I Enjoy Being A Girl
"Actually, we like to call it 'burnt saffron,'" the salesman interjected. He smiled, his mono-brow working maniacally. He had introduced himself as "Smilin' Joe." Will was not impressed.
"Look, the air-conditioning's shot, the ceiling's caving in, the radio's AM with NO tape deck, and it's the kind of car that screams, 'I'm an old lady. Rob me!'" Will circled the 1980 Oldsmobile Omega once more, and then stalked off.
Laura appeased "Smilin' Joe" and took off after Will. "We can't afford to be 'cool,' you know," she urged him. "And anyway, it's not so bad. We can use your boom box and stock it with batteries. And we won't need the air--it's almost October, after all. The ceiling's not really a problem; it's just the lining that's sagging. I can pin that up with thumbtacks. And, well, if it looks like a run-down old-lady car, at least we won't get carjacked."
"Nice try," Will added through gritted teeth, "but you can't varnish shit."
Laura sighed, exhausted with Will, but not too sure he wasn't right. It was a fool's errand. But Will had been so convincing that night three weeks ago. There was no reason to stay in New York. He wasn't getting any acting jobs; for her, there was no going back to work for Chad at Waterbury. Why not pool their resources and try the treasure hunt?
Until this point, the venture had seemed, if not reasonable, at least possible. Will, of course, was a fabulous fund-raiser. Laura always asked him why he hadn't gone into development. "I still may . . ." he would answer, his voice heavy with mystery and drama. With his enthusiasm and silver-tongue, he had gotten Calvin and Bryant to pony up some dough toward the purchase of a car. Laura had spoken to Rachel about a website, which she had graciously provided. It was amazing the resources and services people would be willing to provide if it meant spicing up their own lives.
But the great piece de resistance, the thing that made the whole venture possible, was her deal with Simon Waterbury. Not that she had actually spoken to him. No one spoke to the great publishing mogul directly. "Rather like the Great and Powerful Oz," Will had quipped.
When Laura had first approached the Public Relations office of Waterbury Publishing with her proposal, she had been met with a flat rejection. "Oddly enough," she told Will, "they don't seem to be willing to invest in wretched urchins with absolutely no publicity background and no internal references." She was sure that Chad had completely decimated her work record with the company. "Goodness knows he always took credit for my ideas. I imagine that by now my yearly reviews indicate that I embezzled money from the company and drown helpless puppies for fun."
It was Will who had suggested a less orthodox method of approach. "Why not go straight to the top. Or if not to the top, as close as you can get."
Laura looked at him quizzically, uncomprehendingly.
"VESPER SHILLINGTON. You know she's always fancied you."
*********
"Darling, I'm very interested in your proposal," Vesper purred. "DO tell me more about it."
Laura stammered. Vesper always made her painfully uncomfortable, as if those cold, china-blue eyes could stare into her very soul. And it had not been easy getting in to see her. One couldn’t just make an appointment with her secretary. As that frighteningly elegant creature had informed Laura, Ms. Shillington’s time is quite valuable.
So Laura took the after-hours route. She had learned from the water cooler grape-vine that Vesper was known to frequent Eighty-Eights, a small, low-ceilinged, eternally crowded little joint. Located in the West Village, Eighty-Eights was a favorite among the beautiful boys and fans of musical theatre. Show tunes and spirited sing-alongs were the order of the day. Vesper usually liked to watch, but would occasionally dazzle the crowd with a 2:00am rendition of Sondheim’s “Losing My Mind.” A friendly, neighborhood joint.
If Vesper was surprised to see Laura at Eighty-Eights, she didn’t show it. And not a flicker of excitment or interest disturbed the placid glamour of her features as Laura launched into her sales pitch. But when Laura stopped to breathe, Vesper took control of the conversation.
“Darling, this is all very complicated and honestly makes my head spin. I do not discuss business affairs during social hours. I might be willing, however, to discuss this in my office.”
Laura nearly leapt with delight. “Oh, Ms. Shillington, I would be so honored . . .”
Vesper cut her off with a slight quavering of her perfectly stencilled eyebrow. “All favors have a price, of course.”
“Y. . .y. . Yes?,” Laura stammered uncertainly.
“I think I need to hear one of my favorites while I consider your proposal. Would you be willing to oblige?”
Vesper’s song of choice was that old war-horse, “I Enjoy Being a Girl” from Rogers’ and Hammerstein’s Flower Drum Song. Oh, no, Laura gasped inwardly, not that!
As she sat in Vesper’s office the following Thursday morning, Laura wasn’t sure it was a sacrifice that was going to pay.
"Well, you see . . . " Laura dropped her pen, bent to pick it up, and banged her head on the desk coming up, "wh . . . wha . . . what we're proposing is a sort of . . . you know . . . a trip! I mean, a kind of media event, for publicity . . . uh, like we would go on this trip, and people would . . . you know . . . want to know what happens . . ."
Laura trailed off. She was making a mess of it. What was the use of her M.A. in English if she couldn't squeeze out a coherent sentence? But too much was riding on this deal to let it just fade away. She imagined herself explaining to her parents that she would need a loan; she envisioned selling her oboe . . . no, she grimaced inwardly. There must be another way. What would Will do in this situation?, she thought.
Suddenly, it was as if the spirit of Will Gilbert moved within her. "What do people want in their lives?," she practically sang. "Excitement! A little escape from the mundane day-to-day nitty-gritty of life. What did Nellie Bly give the readers of that turn-of-the-century paper when she traveled around the world in record time?"
"I'm sure I don't know." Vesper stubbed out her scented pink cigarette in a nearby art deco ash tray, skeptical but bemused.
"She gave them a way to indulge the need for excitement safely and vicariously through someone else's adventure. It sold millions of newspapers! This is what we propose for the readers of Sooner than Never. Glamour! Excitement! Danger! But all from the comfort of one's own home."
"So you are proposing . . . ?"
"A road-trip. An interactive road-trip. My associate, William Gilbert, and I will hunt down this treasure of yours. In exchange for your company's financial support, we will post weekly updates on our progress. If we win, we will reimburse Waterbury Publishing from the prize. If we lose, the subsistence you provide will serve as our wage. We are all set to go. Other backers have provided money for our car and storage expenses. We have a website set up. All we need is a contract providing living expenses while on the road."
Laura stopped to breathe. Vesper's face was a china-doll blank, deadpan and beautiful. Without a flicker of an eyelash, she assented. "Alright. You will be provided with $1000 per month until the contest's end-date or until you or someone else finds the treasure, whichever comes first. A meager sum, I know, but that will be half the fun, won't it, darling? Living like gypsies?"
Laura gulped as Vesper unknowingly echoed Will's initial description of their venture. But she had no choice. "I'll take it. We'll start out Thursday, October 1."
"Excellent. I will speak to Mr. Waterbury about this matter. I imagine he will want the requisite photo-op soirée prior to departure. My assistant will handle the details. We’ll be in touch."
Laura left the oak-paneled office, simultaneously exultant and apprehensive. As the door shut, Vesper directed her voice to the speaker phone on her desk and drawled, "Well, what of that?"
The speaker phone crackled as Simon Waterbury’s low chuckle emitted from the speaker. “She has gumption, I’d say,” he mused. “What is your view of the project?”
"This venture will work, I believe; it could certainly help to generate continued interest in the book.” Vesper coolly examined her talon-like red nails.
“You know, of course, that I want some guarantees. I do not pay out $1000 per month without some guarantees. I want this little publicity trip to be interesting. You can assure me that it will be interesting?"
Vesper pouted her cherry red lips. “I believe I can.”
“Very well, then,” Simon Waterbury’s voice barked. “See to it.”
Vesper pressed the speaker button on the phone, disconnecting Waterbury, and gingerly punched in Chad’s extension.
“How would you like a promotion, darling?”
*********
Laura caught Will just as he was about to stride off the lot. "I know it doesn't measure up to your vision of a glamorous road-trip for two, but with the two thou you wangled out of Calvin and Bryant, we can't do any better. I don't want to dip into our monthly allowance from Waterbury--who knows how much we'll need."
Will sighed. "The car could be part of the kitsch, I suppose. I mean it's really pretty campy. . ."
"Of course. Very campy."
He brightened at the thought. "It'll make great copy, anyway. 'Teetering on the brink of disaster, our two intrepid travelers round the bend, never knowing if their creaky old jalopy will carry them to their next port-of-call.'"
"Yeah," Laura added dubiously, "Something like that."
Later that evening, Will and Laura packed for the trip and planned their attack.
"Remember: pack only what we absolutely need. We don't have room for frills." Laura pulled her blue suede pumps from the suitcase, scrutinized them with a puzzled air, and then put them back in.
"Oh yes. Blue shoes. Those are definitely a necessity," Will chortled, pleased to have caught her out.
"As my mother would said, one never knows who one might meet," Laura retorted airily. "You don't censure my blue suede shoes, and I will hold my comment on your decision to pack your set of Wizard of Oz commemorative figurines."
"Agreed."
Laura added a blowdryer and curling iron to her bag. "And of course, we can't forget Sooner Than Never. You have my copy, don't you?"
"Yes, pet." Will tossed it to her. "Did you ever get around to reading it?"
"I started . . ." Laura pulled a face. "You know I'm not good with puzzles. I've gotten about half-way through, though. Lady Violet has just uncovered the secret compartment in her ward's locket--and the hidden note therein! Pretty dramatic stuff. I guess that could be the hidden clue. What did the note say? 'I love you as Orlando loved his Angelica. To be where you are is to be at the happiest place on earth!' Well, clearly it's a reference to Ariosto's Orlando Furioso, but it really refers to Disney World. That's where the treasure is!"
Will rolled his eyes. "Amateur," he muttered. "It's too obvious to be the answer to the puzzle. But it does let us know how old Simon is working. Bad puns and catch phrases. And red herrings. Or maybe--there's not just one clue. Maybe there are many clues. Orlando isn't the starting point. It's a point along the way. But I think that if we get there after having worked our way through the other clues, we'll find ourselves facing the treasure."
"Fine. So what's the first clue?"
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