Indefinite Romantics // H.S

One

Rheandra Coleman

Usually when I sit in the main meeting room of management's offices, I find that boredom tends to consume me. However, today it is quite the contrary. Anxiety and apprehension churns in my abdomen as I eagerly wait for my personal manager, Coleen Anderson, to bring forward a copy of the latest issue of Marie Claire magazine.

The interview was subjected to me as part of an ordeal to regulate my publicity, and it was by far one of the most intense. The personnel at Marie Claire failed to inform me that the whole interview was being visually documented as well as being transcribed so any hesitation, which can normally be providentially disregarded, was captured as they fired question after question. Most were about my taste in fashion, personal opinion on today's society and general knowledge of my existence which they could have effortlessly Googled the answers for. Despite being in a tense atmosphere, it was an easy interview.

Yet, in the present moment, I sit nervously and wait for Coleen to return with the transliterated interview that concerned me.

You would think that a meeting for six people would take place in an office, not a conference room that was generally used for larger seminars with an augment amount of clients.

Regardless of the fact that four of us surround the glass table, no conversation is held. No noise is perceived apart from the echoing tick of the clock on the wall that is exactly three minutes too fast. Humanoid silence.

Transversely from me, posture almost perfect, sits my manager's boss - Fiona McCartney: an authoritive woman who didn't vacillate in voicing her opinions or putting people in their place. If there was one thing I knew, it was not to fool around whilst being in the company of the blonde haired capitalist whilst she was in a debauched mood.

Fiona wasn't only my manager's boss, but also the superior commander of every other employee in the building. She was the managing director of Modest! Management which meant she had control of almost every single decision that involved our administration teams and lives, alongside one other person.

My head snaps up as the conference room door opens and the sound of harmless chit chat between the owner of the company and the all too familiar platinum blonde -who I have the pleasure of calling my manager- step inside. The newly engaged couple enter the room, hands intertwined, heart eyes for one another and I notice Fiona grimace slightly as she glances down at the golden watch strapped tightly on to her skeletal wrist.

If there was another thing I knew, it was that Fiona would never think of insulting or disrespecting Dan Williams, better known to me as Coleen's new fiancé, even if he did turn up twenty minutes late to an important scheduled meeting.

He mutters a quick good morning to Fiona, Colin and Peter as he pulls out the seat adjacent to Fiona, then acknowledges me as he sits down. "Rhea."

I watch in blatant amusement as Fiona bows her head slightly as the couple sit in sync with one another. Coleen smiles and nudges my arm as she slides me the shiny magazine, cover facing downwards, towards me. Reaching for it with shaky hands, I flip it over and analyse the glossy paper that contains pages upon pages of useless and irrelevant information that people seem to find fascinating. My face and upper body feature on the front cover, and I can't help but stare at myself, but not in a conceited way.

"Okay, so as you know, issue 26 of Marie Claire Magazine hit shop floors this morning. The online video edit has gone viral already. The media is all over it," Fiona announces. I open the magazine up and carefully run my fingers over the smooth texture of the paper as if it would break with an ounce too much of pressure.

Disregarding Fiona's introduction to the meeting, I begin to read through the first paragraph of the article which, to my pleasant surprise, is written rather well. The journalist explores the stories and adventures I embarked on through her editorial, and I can't help but praise her for not twisting my words like every other over -enthusiastic and nosy correspondent does.