Fast Forward (13 page)

“Kelli, are you alright? What’s going on?”

“I just tripped in the street, that’s all.”

“In the street? You’re not even in the car yet?” Her voice escalated in tone but remained a whisper in volume, obviously trying to stop people nearby from hearing her. “Right, I’ll tell Mr Turrow that you’ve been caught in an unfortunate traffic incident that’s out of your control and you’ll be here in about ten minutes, okay?”

“Okay. I’ll be there as soon as I can!” I raced back inside as fast as my old legs would carry me and found my way back to the car. Automatically reaching for non-existent keys in my non-existent handbag, my hands then flew to my cheeks.
How do I unlock the car? Not only that, but where in the name of Dior is this bloody meeting?

“The secret of staying young is to live honestly, eat slowly, and lie about your age.”

–
Lucille Ball

Think, Kelli, think! How did Ryan open the car earlier? Okay, okay. I circled the car, while memories from this morning circled around my mind … the e-pad, he did something with his e-pad. I held my e-pad out and scanned it along the side of the car, hoping for a scanning device, or a miracle. Nothing.

Maybe it just opens the normal way? I glanced around to see if anyone was watching and then, hoping I wouldn’t set off an alarm, lifted the handle on the front door. The door stayed closed, but a slight beep sounded. I bent over to get a closer look at the door handle. A thin red laser protruded from underneath and I held my e-pad to it.

Click! I opened the front door and slid into the driver’s seat with relief. Problem one solved. Now, to drive this thing properly and find the location of the meeting. I tilted my head and looked to where the ignition would normally be and of course, in its place was a small round scanning device. I held my e-pad to it and the engine purred. Geez, what would stop someone from stealing my e-pad and then my car?

Something flashed on the dashboard:
Please activate approved driver fingerprint recognition
.

Huh? I glanced around for somewhere to roll my thumbprint onto, but nothing appeared to be for that purpose. I placed my hands on the small steering wheel and the words disappeared from the screen, replaced by:
Welcome Kelli McSnelly
. Oh, why thank you.

After a few moments of getting my mind around all the controls, making sure I knew where the brakes were, the car spoke to me: “Where would you like to go, Kelli?”

Twenty five years into the past? I felt like saying. “KC Interiors.”

A map formed on the screen, little flag symbols popping up. “There are five results for that location. Can you be more specific?”

“Um … KC Interiors …” I tried to think of something more specific than that. That was all I knew about where the meeting was. Hang on, five results. That must mean KC Interiors stores. Huh! Maybe I have franchises scattered around the city or something. This little business must be doing alright.

“There are five results for KC Interiors. Could you be more specific,” Miss Car repeated.

Of course, duh! I slapped my forehead. “KC Interiors Head Office,” I said.

“Calculating route …” I thrummed my fingernails on the steering wheel. “Estimated travel duration: nine minutes and forty seven seconds.”

About half an hour late. Damn! I was about to put my foot on the accelerator and veer out of the parking spot when I realised the car was packed in tight. When Ryan drove into this spot the car moved directly sideways. I turned the steering wheel as far as it would go to the right and ever so lightly pressed my foot down, but it began to move diagonally. Not enough to ease out of the spot.

Bugger! I thrummed my fingernails again, my eyes scanning the car’s interior for a solution. There was a button on the dashboard with an arrow pointing to the right and another to the left. I pressed the right arrow and the car moved by itself out of the parking spot. Awesome!

But it looked like the rest was up to me. I followed the arrows around to the other side of the lot, careful not to over-steer the steering wheel, as it seemed to have super-sensitivity. I approached the exit and while I waited for the gate to rise up, I leaned over and wrapped my lips around the straw I’d used before and warm coffee ran down my throat.

“Turn left,” Miss Car said.

Okay, this wasn’t too bad. I was doing it. I was driving the car of the future. Young Grant would be so jealous! I continued to follow the car’s directions, opting against auto-drive along a straight bit of road, preferring to keep control.

Nine minutes and forty seven seconds later, I arrived at another car park, this time underneath a tall building. The car manoeuvred into a parking spot and I stepped out, automatically turning to point my key and expecting the characteristic high-pitched beep of the lock. Oh, the e-pad. I held it underneath the door handle and it beeped twice, which hopefully meant it was locked. Not that it mattered. It appeared that you needed to be pre-approved by fingerprint verification in order to drive the car.

I scanned the lot and a sign up ahead said
entry
. I went to push open the door but it sensed me and opened by itself into a narrow foyer. I spotted the information desk against the back wall of the room. I couldn’t exactly ask the young man at the desk where the KC Interiors head office was. He might recognise me and wonder why I didn’t know where my own office was.

It had to be upstairs somewhere, so I’d walk up the stairs until I saw a KC Interiors sign. Hopefully we were not the kind of posh business that identifies itself by some sort of wordless symbol.

I lifted my foot onto the first step alongside the information desk, but the young guy peered over at me with a frown. “You’re not seriously walking up thirty flights of stairs are you, Mrs McSnelly?”

I removed my foot. “Oh, no of course not. Well, I could if I wanted to …” I puffed out my chest and tensed my non-existent arm muscles defensively. “I bungy jumped today you know. I’m not as old as I look, either.” I spoke like a proud child who had just learned their ABC’s.

“Oh that’s right, happy birthday!” he said.

“Thanks. And I don’t even feel forty.”

He eyed me in a way that suggested he knew I was well over forty, but at least I didn’t lie. It was true. I didn’t feel forty. Heck, I didn’t even feel fifty, more like sixty two or sixty three, but probably only because there’d been such a sharp jump in age from yesterday to today.

“Well, I’ll just take the elevator,” I said, swinging my arms in anticipation and also to detract from the fact that I didn’t know where it was. All the walls were stainless steel, it was as though I was lost in a maze of blurry mirrors. Until …
Ding
! A curved part of the wall opened up and out stepped a woman in a red suit. “Hold the elevator!” I held up my hand and dashed inside the circular capsule.

“Hey, hon. Happy birthday! I’m looking forward to tonight. See you there!” The woman winked at me and sashayed her voluminous butt out into the foyer, where she embraced another woman entering the building.

I wondered if she worked for me. Nah, she wouldn’t have called me
hon
if that were the case. Unless I was simply the world’s best boss, which was totally possible of course.

“Which floor?”

I jumped at the sudden voice as the door curved closed. So elevators talk too. Nothing new I guess, they sometimes said ‘Going up’ or ‘Women’s Apparel’, or at least that’s what I remembered the most.

The guy had asked if I was walking thirty flights of stairs, so it must be on level thirty. I touched the number on the screen. Moments later the door opened again. The ride had been so smooth and fast.
Ding
! I stepped out of the elevator and there it was:
KC Interiors - Everyone deserves to be surrounded by beauty
. Ha! I bet I came up with the tagline. I’d barely entered through the glass door that swished open, when a young woman launched herself at me.

“Where have you been?” she said in that whispered yell I remembered from the phone. “It took you twice as long to get here! Mr Turrow is on his third cup of coffee and getting jumpy!”

“Sorry, there was … car trouble,” I said.

“Here’s your presentation,” she said, shoving some kind of remote control into my hand. “Now get in there and give it your best. You’ll have to be brilliant to make up for your lateness, now go!” She pushed me into the meeting room.

William was in there and his face turned from white to pink in relief as I walked through the door.

“Glad you’re finally here,” he said, giving me a quick embrace. “Lucy told us there was a streaker running through traffic on Main Street. Was anyone hurt?”

I stifled a giggle.
That
was the traffic incident she was going to mention as the reason for my lateness? A bit crazy, but at least they bought it and now I had an excuse if I appeared a bit flustered during the meeting.

“No, a few near misses and general chaos, but the police eventually escorted him away under a blanket.” I faked an amused chuckle and turned to the short bald man next to William, who was rising up and down on his toes. “You must be Mr Turrow,” I said, taking his hand and making every effort to appear charming.

“Indeed, and what a pleasure to meet you, Mrs McSnelly.” He sandwiched my hand between both of his and shook it to the point I thought it might fall off. “Well, let’s get started. What have you got to show me?” He took a seat and clasped his hands together on the table in the centre of the room and William followed suit.

Tell me and then we’ll both know
… I looked at the device in my hand.
Your presentation
, Lucy had said.
Okay, so I’m giving a PowerPoint presentation or something. Shouldn’t be too hard, I’ll just read everything on the screen
.

“Right … well, firstly, I’d like to welcome you to KC Interiors and what an absolute pleasure it is to have you in our office, Mr Turrow.” I hoped the pleasantries would buy time while I figured out how to use this device. I waved it about as I gestured and complimented him on his lovely tie (which was an awful tangerine colour) and the shirt that brought out the green tinge in his eyes. He looked rather flattered, but soon his expression became business-like again.

“Why thank you,” he said. “But I’m looking forward to seeing your presentation.” He pointed to the blank wall in front of the table.

There wasn’t any projection screen, projector, or a laptop. Just this device in my hand. I pressed a round button and pointed it at the wall, and a square shaped blue screen appeared. Phew! Okay, it was similar to a TV remote. I pressed an arrow button and a soothing piece of music drifted through the room, followed by the KC logo.

Right. This shouldn’t be too hard. Except, I still didn’t know who Mr Turrow was and what I was trying to achieve with this presentation.

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.