Sinsation (Book Two)

5

Backstage is hectic. Lightning and sound staff scurry around with equipment. Testing different angles. A thunderous crowd sounds from beyond closed curtains. The floor compartments are whirled open and closed to confirm punctuation. Security surrounds me while a makeup artist powders my face. I don't get why this is done every time. The camera has filters that blur the face. 

I would complain about this, but I'm scared of the stage manager. A woman who'd be a perfect boarding schoolteacher. She strides from station to station with a menacing presence and blank face. These are the best people to do business with. The firm types. It means strong management and great quality. I watch the older woman direct groups of engineers and cleaners, pointing them in directions like a drill sergeant.

Once my makeup is done, a 5-minute countdown initiate from the mega screen behind me. The stage crew quickens their pace, adjusting wall lights, floor gates, and speakers. While the cleaners sweep the stage with swifters. Classical music cues. I stand, fixing my navy jacket and black turtleneck. My sleek hair shines under the bright lights. The stylist sprays me with Bois d'Argent, Dior cologne. A woody fragrance with leathery undertones. "Good to go, Mr. Harrison." The woman nods. The security guards follow me as I near the center of the stage. 3 minutes to go.

All the stage employees depart like a swarm of bees. The guards stay close to my side, waiting until all workers are clear from the area. Before stepping off to each corner of the stage. I hope they're as equipped as my men. Arenas are a high-risk location for assassinations. Plenty of concerts have been crashed by fans or angry shooters. But I shouldn't think this way. Fifty guards are protecting me, four are on the stage, and the others are acting as fans in the crowd. Plus, my satellite is standing by. I'm good.

"5.4.3.2.1!!!" The crowd counts down.

The pale curtains rise to reveal a blazing white stage. The arena is an endless sea of fans and cameras. The ceiling spotlights are ultra-bright. Dolly drones run on a track around the outer stage, gathering coverage for online viewers. The roar of applause distracts me from Madison. I put on my broadcaster persona. Well collected, unreadable, yet charming. The crowd can't spot any weakness...that'll shatter the fantasy they think I live. 

I power on an ear mic and stick the small metal piece in my lobe. I step to the edge of the stage and wait. There's always a long encore. A show of appreciation and devotion. Again, I maintain a reserved demeanor. I can't go against my brand. I'm a well-leveled, patient businessman. I must be that...despite wanting this all over so I can rush home to her. The clapping and cheering settle after about five minutes.

When it does, I clear my throat. "Good evening, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the 10th annual Strygent Expo. You all are in for quite a show. Shall we begin?" The applause returns. I raise a hand. At this cue, a floor display whirls upwards. The ritis-glove is showcased both on stage and on a massive projector behind me. "I'm proud to introduce the show's opener. The ritis-glove." The lightweight glove shines under the stage lights. Its color is close to transparent. I flick my hand. My fingers have metal clips on them. This motion causes a magnetic pull from the metal clips and attracts the glove my way. The crowd exclaims at the magician's trick. "It may seem simple, but it'll work wonders for early set arthritis in children." The rest of the demonstrations aren't as flashy as the first, since the products are heavier and larger. I announce each piece as they spin from the floor. Just as it was planned. The routine goes as such; I hand signal and interact with the item while explaining its features and significance.