26-04-2019, 02:44 PM
She took out her phone and sent a text, then put on her sunglasses. She thought a second, then stepped into the bedroom, where Julie was still getting ready.
"I need a hat." Helen said to her. "This is a hat moment, too. Ah! Were you planning to use this one?" Julie nodded no, so Helen went out of sight to grab it. A moment later, she returned, wearing one of the white, floppy sunhats that Julie, Brenda, and Claire wore around San Finzione for the honeymoon prank.
She lit a fresh cigarette, put her hand on the doorknob and went to turn it. I yelled for her to stop.
"Say something cool before you go out there." I told her with a tiny smile. "It's worked out the last two times."
Helen thought for a moment.
"Time to give 'em more than they got last night at the bar?" She asked me. I nodded.
"It'll work. Don't die."
Contessa Helena de San Finzione put on her best "delighted-to-meet-you" smile and stepped out our front door.
* * *
The Media watched the front door of the Equals house open. Chatter turned to murmurs, turned to silence. That was when Contessa Helena de San Finzione stepped out the door and approached the podium. She put out her cigarette.
"You're on private property. Nonetheless, you're here. And so am I. So listen carefully."
She allowed the silence to resume, as the crowd of reporters stopped everything they were doing, each compelled to listen carefully. Helena turned to Bob Arnette.
"You, and anyone else who can understand me," Helen signed. "Turn off your recording devices and go over to the lawn across the street. Help yourself to some barbecue, just ignore us for now, and I'll get to you in a moment."
She turned back to the microphones as Bob and two others in the crowd walked over to the Greens' yard.
"Ok, for a start, if you could all forget the address and how you got here once you get wherever you're going after you leave, yeah, that'd be great." Helena commanded, going for the Lumburgh impression. She took out another cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. "Now, I don't have all day to take questions, so let's keep this..." She lit her cigarette. "This short. I'll point to you, you'll ask your question, you'll take a plate of barbecue if you're so inclined, and then be on your way. There's a secret bonus question that'll extend the time, but let's not waste it. You."
Helen pointed to a reporter in the third row of the squeeze in front of the podium. She often wondered if this was why they still referred to themselves as "The Press."
"Why did you leave the hotel with no underwear last night, Contessa?" He asked.
"I didn't." Helena replied. "I simply gave them to someone in the bar. There's your story, go print it. Next. Um... you."
"What do you have to say about all the violence in and around your hotel recently?"
"Who DOESN'T love the Mariners, but try to keep it down, Seattle, ok? Next. You."
"Contessa," A reporter from one of the more widely-read papers asked. "Leonard Whyte CBE jumped out of your hotel last night to his death. According to reports, there was a gathering going on in your suite upstairs. Explosions were reported. Were you involved in Mr. Whyte's death?"
Helen looked taken aback. She took a step back from the microphones to match it.
"Lenny White? Chick Corea's drummer? My God, has something happened to him?" The reporter shook his head no.
Helen mouthed "But Lenny's ok, though?" The reporter nodded affirmatively. Helen sighed. La Contessa stepped back up to the podium.
"Oh, the phone guy? Didn't he lose a bunch in the stock market yesterday? Like, more than ALL the guys who jumped out onto Wall Street in the 20s combined? Was he that old? Could he have been around to see that back then and think of it now? Well, from what I know of him, if he was at my soiree, he DEFINITELY wasn't on the list, and he CERTAINLY made NO impression whatsoever." She seemed to think for a second. "That might've been poorly worded. We have four official languages in San Finzione, you know; Italian is the one we use most around the castle. But that's your answer, learn to cope. OK, eeny-meeny..."
* * *
"I need a hat." Helen said to her. "This is a hat moment, too. Ah! Were you planning to use this one?" Julie nodded no, so Helen went out of sight to grab it. A moment later, she returned, wearing one of the white, floppy sunhats that Julie, Brenda, and Claire wore around San Finzione for the honeymoon prank.
She lit a fresh cigarette, put her hand on the doorknob and went to turn it. I yelled for her to stop.
"Say something cool before you go out there." I told her with a tiny smile. "It's worked out the last two times."
Helen thought for a moment.
"Time to give 'em more than they got last night at the bar?" She asked me. I nodded.
"It'll work. Don't die."
Contessa Helena de San Finzione put on her best "delighted-to-meet-you" smile and stepped out our front door.
* * *
The Media watched the front door of the Equals house open. Chatter turned to murmurs, turned to silence. That was when Contessa Helena de San Finzione stepped out the door and approached the podium. She put out her cigarette.
"You're on private property. Nonetheless, you're here. And so am I. So listen carefully."
She allowed the silence to resume, as the crowd of reporters stopped everything they were doing, each compelled to listen carefully. Helena turned to Bob Arnette.
"You, and anyone else who can understand me," Helen signed. "Turn off your recording devices and go over to the lawn across the street. Help yourself to some barbecue, just ignore us for now, and I'll get to you in a moment."
She turned back to the microphones as Bob and two others in the crowd walked over to the Greens' yard.
"Ok, for a start, if you could all forget the address and how you got here once you get wherever you're going after you leave, yeah, that'd be great." Helena commanded, going for the Lumburgh impression. She took out another cigarette and stuck it in her mouth. "Now, I don't have all day to take questions, so let's keep this..." She lit her cigarette. "This short. I'll point to you, you'll ask your question, you'll take a plate of barbecue if you're so inclined, and then be on your way. There's a secret bonus question that'll extend the time, but let's not waste it. You."
Helen pointed to a reporter in the third row of the squeeze in front of the podium. She often wondered if this was why they still referred to themselves as "The Press."
"Why did you leave the hotel with no underwear last night, Contessa?" He asked.
"I didn't." Helena replied. "I simply gave them to someone in the bar. There's your story, go print it. Next. Um... you."
"What do you have to say about all the violence in and around your hotel recently?"
"Who DOESN'T love the Mariners, but try to keep it down, Seattle, ok? Next. You."
"Contessa," A reporter from one of the more widely-read papers asked. "Leonard Whyte CBE jumped out of your hotel last night to his death. According to reports, there was a gathering going on in your suite upstairs. Explosions were reported. Were you involved in Mr. Whyte's death?"
Helen looked taken aback. She took a step back from the microphones to match it.
"Lenny White? Chick Corea's drummer? My God, has something happened to him?" The reporter shook his head no.
Helen mouthed "But Lenny's ok, though?" The reporter nodded affirmatively. Helen sighed. La Contessa stepped back up to the podium.
"Oh, the phone guy? Didn't he lose a bunch in the stock market yesterday? Like, more than ALL the guys who jumped out onto Wall Street in the 20s combined? Was he that old? Could he have been around to see that back then and think of it now? Well, from what I know of him, if he was at my soiree, he DEFINITELY wasn't on the list, and he CERTAINLY made NO impression whatsoever." She seemed to think for a second. "That might've been poorly worded. We have four official languages in San Finzione, you know; Italian is the one we use most around the castle. But that's your answer, learn to cope. OK, eeny-meeny..."
* * *
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