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The Day When: Chapter Two, "Jason and the Word"
Current mood:  adventurous
Category: Writing and Poetry
Just say it...
...
...come on, say it!! Why the hell can't I...
"Jason..."
"..."
"Jason, what the hell man? Go!"
Blinking, he stared up from his paper, catching the view of the
carpeted walls around him. Soundproof, no one other than Morten could
be speaking through the speakers in the booth. The red "Live" button
went off, executive faces deliberating madly in the booth as Jason
finally came to his senses, wondering why, of all times, he had to have
that dream. Right then.
Life went on, and for Jason, at this moment, it wasn't going well.
Storming in came Jason's new agent, a burly 5'8 russian woman with a
business suit, clipboard, glasses and a cold attitude so sharp that it
could have shaven the poorly groomed stubble straight off his face.
Instead of speaking directly, she pulled at his wrist with a motherly
instinct that nearly had him shocked before he realized who was pulling
him. Yanking away, he ceased their progression with a frown and a
poised stance.
"You're my agent, Mosha, not my nanny, and..."
"That's funny," she interrupted, eyes flattening with a sincerity that
could make a ginsu seem dull, "I thought I was dealing with a real
boy, not a sheepish little pig that freezes up everytime they turn the
microphone on. You act like hundreds of millions of dollars aren't just
sitting beyond that fucking door. Do you know how long it's going to
take to convince those two men to sit back down in this room?!" she
questioned harshly, pulling him up by the collar.
She's so hot when she's angry.
"And
get that look off of your face; I won't have any of it," she ended,
storming out of the booth without question, or contest, her four-inch
business heels clacking painfully as she exited the room.
With
the levels down, the producers and executives left the main room,
leaving Jason to stand in limbo and wait for word. All of his dreams
stood outside of the walls, floating freely beyond his control, and
Jason was only left with his voice, worn khaki pants with a patched
collared shirt and a microphone probably worth tens of thousands of
dollars, if not more. If they walked in confident and only slightly
shaken, he'd probably get the all clear and nail it on his first try.
That, or they wouldn't come in at all and the technician would turn the
lights off and leave Jason to wonder what might have been.
The end? Beginning?
However, in the silence of the wait, Jason was left to his thoughts and
the dream that he thought was a symptom of insomnia would become more
than just a nuisance to his career. It would come to life.
In more ways than one. |
| | Posted 5/17/2008 9:36 AM - 16 Views - 0 eProps - 0 comments
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