Cold, ice cold, maybe not arctic but she is frosty. Name a receptionist that isn’t; especially a receptionist at Sports Management International. Brenda has met me several times and has yet to crack a smile or engage in the slightest small talk. A woman in her fifties with an amazingly fit body, Brenda is a sight to see. I was hoping for a dowdy young babe with her hair in a bun and big glasses, a bit of the True Brit charm and she flicks her hair back and chicka bow wow she’s bent over the desk howling like Baskervilles finest.
The coffee is nice, no tea but this is America so you make do. The selection of waiting room literature is too sterile for me, no Maxim, FHM or Jugs Weekly. Damn that air con is loud.
Brenda: Mr Sugar will see you now! Allow me to escort you Mr. Brown sir.
Now it’s my turn Brenda turns on the charm, I am now the centre of her universe. Smiles, boobs pushed forward; not bad but she clearly has had work done, and her secret weapon the elbow touch.
The heavy glass doors swing open at the touch of a button, U.S.A. U.S.A. no need to actually open a door that’s like hard work. The room smell good, a mixture of expensive leather; thanks to the chairs, and vanilla, least I think its vanilla, well it smells like ice cream, what does Neapolitan smell like?
Bob; the aforementioned Mr. Steinberg, is the opposite of the men he represents. Grossly obese and deathly pale apart from when he moves and he turns purple with effort. He sweats a lot but never smells or has sweat patches, that quite a feat. He doesn’t get up instead tells me to sit. I take the chair despite being stuck outside with Brenda for over 15 minutes I don’t feel rested. She puts me on edge more than facing anyone from SCW. Does that more about her or the lack of true competition I face at ‘work’.
Bob: [/b]Johnny How ya doing my boy? I tell you my phone has been ringing off the hook! Beating that Casey guy is big news. He is a big player, even with losing his tag title he gets a lot of attention. They’re calling you the Giant Killer!
Johnny: (his voice a gravelly whisper from Casey's attack)Bob, while I appreciate the smoke ya blowing up me arse you obviously called me ‘ere fer a reason. So me old china open up ya gob an’ get ta chatting.
One of Bob’s fat fingers pushes a button on his phone as he leans forward to speak into it.
Bob: [/b]Can you come down now please.
Johnny, you are a top star in the making but you need work, to polish you up, that is why…
Johnny mother-f**king Brown.
A pair of men enter the room the first a bald headed man who looks like a giant baby in a suit, his head actually shines as it reaches its peak. He loudly greets Johnny. Everything about him screams agent, unlike Bob; who has that ancient whale like calmness to him, Baldy is full of energy like an energiser bunny on speed. His compatriot is much calmer he slinks in, his hair draped messily over his shades; yes they are still in-doors, and slouches into a leather chair. He hangs his legs over one arm and an arm over the other. He looks a mess but oozes cool.
Hi John so Bob has filled you in that’s GRREAT, OK let me introduce the men who are going to make you a star. I see the look on your face ok you know what scratch that meet the men who are going to make you a bigger star. I; am Chuck Steinberg, your personal agent slash PR man slash best friend in the whole wide world. While my so calm he almost comatose friend here, is crazy, sexy, cool Tyler Bates, he is your style guru. He has helped all those gawky awkward wannabes become megasuperglobalstars.
Tyler holds up two fingers in a salute of sorts.
Chuck: You want FAME! Well, fame costs and right here is where you start paying, in sweat! Or to be more precise lets work on that accent.
F**k what have I let myself in for?
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