Agency

Fourth Contact

at the same time

Berry stood at the men's room sinks, wondering if he was heading toward a breakdown. It was late afternoon. The office celebration would kick off soon, and he'd be called upon to make the speech Allegra had asked of him this morning.

He was sweating it.

Despite being an Accounts person, Berry was not a natural speaker. His gifts, whatever they may yet reveal themselves to be -- he held out hope that he might still have a late-life bloom, turning out to be one of those types who sits down and cranks out a Giller Prize-winning novel in their 70s -- certainly did not extend to standing in front of crowds, holding microphones, bantering wittily or delivering inspiring monologues.

The 'few words' Allegra had suggested evolved in Berry's anxious mind over the course of the day into a Pivotally Important Opportunity. A thing that would make or break his career here. A thing that would turn a bright, hot spotlight on the question of whether (or not) Bertrand Ross was of any use at all.

Needless to say, when a person starts thinking in those terms, when he starts to make Albertan Rockies out of Ontario ski hills, a fair amount of internal pressure begins to build. Even though Berry had left Allegra's office feeling temporarily buoyed by her confidence in him, he was already experiencing the early signs of panic: palms prickling, a nervous feeling of dread building in his large intestines, feet sweatier than usual.

Now, you might recall that he'd returned to his desk that morning, surprised to find he had a meeting waiting for him. A meeting he hadn't agreed to, but that was, in any case, there in his calendar. And, as it turns out, also Pivotally Important.

Not knowing that yet, and with other things on his mind, Berry was emphatically not happy to find this meeting in his calendar.

He'd put his messenger bag down under his desk, run an anxious hand through his hair and headed to the small conference room next to reception where his meeting was waiting.

"Mr. Ross," said the man inside the room, who stood up and extended his hand warmly with the air of someone really, authentically delighted to be there, meeting you. The most obnoxious type of person, in truth, when the last thing you want to be doing is meeting with them. Especially when you should be sitting at your desk writing a Pivotally Important address.

Berry reluctantly accepted the handshake and closed the meeting room door behind him.

"I'm sorry," he lied. "I didn't realize I had a meeting this morning. What's this regarding?"

The man smiled again, as though he were wholly accustomed to being treated rudely -- which, of course, as a Business Development person, he definitely was.

"My name is Sylvio Carrera. I represent Starfluence & Co. I emailed you several times."

Berry gazed at him in open confusion.

"Yeah?"

Sylvio slid his slightly shiny suit jacket off his slightly shiny button-down shirt and threw it casually across the meeting room table.

"I'm here to offer our help." He smiled smugly.

Really, with the smiling, thought Berry.

"Help with what, exactly?"

"With whatever you need," said Sylvio. Then, abruptly sitting forward, creating an uncomfortably intimate environment, he added: "I mean, whatever."

Berry rolled his chair back just slightly to recoup some space. This man bore an uncanny resemblance to the Devil in the Caramilk commercials of the 80s.

"Look," he said with undisguised impatience. "I don't have time for this cloak and dagger business. I have a speech to prepare. You'll need to get to your point, or I'm going to have to excuse myself."

"All right, Mr. Ross. I can see that you're a no-nonsense kind of individual. I respect that. I do. Here it is, then. My company offers a wide range of services tailored to the unique needs of, let's say Accounts people and their clients. Think of us as a discrete third party. A support system, always running in the background, at the ready to accomplish whatever needs doing."

Sylvio continued, "Let's say, to take an immediate situation - this will show you, I think, how flexible and immediately we can be of assistance - let's say you have a speech to write."

Berry narrowed his eyes.

"You're saying you could write it for me?"

Sylvio's hands raised slightly. "We could make sure you are successful."

Berry considered this.

"How much would that cost? If I did say..."

"It would cost you nothing, Mr. Ross. The first time is free. We'd value the opportunity to show you how we could support you as our client."

"But, I need to make this speech later today. The party starts at 4:30. There's no time to brief you. I should be working on it now."

Sylvio smiled comfortably. "I assure you, Mr. Ross. This is in hand. By 4 pm this afternoon, you will have your speech - written and prepared by one of our brilliant communication specialists. You can spend your day on something else. Take a client to lunch. Rest easy. We'll come through for you. All you need to do is send a couple of notes to me here," the man slid a business card across the table. "You'll see."

Berry picked up the card and pondered this strange offer. It was impossible and would entail, frankly, an oversized leap of faith to give a task like this to a company he'd never worked with before. Patently ridiculous.

"Okay," he'd said to the man, as if in a hypnotic trance. "I'll send you the notes."

Sure enough, at 3:59 pm, his email had dinged. There, in an attachment from Starfluence, had been his speech.

He'd gone immediately to the men's room and begun trying it out on his reflection in the mirror. The words themselves felt strange and powerful in his mouth — an incantation.

Now, he only needed to dry his armpits under the hand dryer and hope that he wouldn't pass out from fear.