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Carol was ready for the Monday Trapèze brainstorm meeting. Just thinking about the storks and ogre screenplay, and the way that she was giving the film something good for adults as well as children, she was excited to present her ideas to the group. At first she was seated at the glass-topped conference table. As enthusiasm for her ideas arose in her, she got to her feet in front of her colleagues.
“These storks start out clumsy, fumbling with the babies, and they become tender, skilled parents. And warriors.” As she talked she strode back and forth in front of the white board that covered one wall. She grabbed a blue marker and laid out the plot points, using John’s and the writing group’s ideas. She had embellished and refined them while Louise was sleeping over the weekend.
“Pierre starts out in the film fussy,” and she made a quick sketch of a stork with round black Poindexter eyeglasses and a perfectly tied blue bowtie. “By the end, he has been through so much, taking care of the kids and fighting the ogre, that his bowtie is all askew and he doesn’t even notice.” She sketched him in his “after” state, his glasses held together by a lump of tape on the bridge, his bow-tie undone, the two ends dangling askew. Rather good drawings those, she thought. Multi-talented, aren’t I?
She described the story arcs for the other main characters. Everybody in the conference room was silenced, her ideas were that good. Carol allowed herself a small smile of victory as she plunked herself back in her chair. She couldn’t resist a sidelong glance at Amandine. Carol strove to make it an innocent, querying look. Amandine was inspecting her nails. Bloody hell! No satisfaction ever, Carol thought. At least I didn’t get the escargot treatment. She looked at Gregoire.
“Pretty good, Carol, now get it down on paper for us.”
All he can say is pretty good? Fantastic, wasn’t that more like it?
“Okay,” Gregoire said, “let’s move on to Louis Jourdan on a péniche. Carol, any ideas?”
She had anticipated this and was ready. She would keep this job and triumph in it! Armani, design me up some cool—even if off-the-rack—outfits!
After the meeting, still carried along by creative energy, she stopped at his office door. Especially after confronting him last week about his unprofessionalism, there was no way to get to see him other than to just walk in. She closed the door behind her. Everybody knew about her probation, but they didn’t have to know about this.
“What is it?” Gregoire was seated behind his desk with his chair turned so he could gaze at his Z-3 in the parking lot. He swiveled, frowning, to face her. His lukewarm praise for her ideas had obviously cooled already.
It was worth a try, however.
“My dry patch is over,” Carol said. “You saw my good ideas in the meeting today. Take me off probation.”
“Let’s not be hasty,” Gregoire said. “I know it’s important to you.” He was making big, round sympathetic eyes. But she knew he faking—he was enjoying keeping her squirming on the hook.
She wouldn’t give him any more satisfaction as a supplicant.
“I see,” she said and dashed out the door.
Effing people in power.
