pantsuit with a beige blouse beneath; and turned to face a monitor where she could see two fifty-something women sitting on a couch in a morning television studio in Los Angeles sipping wine and pretending to talk to each other excitedly about something that couldn't be heard until the show's "back from commercial" jingle stopped playing. They both turned to the camera and put on the kind of giant phony smiles that only a morning talk show host is capable of attaining. Helena picked up the coffee mug from the table in front of her and did one last check that the small emerald pendant dangling an inch above the "acceptable for television" amount of cleavage she displayed was straight before the red light indicated that she was now being received in Los Angeles and the lapel microphone she wore was active.
"And we're back," the blonder of Sally and Cara; America's Favorite Fifty-Something Early-Morning Drinkers, said to the camera. "But we're not live anymore, Sally, as we're recording this segment eight hours before broadcast to accommodate our guest joining us via satellite link from her castle on the other side of the world." She turned to the other host. "There's something I never thought I'd say." The other woman gave another too-broad smile before picking up where she'd left off.
"That's right, Cara. You've seen her on the news, or the cover of Populace Magazine's 'Most Powerful Thirty Under Thirty' issue last week, or winking down at you from a billboard, advising you to 'come to San Finzione.'" She'd said the last with an attempt to sound like Charles Boyer inviting one to come with him to "Ze Casbah," even though it was the Boyer-inspired Pepé Le Pew who said that line. "Or maybe you've stayed at one of her hotels, gambled at one of her casinos, or enjoyed one of her fine wines like we are here in the studio." Sally held up the bottle of San Finzione Vineyards Rosé for the camera. "Well, today, we're bringing her to you. Please welcome Contessa Helena de San Finzione." Helena gave a polite nod to the camera and the host continued.
"Now, Contessa, this might be a little tricky for our viewers at home, because you're the ruler of San Finzione, but you're a countess, not a queen?"
Helena smiled at the often-asked softball question.
"That's correct, Sally. The patriarchs of La Familia de San Finzione held the rank of Count before we attained sovereignty, so, by tradition, the ruler's title is Count or Contessa." The other host almost allowed her a half-second after finishing before cutting in.
"So, do we call you Countess, Contessa..." Helena returned the favor and cut her off.
"Helena is fine, thank you, Cara." The moment it was obvious that she wasn't going to expand on the answer, Sally jumped in. Helen didn't find their interview style interrogative so much as terrified of a second's dead air.
"You don't sound European, though. I mean, your accent is definitely American."
"I was born in Anchorage, Alaska, yes. However," Helena said, taking an overly-long sip of her coffee just to irk them. "I had to renounce my citizenship when I was crowned Contessa." The interviewer was ready to jump in the moment it was over.
"So, you really do have an actual crown?"
"Sort of," Helena said a smile and a cock of her head. "A tiara, anyway. There's a scepter too, but they're only brought out for official occasions."
"Wow," Cara said in a tone that would have sounded phony if Helen hadn't watched their show before and knew that faux over-enthusiasm was standard. "Alaska to San Finzione, that's quite a long journey."
"Yeah," Sally interjected. "I know I'd need at least two bottles of this lovely red you had sent to the studio for a flight that long." She held up the bottle again to show the San Finzione Vineyards label to the camera.
Both interviewers laughed at the comment. Helena gave her reply through a laugh every bit as phony as theirs; the laugh of someone who knows that the thing that they're saying isn't particularly funny.
"Well, I told them to deliver enough to send everyone on your crew home with a case, so that shouldn't be a problem."
"Oh, that truckload was supposed to be for everybody?" Sally laughed at her own comment self-satisfyingly; the same way she might have if a retail clerk had asked her "anything else I can get for you today" and she'd thought it would be clever to reply "Yeah, a million dollars." Helena had a suspicion that was the level of "wit" she engaged in off-camera as well.
"Cause no one's gonna warn you.
And no one's gonna yell attack.
And you don't feel the steel
til it's hanging out your back."
-AC/DC, "Night Prowler"
"In five...four..."
The technician finished the countdown with his fingers and pointed at Contessa Helena de San Finzione. She sat in a Louis XV chair, wearing a black Christian Dior pantsuit with a beige blouse beneath; and turned to face a monitor where she could see two fifty-something women sitting on a couch in a morning television studio in Los Angeles sipping wine and pretending to talk to each other excitedly about something that couldn't be heard until the show's "back from commercial" jingle stopped playing. They both turned to the camera and put on the kind of giant phony smiles that only a morning talk show host is capable of attaining. Helena picked up the coffee mug from the table in front of her and did one last check that the small emerald pendant dangling an inch above the "acceptable for television" amount of cleavage she displayed was straight before the red light indicated that she was now being received in Los Angeles and the lapel microphone she wore was active.
"And we're back," the blonder of Sally and Cara; America's Favorite Fifty-Something Early-Morning Drinkers, said to the camera. "But we're not live anymore, Sally, as we're recording this segment eight hours before broadcast to accommodate our guest joining us via satellite link from her castle on the other side of the world." She turned to the other host. "There's something I never thought I'd say." The other woman gave another too-broad smile before picking up where she'd left off.
"That's right, Cara. You've seen her on the news, or the cover of Populace Magazine's 'Most Powerful Thirty Under Thirty' issue last week, or winking down at you from a billboard, advising you to 'come to San Finzione.'" She'd said the last with an attempt to sound like Charles Boyer inviting one to come with him to "Ze Casbah," even though it was the Boyer-inspired Pepé Le Pew who said that line. "Or maybe you've stayed at one of her hotels, gambled at one of her casinos, or enjoyed one of her fine wines like we are here in the studio." Sally held up the bottle of San Finzione Vineyards Rosé for the camera. "Well, today, we're bringing her to you. Please welcome Contessa Helena de San Finzione." Helena gave a polite nod to the camera and the host continued.
"Now, Contessa, this might be a little tricky for our viewers at home, because you're the ruler of San Finzione, but you're a countess, not a queen?"
Helena smiled at the often-asked softball question.
"That's correct, Sally. The patriarchs of La Familia de San Finzione held the rank of Count before we attained sovereignty, so, by tradition, the ruler's title is Count or Contessa." The other host almost allowed her a half-second after finishing before cutting in.
"So, do we call you Countess, Contessa..." Helena returned the favor and cut her off.
"Helena is fine, thank you, Cara." The moment it was obvious that she wasn't going to expand on the answer, Sally jumped in. Helen didn't find their interview style interrogative so much as terrified of a second's dead air.
"You don't sound European, though. I mean, your accent is definitely American."
"I was born in Anchorage, Alaska, yes. However," Helena said, taking an overly-long sip of her coffee just to irk them. "I had to renounce my citizenship when I was crowned Contessa." The interviewer was ready to jump in the moment it was over.
"So, you really do have an actual crown?"
"Sort of," Helena said a smile and a cock of her head. "A tiara, anyway. There's a scepter too, but they're only brought out for official occasions."
"Wow," Cara said in a tone that would have sounded phony if Helen hadn't watched their show before and knew that faux over-enthusiasm was standard. "Alaska to San Finzione, that's quite a long journey."
"Yeah," Sally interjected. "I know I'd need at least two bottles of this lovely red you had sent to the studio for a flight that long." She held up the bottle again to show the San Finzione Vineyards label to the camera.
Both interviewers laughed at the comment. Helena gave her reply through a laugh every bit as phony as theirs; the laugh of someone who knows that the thing that they're saying isn't particularly funny.
"Well, I told them to deliver enough to send everyone on your crew home with a case, so that shouldn't be a problem."
"Oh, that truckload was supposed to be for everybody?" Sally laughed at her own comment self-satisfyingly; the same way she might have if a retail clerk had asked her "anything else I can get for you today" and she'd thought it would be clever to reply "Yeah, a million dollars." Helena had a suspicion that was the level of "wit" she engaged in off-camera as well.
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