Vignette #17: Delusions

“Save me, pleeeaaasseeee save me!” The naked guy tied to the chair pleaded.

Sparky Jarvis rolled her eyes. “God save us all.” She said out loud and for once wished the phone would ring. It was the usual mid-afternoon lull.

Thanks to the station rule that the lobby television had to be on and set to the station at all times, she was forced to watch yet another episode of “Sebastian Manor” or commit suicide out of boredom. She focused her attention back to the screen.

“No one but you can save you!” The other guy on the TV menaced. Sparky picked up a letter opener and wondered how much it would hurt if she quickly plunged it into both eyes. A second before she decided what the hell the phone rang.

“WCYB” she roted.

“Yes, I’d like to speak with Ian Justyn, please.” The woman on the other end quietly demanded.

“I’m sorry ma’am.” Sparky apologized knowing full well this woman wouldn’t understand either. “Mr. Justyn is no longer with us. Is there someone else who can help you?”

“Can’t you just switch me over to him?” She said.

“Ma’am, I told you.” She sighed. “Mr. Justyn is no longer with the station.”

“No longer there? Why did you fire him?” She demanded.

“He wasn’t fired ma’am. He left of his own accord.” She said trying to keep her voice even although this seemed like the thousandth time she’d had the same conversation.

The woman on the line chided. “You must have treated him terribly to force him to leave such a good job…and everybody loved him so.” She threw in for good measure.

“Ma’am, the board tried to get him to stay, but they couldn’t match the offer or the prestige of the new position he took.”

“New position?” She quieted some. “He took a new position at the station? Why can’t you connect me to him then?”

“Ma’am, Mr. Justyn took a job in California working for the network. He’s no longer here…in this building…in this state.”

“Well, don’t be rude.” The woman curtly said. “I’m not stupid.”

Sparky hoped she just muttered “Yeah, right” in her head. “I didn’t mean to imply that ma’am.”

“So you’re saying I can’t speak to Ian Justyn.”

“Not unless you contact the executive offices of HRT.”

“Fine, switch me over to them, please.”

“I’m sorry ma’am. I can’t do that.”

“Why not, you show their programs don’t you?”

“Yes, but we’re just an affiliate ma’am. We license to run the programming, but we really have little connection other than contractual.” Before the woman could say anything else, Sparky piped in. “Is there something I can do for you? Ian and I are old friends and I hear from him occasionally, perhaps I could get a message to him.”

It was only a half lie. Like everyone else she knew she had a huge crush on Ian Justyn, but she’d had it longer than most of the woman at the station. She’d fallen in puppy love the moment he came to visit her older brother on their first college break.

“Why didn’t you say so?” The woman suddenly got chummy. “This is Mrs. Olive Wentworth. Ian signed an autographed picture for my grand daughter last Fall Festival. I’m sure he’ll remember me…”

“I’m sure he will.” Sparky said rolling her eyes and picking the letter opener back up.

“I’d like to know if he’d take Amber Rae, that’s my grand daughter, to her senior prom?”

“Uh.” Sparky was dumbfounded. This was definitely a new one.

“That Alexis Keofopher and her clique are giving her such a hard time. Just because Amber Rae still struggles to shed a few pounds of baby fat…I thought if Ian would consent to be her prom date that would put the little witches with a ‘B’ in their place.”

“Oh, I’m sure it would.” Sparky cleared her throat. “I’ll get the message to him, ma’am, but I’d make some alternative plans if I were you.”

“I see…” she could almost hear the woman plotting in her mind. “Could I at least leave my phone number?” the woman asked.

“Of course.”

“Be sure and tell him it’s Mrs. Olive Wentworth. That will make all the difference in the world.”

“I’m sure it will…” Dutifully Sparky scribbled the name and phone number down on a Post-it. She hung up the phone she slapped it on her forehead.

“Interesting place for messages.”

Sparky whirled her swivel chair around to the open glass partition, snatching the yellow slip off her face. “Barton…” She tried to cover her embarrassment. “Just another one of those phone calls…”

The handsome anchorman flashed her one of those for the camera grins, the kind that made her want to vomit. “Old ladies still calling for whats-his-name?”

She flashed an equally insincere grin back. “You got it.”

“Well I’m here now.” Barton patted the counter top confidently. “That demographic will change to a more desirable one soon, and then all those annoying calls will stop.”

“True.” She said out loud, knowing that Barton Dennison was the very Ken doll replacement some executive quickly hired to fill the Ian Justyn void. It wasn’t working, and Barton Dennison seemed to be either too dumb or too egotistical to realize it. “Is there anything I can do for you, Mr. Dennison?”

“Well…” the man attempted to continue the charm, not wise enough to realize that it wasn’t working. “…Unless you want to continue this conversation in private, you could just give me my messages.”

She tried not to gag and started to tell him there were none, but as her cheap thrill for the day she brightened, “Just the one.” Sparky snatched the post it that had been on her forehead and handed it to him. “She said it was of the utmost importance.”

Sparky could see Dennison reading the name with his lips. He nodded his head. “Oh yes…yes…”

“Big story?” She rested her smiling chin on her folded hands, watching the jerk make a big old fool of himself.

“Of course.” The man snorted. “I’ll need to return this immediately…life or death you know.”

“That’s what it sounded like to me.” She agreed.

“Well…” the man turned to leave her space. “I’ll be in my office.” He was out of sight when she heard him call her name. She had to lean out of the open glass to see him. “Sparky, if this woman calls back, put her right through. It’s very important.”

“Absolutely.” Sparky watched him get on the elevator. When it closed behind him she couldn’t help but think. “Nice butt. Too bad it’s attached to a moron.”

Fortunately the phone began to ring, and Sparky had little time to dwell on the wasted space that was Barton Dennison. The calls weren’t very interesting; complaints about “Sebastian Manor”, what the correct time was, the usual I escaped from the insane asylum so I’ll call the local television station for the answers to my stupid questions kind of things, most of which only required her feigning taking a message.

She had just hung up from another woman demanding to speak to Ian when she heard a throat cleared. She placed the phone in its cradle and looked up. She smiled, although her first thought was, “Oh, great just want I need to make the day perfect.”

“Irna, darling…how good to see you again.” The face that was carved out of Este Lauder cooed.

“Claire, good to see you, too.” She wasn’t sure if it was that the woman insisted on calling her by her given name or the woman herself that made the hair on the back of her neck stand up. “What can I do for you?”

Clare looked down her nose and somehow managed to smile more. “As you know I’m moving to California this weekend to be with Ian, and I need to pop up to his office and finish clearing it out.”

“I’m sorry…”

“Sorry about what?” The wench seemed to rock on her way too high heels. “Sorry that I’m moving to California or sorry that I’m going to be with Ian?”

Sparky remained professional, “You interrupted me. I’m sorry but Ian already cleared out his office and someone else has already moved in it.”

“You are mistaken.”

“I apologize, Clare, but I can’t help you.”

“I wasn’t asking for your help.” Sparky could hear the implied profanity in between Clare’s statements. “I was telling you what to do.”

“I don’t have the authority to allow you off this floor Clare. Ian came in, turned in his resignation, packed everything up and was gone in less than one morning. There is nothing left of his for you to gather up and take to him…in California…this weekend.”

“First of all…” Clare put her hands on the glass partition as if she had gotten used to people shutting them in her face. “You are just a peon here and don’t know what you are talking about.” She shifted her weight as Sparky contemplated slamming the glass anyway. “And secondly Irma Jo, because of your peon status you have no right to refer to him as though he is a friend. That’s Mister Justyn to you.”

Professionalism took a dump. It was bad enough she was being treated like gum on Clare’s badly chosen footwear, but to do it while using both her given names was more than Sparky could handle. She pushed herself to her feet with the weight of both hands firmly on the desktop until she was eye to eye and three inches from Clare’s nose.

“Let’s get something perfectly clear, Clara Myrtle, you're a rude,delusional twat!”

“How dare you!” Clare backed up more out of shock than fear. “My Ian got you this pitiful job and you have the audacity to mock him by attempting to belittle me in public? I demand that you let me into my Ian’s office immediately or I will have you fired!”

“He’s not your Ian…” Sparky let out an angered breath. “…anymore! And if you don’t get out of this building NOW, I will have your over made up ass arrested for trespassing!”

Clare was letting forth a torrent of explicative deletives when Sparky’s rescue came in the form of Marcus Hunter, the station owner.

“Young lady, what is going on here?” Mr. Hunter calmly inquired.

Clare shot a blood-lacquered fingernail in Sparky’s direction. “This rude woman refuses to allow me access to my fiance’s office. I demand you…” her bottom lip quivered perfectly, “…you fire her immediately and let me into my Ian’s office.”

Hunter looked at Sparky with a knowing eye. “Ms. Jarvis…?”

“Sir, I informed Clare that he no longer has an office here, and had packed it up himself.”

He turned back to Clare. “This is true. Did she also inform you that Barton Dennison, the new early news anchor, has already moved into Ian’s old office?”

Trying very hard to shed real tears, Clare moaned. “You are mistaken. He told me himself…if you will just allow me into his office to look around.”

The station owner slipped his hands into his pockets and Sparky could swear she saw him trying not to laugh. “I apologize but because of insurance liabilities I cannot do that.”

“But…” Clare tried to insist, turning on more of the fake tears.

“If there is any problem. Just have Ian call me. I’d love to speak with him and see how things are going. It’s just not the same place without him, as I’m sure you know…”

Clare sniffled in agreement. “I miss him so, but I understand that he wanted to go to California first, so he could make everything perfect for me before I arrived. Always thinking of me, my Ian.”

Hunter’s “Uh huh” was clear to Sparky that he wasn’t buying it either.

Suddenly the tears were turned off and Clare got back to business. “Now,” she sighed in relief, “If you will just terminate this woman effective immediately I’ll consider this episode over.”

Sparky remembered the spew of her own bile and suddenly realized that her little insect butt could very well be pinned to the cardboard. Marcus Hunter looked at her and smiled.

“Clare, I realize that you are upset.” He assured them both, “but I can’t see that Ms. Jarvis did anything but gave you information that you clearly refused to hear. That is not a legal reason for termination.”

Clare eyes squinted so deeply they almost closed. “But her language…”

“What language?” Hunter smiled. “I heard most of the conversation, and the only questionable choice of words I heard came from you.”

Clare shoved the Gucci or whatever strap of her purse firmly in place on her shoulder and shot Sparky a look that would make Satan an ice pop. She stormed toward the door turning back for one last word to the eagerly awaiting world. “I’ll have you know my Ian is now an executive with this network. Once he finds out how unhappy you both have made me you will both lose your jobs.”

Marcus Hunter took a step towards her. “Personally Clare, I believe once again you have over estimated your position.”

“I doubt that.” She sneered.

“But just in case, give a message to your Ian for me?” Clare beamed in triumph. “Be sure and tell Ian I very clearly told you to kiss my butt.”

As her mouth dropped open in shock Hunter added, “Now get out of my television station and don’t come back or I'll have your over made up ass arrested for trespassing!”

The lobby echoed in silence and Clare huffed out the doors. Sparky quivered in relieved anger and dread as she stood and watched the Station Owner look at the space Clare had stood her ground in just moments before. It seemed like forever before the man turned around to face her.

Hunter walked kindly up the window, standing in the exact spot Barton Dennison smarmed and Clare snarled from. “Rough day?”

Sparky burst into tears of frustration and nodded her head.

“Now, now Ms. Jarvis.” Marcus Hunter looked uncomfortable. “Ms. Jarvis…Sparky…calm down. No real harm done.”

She mumbled sorry.

“You handled it the best you could.” Hunter reached through the glass and kind of patted her on the shoulder.

“I couldn’t think of anything else to do…” Sparky was trying to control the blubbering. “Thank you for stepping in.”

“The guards called and told me she was on her way in the building.” He tried to make light of the situation. “I knew there would be a scene, but she was too quick for me.”

“She’s a slippery one, that Clare.” Sparky smiled and wiped her eyes.

“Where’s Walter? I said wheeeereeee’s Walter?” A shrew bellowed from the TV screen capturing both their attentions.

Hunter shook his head in disgust. “That thing just gets worse and worse!” The station owner turned back to Sparky. “No sense in subjecting you to more unearned pain. Why don’t you take the rest of the day off…with pay?” He smiled.

“But, Mr. Hunter…the phones...” Not that Sparky was objectionable to an afternoon off with pay, she felt the need to put up some sort of half-hearted argument, just in case Clare managed to plant a seed a doubt in the big boss’s mind.

“I’ll send my secretary down for the rest of the day.”

Sparky snatched the purse from the metal drawer at her knees. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course.” Hunter headed for the elevator from whence he came. “Just assure me that you’ll be back in at the usual time tomorrow morning. We can’t afford to lose another asset this close to Ian Justyn abandoning us for greener pastures.”

“Since you put it that way…” Sparky gave him a pert smile. “I’ll be back bright and early, this whole miserable day forgotten.”

“Good.” He stepped in the elevator and held the door open long enough to add, “See you bright and early and enjoy the afternoon.”

“I will sir.” She assured him as the heavy elevator doors shut between them. Sparky hoisted her own shoulder strap in place and headed to the front doors. “Well, believe it or not…” she chirped as she shoved the doors open, “thank you Clare.”