20-04-2019, 09:54 PM
"You see?" She said as I changed the channel. "That's what I want every living room in the world doing right now. Being sick of watching that rich bitch toss money around to people who aren't them and switching over to Wheel of Fortune." She had a thought that made her laugh. "With any luck, I'll be an answer on Wheel, too! By the late news, only the conspiracy nuts will still be watching, listening for any word on 'Con-Hel.' Ugh! My skin crawls just saying that! I won't be saying it anymore."
"Good." I replied. "Sue was just telling me some of the things she'll do if any of us start using it."
Helen gestured for the remote and I tossed it to her. She changed it to the local news.
"First or second commercial break after the local news is when they'll start airing the tease for the 10:00 or 11:00 news. That's when I'll get my first glimpse of what I'm up against here."
"You do this stuff all the time, don't you?" I asked. "Playing the media like this. Using them as your unwitting pawns."
"Unwitting pawns really are the best kind of pawns to have, Susan. The witting kind usually want money or something." She looked over at Mander. "But that doesn't mean we like them any less." When she looked away, he smiled a little at that.
"Oh, I wasn't saying it was wrong, Helen. They play us every day, so why not? But won't they know? Even if everybody changes the channel, aren't the press going to know? Won't people in the newsrooms watch it and have questions?"
"Yes, they will." Helen replied. "And if the public doesn't care, do you know where they'll ask those questions, Susan? In the Press Room at Castle Finzione. Or one-on-one interviews, talk show pre-interviews. Places where I can make them forget all their silly questions and destroy all that nutty 'proof' and worthless 'evidence' they've got. What were they thinking, reporting on this shit? Were they going to prove vampires are real next? And they'll laugh it off and remember being that foolish when the new guy says he's got 'the real dirt' on me. You've seen reporters sneak questions like those into live interviews. What happens right after that?"
"You end the interview." I said, being aware of some of her games' rules. "You 'get offended' and storm out. The press out of San Finzione start reporting about how 'hurt' you were that this long after Vincenzo's passing; forever does he reign in our hearts, you still have to hear the same 'peasant gossip' you've had to hear since the day he brought you home to the castle two years before the world lost him. And to bring it up again; when he's not here to defend himself or his Contessa, is as much an insult to his memory as it is to you. If they don't apologize, Società Finzione pulls their ads from the show and threatens to pull them from the entire network. At that point, they either kiss your ass or go on to host another 'anti-you' conspiracy podcast. It's about three or four months before another gets brave enough to try it again."
"I didn't even tell them the part about insulting his memory and him not being here to defend himself. They came up with that on their own, Susan. Vincenzo really was that good a man."
I accepted that and nodded. We turned to the TV and watched a few minutes of a sitcom whose name I don't recall. It's the one with the free-spirited single gal on her own in the big city and every man on the show is in love with her. You know, that one. Usually, I've switched over to BBC America by then, to see if they're doing another Next Gen marathon.
We were about to come back from commercial and find out if the free-spirited single gal was able to sneak backstage and get the interview with the rock band who were this week's guest star for the fashion magazine that I didn't have to be a regular viewer to know that'd be where she works. Because all free-spirited single gals on their own in the big city work for fashion magazines. Just like how in romantic comedies, all men are well-to-do architects. The final commercial before going back to the program was the teaser for the 10:00 news.
"Tonight, at ten," The newscaster said. "A shocking video of Contessa Helena de San Finzione emerges." Helen frowned. I understood why. After calling her "Con-Hel" all afternoon, they wouldn't revert to saying her entire name unless they had something good."
The video showed black & white footage of a woman dressed like a truck driver or farmer, but definitely wearing Helen's hairdo, sitting in a chair across from a group of naked Chinese men; one of whom was laying on his stomach on a stretcher and seemed to have something big sticking out of his butt. The woman dumped a box of switchblades onto the floor and kicked them over to the men. "What happens next?" The announcer asked. "Tune in at ten to find out."
Helen made a noise. Then a few more of them. I turned to her and saw that she'd dropped her cigarette onto herself and was recovering it and checking her new outfit for burns.
"It won't be enough." She said, once the cigarette was back in her mouth. "What they did after, with those knives, I have to do the next thing."
I tried to ask what the next thing was again, but Helen already had her phone out and was asking Julie a question.
"What's the hottest dance club in Seattle that's open on a Tuesday night?"
"Probably Neighbours." Julie answered. "With all that's going on, all the walking we did today, you want to go dancing?"
"No, but I want to find the hottest night spot right at this minute." She finished her text, brought up some other app, and tossed the phone to Julie as she stood. "Tell Twitter for me, please, would you? I need to go get changed. You two might want to as well."
* * *
"Good." I replied. "Sue was just telling me some of the things she'll do if any of us start using it."
Helen gestured for the remote and I tossed it to her. She changed it to the local news.
"First or second commercial break after the local news is when they'll start airing the tease for the 10:00 or 11:00 news. That's when I'll get my first glimpse of what I'm up against here."
"You do this stuff all the time, don't you?" I asked. "Playing the media like this. Using them as your unwitting pawns."
"Unwitting pawns really are the best kind of pawns to have, Susan. The witting kind usually want money or something." She looked over at Mander. "But that doesn't mean we like them any less." When she looked away, he smiled a little at that.
"Oh, I wasn't saying it was wrong, Helen. They play us every day, so why not? But won't they know? Even if everybody changes the channel, aren't the press going to know? Won't people in the newsrooms watch it and have questions?"
"Yes, they will." Helen replied. "And if the public doesn't care, do you know where they'll ask those questions, Susan? In the Press Room at Castle Finzione. Or one-on-one interviews, talk show pre-interviews. Places where I can make them forget all their silly questions and destroy all that nutty 'proof' and worthless 'evidence' they've got. What were they thinking, reporting on this shit? Were they going to prove vampires are real next? And they'll laugh it off and remember being that foolish when the new guy says he's got 'the real dirt' on me. You've seen reporters sneak questions like those into live interviews. What happens right after that?"
"You end the interview." I said, being aware of some of her games' rules. "You 'get offended' and storm out. The press out of San Finzione start reporting about how 'hurt' you were that this long after Vincenzo's passing; forever does he reign in our hearts, you still have to hear the same 'peasant gossip' you've had to hear since the day he brought you home to the castle two years before the world lost him. And to bring it up again; when he's not here to defend himself or his Contessa, is as much an insult to his memory as it is to you. If they don't apologize, Società Finzione pulls their ads from the show and threatens to pull them from the entire network. At that point, they either kiss your ass or go on to host another 'anti-you' conspiracy podcast. It's about three or four months before another gets brave enough to try it again."
"I didn't even tell them the part about insulting his memory and him not being here to defend himself. They came up with that on their own, Susan. Vincenzo really was that good a man."
I accepted that and nodded. We turned to the TV and watched a few minutes of a sitcom whose name I don't recall. It's the one with the free-spirited single gal on her own in the big city and every man on the show is in love with her. You know, that one. Usually, I've switched over to BBC America by then, to see if they're doing another Next Gen marathon.
We were about to come back from commercial and find out if the free-spirited single gal was able to sneak backstage and get the interview with the rock band who were this week's guest star for the fashion magazine that I didn't have to be a regular viewer to know that'd be where she works. Because all free-spirited single gals on their own in the big city work for fashion magazines. Just like how in romantic comedies, all men are well-to-do architects. The final commercial before going back to the program was the teaser for the 10:00 news.
"Tonight, at ten," The newscaster said. "A shocking video of Contessa Helena de San Finzione emerges." Helen frowned. I understood why. After calling her "Con-Hel" all afternoon, they wouldn't revert to saying her entire name unless they had something good."
The video showed black & white footage of a woman dressed like a truck driver or farmer, but definitely wearing Helen's hairdo, sitting in a chair across from a group of naked Chinese men; one of whom was laying on his stomach on a stretcher and seemed to have something big sticking out of his butt. The woman dumped a box of switchblades onto the floor and kicked them over to the men. "What happens next?" The announcer asked. "Tune in at ten to find out."
Helen made a noise. Then a few more of them. I turned to her and saw that she'd dropped her cigarette onto herself and was recovering it and checking her new outfit for burns.
"It won't be enough." She said, once the cigarette was back in her mouth. "What they did after, with those knives, I have to do the next thing."
I tried to ask what the next thing was again, but Helen already had her phone out and was asking Julie a question.
"What's the hottest dance club in Seattle that's open on a Tuesday night?"
"Probably Neighbours." Julie answered. "With all that's going on, all the walking we did today, you want to go dancing?"
"No, but I want to find the hottest night spot right at this minute." She finished her text, brought up some other app, and tossed the phone to Julie as she stood. "Tell Twitter for me, please, would you? I need to go get changed. You two might want to as well."
* * *
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