Alek Popov - Mission London

She stood in front of the mirror to try on a new wig, a light-pink one. They had brought it in to her that afternoon. It was an important part of a new scenario that had been written to order for some wealthy old punk rocker.

“So you’re my new daughter-in-law,” an ironic voice broke in behind her.

She moved slightly and looked at the reflection of Mrs Cunningham in the mirror. She liked the old lady; she had a bold voice.

“How old are you?”

“24,” answered Katya.

“Do you like the role?”

“My timetable’s fairly busy,” mumbled the girl.

“Then they need another Princess,” spat Mrs Cunningham. “This show will go on for a long time. You won’t find yourself on the street, believe me!”

“I’ve nothing against that,” said Katya. “But I don’t intend to stay in this business forever.”

“Are you Russian?”

“Bulgarian.” Katya said, shaking her head.

Mrs Cunningham narrowed her eyes, as though trying to remember something important. “Ah, you’re the girl who used to work there, aren’t you?” she asked in lively tones.

Everyone knows! So much for confidentiality!’ Then Katya said aloud, “Work is putting it a bit strongly. I cleaned every so often in exchange for lodgings. It was a real chance at first because I had no money. But things are a little different now, so I moved out.”

“Well, well, what is the world coming to!” sighed the old lady disapprovingly. “Masturbation at such a level. It’s going a bit far, don’t you think?”

“High-level, low-level, it’s all the same,” Katya shrugged.

“I still don’t approve,” said Mrs Cunningham, shaking her head. “Think what you will, but personally I don’t approve. Onanism stops people from developing. That’s what I was taught when I was young. Now I finally understand what they actually meant.”

She reached into her handbag and pulled out a cigarillo. She lit it. Her head almost disappeared in a cloud of sweet smoke.

“Everybody knows how to jerk-off in the dark,” she continued, puffing away. “You don’t have to be handsome, intelligent, wealthy — nothing! You can even have ‘bad personal hygiene’ as I’ve heard it called. People are becoming sloppy. Why bother making an effort to look good, improve the mind and so on, when you can sort yourself out? And that’s that. Once you start, nothing can stop you. You return to being an animal.”

The queen casually blew some smoke-rings. “When someone jerks themselves off, that’s their business. But when the whole country is jerked off, it gets a bit much,” she concluded philosophically.

“Brilliant! Why don’t you profit from the occasion to tell them that?” proposed Katya.

The queen considered for a moment, then shook her head, “It’s not in the script. And it’s none of my business. But don’t you worry, one day they’ll find someone to explain it to them. There’s always one to explain.”

The elderly lady headed off to her make-up room, muttering under her breath, “Who the hell came up with that damn dull concert? Probably that half-wit Munroe! That man is a complete idiot!”

“You’ve played me for a fool,” snorted Varadin. “You Bastard!”

His voice spewed from his oral cavity like a thick black, pestilential stream.

“Your Excellency,” replied Ziebling coldly. “I’ve no idea what you are talking about. You wanted the Queen, you have Her! What more do you need!”

“The real Queen, you bastard!” The Ambassador groaned and then almost choked. “100!”

“Pardon?” Ziebling raised his eyebrows.

“75!” said Varadin and repeated himself furiously, “The Real Queen!”

“The real Queen?” Ziebling seemed genuinely surprised. “Are you mad?”

“No, I’m not!” spat the Ambassador, “300!”

Pepolen’s system was coming apart at the seams. Obviously it was not designed for such heavy use. The emotional valve could not hold the pressure; there were too many numbers and with no other escape-valve, the whole system was blocking up. At any moment it might blow, and bury him in the debris. He had to save his brain.

Ziebling stared at him, as though trying to guess what was going through his client’s mind.

“Why don’t you bring Lady Diana along as well,” the Ambassador continued cuttingly. “Just for the look of the thing.”

The Famous Connector blinked rapidly, “But you didn’t ask for her!”

“Enough!” shouted Varadin, stopping both Ziebling and the numbers. “Do you think you can lead me around by the nose? I know all about your agency!”

“We have nothing to hide, Sir,” Ziebling answered calmly. “I assumed that you were aware of the nature of our services from the start. You called us, if you remember.”

“Dean Carver recommended you, and I put my faith in him,” the Ambassador complained bitterly, and added bitingly, “I suppose it was in his interest…”

“I’m not surprised he spoke highly of us,” said Ziebling. “We’re very good of what we do. I assure you, you will like our show!”

“There won’t be any show!” spat Varadin.

“You’re cancelling at the last minute?” the Famous Connector shifted uneasily. “Whatever for?”

“Because you expect me to accept a fake Queen, that’s why!!” Varadin exploded, “Do you really think we’re that stupid?”

Ziebling went red and jumped out of his chair, “My dear man, not for an instant did I expect that you might think that we would actually get hold of Her Majesty herself! That’s absurd! Where on earth did you get such a bizarre idea?”

The Ambassador blinked rapidly opposite him. “We’ll have to think of something,” he mumbled, mostly to himself. “…That she’s fallen ill or been called away on important State business. I don’t know. We have to think of something!”

“But what about the others?” asked Ziebling, business-like.

“What others?” gaped Varadin. The guest list appeared before his eyes, titles and all.

“I want to inform you that they are only extras, you can’t rely on them too much,” Ziebling said.

Varadin felt his migraine coming on and massaged his sinuses, without much success. “I should have known,” he muttered. “You thought of everything!”

“But of course!” nodded Ziebling. “It wasn’t easy, let me tell you! Usually people choose more private scenarios. But you’ve wanted this concert so much! You obviously have good reasons for it. I don’t know. It’s not my business to comment on my clients’ desires, merely to fulfil them. However, I cannot allow external elements to interfere with the troop. That’s unprofessional.”

“But they’ve bought their tickets already, for God’s sake!”

“We assumed that this will please you. We included them in the price. Don’t worry.”

The Ambassador looked up quickly, “You expected me to pay for this masquerade?”

“Amongst other things — that is why I’m here,” replied Ziebling cheerfully, “to discuss our fee. I’ve prepared you an invoice down to the last penny.”

“Maybe you didn’t understand that I’m turning down your services!”

“Don’t rush it, your Excellency,” continued Ziebling, paying not slightest attention to his words. “We’ve already invested in this project and you will be obliged to refund our expenses in any case. Besides which, we all bought our tickets, including myself, see here it is.” He pulled a piece of card from his breast pocket, which had the Embassy’s seal on it. “And we have no intention of missing the food or the show. I know you’ve been preparing for this occasion for almost six months. Troubadours and acrobats have been called in all the way from Bulgaria. So it should be worth seeing, shouldn’t it?”