FROM THE VOLT (WINTER 2010)
Conde Nast Building, 4 Times Square New York
October 24th, 2010/ 12.37-12.47pm
Graydon, sweetheart I’ve come to save you from your glass tower of repression and corporate hell. I know know, it’s difficult. I was issued the restraining order just this morning but I know it wasn’t you who sent it. It was that interfering blonde bimbo. Bad boy. What are you pressing the panic button for? I won’t hurt you. Anyway, it’s not working. I snuck in here earlier and cut the cable. You really do need to hire a better secretary. One whiff of Krispy Kreme and she’s on it like a bloodhound.
Anyway, I just stopped by to go over a few last minute things for the wedding. My parent’s land Friday morning and we still haven’t gone over the seating plan for the rehearsal dinner. Are we still having it t Monkey Bar? And what about the string quartet for Saturday? Have you made a decision as to whom we’ll use? Personally I rather like the second one we saw. They did Clinton wedding and apparently were amaze. My dress is fine, had my final fitting with Vera today. Have you decided if you’re going with the grey Tom Ford or the black? I don’t want you in the same suit you wore to wed that blonde bitch. Nothing cries bad omen like anything to do with her.
Has the divorce come through yet? We really should have sorted out an annulment but there just wasn’t enough time. We can’t get married if you’re still married. What if it doesn’t come through in time? Think Natalie think. Maybe we could have the wedding Utah? I hear it’s nice there this time of year. We could fly all the guests out on Si’s jet. Those Mormon folk are awfully nice. They don’t look down their nose at multiple wives and it’d just be till the divorce came through. I don’t want you getting cold feet. I mean imagine, you leaving me standing alone at the altar. I can’t even imagine. I‘d have to kill someone. You.
Why are you looking at me funny? Graydon, are you ok? Why is your hand in your drawer? Shit, the silent alarm. I knew I forgot something. How could you? Don’t you love me anymore? Graydon, don’t let them rip us apart. I love you. We’re meant to be. We’re the fucking Liz and Richard of the new millennium. Imagine the Us Weekly covers we could get. Grayddooonnnnn. Wait till I get my hands on you, you bastard. There ain’t a diamond big enough to make up for this. *Spits in his face while being dragged by security from Mr Carter’s office.*
by Natalie Dembinska