Want to see what I gave Momo for her birthday last year? THIS:
How far we’ve come, eh? From a tweeted cell phone picture of my computer screen displaying a few minutes of work to the most amazing creations – collages, gif sets, videos, poems, comics & full-on novels – the last year of birthdays has been SOMETHING ELSE, hasn’t it? And these links are just the tip of the iceberg. They’re all just so impressive, all of you so talented, and the greatest present of all is watching as how over the last year some of these talents – some that didn’t even exist before – were amazingly developed, because they were given opportunity and the opportunity was each other’s birthdays and the reason you celebrate birthdays is love. So that is incredible.
Momo, I trust you have had a most happy birthday with the many presents given today, conceived with you in mind, lovingly created and contributed to by all your friends here in cyberland. Your artistic sensibilities, your love of silliness and your endless enthusiasm for all we do have made you an irreplaceable part of our lives. Thank you, thank you, thank you, you are the #FanClubPresident of my life and I am yours right back. So it with a very humble heart I ask you to please enjoy…
Burberry McGarrett and the Inconvenient Heist
Are you wondering who/what Burberry McGarrett is? Need a refresher? Click Here!
Burberry McGarrett strode forcefully through the foyer of the marble walled building using the crowd of people surrounding him to hide his face from the security cameras – no mean feat when he was half a head taller than the average man and better dressed than all of them. Still, he had to move quickly. In about 30 – no, 25 seconds – the alarm would go off and the building locked down. Time to get away.
A quick dash around a pillar, a one second wait for a woman with a small child to pass, and Burberry stepped behind the doorman and out into the fresh, crisp air. He took a deep breath and straightened his jacket lapels. The early afternoon sun was shining, the winter air was crisp and cold, and he had a jewel-encrusted figurine worth three-quarters of a million dollars in his interior jacket pocket. Toronto was beautiful this time of year, he thought with a laugh, and hurried off down the street.
“What do you mean, they won’t let you in?” Morag asked, cringing as the angry caller yelled through the phone.
“What is it?” mouthed Kim, one of her co-workers, from across the room. Morag shrugged, then, as the hollering continued, waved her hand at Kim, who obligingly scuttled over to her side. Morag took a large post it note from her desk and wrote “WONT LET FUCUP FILMS ON SITE ROYAL ONTARIO.” She underlined the entire thing twice for emphasis.
Kim paled a little, watching as Morag continued to receive the complaints of the caller. This was bad. FUCUP Films was a new client, a very exclusive and high quality independent studio. Their lead creative team was renowned for their excellent writing and post-production skills that turned the scenes shot with budget equipment and ordinary locations into some of the most anticipated and critically acclaimed films of the past few years.
Morag and Kim had been working non-stop for the past few months securing this account and then arranging access to the locations FUCUP had requested. They had coordinated every detail and filming had been in progress for the past couple of days in various spots around town. Now Justine, the legendary FUCUP production manager, had called to say that the Royal Ontario Museum wouldn’t let them — or anybody for that matter — through the door.
“Justine-” Morag interjected, “Justine– let me put you on speaker, Kim’s here.”
As she re-set the receiver, a loud sigh came through the line. “I’m sorry, Mo, I’m not yelling at you — I’m just yelling, you know?”
“I understand – just tell us what’s going on down there?”
“They said there was a robbery! In the museum! During the day! Apparently someone just walked right in, grabbed one of the jeweled statues from –” there was a rustling sound and her voice muffled as the phone moved around. “Alicia– from where did you say? From the Renaissance? No? What are you talking about, I know the Renaissance isn’t a place. Well? What was it…. African? Something?” Her voice cleared up again as she spoke directly into the receiver. “Anyway we can’t get in and we need these shots Mo, we need them today.” Her voice trailed off into a plea. “We’re on a deadline here.”
“I’ll come down and see what I can do,” Morag said, nodding at Kim. “We’ll be right there.”
Three and a half frustrating hours later, Morag found herself walking on the boardwalk just outside her offices, ruefully admiring the seagulls as they swooped in on each other’s food. “They always get their way, in the end. Unlike me!” she thought dramatically, in an uncharacteristic bout of self-pity.
The museum had been well and truly locked down for the investigation of the brazen theft of an antique treasure. Normally this sort of story would interest her, but in her attempts to get FUCUP access to any part of the museum (any part at all!) she hadn’t even bothered to learn the details. She looked up at the office, considered going inside, but she knew Kim had headed for home half an hour ago and had closed up shop. Mo continued on down the road, feeling braced by the cold winter air, eventually wandering into one of the many high-end pubs that lined the waterfront, and found herself a quiet space at the corner of the bar.
Removing her winter gear, a warm pair of gloves and her new sleek trench, she carefully took her seat on the bar stool, arranging the folds of her dress with care. It was a beautiful jewel-toned purple that she’d felt complimented her own coloring when she’d seen it in the store and for no other reason and without another thought, she’d bought it immediately. It wasn’t until she had worn it into work that morning and seen Kim’s jaw drop that she figured it might not be the most appropriate piece of work attire she’d ever purchased. It had a scooping neckline that was still within the bounds of modesty but only barely so, coming slightly off the shoulder as it did. It hugged her tight around the middle before it rippled out, ending just at her knees. Mo swished her skirts a little as she sat, admiring the swirl of the sleek fabric. Today didn’t go as expected, but she had a great dress.
Not normally a big drinker, she messed with the small happy hour menu in front of her before placing an order for some wine, a small glass of the house red. As she waited, she quickly looked around the room and then checked her phone. Too bad Kim was already home; it would have been nice to have some company to commiserate with. She momentarily thought about calling Justine or Alicia or one of the other FUCUPs whose numbers she had. “You have those phone numbers for business reasons,” her conscience nagged at her, and she took another moment for self-pity, thinking that after the day they’d had, she was probably the last person Justine, or Alicia, or any of the FUCUPs wanted to see. She put her phone away.
Eventually, the waiter, a quiet older man, arrived, but to Morag’s confusion he held out a bottle of 2001 Lafite and she sat up real straight real fast. She might not be a big drinker but she knew an expensive bottle of wine when she saw one. She waved her hands at him energetically, exclaiming, “I didn’t order that!”
The waiter smiled and continued to remove the foil and cork from the bottle. “No miss,” he said with a flourish as he held out the cork to her for review. “That gentleman over there ordered it for you, and sends his compliments.”
Morag froze as she took the proffered wine cork from the waiter more on instinct than by choice. Someone had just bought her a $300 bottle of wine. Her mind was whirring. “I don’t know any gentlemen who could afford this… on a Thursday…” She muttered to herself, resisting the urge to turn around. She had seen the waiter open the bottle so it couldn’t be poisoned, could it? A choked laugh escaped her throat at the thought.
“Miss?” The waiter’s kind eyes looked into hers as he glanced down at the cork, and back up to her.
“Oh! Right!” Morag said, still rather flustered. She sniffed the cork, daintily. It smelled like red wine and it didn’t smell nasty so she nodded at the waiter and he proceeded to pour her a generous glass of the Bordeaux. Morag straightened her shoulders. It would be rude to take a sip without first thanking the person who had ordered the wine, wouldn’t it? Lifting the glass, she turned slightly in her seat to better see the entire room.
Scanning it carefully, she soon made eye contact with a man who was making eye contact with her. His dark eyebrows quickly bobbed up and down once as he gave her a sly grin and Mo felt the room tipping on its side without even a drop of alcohol in her system. Now all she had to do was figure out how to get her hands to work to wave him over and at the moment that seemed very difficult – but she must have done because he was standing up, re-buttoning his suit jacket, and ever so steadily and purposefully walking towards her, never once looking away.
To Be Continued..?
Author’s notes: And I was so sure I’d have him visiting Australia first!
The story is fictional, based on my rudimentary knowledge of Momo’s workplace and job duties. Fictional Toronto is fictional, I don’t even know if they have jeweled statues (aren’t you curious about what he stole?) at the Royal Ontario, it just sounded like the type of museum Burberry would hit. Are there nice restaurants near where Momo works? Hell if I know. Does she drink red wine? No clue! Do I know what’s going to happen next? Heh heh heh….
Keep your eyes on the Junk Drawer for the next installment of “The Inconvenient Heist” to learn…
…The fate of FUCUP Films’ shooting schedule!
…What Burberry stole from the Royal Ontario!!
…And, oh, yeah, what Burberry has in store for Mo and that bottle of wine!!!
But only if you want to know what happens. Which, maybe you don’t, so be sure to let me know your thoughts on that. 😉