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CHAPTER 22
Ronan
I get the call. Lena and Fritz want to meet me at the Raucous HQ. They say it’s something about a clerical error, but I’m not buying that.
“This way, Mr. Bronson. Lean and Fritz are in the garden.”
The secretary shows me to the rooftop yard. I’ve only been up there one time before. It’s set up like a miniature meadow, for having Naga naps and munching on dandelions and grasses. It’s pastoral, but the place gives me the creeps. No self-respecting orc should be twelve stories up while lazing on grass. It’s embarrassing.
I suck it up and paste on a smile. Whatever is coming, let me take it like a male orc should. Chest out and oozing confidence.
“Welcome, welcome, Ronan! Please, have a seat. Our chef, Marc, has laid out a nice snail and red meat hoof platter for you. Wine?”
I nod. Wine at noon? Sure, why the hell not? Now, I’m really getting nervous. This is like a murderer’s last meal before execution.
I take a seat on the grass. There’s a north to south wind which whips my hair.
“So, thanks for the invite. You said something on the phone about an error?”
I take a snail in my right hand and a glass of blood red claret in my left. I suck down the one in my right and gulp the one in my left. Wiggly, the former, refreshing, the latter.
Fritz wiggles up and clasps his hands as in subservience.
“Yes, yes. What a kerfuffle, I must say. You see, we had it so you would be informed well ahead of the promotional spread. But something went awry. It always does in the wrestling world, doesn’t it?”
Fritz’s cheeks redden. I’ve never seen the CEO blush before. This has got to be something more serious than a mere error.
My mind whirls. I finally clue into what they’re going on about. It’s the upcoming fight against the weaselly amateur kid wrestler. It’s going to take more than one glass of wine to make my response sound polite. I hold out my empty goblet. Lena gets the hint, and she pours right to the lip.
“It was our personal assistant, Norm Petrie. He’s new to the job. We had to let Sissy go. She was caught stealing from the supply closet. Twenty-three staplers and forty-seven erasers. The latter she ate! We gather she’s a kleptomaniac or some such thing. Sad, really. Anyway, in the employee shift, your call didn’t land on Norm’s to-do clipboard. The poor guy feels awful about it, I can assure you.”
Lena’s eyes are steady, but the constant tugging on her napkin tells me this is a forced lie.
I smile and take a healthy swig from my goblet. This is such bullshit! They wanted me to find out from the media so I couldn’t go postal on their pathetic show. Then, they wait until they figure my rage has died down and force me here to jump through their money-making hoops like a pathetic lap dog.
I used to think I was a part of their team. Now I know I’m solely a paycheck. Their agenda is simply to use me for all I’m worth. My lips stay upturned, but I’m steaming on the inside.
“Yes, well, all that silliness has been sorted out. We have a complete itinerary for you like a manager would address. Norm printed out your copy. Training, media events, photo shoots, the works. We even have hair and make up people and a P.A. to take care of your every whim. All you have to do is show up.”
“No stone unturned, I see.”
“None, Ronan. We’d love to hear your thoughts, of course.” Fritz smiles.
“Well, I was thinking –”
“Great, great! New ideas. That’s the life blood of a franchise. Unfortunately, Lena and I have another meeting to attend. Anything you need or want, Norm is a phone call away. Now, come, Lena, or we’ll be late.”
With that, the two Nagas jump up and scurry off to the elevator, leaving me holding the bag. I pick away at what’s left of my snail and meat platter. I grab the snails first, as they are doing their best to inch away. I gulp them down but feel no satisfaction. I’m literally a ticket attraction to introduce the new It Guy in their wrestling line-up. Talk about being used.
I reach over and grab the second bottle of wine. Lena had hidden it in a basket.
“Geez, the cheapskates. Make me feel like trash and let me swallow one bottle only.” I grab the wine opener and with one full turn of the corkscrew, the sucker is open, and I drink from the damn bottle.
I’m disgusted with them. I’m disgusted with myself for allowing them to use me. In between wine gulps, I talk to myself. Might as well, since no one else is up in this pastoral high-rise.
“Cripes. And they scram without even bringing up my new contract. After this gig, it expires. I didn’t even get the satisfaction of bringing it up myself and storming out. Instead, they storm out of their own building, leaving me sitting up here like some schmuck. Looks like going over Marty’s head is a wash.”
I flip the platter and throw the empty bottles. I pluck out all the grass tufts and tear down the vines. If I can’t express my outrage at those hypocrites, they can darn well see it in how I left the place. “Man, I thought we were family. I’m a world-class idiot.”
