Garrett & Sunny: Sometimes Love is Funny

by Peter Butler

  'Domaine de Chevalier Rouge, 2009,' he said, with a sly smile. 'What's the occasion?'

  'I met a guy a week or so back and I quite like him,' she said, as she took the bottle from Simon and began to pour it into the glasses. 'He's been away on business and he's getting back tomorrow and I thought I'd cook him a special dinner. If you say this wine is good I'll get some for the meal.' She put a little extra in Simon's glass for two reasons; it would help dissolve the white powder she had already put carefully into the base of the glass, and it would avoid the possibility of mixing up the glasses.

  'Sounds like this new man is going to have a special night, tomorrow.'

  Sunny ignored the innuendo and made a point of subtly swirling Simon's wine as she handed it to him. She was pleasantly surprised to see that the Rohypnol left no visible trace. She made a point of sniffing her wine like a proper wine taster would do. Simon did likewise. She grudgingly, had to admire the way Simon was playing things. The bastard was certainly cool and in control.

  'That's assuming he survives my cooking. That's why I need a nice wine, so at least part of the meal will be tasty and memorable,' she forced a laugh and held her glass for Simon to clink his against, then they both took a sip.

  Sunny commented first. 'Well, to my laywoman's palate, that seems to do the job. Delicious.'

  Simon nodded in agreement. 'Excellent. I must remember this one.' He held out his hand and Sunny passed him the bottle so he could study it.

  'Drink up, boss. I plan on getting you drunk and getting a commitment out of you about this on-camera career you suggested yesterday.' She took another sip and noticed a spark come into Simon's eyes as he sensed an opportunity was coming up.

  'We would need to work a lot closer if we we're going to pull that off,' he said as he took another mouthful of the wine. 'I mean, I would need to know you a lot better, to find the position that would suit you; to give you the best chance of success.'

  'I think you know me very well, already,' she countered, trying hard to not give her words any subtle inflection. 'I think a position as co-host would be ideal. On a show that was light, but not stupid or silly like so many of the shows around today. I'm happy starting on cable, but if one of the main channels became available, all the better.'

  Simon emptied his glass of wine and she hoped there wasn't any residue of the chemical still on the bottom. If there was he didn't notice as he poured himself another glass, keen to get as much of the liquid as possible. Then he topped her glass up, as well.

  'You certainly have the looks... Sunny. And you have a nice... voice. And you're smart... and sexy,' he said, talking in a staccato manner as the drug took hold of him. 'And... you have a nice... voyzzz... too.' He looked at her with a confused, worried look and his upper body began to sway.

  Sunny smiled at Simon. She was amazed at how quickly the stuff worked. 'Let's go into your office.' She put her glass down on her desk, stood up and gently led him, wobbly legged, through to his office, where she sat him on the couch. The same couch she must have been led to the night before.

  Deja vu... All over again. She smiled tightly, and took the wineglass from his hand.

  Simon sat there, his eyes seemed to be spinning, his lids began fluttering, then his head slumped forward and he slowly fell onto his side, his head coming to rest on the armrest.

  Sunny pressed her fingers into his neck at the point in his jawbone to check his pulse. It was weak, but steady. Then she peeled one of his eyelids back and saw his pupil was twitching from side to side.

  She left him and went back to her desk, picked up her wineglass and sipped it as she went to the office front door. She bolted it closed and turned off the lights in the reception area. Anyone looking in would assume the staff had all left. She knew the cleaners would not be in for another two nights and it was unheard of for any of the office staff to come back at night. She and Simon were the only ones in the office who did that. They had the place to themselves.

  The equipment Sunny needed lay waiting where she had hidden it just before Simon had arrived. She retrieved it and carried it into his office. It didn't take long to set it up. Then she went to Simon and lifted him back into a sitting position. She slid off his jacket and then unbuttoned his shirt and slid it off him. He sat on his couch, bare chested with his head slumped forward, his chin resting on his chest.

  Then she untied his shoes and removed them. Then his socks. Next, she unbuckled his belt and slipped open the button on his pants, then she slid down the zipper on his fly. He only needed the gentlest of pushes to make him fall sideways again. Sunny worked his trousers over his hips and then his boxers quickly followed. She pulled at the cuffs of his pants and wiggled them out from under his body until the pants came completely off. Then came his boxers. She threw all of his clothes onto his desk.

  He was totally naked.

  She looked at him, unimpressed, and thought of the sport he must have had at her expense last night. She had a sudden urge to punch him in the face, but restrained herself.

  The equipment she had brought into his office was her 35mm Nikon Digital SLR camera and a tripod. She set it up in what she thought would be the best position. She propped her makeup mirror behind the camera allowing her to see the viewfinder when she joined him on the couch. When she had him framed her scene the way she wanted she moved to the final part of her plan.

  She took off all her clothes, removed her watch and her necklace and put on her one prop. Sunny became one of a million young women.

  Sunny climbed on top of Simon's comatose body and imagined how he must have done much the same thing last night. His weapon had been a condom sheathed penis, her weapon was a wireless remote to control the camera's shutter. She angled his face so the Nikon could make him out clearly. She checked her mirror as she positioned her thigh to hide his genitals, but still giving the impression he was inside her, even though his penis was totally limp and incapable of the act. Her own face would be turned away from the camera and the shoulder length blond wig she was wearing would give no hint that it was Sunny on top of him.

  She fired the shutter off repeatedly, after every few shots she moved his head or his arm or leg, giving a variety of positions to create the image that he was an active participant. She even pretended to kiss him on the mouth for some of the pictures.

  She climbed off him and played back her work. Most of the shots looked staged, but quite a few were believable. She smiled to herself, she really only needed one. Job done.

  Simon lay on the couch, naked and exposed. She didn't care if he woke in the middle of the night and made his way home, or the office staff found him like that in the morning. Either outcome suited her plan.

  She quickly dressed and packed her camera gear back into its bag. She drank the remains of the wine in her glass then thoroughly washed them both and re-corked the bottle which was still a third full. She turned off all the lights and went to the office door. As she began to lock the door, she stopped and withdrew her key from the slot. That was nearly a tactical mistake. She left the building with a grin on her face; it occurred to her that she had just done her first, and almost certainly, last, porn shoot. And it wasn't too hard at all. She laughed out loud as that pun passed through her head, pleased that she was beginning to cheer up from her recent sour mood.

  As her fellow documentary makers say - "No animals had been harmed in the making of this production."

  That was coming tomorrow.

  Chapter 9

  Truf and Tim were impressed that I had found the correct entrance to the camp, and sarcastically pointed out my timing was impeccable. Our mood was cheerful and light as we drove back to the hotel. It was around lunchtime when we arrived and we had collectively decided to drive back to Brisbane that afternoon.

  Both George and Bev were working in the main bar when we entered and told them we were leaving.

  'It's a shame to see you go, boys,' Bev said with an enigmatic smile. 'I hope you all enjoyed your stay here.'
She glanced at Tim's purple eye and her smile briefly widened.

  Truf, fortunately, spoke for all of us. 'We've had a wonderful time, thank you both for everything.'

  'It's been a pleasure having you fellas,' George added, unaware that it was really his wife he was speaking for.

  I wanted to add something complimentary along the lines of - especially you Bev, you really bend over backwards for your guests.

  From the look on Tim's face I guessed he would have liked to add a similar comment.

  We packed quickly, settled the bill with George and hit the road. Tim and I were anxious to put the amusements of this little one whore town behind us. Truf seemed unusually keen to get back to Brisbane.

  We made it by 10:45 p.m. and checked into our city hotel. Truf had intended to give Sammy a call when he arrived, but was just as stuffed as Tim and I were from the drive. I was pissed-off with Sunny's complete lack of concern regarding returning my calls, so in a mini-tantrum, I punished her by resisting the urge to dial her number. Was my new relationship falling over at the first hurdle?

  All three of us crawled into our lovely soft beds and slept like Sleeping Beauty. Without the beauty part.

  In the morning I woke refreshed and invigorated. I was keen to see what communications I had received; maybe Sunny might have found the time to write a word or two, so I fired up my laptop. Sunny hadn't, but Sophie had sent me the list of Warra's paintings currently for sale.

  My jaw dropped when I reached the bottom of the list. 67 works for sale. Total ask price $1.85 million in US dollars.

  I had a shower and dressed in my normal work clothes. That is, chinos and a colored or patterned business shirt and tie, with a jacket on top. Neat, with a hint of casual, I'm aiming for the "I'm a successful entrepreneur who doesn't need to try hard by wearing an expensive suit", look. I felt almost normal again. Something about wearing shorts makes it impossible to maintain a "please take me seriously" attitude. Today was going to get serious - I would need my uniform.

  I met up with the other two at the breakfast buffet. As we ate I laid out my plans for the day.

  'Tim,' I said, 'I need you to change into work clothes after breakfast. You and I are catching a plane to Sydney in an hour and a half.'

  He looked at me, somewhat confused. 'I was planning a day of sight-seeing and...' he raised his eyebrows at me, 'maybe getting a medical check-up. Why do I need to go to Sydney?'

  'I've set up a meeting for you with Frank Spiller, an old mate of mine,' I said. 'Frank is a public relations expert. He's the guy celebrities go to when they get caught with their pants down doing something with someone else's spouse, or calling a cop a bigot and having it caught on tape.'

  Tim glared at me. I realized he thought I was taking the piss out of him for his step from the path of righteousness with Bev.

  I grinned at him. 'You are going to show your pictures of the poisoned dump site and billabong to Frank and have him work out a way to leak them to the media. But not until the middle of the afternoon... tomorrow.'

  Tim relaxed and I watched his face - waiting.

  It only took him a moment and his face suddenly changed. 'But, that will kill Plutarch Resources,' he said, with a look of horror. 'The share price will fall out of bed!'

  I smiled broadly at him. 'You think?'

  My mocking of him caused a rethink. To his credit, he almost got there.

  'You want the price low, so you can buy it cheaply,' he announced with a triumphant grin.

  'Not exactly, Tim. That would be illegal. I'll explain everything, later. Today is going to have to come together like a well-disciplined military exercise. If too much goes wrong then I'm likely to end in the toilet.. or more correctly, in jail.'

  Truf had been looking on in quiet amusement. 'What role does General Nixon have for Private Truf.'

  I smiled at him. 'I think we can do better than Private for you, Truf.' I laughed at the fact he picked up on my my military description of the day ahead. 'Your job is the best of all. You get to play with Sammy. You have to store our rock collection at her place anyway, and I figure we'd have a hard time getting you back from that assignment - so you might as well have most of the day off, Corporal!'

  'Corporal? I was expecting something at least higher than Captain.' He gave me his unhappy face, then continued. 'What do you mean... "most" of the day off?'

  'I've emailed you a rundown of Plutarch's stated mining expenses. I'd like your professional opinion of how well they sit with the actual work they have been doing at the drill sites.'

  'I'll definitely try and fit that into the schedule.'

  'And, of course you have that important phone call to make to a certain cardiologist. Make sure you follow up with an email stating exactly what you discuss with him.'

  Truf nodded knowingly back at me.

  Ten minutes later I was back in my room. I made a call.

  'Barrymore Fine Art. Julie Ickx, speaking.'

  'Ms. Ickx, this is Garrett Nixon from the Nixon Fund in London. I need to speak with Mr. Oscar Barrymore, please.'

  'I'm terribly sorry Mr. Nixon, but Mr. Barrymore is in a meeting and cannot be interrupted.'

  'What I have to say to Mr. Barrymore is of the utmost importance... to him! I hate to be pushy, Ms Ickx, but I'm about to get on a plane and fly to Sydney for the sole purpose of meeting with Mr. Barrymore this afternoon. I need to verify that I'm not wasting my time.'

  'You're flying from London in an hour, and you are expecting a meeting this afternoon?' She sounded incredulous.

  I wasn't taking any crap from a secretary. I said, 'Don't be stupid, Ms. Ickx. I've already flown from London. I'm waiting in Brisbane for a connecting flight to Sydney. Please put me through to Mr. Barrymore.'

  'Like I said Mr. Nixon, he's in a meeting.'

  This was dragging on too long. I cut her off, by almost shouting down the phone, 'Enough of this nonsense. I'll put it to you as simply as I can, Ms. Ickx. Put Barrymore on the phone immediately, or he will not have a business by this time tomorrow, and you, Ms. Ickx, will be looking for another job, protecting somebody else's over-inflated ego.'

  There was silence over the line for a second, then she said, 'Hold the line, please.'

  I waited at least thirty seconds before he picked up the phone, and said, 'What is all this melodramatic nonsense about, Mr. Nixon?'

  'What I told Ms. Ickx is one hundred percent true and accurate, Mr. Barrymore. I will be in your office in approximately three hours. You need to clear your appointments so we can deal with our business.'

  'And that business is?'

  'Saving you and your company, Mr. Barrymore. I will say no more over the phone. Please understand that I do not fly half-way across the world for a prank. Do I have that appointment, Mr. Barrymore?'

  'Well, I guess so. But, I'd....'

  I hung up on him before he could complete the sentence. I knew that would piss him off and put him just that little bit more on edge.

  Truf dropped Tim and me at the airport an hour later and continued on to deal with his first arduous task for the day. The lucky bastard.

  On the flight I gave Tim an overview of what was happening and his role in the plan. I believe I saw some respect in his eyes when he looked at me.

  ***

  Tim and I parted company outside the airport. Two different taxi's heading to different locations took us away. We were both booked on a 6:35 fight back to Brisbane.

  Barrymore Fine Art was located in the heart of Sydney in George Street. My cab pulled up in front of a large windowed area that featured numerous expensive looking works of art. Some were suspended near the glass by thin wires connected to the ceiling, others, on large artist's easels, were strategically placed on angles and lit by hidden lights, giving a passer-by a fine visual experience from every vantage point.

  The name "Barrymore Fine Art" was emblazoned over the double-doors in large gold block letters. It was also painted in gold on each window at the front, it looked very
classy. The taxi had pulled into a Loading Zone to drop me off, half of which was already taken by a late model soft-top Bentley Continental. I notice it had a parking ticket stuffed neatly under its wiper blade. I hope it belonged to Oscar. If it did, the ticket was going to be the cheapest part of his day.

  I pushed my way through one of the doors and stood in a vast area which featured many different pockets of brightly lit areas. Numerous maze-like walkways fed through the room. On the side walls small simulated rooms had been created with only three walls. Each wall contained various artworks, all were lit expertly by concealed lights. The rooms contained sofas and club lounges consistent with the type of art that was being featured. I presumed the seating served a double role in allowing a sales assistant to casually sell the surrounding works over a cup of coffee, or maybe a glass of single-malt, if the would-be buyer looked like their bank balance had some extra zeros in it.

  A beautiful brunette approached me from out of one of the maze-like passages. She too was a work of art dressed in clothes that do not come from department stores and a body that would have a similar price tag, metaphorically speaking.

  'Can I help you, sir?'

  I'm damn sure you could... No flirting here, old son. Time for business.

  'I'm Garrett Nixon. I have an appointment with Mr, Barrymore.'

  'Ah! Mr. Nixon. I'm Julie Ickx. Mr. Barrymores Personal Assistant. I believe we spoke on the phone earlier in the day,' she said, as she offered me a thin smile and her hand in greeting.

  'Indeed we did, Ms. Ickx,' I said in my best British businessman voice. Superior, with a little Public School thrown in for good measure. 'Thank you for your assistance.'

  'Mr Barrymore is waiting for you,' she said, as she led me through the maze of artworks towards the rear. 'He's keen to find out what catastrophe you are bringing to him.'

  She was mocking me, making light of my visit. 'That is very apt,' I said to deflect her attempt to feign casualness.