We all should maintain a cadre of minions, not the mindless hordes of orcs or winged monkeys, mind you. A platoon of toughs that exert a little "encouragement" for my causes now and then.
It is an other thing to meet a minion of a subtle force, undertow powered. Lake of fire and whiff of brimstone stuff.
A man appeared standing before the wall. The wall was orange and belonged in a close associate's studio, where it honored his first film project. He was reading clippings framed by photographs of young actors in winter hats. The hats themselves were set against the wall as if in "shadowbox en scene".
He barely had a presence, just a mass. It shifted in and out of this reality, dreaming of realty, for sure.
I didn't recognize him on the dim lit landing. If I had what could I have done? I was working. He was most likely a client or spouse of a client we were 'prompting and capturing.
"Did you see the film?" I asked as I passed, heels clickety clack over white and black tile, king me I was feeling.
"No, just reading about it," it spoke. Gravel whispered then pushed through a potato. I shuddered, not knowing just yet. Perhaps fifteen years from this moment my children were laying contemptuous flowers over my bones.
Going about the business handed, I left the shadowed mass behind. He wandered downstairs to the set. I came down later with some bottled waters, an offering to all present. That dude refused.
The next couple in to read before our camera was this same fellow and his bride, her hair a straight up muffin, face of rouged over fear. Her glances to him were obsessive. She was the agent, delivering her canned message. Her reads were quick and clean, but ended each seeking her husband's approval; he to make sure we were legitimate professionals. The director saw the eye play so motioned him over to camera. "Stand here, behind me," he requests of the lurking Lurch. It helps our eyeline problem.
They approve the third take. Check written and the departure. Next rep is to show up in 30 minutes... who was that guy? My associate looks at me incredulously, " You didn't know? That was that lobbyist turned local utility maven." He told me his name.
My mouth dropped agape. I had written letters to the editor and the local utility, rants even, on how evil this character was or would be, operating off the fat of his mouth. He was not only a corrupt tool of the tyranny, he was a silver spooner, daddy-owns-the-bank hob-knobber. Schmoozer. Satan's brother-in-law. He was trying to ruin for the rest of us so he could make his nut. Seriously, off poor, starving grandmothers. Loves children, with salt.
He was fired from the utility a few months back, outed with the GM as corrupt bastards, finally. I think this is a new wife as well, daughter of the company's owner (they were all sales reps, recall).
No confrontation, he probably had heard of me (a low level crackpot,eh?) but most likely was not seeking me - he was birddogging our gig, for a moment seeming in control of her destiny. But my partner assuaged and made them feel important (they paid) so they felt in control, falsely, and left.
That is what they crave, to prove they are better than "regular" humans. In power.
But who does he really work for, that mister smooth and smarmy. What was his agenda then or next?
