So Night Follows Day Pt. 20

The two news stories they'd been watching collided, when the reporters following Helen around encountered the reporters at the mall who were covering the angry crowd outside the Whyte Telecom store. Troy's television was on mute, but he could see Helen stop and talk to the crowd. They started cheering. Troy caught Julie and Susan trying to stay out of view of the new cameras as Helen led the crowd across the mall to the Apple store, holding up a black credit card in her hand triumphantly, like a bandleader's baton. She even gave it a couple of twirls between her fingers.

"Man, I hope they're stocked up on Emerald Green." Troy said to nobody, before turning his attention back to the phone. "Speaking of stocks, I've got some to short, Mr. Whyte. I'll let you guess which ones. I know you're releasing some tape to the media to blackmail Helen this evening; however, that's not going to matter to you. You're going to be too broke to attend the Auction by then. Ta-ta, Mr. Whyte."

Troy ended the call and went to his other work.

* * *

Hi, Susan back. Did you know that black credit cards were created in the 80s because there were rumors that the credit card companies had some kind of secret, invitation only, no-limit card for ultra-rich people like Helen, and the card companies decided it sounded like a good idea and went with it? That's one of the things I've been learning today.

I've also learned that some high-end stores have "VIP sections" that you can't get into unless you're "Somebody." Contessa Helena de San Finzione being "Somebody" and all, I've seen a few of those today too. You sit on couches and they bring you drinks. Then you tell them what you're looking for, (Star Trek toys and action figures, to pick something entirely at random.) and they send people to go out into the aisles, deal with the proles and everything, get a selection, and bring them back to the lounge for your perusal. And sometimes, yes, they have special merchandise that's only for sale in the VIP Lounge.

They also have people who'll deliver those things to your house immediately, but Helen wasn't having any of that. We had, as she suggested, stopped at a luggage store first thing and bought a big cart like the ones at the hotel. It was being piled up with bags and boxes from stores that rappers brag about shopping at.

As Helen had suggested, some of the paparazzi were getting new outfits and makeovers at the stores where we shopped. La Contessa made a show of looking over each one carefully for the cameras, like a fashion consultant examining "her latest work" from various distances and angles before proudly displaying her finished product. It was hard to get a decent signal (Helen had explained to me why by then.), but when I saw the pictures running with the headline "La Contess' Dresses Press for Success," I knew Helen's plan was working. I know and care about the woman personally, and I want to punch her for that headline's existence.

Troy sent me a text after Helen declared that she would buy the angry mob outside the Whyte Telecom store new iPhones, letting me know that Whyte had tried the drone strike idea that Helen had thought he might and that her preparations worked, and nothing was damaged. Also, since she was too busy "being on" to check her own messages, that Whyte Telecom shares were already dropping like a stone, but she'd caused a forty-point drop with that move alone.

I could see some of the reporters who'd been following us around since the restaurant start to tire. Many had already sent off their pictures, made their money for the day, but continued to swarm on after us as Helen refused to stop giving them more and more to work with. When it seemed like some of them were ready to call it a day, that's when Helen would run into some parents with an adorable little girl and buy her a new dolly, or reward a nice cashier with a kiss and a thousand-dollar tip.

I've heard a story that Daniel Radcliffe wore the same outfit whenever he went out for an entire year to fuck with the paparazzi, because it made every picture of him look like it had been taken on the same occasion, making them worthless. Contessa Helena de San Finzione was doing the exact opposite, stopping every few stores to put together a new outfit (With some aid from her "Nobodies," naturally.), just giving the photographers enough time to change their memory cards/email what they've got to their editors/do whatever it is photographers do that I have no clue about before it was time for her to dive into the sea of flashbulbs again. It was during one of those changes that I'd been able to relay Troy's message.

"Lovely!" Helen said with a smile, after I read her that headline. "I'm gonna vomit from hearing it!" She grabbed a new top for her next look. "After this, we should head back to the hotel, catch dinner, let them go do their news thing. Whyte's story will have hit by then, too, and we'll be able to get an idea of what I'm up against." She found a hat she liked. "And whether or not this has been enough, or I've got to do the next thing."

She turned back to face her adoring public before I could ask what "the next thing" could be.