Inside

Help

"Mick...Mick! Mick! Wake up man, we have our panel in half an hour" the air in here reeks of booze, fastening my cuff link I jostle Mick again trying to stir him awake "Mick! Come on man you didn't drink that much last night" eh...well he drank enough. But if he's in a fucking alcohol coma I'm going to be pissed, the one good thing about him crashing E3 is he gets to do the speech and I can just sit back and answer questions. I hear a deep groan as his massive form rolls over. The second he sees lamp light he recoils like a demon splashed with holy water "Fuck! Turn off the bloody lights will ya?"

This is ridiculous; grabbing his shoulder I shake him again "Mick, you need to get up we're going to be late as it is" one of his plate size hands smacks my arm away "You do it...I'm not feeling well" is he serious, first he scares Stevie off then he stays up all night crying and drinking about his divorce. Now he's tossing me to the wolves "What do you mean you do it? You're the CEO this is your company, obviously you need to be the one out there-" growling he sits up for a brief second. It's my turn to recoil, because he's wearing a skimpy pair of what I can only describe as underoos for adults complete with Super Mario characters on the front.

"You're right I am the CEO and as CEO I'm ordering you to sod off and do the bloody panel yourself!" his fucking mood swings-no wonder Jenny left him. "Fine, are you going to be available for the afternoon presentation?" we have to present our gameplay to a room of select invitees. It's sold out in anticipation of the new MMORPG which drops for Christmas. It's my baby, something I worked on for long hours in between texting Stevie and doing my other ten-thousand jobs. I've usually been well received for my game trailers, hopefully I will be this year too.

"Yeah, afternoon got it." Annoyed and running behind I leave his room and go next door to mine grabbing my laptop bag and phone. When I pass his open door again he sits up "Oye...erm before you leave could you order me some room service. Make sure they send up a bottle of Bailey's with it" and his mood swings to the other end of the spectrum. Grumbling I call the front desk on my way down, placing Mick's order I jog across the street to the convention center with about five minutes to spare.

"Jesus, you're cutting it close. Take you name tag and get your ass on stage" one of the event planners drags me behind her forcing a plastic badge into my hands. The glossy surface stares back at me and I stop in my tracks "This says Mick Fleetwood, I'm not Mick Fleetwood" He's stewing in his own sweat and shame in what used to be MY hotel room. She scowls then snatches the tag away angrily..."I forgot, I'll just make you a new one" I registered yesterday, why don't I have a nametag?

When she walks back over she gives me a new one, which is just Mick's overwritten with a black sharpie. Perfect solution. They announce our firm to the crowd and I have to rush out onstage, I do my best to be as engaging as Mick is during our introductions. But it's harder than it looks, and I fumble my words during my speech I stutter a few times but muddle through it. I even get a few laughs when I toss out a sarcastic joke. The kicker is when an audience member asks me if I would be interested in starting my own firm. That gives me pause since I never considered it before, I'm happy working for Mick and I like my little niche in the gaming industry, but could I do this on my own?

Maybe.

When I'm done presenting I have to dash to the next meeting room in order to start my Q and A session with Mick. He's managed to drag his weary bones down to the floor, but he still gets me to do most of the question answering. Hung over and haggard looking Mick begs off at around two, he's headed off to a bar to drink away his sorrows. I'm happy for the reprieve of my baby sitting duties, and I text Stevie to meet me in an hour for drinks. And hopefully some uninterrupted time together.