Part 22 (1/2)
Jake stepped warily back from Lisa's desk and nervously brushed a fall of wheat-colored hair off his broad brow. ”My G.o.d, Lisa, you don't have to be such a frightening b.i.t.c.h with me!
I'm already scared every morning when I walk through the door of this madhouse! Anyway, I was just trying to do my job.”
Lisa visibly composed herself, her stormy expression ceding to a professional mask of good-natured calm. She forced out an apology that evidently tasted sour. ”I'm sorry. But these vendors drive me nuts. Our whole business relies on them, and they're nothing but a bunch of sleazy a.s.swipes. Balloons, stuffed animals, flowers, wreaths, banners, candles, suncatchers-you'd think the people who sold such things would be nice, maybe New Ageypeople. But they're not. You know who the most up-front guys are? The construction guys. Not enough manners to fill a thimble, but if they can't deliver a wall, they let you know right away.
They don't string you along like these other p.r.i.c.ks.”
”Be that as it may, dear, you've got something a tad more crucial to worry about now.” Jake flourished the newspaper in a less aggressive manner, and Lisa took it from him. Folded back to the business section, the paper glibly offered its salient headline: WEEPING WALLS TO FACE FIRST COMPEt.i.tOR.
Lisa scanned the article with growing rage that wiped away her mask once again. Reaching the end, she exclaimed, ”Those sc.u.m-sucking b.a.s.t.a.r.ds! They've ripped off all our trademark features. 'Sadness Fences,' my sweet white a.s.s! Even their name's actionable. Our lawyers will be all over them like ticks on a Connecticut camper by this afternoon.”
Jake took the paper back. ”I don't know, Lisa. I get a bad feeling over this one. Did you see who's backing them?”
”TimWarDisVia. So what? You're scared of a conglomerate whose name sounds like a neurological disease?”
”That's a lot of money and power to go up against-”
”I don't give a f.u.c.k! We have legal precedence on our side. I invented this whole concept five years ago. Everyone knows that. Before me and Weeping Walls, this industry didn't even exist. Grief was left to f.u.c.king amateurs!”
”Granted. But you had to expect compet.i.tion sooner or later.”
”Maybe you're right. Maybe we've been getting complacent. This could be good for us. Get us to kick things up a notch.”
”How?”
”I don't know. But I'll think of something. Meanwhile, I've got to keep all the plates spinning. What's next on my schedule?”
Jake consulted his Palm Pilot XII. ”There's a new wall going up right here in town an hour from now. Did you want to attend the opening ceremonies?”
”What's the occasion?”
”Employee shooting yesterday at the downtown post office.”
”That's handy. How many dead?”
”Three.”
”Sure, I'll go. With that low number of deaths the media coverage should be thin. I don't think I could handle the stress from the aftermath of a full-scale ma.s.sacre today. Plus, it's nearby, and I haven't been to one of our openings in a month, since that schoolyard slaughter.”
”We could certainly plan your appearances better if we could only remove the random factor from our business-”
Lisa stood up, smoothing her skirt. ”No need for you to be cynical, too, Jake. I've got that angle completely covered.”
Following his superior out of her office, Jake asked, ”What's Danny doing these days?”
Lisa sighed. ”Same as always. Sacrificing himself for his art. It gets mighty old, Jake.”
”Is he making any money yet?”
”Not so you could notice.”
”Any luck convincing him to come to work here?””Not likely. He swears he'd kill himself first. He'd have to get pretty desperate. Or else I'd have to offer him some unbelievable deal.”
”You two are such opposites, I'm amazed you're still together.”
”I am a pistol in the sack, honey. And Danny's hung more impressively than Abe Lincoln's a.s.sa.s.sins.”
”Oh, I don't doubt any of that for one blessed minute, sugar.”
'Could I hear from the kazoos again, please?”
Danny Simmons, his gangly limbs poised awkwardly as if he were only minding them temporarily until their real owner returned, sat in the front row of the shabby theater, directing his motley troupe on the bare stage. He addressed a quartet of actors situated stage left, clad like harlequins, and standing with kazoos poised at their lips. Before the kazoo-players could comply with the polite request, however, Danny was interrupted by a large-bosomed young woman, hair colored like autumn acorns, seated several rows back.
”Danny, I've forgotten my cue.”
The mild-faced skinny director turned slowly in his seat and said, ”You come in when Lester says-'The planet's dying!'-Carol.”
”He's going to call me by my real name? I thought I was playing Gaia.”
A long-suffering look washed over Danny's lagomorphic features ”No, Carol. He'll only say, 'The planet's dying!' ”
”And then I stand up and face the audience-”
”Correct.”
”-and rip open my s.h.i.+rt-”
”Right.”
”-and I say-I say-”
”Your line is 'Gaia lactates no more for cuckoos born of horninid greed!' ”
Carol's painful expression mimicked that of a pressure-racked semifi-nalist in a nationally televised sixth-grade spelling bee. ” 'Gaia lacks t.i.ts for greedy-' Oh, Danny, it's no use!”
”Carol, just calm down. You have another two whole days to practice. I'm sure you'll be fine.”
”I've got the s.h.i.+rt-ripping part down pat. Do you want to see?” The males on stage leaned forward eagerly. Danny yelled, ”No, no, don't!” but he was much too late.
The rehearsal didn't resume for a confused fifteen minutes spent chasing popped s.h.i.+rt b.u.t.tons and draping blankets solicitously around Carol's chilly shoulders.
Hardly had the drama-script and music by Danny Simmons, directed and produced by Danny Simmons-gotten once more well under way when another interruption intervened.
One of the set-building crew rocketed onstage, hammer in her hand. ”Hey, Danny, there's a guy from the electric company fooling around outside at the meter!”
At that instant, the theater was plunged into darkness. Yelps and shrieks filled the musty air.
Feet scuffled in panic across the boards, and the sound of a body tumbling down the three stairs leading from the stage was succeeded by grunts and curses.
Eventually Danny Simmons and his troupe found themselves all out in the daylit lobby.