I?ve known Chris all my life. We never lack for conversation.
Therefore, when we scheduled a breakfast meeting at a local cafe to discuss his recent assignment at the Dynasty Corporation, it came as no surprise that we continued the conversation all the way back to my elegant establishment at the Plaza. With most, reserve is my mandate, but Chris is a rare exception - I found comfort in his familiarity, despite the long silent stretches required by his assignments.
Joy and Mary intercepted our path at the door to the office suites, and my old friend politely took his leave. As we moved back to my office, a trio of women in various ranks of professional poise (I severe and slender, Joy professional bohemian, and Mary oversexed alternative), my companions tittered nervously about nothing. I could sense their unease and quickly assumed that something was amiss.
They entered the room behind me, and while my attention was fixed primarily upon the unblemished and uncluttered span of my marble desktop, I noted the click of the closing door and the heavy silence that followed.
There, laid in the dead center of the desk, was the Plaza de Troyes Calendar.
As I rounded the table, a perfect brow quirked in mild response, and my fingers bent the glossy pages to glance over the first couple of months. ?Is this Fiora?s work?? I murmured in polite amusement as I skimmed the pictures, ?It?s cute.?
?Especially September,? Mary muttered guiltily.
I cut a glance up at the intern, and I sensed calamity. I turned to September.
My stomach instantly clenched in alarm, but I took care to maintain rigid stoicism in my expression. It took only a moment to assess the pictures, and more damningly, the information, but I held my silence for much longer.
Finally I spoke, my tone dry. ?Actually, that doesn?t seem like a terrible evening.?
Mary?s laughter was immediate, as though forced by the intensity of her relief. ?It was just a joke,? she rationalized, ?I didn?t actually think Fiora would use that information for anything, so I was just trying to be creative. I had no clue it would be published.?
I sank slowly into my chair, maintaining a very proper perch once settled. ?Very creative,? I acknowledged, my tone lighthearted enough to neutralize the bite of my observations, ?and hopefully absurd enough for most to understand the jest. It isn?t bad to have a little levity associated with the firm, even if it?s the product of stalking and misdirection and betrayal.? I paused. ?Vince must never see this.?
Joy made a note.
?Sure,? Mary added, extending a folded piece of paper in my direction. ?One last thing, though - Fiora wants you to work on a promotional campaign.?
______
Within 24 hours, we had a concept and artwork. As an act of subtle retribution, I left the execution of our strategy entirely to Mary, who raced among sales locations, amending the display and packaging of the product.
Within 48 hours, all copies of the calendar bore the charitable announcement:
http://embed.polyvoreimg.com/cgi/img-set/cid/35093437/id/FjNtsvq_4BG38tPQ6raIrg/size/e.jpg
Similar signs were also added to the product displays, where applicable.
______
?How many hours should we bill Ms. Shantalaine?? Joy asked during our following morning?s meeting.
?None,? I replied instantly, tapping a gold-plated pen idly upon my notes. ?It?s goodwill, philanthropy. I?ll draft a follow-up response to her later this afternoon.?
By the close of business, the following letter would find its way to Fiora's desk:
Dear Fiora,
I think your suggestion to donate the calendar?s profits to the vaccination effort is pitch-perfect for our current societal climate. I?ve created a print campaign that should alleviate frivolous associations and help to establish the Plaza as collection of socially-conscious professionals.
I?d be happy to discuss expanding the campaign - just let Joy, my secretary, know which day would be good for a lunch meeting.
All the best,
Bridget
