26-04-2019, 02:44 PM
Everyone looked to me expectantly. I looked at Julie.
"Julie, you are a fucking artist! And a gorgeous one. People would want to take your picture and interview you eventually. You can't 'get a design studio off the ground' AND 'stay out of the public eye' at the same time! These have always been mutually-exclusive goals!"
I turned to look at Helen.
"Helen, Julie is an artist, and you are a fucking PATRON OF THE ARTS! Go out there and fucking patronize her!"
As Helen processed the idea, Julie turned on the news, which was showing a picture of our house with the caption "Con-Hel in Secret Love Nest?" (I don't need Helen to explain that phrasing it like a question not only implied the answer but was probably a legally safe way to attack her, because a question doesn't have to be supported with evidence; so, whatever bullshit "question" you "ask," you put them in the position of "answering to you" or "hiding something.")
Helen looked out into the living room, to see Mander putting on the Julie wig she'd left on our coffee table three days before and no one had bothered to pick up since, looking out the back door to see if he could make it across the street to the Green house undetected.
"It's been a lovely few days, Your Countessness." Mander told her. "But, eh, this is 'bout the time a guy like me does a thing like this. So, I'll make me own way back to the island, if that's all right."
"I can't even be mad. It's the smart play to make, and the knowledge that you make smart plays is why you were the only man for this job in the first place, Mander. And because I knew you'd get along with them, and that if you failed to protect me, you'd at least try to get THEM out of the situation safely with you first before you bailed on them. I'd be outrunning you to the island right now, if it wouldn't leave my family holding the bag and Springheel in the hands of Whoever. So, while I'm throwing my Countessness around, I'm decreeing that it isn't going to happen, you're not going to be caught on camera, either." Helen explained calmly. "Susan's idea is brilliant. I can take care of this."
"Susan 'as some good ideas." He responded, slowly removing the wig. "I better be stayin' cause I really believe you can pull it off, not cause any o' you lot are makin' me believe it."
"I'm not, and they're above that kind of thing." Helen replied. "Our agreement was protection until I left Seattle with Springheel. With Leonard and The Elders gone, the Auction's not likely to explode into a bloodbath anymore. In fact, our little war has kept everyone else too scared to pop their heads up by making a play for one another, so it'll be pretty safe. But we never signed anything, so I guess you've earned about 75% of what's been promised if you want out now."
"And you WOULD be upset enough if I scarpered at this point to give me a yacht with no bottom or 75% of a helicopter, with no landing gear or rotors, wouldn't you?"
Helen nodded.
"Is that what she's paying you to risk your life for?" I asked, stepping out the open door to the bedroom. "A yacht and a helicopter."
"'Er Countessness already given me an island. Are you sayin' a yacht an' a helicopter ain't enough for that?" Mander replied.
I had to think on that one. Julie emerged from the bedroom and looked out the front window.
"They've set up a podium with microphones." She said.
"They're calling me out." Helen replied. "They'll camp on your lawn until I go talk to them, and every minute I delay, another will ask the camera 'Just why is she hiding from us?' 'Because you're camped out on the fucking lawn,' would be the answer, but the public will ignore that one."
She fished her sunglasses out of her purse and lit a cigarette. She seemed to be looking for her cigarette holder, but I remembered that she'd probably left it back in her limo downtown. I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. Carefully, because I knew she'd had some breaks in the left one when she got stabbed.
"Do you need reminding?" I asked her.
"Oh, hell no! Julie's coming out there with me." She turned to Julie. "When I signal for you, if you don't mind." Julie nodded and went to get camera-ready. Helen didn't need to worry about that; she's always ready for cameras. Helen had another thought.
"Oh, damn! Denise is coming by! When?"
Troy checked the time on his phone.
"Her bus should be stopping at the highway about now, she'll bike from there. About twenty minutes."
Helen nodded. It was explained to me later that this is an Anchorage thing. Everything in Anchorage is "twenty minutes away" from everything else. How long will it take you to get from the airport, out past Spenard, to your friend's place in Muldoon; on the other side of town? Twenty minutes. How long will it take you to run up to the corner store? Twenty minutes. When you spend a good portion of the year waiting for your vehicle to warm up enough to drive, it's a safe estimate. Anchorage is a city, but everyone thinks of it as "town." (I wonder if it's related to the twenty minutes that every pissed-off customer has been waiting. You can't even call them on it and say, "I clocked on seven minutes ago and you walked in after," because it'll just prolong the argument.)
"Julie, you are a fucking artist! And a gorgeous one. People would want to take your picture and interview you eventually. You can't 'get a design studio off the ground' AND 'stay out of the public eye' at the same time! These have always been mutually-exclusive goals!"
I turned to look at Helen.
"Helen, Julie is an artist, and you are a fucking PATRON OF THE ARTS! Go out there and fucking patronize her!"
As Helen processed the idea, Julie turned on the news, which was showing a picture of our house with the caption "Con-Hel in Secret Love Nest?" (I don't need Helen to explain that phrasing it like a question not only implied the answer but was probably a legally safe way to attack her, because a question doesn't have to be supported with evidence; so, whatever bullshit "question" you "ask," you put them in the position of "answering to you" or "hiding something.")
Helen looked out into the living room, to see Mander putting on the Julie wig she'd left on our coffee table three days before and no one had bothered to pick up since, looking out the back door to see if he could make it across the street to the Green house undetected.
"It's been a lovely few days, Your Countessness." Mander told her. "But, eh, this is 'bout the time a guy like me does a thing like this. So, I'll make me own way back to the island, if that's all right."
"I can't even be mad. It's the smart play to make, and the knowledge that you make smart plays is why you were the only man for this job in the first place, Mander. And because I knew you'd get along with them, and that if you failed to protect me, you'd at least try to get THEM out of the situation safely with you first before you bailed on them. I'd be outrunning you to the island right now, if it wouldn't leave my family holding the bag and Springheel in the hands of Whoever. So, while I'm throwing my Countessness around, I'm decreeing that it isn't going to happen, you're not going to be caught on camera, either." Helen explained calmly. "Susan's idea is brilliant. I can take care of this."
"Susan 'as some good ideas." He responded, slowly removing the wig. "I better be stayin' cause I really believe you can pull it off, not cause any o' you lot are makin' me believe it."
"I'm not, and they're above that kind of thing." Helen replied. "Our agreement was protection until I left Seattle with Springheel. With Leonard and The Elders gone, the Auction's not likely to explode into a bloodbath anymore. In fact, our little war has kept everyone else too scared to pop their heads up by making a play for one another, so it'll be pretty safe. But we never signed anything, so I guess you've earned about 75% of what's been promised if you want out now."
"And you WOULD be upset enough if I scarpered at this point to give me a yacht with no bottom or 75% of a helicopter, with no landing gear or rotors, wouldn't you?"
Helen nodded.
"Is that what she's paying you to risk your life for?" I asked, stepping out the open door to the bedroom. "A yacht and a helicopter."
"'Er Countessness already given me an island. Are you sayin' a yacht an' a helicopter ain't enough for that?" Mander replied.
I had to think on that one. Julie emerged from the bedroom and looked out the front window.
"They've set up a podium with microphones." She said.
"They're calling me out." Helen replied. "They'll camp on your lawn until I go talk to them, and every minute I delay, another will ask the camera 'Just why is she hiding from us?' 'Because you're camped out on the fucking lawn,' would be the answer, but the public will ignore that one."
She fished her sunglasses out of her purse and lit a cigarette. She seemed to be looking for her cigarette holder, but I remembered that she'd probably left it back in her limo downtown. I walked over to her and put my hands on her shoulders. Carefully, because I knew she'd had some breaks in the left one when she got stabbed.
"Do you need reminding?" I asked her.
"Oh, hell no! Julie's coming out there with me." She turned to Julie. "When I signal for you, if you don't mind." Julie nodded and went to get camera-ready. Helen didn't need to worry about that; she's always ready for cameras. Helen had another thought.
"Oh, damn! Denise is coming by! When?"
Troy checked the time on his phone.
"Her bus should be stopping at the highway about now, she'll bike from there. About twenty minutes."
Helen nodded. It was explained to me later that this is an Anchorage thing. Everything in Anchorage is "twenty minutes away" from everything else. How long will it take you to get from the airport, out past Spenard, to your friend's place in Muldoon; on the other side of town? Twenty minutes. How long will it take you to run up to the corner store? Twenty minutes. When you spend a good portion of the year waiting for your vehicle to warm up enough to drive, it's a safe estimate. Anchorage is a city, but everyone thinks of it as "town." (I wonder if it's related to the twenty minutes that every pissed-off customer has been waiting. You can't even call them on it and say, "I clocked on seven minutes ago and you walked in after," because it'll just prolong the argument.)
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