I clicked the arrow button again and a KC Interiors heading appeared, followed by the tagline and some text, which appeared to be a history of the company.
I cleared my throat and stood side-on with legs crossed and one hand on my hip as they’d taught us in modelling class. If I didn’t have a clue what I was presenting I could at least look confident. William gave me a curious glance.
Here goes. “KC Interiors is a family owned business and has been operating for seventeen years. Longer than many of our competitors,” I began. The screen only showed keywords but I was able to string them together. It was all about putting on a show. I could do that. “We combine creative design with optimal business practices, going above and beyond industry standards.” So far so good.
Mr Turrow lifted the coffee mug to his lips and tipped his head back, shaking the remaining drops out. He plonked the mug down and clasped his hands together again on the table. “Now tell me, Mrs McSnelly, why Harrods London, would choose to import your products as opposed to your competitors. What makes your company unique?”
Whoa, he must be a buyer from the iconic department store. Sitting in front of me, listening to my presentation! An engine of nerves revved up inside me, as I realised the implications of this meeting. If Harrods were to become buyers of KC Interiors’ products, the business would become very well off indeed.
What made us unique? I hoped the next slide would tell me and him. I pressed the arrow button.
An animation began, showing an old-fashioned mirror, a little like the one at Queen of Beauty, merging with a modern safe and forming a decorative piece of storage for valuables. Carved swirls danced around the frame and each golden flourish was a hinged cover which opened to reveal a compartment for trinkets and jewellery. There were no words on the screen, so I winged it.
“KC Interiors combines modern technology and design with classic style.” Yay, good one, Kelli. “And I’m sure ‘thy valued Harrods customers’ would appreciate our … allegiance with history and tradition that merges forth into contemporary living.” Man, I was good. Shakespeare who?
Mr Turrow nodded. “I see, I see. Now, tell me what your highest selling product is.”
Crap. I pressed the arrow button but the next slide only continued showing transformations of old products into new.
I tapped my finger on my chin, as though trying to conjure the last financial year’s sales figures. Of which I knew nothing about. “Let me think … oh, it’s escaped my mind,” I blabbed on. “You see, all our products sell so well, it’s hard to remember which one the stand-out is.”
William tried to tell me something with his eyes and he kept jerking his head forward as though to remind me of what to say, or trying to catapult the information from his brain to mine. Eventually, William stood up, just as a strange gurgling presented itself in my stomach. I’d been holding it in of course, trying to look slim, but now it was expanding again, like it had done earlier at the cafe.
“Kelli’s right, all our products are successful. But, our smart-lamps are definitely our best-selling item.”
Thank God William was here.
“Their innovative design and intelligent computer program provides the right amount of lighting for any given situation,” William continued, as my stomach continued to churn and I couldn’t resist giving it a firm rub with my hand. Oh man, I really should have gone to the toilet beforehand.
“Plus, the energy-saving, infra-red powered light source lasts for years, so they are both stylish and environmentally friendly.”
Gurgle … Gurgle … bloody hell. I had to get out of here! “Um, I’ll be right back!” I raised a reassuring finger and turned for the door. “Right back,” I repeated with a forced smile, while William glared at me with a ‘what the hell are you doing’ expression.
Lucy eyed me curiously too as I dashed past her desk and towards the toilet sign. Once in the privacy of the bathroom I breathed a sigh of relief and then bolted to the cubicle. Damn lactose. It never bothered me before, why now?
I washed my hands (after figuring out the taps worked just like the faucet-free shower at home) and emerged from the bathroom. How would I explain my sudden departure from the meeting? Poor William was probably sick of my incompetence and attacks of the crazies by now. I needed a reason to have left that didn’t involve bodily functions. I scanned the reception area and my eye caught the shine of light on a spiral-shaped object on the coffee table in the waiting area. Without thinking I grabbed it and dashed back into the meeting room.
“I’m sorry to run off like that, but I just had to show you this …” What the hell was this thing?
“… this … particular piece, which as you can see, forges traditional class with modern innovation. A perfect example of our exquisite products which are like … the past, present and future all rolled into one.” Nice one.
William stifled a chuckle. “Yes, our automated, decorative, tissue-dispensing machines are definitely unique, but the smart-lamps will be quite a hit in England, I’m sure. Especially since our deluxe smart-lamp also doubles as a heating device.”
Sure enough, when I pushed on the top edge of the spiral a tissue popped out and I plucked it out and dabbed at each of my temples in a show of post-exertion. I really was good at this. I knew I should have taken up the offer of being a model on The Price Is Right when I had the chance. I gave a little hand flourish around the tissue-dispenser before placing it on the table. As if I had somehow anticipated needing to dab my temples with a tissue, a wave of heat rolled up from my toes to my head, my cells jumping in shock as a tsunami hot flush drowned my body and left behind a sea of carnage.
“Kelli, are you alright?” William asked.
“Yes, yes, I’m fine,” I said, sweat drenching my face as I dabbed at it with a tissue. “See, getting a tissue when needed has never been so easy with our dispensing machine.” I glanced around the room for something to fan myself with.
Why was there no bloody paper in this office? It was worse than the bathroom with no towels.
I sidled up to a fake plant in the corner of the room and surreptitiously stroked the large plastic leaves, leaning slightly forward and flapping the leaf around my face, as William and Mr Turrow looked on with confused expressions. “I ah, I was just thinking … that um … we could create a plant that has an in-built fan function!” I flapped the leaves a little harder, swishing blessedly cool air around my face. “Yes, the leaves could …” flap, flap, flap, “swivel, or vibrate and create a cool environment for the home or office!”
Both William and Mr Turrow jutted out their bottom lips, turned the corners of their mouths downwards and nodded.
“That’s not a bad idea!” said Mr Turrow.
William murmured his agreement as he cocked his head towards the screen. The message in his expression said it all: Now get back to the bloody presentation and quit doing weird things!
I gulped down a glass of water in as dignified a way as possible and resisted the strong urge to tip it over my head. I clicked through more of the slides, ad-libbing as I went and sprinkling various compliments here and there for Mr Turrow’s ego.
My e-pad beeped and I glanced at my wrist to see Selena calling on the screen.
Selena! I was about to answer it when I realised I couldn’t. The future of KC Interiors’ international expansion depended on this meeting and I couldn’t let William down. I could see he was eager to please Mr Turrow—he probably thought I didn’t notice, but he kept wringing his hands under the table. My poor husband was probably more nervous than me. Damn it! I wanted to speak to Selena but couldn’t. I pressed decline and got back to the slides.
“Something that sets KC Interiors apart is the fact that we give regularly to charity. Ten percent of our net profits to be exact.” Well, there you go.
“Oh, right. Wonderful. Which charities?”
I pressed the arrow button and thankfully, I, or whoever designed this presentation pre-empted this question. “We support d
isadvantaged youth by providing opportunities for creative expression and skill development.” I pressed the arrow again. “Last year our funding allowed teachers to travel to Africa to teach design and construction of useful household equipment, as well as creative expression workshops which provide enjoyment and camaraderie among youth.” I was on a roll.
“You can turn off the presentation now,” Mr Turrow said.
Huh? I thought it was going well.
“Enough about the company, I want to hear more about you.”
Me? William was obviously wondering the same thing as he shifted awkwardly in his chair.
“I understand this business was born of your desire, tell me what led to the birth of KC Interiors. Why did you start it up?”
Crap. All I knew was that Kasey had provided money and stuff, I designed stuff and William managed stuff. What more could I say?
I really wished Lucy would barge in with some urgent phone call I simply had to take, or an announcement, like the building was on fire, or … the crazy naked guy from Main Street had escaped from police custody and followed me here, holding the poor guy from the information desk hostage until he could see me. Okay, maybe not that, but I was fast running out of words and couldn’t think of a single thing to say.
William stood up. “You know, Mr Turrow, when Kelli first showed me the preliminary designs she’d come up with—just as a hobby at first, while our kids were young—I not only saw an amazing talent expressed on the paper, but an amazing glow in my wife’s face. Drawing, creating … it lights up her eyes. I knew she was onto something good. I knew her ideas were unique and that it would be a mistake not to pursue this as a business.”
Wow. Now I was more speechless than before. Hearing William talk about me like I had really been there when Diora and Ryan were young was strange. His eyes seemed to be back in the past, seeing the events that took place. Like it was real. Only it wasn’t real to me. I didn’t remember that time, but I did remember what it felt like to create something out of nothing. To take a blank piece of paper and produce a design that hadn’t existed before. I hadn’t drawn for years, not since I was thirteen, but the pure bliss when I was in the zone? There was nothing like it. So I began telling Mr Turrow this.
“And I knew that I wanted to do this for the rest of my life. That creating beauty was a part of me, an expression of my soul and a passion that couldn’t be suppressed.” Only it had been. Not long after my thirteenth birthday in fact, when I’d finished creating a design I was particularly pleased with and—
Clap. Clap. Mr Turrow’s hands slapped together, interrupting my flow of thoughts. “Mrs McSnelly, what an inspiring story. I thank you immensely for sharing your deep passion for the creative process.” He stood and grasped my hands again, shaking them with even more enthusiasm than before. “However, this will of course be a decision based on business, so I will consider your proposal and that of the other companies I’ve met with today and advise you of my decision when I get off the plane at Heathrow.”
I nodded. “Of course.”
“Thank you both for your time.” He shook William’s hand, who ushered him outside, giving him his personal number and explaining that the office would be closed tomorrow but he could contact William directly so plans could begin immediately.
After he’d left, William led me into another room, which housed a kitchenette, table and chairs, and by the looks of it, one of those smart-lamps which brightened upon us entering. He closed the door behind him and then pressed what appeared to be a lock button.
“I think you won him over,” William said, coming towards me with arms outstretched.
“We won him over,” I corrected.
“Yes it was a team effort, wasn’t it? And even though you didn’t tell him half the stuff we’d planned, I think overall it went well.”
He slid his arms around my back and leaned his head into my neck, nuzzling it with his nose.
I tried to push him away gently. “What are you doing?”
He brought his face in front of mine. “We’ve got some spare time, why don’t we enjoy one of your birthday presents now?” He resumed nuzzling into my neck.
Oh God. “But, isn’t that supposed to be for tonight? And … Lucy’s out there.” I pointed to the door.
“Lucy will be busy finishing up the week’s admin work, she won’t bother us. Besides, the door’s locked.”
He tried to press his lips into mine but I turned my head and they landed on my cheek. So he kissed that instead, then my ear, then the part of my neck just below my ear, his lips making squelchy sounds.
This was wrong. “William, I think you should stop.”
“Why?” He continued the kissing. “And what’s with all this ‘William’ talk? You haven’t called me that in years.”
“Right. Will, honey, I think it would be better to … save ourselves for tonight. You know, make it more special?”
“What’s more special than celebrating a successful business meeting, on your birthday, in a private staff room, on the spur of the moment?” He ran his hand down my cheek and then across my lips, and then down my neck, tracing the neckline of my top with his finger.
“As much as I …” gulp, “…want you right now, I really think tonight is best, when everyone’s gone home and we can have our comfortable bed to ourselves.”
Damn, why couldn’t Selena have chosen this moment to call?
“I really have to call Selena back. She rang before, in the meeting.” I looked longingly at my e-pad and noticed the time. It was a few minutes past five. Liliana! I shoved William, er … Will, back quickly, much to his disappointment. “I just remembered, I’m supposed to meet someone, right now!”
I adjusted the left sleeve of my top which he’d slid part way down my shoulder. “Sorry, honey, but I really have to go. I’ll see you at home, yeah?”
“Who do you have to meet?”
“Just an old friend I bumped into at the shopping centre today, that’s all. I don’t have time to explain, I’ll see you back home in time for the party.” I would not be late for that. So I left Will and his pouting puppy dog face in the staff room, and dashed out. “Bye Lucy, sorry you had to make up a story to cover for me,” I said without waiting for a response as I pulled open the door and escaped into the elevator.
I could make it back by 5:15 p.m. and with any luck, Liliana would still be there. She said she’d be there until five, but surely she wouldn’t leave on the dot, not having seen me again, would she?
Chapter 12
Two Hours to Go
“You can only go halfway into the darkest forest; then you are coming out the other side.”
– Chinese proverb
I ran from the car park to the New Age (ha!) shop where I’d seen Liliana before and skidded to a halt at the entrance. Two people stood expectantly in the queue and only one psychic was left in the booths. Rosie. Damn! I doubled over to catch my breath and looked up as a woman in a white cheesecloth dress approached me.
“Are you okay, madam?”
I exhaled my disappointment and scrunched up my lips. “I was really hoping to see Liliana. She’s not simply out back is she?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m sorry. Liliana has left for the day.”
“Do you have her number, can I call her?”
“I’m sorry madam, we’re not at liberty to disclose our psychics’ personal phone numbers.” The woman went to walk away, but stopped. “Oh, you’re not Kelli by any chance, are you?”
“Yes, that’s me. Why?”
The woman scurried off to the sales counter and back again with a small card in hand. “Here, Liliana said to give this to you if you came back.”
My eyes fled to the card as I plucked it from her hand. We Know The Truth–www.FastForwardExperiences.com. I turned the card over and along with a barcode there was a handwritten message: Good luck! ~ Liliana xo
A tiny smile found its way to my lips and I couldn’t wait to check out the web
site. Maybe I could find out more about what was happening to me. “Thank you!” I hugged the woman who stiffened in surprise. “Please thank Liliana for me.”
“Will do.” She smiled. “We still have another psychic here if you’re in need of a reading?” She pointed towards Rosie whose client was shaking her head as if to say: ‘No, I didn’t have a dog called Scruffy.’
“Thanks, but I’ll pass.” I walked away, my eyes still on the card, narrowly avoiding a collision with the side of the door. Why was there a barcode on the card? I held it next to my e-pad out of curiosity and it beeped, the screen flashing. I pinched and flicked so the holographic screen would appear.
Do you want to save document? Yes. No.
I pressed yes and a list of folders became visible. I then pressed business cards, resulting in a confirmation message.
Document saved to business cards folder.
How cool. No need to house an overgrown collection of business cards anymore. I scrolled through the other folders out of interest: credit cards, debit cards, reward cards, membership cards … this device was a virtual purse. My e-pad was fast becoming my BFF. Although, I sure would miss my Prada handbags, unless … could there be Prada e-pads?
A loud clang from the roller door of a nearby shop broke my fascination with technology for a moment. Everyone was closing their doors for the day, except the New Age shop where Rosie was probably doing unpaid overtime for incompetence. I walked in the direction of the car park (too buggered to run again), as lights dimmed and doors closed around me. Returning to my car, I pinched open my e-pad screen again, selecting the Foogle icon.
In the address bar I typed fastforwardexperiences.com, which opened an intro page with an image of a swirling tunnel, along with the words: If you want to know the truth, click here to enter. I pressed my finger to the screen and the next page appeared.
Welcome! This is a site for those interested in studying the Fast Forward phenomenon and those who have been chosen to experience one.
Fast Forward Page 11
