I’m still rusty in the writing department but at least The Man has been rescued from London 2014. Thanks to Servetus for her expert help.
The Man tried not to fidget in the low-back, short-seated chair. No, think in German. Chair, sessel.
He’d folded himself as gracefully as possible but still felt all jutting knees and elbows. His bum had gone numb and an earlier wiggle told him the chair’s fabric was every bit as itchy as he feared. He longed to jump up and shake his arse. That might make this interview junket more interesting. An image of him dancing to Taylor Swift’s Shake It Out sprang to mind. A smirk tugged at his lips. Arse. He knew this one: arsch
His earpiece fell silent. The interviewer on the small television just out of camera range smiled with an air of expectancy. The Man blinked. Oi! What had the journalist been asking… a synopsis of his new spy series…yes! Ja!
“The show is about a CIA operative who is sent to the Berlin bureau…” Yes, he hadn’t missed a beat and he’d been practicing his German to boot.
A few more questions and the face on the screen changed again. The stage manager cued him again. He began his spiel again. To promote the series, his PR people had scheduled twelve interviews back to back in rapid succession. Which one was this? He’d lost count. Hmm, count! Eins, zwei, drei!
To be honest, the press junkets weren’t all that bad. He’d learned variations of the same answers so that each interview seemed fresh. He knew what the questions would be; nothing could really surprise him. It was a small price to pay to stay a successful actor. He had to promote his work. There was only one downside actually -the boredom. What was German for boredom? It was hard to not drift off- Wait, what was that?
“…tall for a dwarf role. How tall are you?”
Okay, maybe there was another downside: inane questions about his work. If he had a pound for every time he’d been asked that he could retire now.
“I’m six feet three and three-quarter in my stocking feet.” He smiled. Last interview he said six feet two and half. No worries. Keeping it fresh.
“…trained in a circus. Is that true?”
The Man sighed. Clearly this would haunt him the rest of his days. Couldn’t he just say he slept with the elephants and swept horse shit? Scheisse. Yes, he would.
“Yes, I did it to get my actor’s equity card.” Nah, he couldn’t do it.
The interviewers switched again. Ah, the last one. Who was this one? Ah, Gretchen with an accent. Not American. Definitely European. Maybe German? This might be interesting.
“So your career began in a circus?”
Maybe not. Hmm, speaking of German, he’d been conjugating verbs on his own all summer. Recalling them could help with the boredom. Let’s see… to say is sagen. Ich sage, du sagst, es sagt. To love: lieben. liebe, liebst, liebt. To live: wohnen. Wohne, wohnst wohnt. To get something: besorgen. besorge, besorgst, besorgt. Didn’t his colleagues on set teach him some phrases too? Ich konnte es…. her?…ihm…no, ihr ….not…nicht…besorgen. I couldn’t get it for her. His friends had seemed particularly proud of his pronunciation.
“Yes! Ich konnte es ihr nicht besorgen!”
His earpiece fell silent. He blinked. Uh oh, he didn’t just -.
On the small screen, Gretchen smiled wryly. Her eyes twinkled. “I see.”
He mentally kicked himself and smiled. “I’m so sorry; my mind wandered. I’ve been practicing my German. Getting ready to start filming for the second series.”
She pursed her lips. “Love scenes maybe?”
His froze. “Why? What did I just say?”
“What do you think you said?”
He swallowed. “I couldn’t get it for her.”
She broke into a full grin. Well, yes. But I was asking you about a girlfriend, maybe? So it could also mean, “I couldn’t get it up for her.”
Oh shit, I’m going to kill them. What were his PR people going to say about this, especially after the whole social media/mobile thing?
“But don’t worry. It made an interesting interview. Auf Wiedersehen, Mein Liebster.”
The screen went black.
The Man slumped. Well, they could edit that out later. At least it wasn’t live.