Anybody Out There?
Page 91

Him (shaking head): No. Because then there was a bit of bad blood over an arms shipment from the Middle East and Chinner Skinner got rubbed out.
Colin: Along with most of the crème de la crème of Dublin crime.
Harry (looked at Colin really meanly): If I want your input, I’ll ask for it.
He turned back to me: Yeh, most of Dublin’s brightest stars—Bennie the Blade. Rasher McRazor. The Boneman. Ironing-board Jim—all taken out in the space of a fortnight.
He sighed: The best of the best. But the biggest shock was Chinner Skinner. No one fucked with the Chinner but word was that Tessie O’Grady took him out. No one’s ever been able to prove it like, but only Tessie O’Grady would have the balls to do it.
Me: How long ago was this?
Him: Donkeys. Twelve. Fifteen?
He looked at Colin.
Colin: Fourteen years this summer.
Me: So Detta and Racey are old friends who became enemies who might be friends again?
Fuck’s sake.
Piss: Didn’t entirely mean it when said I wasn’t fond of anyone. Quite fond of you.
Pissssss: Not just saying that because your husband died.
70
I couldn’t come up with a pitch for Formula Twelve. For the first time ever, all my inspiration had deserted me.
Franklin asked how it was coming along.
“Good,” I said.
“So tell me.”
“I’d rather not,” I said. “If that’s okay. It’s not fully there yet and I don’t want you to see it half-assed.”
With sudden anger, he said, “Are you fucking with me?”
“No, Franklin, I swear. Trust me, I won’t let you down.”
“Because I took a risk on you with Ariella.”
“I know. I appreciate it. I’m good for this.”
But I wasn’t.
By Sunday I’d still drawn a blank, so at Leisl’s I jokingly asked the gang for help.
“If anyone comes through for any of you today, will you ask them what I should do for my pitch.”
“What’ve you done so far?” Nicholas asked.
“Nothing. I’ve come up with nothing.”
“Isn’t that telling you something?” Nicholas asked.
“Telling me what?”
“To do nothing.”
“And get sacked? I don’t think so.”
“How do you get the goose out of the bottle?”
“What goose?”
“It’s a Buddhist thing. There’s a goose trapped in a bottle—how do you get it out?”
“How did it get in, in the first place?” Mitch asked.
Nicholas laughed. “That doesn’t matter. So how do you get it out?”
“Break the bottle,” Mitch said.
Nicholas shrugged. “That’s one way.” He looked at me. “Any other suggestions?”
“Smoke him out,” Barb said. “Heh, heh, heh.”
“I give up,” I said. “Tell me.”
“This isn’t a riddle. There isn’t a straight answer.”
“What? So the goose stays in the bottle?”
“Not necessarily. If you wait. Wait long enough and the goose will be thin enough to slip out of the bottle. Or if he gets fed, he’ll grow and break the bottle himself. But all you have to do is nothing.”
“Little one, you are wise beyond your years,” Barb said.
“I don’t know,” I said. “I was hoping for more practical advice.”
To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Subject: “Result!”
Dear Anna,
I hope you are keeping well. Well, we have finally “nailed” the old woman. I brought the photos to golf and no one knew her but we “hit pay dirt” at bridge. Dodie McDevitt identified her. Funnily enough it was Zoe the dog she recognized first. She said, “That’s Zoe O’Shea, as sure as eggs.” When she said “Zoe” I thought I might topple off my chair. “Yes!” I said. “Zoe, Zoe! Who owns her?” “Nan O’Shea,” says she.
Dodie was even able to give me her address—Springhill Drive, which is not that far away, although it is a long way to make a small dog walk every day. I am not sure what to do now. I might have to “beard” her in her “den.” “Front” her “up.” But whatever happens I will keep you “in the loop.”
Your loving mother,
Mum
The Formula Twelve pitch was all I could think about but I hadn’t come up with a single idea. I had never experienced a block like it. I knew that if it came to it, I could do a pitch similar to Wendell’s—private plane to Rio, fancy hotels, half-day trip to the favelas—but my heart wouldn’t be in it. I had to come up with something. In the past I had always managed to pull the rabbit out of the hat. But, to my horror, still nothing came and I only had six days left…
…five days…
…four days…
…three days…
…two days…
…one day…
…no days…
The morning of the pitch to Ariella, I wore my only sober suit, the one I’d worn the first time I’d met Aidan, when he’d spilled coffee on me. It might help me be taken seriously. I almost died of shock when I saw the usually überchic Wendell.
She was wearing a yellow suit. Yellow. With feathers. She looked like Big Bird. She must be pitching some carnival-type theme. Quickly I looked over at Lois, who was wearing a sleeveless khaki gilet with loads of pockets, just like Professor Redfern’s. Her pitch must be going the explorer route.
At five to ten, Franklin gave us the nod and led Wendell and me to the boardroom. Coming from the opposite direction were Mary Jane and Lois. Wendell and Lois had storyboards tucked under their arms. I had none.
All five of us met at the door, where Franklin and Mary Jane fronted each other in a hostile face-off. Out on the floor, everyone craned their necks and stared; this highly confidential pitch was one of the worst-kept secrets of all time.
“Please enter,” said Shannon, Ariella’s PA. “Ariella is waiting inside. I will be guarding the door.” To keep us in, rather than anyone else out, I thought.
“Siddown, siddown,” Ariella said from the head of the table. “Now, amaze me.”