Most Unfortunate
Golden Fawn and her husband, Marcos Vazquez, were walking carefully across the rocks, high above Great Falls of the Potomac. "It's The Warrior," said Golden Fawn, pointing up in surprise, and they climbed a little higher to reach him.
"Fancy meeting you here!" said Vazquez, pulling his wife up to a safe perch.
"I knew many people would come today," said The Warrior, "because of the newspaper story." (Vazquez looked at Golden Fawn in surprise, and she shrugged.) "You have come, too."
"Yes," said Golden Fawn, sipping from her water bottle. "Marcos was interviewed by the Post, but they didn't put any of it in the story. He emailed the reporter today, and supposedly it's because the Coast Guard does not patrol the Great Falls, but I think they just didn't like what he said."
"Well, it's not like I told them about Ardua!" exclaimed Vazquez, pulling his wife's medicine bag from his backpack. "I just said every sailor knows there are some waters you just don't mess with."
"And you mentioned Loch Ness and the Bermuda Triangle!" added Golden Fawn. "Thank Heavens they didn't publish any of your quotes!" She started pulling items out of her medicine bag, arranging them carefully inside the circle of stones and oak twigs The Warrior had already arranged.
Vazquez wasn't sure any of this would help with the drownings, but Golden Fawn's breast cancer was gone and she was full of vitality and eagerness again. He put his arm around her waist and watched quietly as the prayers began. A catbird on the cliff behind them starting imitating their chanting in a screechy voice, and they all turned to look at her. Vazquez reached for a stone to throw at her, but she suddenly stopped and took flight before he could throw it; he couldn't see the pink warblers which had chased off the catbird, but Golden Fawn and The Warrior nodded their thanks and returned to their prayers.
Several miles to the south, Henrietta ("Button") Samuelson was fielding testy questions from the members of the Heurich Society in the upper floor conference room of the Brewmaster's Castle. ("Why don't we have Snowden yet?" "What is wrong with our operatives in Russia?" "Why haven't you sent Angela de la Paz to kill Putin and nab Snowden?" "Why are we still funding Project Cinderella--what has she done for us lately?") "She's in bed--she was bleeding for eleven days!" exclaimed Samuelson. "She has a problem pregnancy." She hadn't been planning to tell all these old men about it, but somehow it just came out, and there were several moments of silence as they all looked down nauseously and nervously at their doughnuts.
"Well," crackled Condoleezza Rice over the speakerphone at last, "that is most unfortunate." (Samuelson looked at the speakerphone with mistaken gratitude.) "I thought her mentor had trained her better than that. Who's the father--that dead Australian commando?"
Samuelson (whose own father had been Angela's mentor) yelled, "none of your damned business!" Then she unplugged the speakerphone in a fit of anger. "Next question?!"
A mile to the south, former Senator Evermore Breadman was having a testy meeting of his own in the 8th floor conference room at Prince and Prowling. "I'm not happy about this case!" he exclaimed, "and I'm blaming you, Cigemeier!" (Bridezilla breathed a sigh of relief.)
"With all due respect--"
"Do you actually think I'm done speaking already?!" hollered Breadman. "Everybody said International Development Nerds was a sexy nonprofit, and we would get great p.r., and we would meet amazingly influential people, and what happened? First of all, we donated $50,000 to their organization. Then we sponsored that damned art show fundraiser, which was a $20,000 loss!"
"That can all be deducted--" began Bridezilla.
"Quiet, missy! And as if that's not enough, their damned President is as guilty as a Mormon meeting his mistress for coffee in a Starbucks!" (Bridezilla giggled politely at what she thought was a joke, but Breadman just glared at her.) "The man literally stole money collected to build orphanages!"
"That hasn't been proven--"
"Shut up, Cigemeier!" yelled Breadman. "The man stole money collected to build orphanages! Who does that?!" [Breadman had voted a dozen times in the U.S. Senate to cut funding for the WIC (Women, Infants, Children) program, but that was completely different.] "Guilty, guilty, guilty! He doesn't have enough money to prove he's innocent, so he's guilty!"
"But their liability insurance--" began Bridezilla.
"Their insurance company has fired us!" growled Breadman. "Said we were charging too much money for too little results! The Nerds have taken their case to Goode Peepz! It's an insult and an outrage! Now I want you to collect on their outstanding invoices ASAP," he said, pointing at Bridezilla, "even if it means camping out at that damned insurance company's office for days--so bring your laptop and wear red dresses!"
"Yes, sir!" chirped Bridezilla, who was starting to wonder if she had been demoted from partner back down to associate. (Can they do that?)
"And you!" exclaimed Breadman, pointing at Cigemeier. "You're going to develop our drone practice."
"Drone practice?" echoed Cigemeier.
"What's your problem--aren't you a little young to need a hearing aid?"
"What's a drone practice?" asked Bridezilla.
"Don't any of you read the D.C. Bar journal? It's cutting edge law, and we're going to dominate it!"
"Who will our clients be?" asked Cigemeier, who could not imagine serious money in a drone practice, and was unaware of his law firm's ever having previously attempted to dominate cutting edge law before.
"Charles Wu is our first client--I've already drafted the first contract. If you do a decent job finalizing it, Cigemeier, I imagine he'll refer other clients." [Breadman was, in fact, wildly wrong in this assumption since no drone owner is interested in helping anybody else get drones.] "Here are your files," he added, handing the Wu contract file to Cigemeier and the Nerds billing file to Bridezilla. "Go!"
The two junior partners trotted quickly out of the conference room, afraid to delegate any of this to summer associates--or any associates, for that matter.
Up in Cleveland Park, Liv Cigemeier had also just found out that her husband's law firm was no longer representing her employer, International Development Nerds, in an email from the acting director. The email went on to say that the continuing bank account freeze made it necessary to let go some of IDN's employees who were already on unpaid leave--including Liv Cigemeier. She was thanked for her service--particularly on the Girl Hurl campaign--and wished all the best for the future. Cigemeier reread the email three times, then burst into tears.
Out in the Cigemeier backyard, the real estate demon living in the shed giggled derisively at the misfortune, then lay down for a well-deserved nap.
*************************
COMING UP:
Catching up with militiaman, blogger, and conspiracy theorist, Glenn Michael Beckmann.
"Fancy meeting you here!" said Vazquez, pulling his wife up to a safe perch.
"I knew many people would come today," said The Warrior, "because of the newspaper story." (Vazquez looked at Golden Fawn in surprise, and she shrugged.) "You have come, too."
"Yes," said Golden Fawn, sipping from her water bottle. "Marcos was interviewed by the Post, but they didn't put any of it in the story. He emailed the reporter today, and supposedly it's because the Coast Guard does not patrol the Great Falls, but I think they just didn't like what he said."
"Well, it's not like I told them about Ardua!" exclaimed Vazquez, pulling his wife's medicine bag from his backpack. "I just said every sailor knows there are some waters you just don't mess with."
"And you mentioned Loch Ness and the Bermuda Triangle!" added Golden Fawn. "Thank Heavens they didn't publish any of your quotes!" She started pulling items out of her medicine bag, arranging them carefully inside the circle of stones and oak twigs The Warrior had already arranged.
Vazquez wasn't sure any of this would help with the drownings, but Golden Fawn's breast cancer was gone and she was full of vitality and eagerness again. He put his arm around her waist and watched quietly as the prayers began. A catbird on the cliff behind them starting imitating their chanting in a screechy voice, and they all turned to look at her. Vazquez reached for a stone to throw at her, but she suddenly stopped and took flight before he could throw it; he couldn't see the pink warblers which had chased off the catbird, but Golden Fawn and The Warrior nodded their thanks and returned to their prayers.
Several miles to the south, Henrietta ("Button") Samuelson was fielding testy questions from the members of the Heurich Society in the upper floor conference room of the Brewmaster's Castle. ("Why don't we have Snowden yet?" "What is wrong with our operatives in Russia?" "Why haven't you sent Angela de la Paz to kill Putin and nab Snowden?" "Why are we still funding Project Cinderella--what has she done for us lately?") "She's in bed--she was bleeding for eleven days!" exclaimed Samuelson. "She has a problem pregnancy." She hadn't been planning to tell all these old men about it, but somehow it just came out, and there were several moments of silence as they all looked down nauseously and nervously at their doughnuts.
"Well," crackled Condoleezza Rice over the speakerphone at last, "that is most unfortunate." (Samuelson looked at the speakerphone with mistaken gratitude.) "I thought her mentor had trained her better than that. Who's the father--that dead Australian commando?"
Samuelson (whose own father had been Angela's mentor) yelled, "none of your damned business!" Then she unplugged the speakerphone in a fit of anger. "Next question?!"
A mile to the south, former Senator Evermore Breadman was having a testy meeting of his own in the 8th floor conference room at Prince and Prowling. "I'm not happy about this case!" he exclaimed, "and I'm blaming you, Cigemeier!" (Bridezilla breathed a sigh of relief.)
"With all due respect--"
"Do you actually think I'm done speaking already?!" hollered Breadman. "Everybody said International Development Nerds was a sexy nonprofit, and we would get great p.r., and we would meet amazingly influential people, and what happened? First of all, we donated $50,000 to their organization. Then we sponsored that damned art show fundraiser, which was a $20,000 loss!"
"That can all be deducted--" began Bridezilla.
"Quiet, missy! And as if that's not enough, their damned President is as guilty as a Mormon meeting his mistress for coffee in a Starbucks!" (Bridezilla giggled politely at what she thought was a joke, but Breadman just glared at her.) "The man literally stole money collected to build orphanages!"
"That hasn't been proven--"
"Shut up, Cigemeier!" yelled Breadman. "The man stole money collected to build orphanages! Who does that?!" [Breadman had voted a dozen times in the U.S. Senate to cut funding for the WIC (Women, Infants, Children) program, but that was completely different.] "Guilty, guilty, guilty! He doesn't have enough money to prove he's innocent, so he's guilty!"
"But their liability insurance--" began Bridezilla.
"Their insurance company has fired us!" growled Breadman. "Said we were charging too much money for too little results! The Nerds have taken their case to Goode Peepz! It's an insult and an outrage! Now I want you to collect on their outstanding invoices ASAP," he said, pointing at Bridezilla, "even if it means camping out at that damned insurance company's office for days--so bring your laptop and wear red dresses!"
"Yes, sir!" chirped Bridezilla, who was starting to wonder if she had been demoted from partner back down to associate. (Can they do that?)
"And you!" exclaimed Breadman, pointing at Cigemeier. "You're going to develop our drone practice."
"Drone practice?" echoed Cigemeier.
"What's your problem--aren't you a little young to need a hearing aid?"
"What's a drone practice?" asked Bridezilla.
"Don't any of you read the D.C. Bar journal? It's cutting edge law, and we're going to dominate it!"
"Who will our clients be?" asked Cigemeier, who could not imagine serious money in a drone practice, and was unaware of his law firm's ever having previously attempted to dominate cutting edge law before.
"Charles Wu is our first client--I've already drafted the first contract. If you do a decent job finalizing it, Cigemeier, I imagine he'll refer other clients." [Breadman was, in fact, wildly wrong in this assumption since no drone owner is interested in helping anybody else get drones.] "Here are your files," he added, handing the Wu contract file to Cigemeier and the Nerds billing file to Bridezilla. "Go!"
The two junior partners trotted quickly out of the conference room, afraid to delegate any of this to summer associates--or any associates, for that matter.
Up in Cleveland Park, Liv Cigemeier had also just found out that her husband's law firm was no longer representing her employer, International Development Nerds, in an email from the acting director. The email went on to say that the continuing bank account freeze made it necessary to let go some of IDN's employees who were already on unpaid leave--including Liv Cigemeier. She was thanked for her service--particularly on the Girl Hurl campaign--and wished all the best for the future. Cigemeier reread the email three times, then burst into tears.
Out in the Cigemeier backyard, the real estate demon living in the shed giggled derisively at the misfortune, then lay down for a well-deserved nap.
*************************
COMING UP:
Catching up with militiaman, blogger, and conspiracy theorist, Glenn Michael Beckmann.
posted by washingtonwaterwoman | 4:05 PM
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