THE IMPERIALS #8

Household Matters

Bruno sat in his sunlight filled office above the motor pool busily pushing paper to feed the ravenous appetite of government bureaucracy when The Ambassador marched in at the head of her formation of personal assistants. Being caught off guard he jumped up offering a respectful, if awkward, greeting.

Madeleine stood silently in the middle of the room, head turning slowly from side to side carefully inspecting each memento that hung from the walls. Having fully experienced the highlights of Bruno’s pedestrian life she crossed to the window. Standing to the side and holding her head just right, she was able to glimpse the city skyline and the sea beyond. Turning on her heels she faced Bruno directly. Titling her head back, squinting over her nose directly into his eyes she demanded, “I need appropriate office space for my personal staff.”

Stuttering over his answer Bruno replied, “Well, ma’am, we can certainly look around and see what is available.”

The next hour was spent touring occupied offices amid murmurs of color schemes, positive space, natural light, vibes and flows, finally finding themselves in a darkened storage room in the basement behind the furnace. Dust danced in the lone shaft of light that penetrated from the window mounted high in the wall above. The Ambassador gingerly made her way across the room, stepping around the clutter of boxes and old equipment long dormant from use, to a point under the window. Standing on her toes, looking straight up, she could see a small patch of blue between the security bars. With a sense of resignation she proclaimed, “I guess this will have to do.”

 

The Diplomacy of Flowers

Madeleine Howell had always been a lover of flowers. As a small girl she had spent countless hours at the elbow of her family’s Mexican gardener as he tended to the many varieties on their estate. She always insisted her house, whichever of the many she may be at, be filled with fresh cut flowers on a daily basis. All new arrangements each morning. With an ever magnanimous spirit, the previous day’s cast offs were donated to the local offices of charitable organizations in order to brighten the inevitably dreary days of the commoners. For The Ambassador, flowers and greenery are integral requirements for a fruitful living and working environment. The bright colors, pleasing fragrance, and life giving oxygen all combine to provide a more positive, upbeat ambience, stimulating creativity and productiveness. The love of flowers had grown beyond a simple personal preference and become somewhat of an ideology. An ideology that exemplified the faith, hopes and dreams that are America. An ideology around which she would build her diplomatic campaign.

The first round of diplomacy began when the delivery truck from a local florist, along with an army of delivery people and a jungle of exotic plants, arrived at the front gate unannounced. Ray Hoffman was the first to respond to the commotion. Lynn Nguyen was in a heated debate with the guard regarding his refusal to allow the delivery people to enter the compound without a proper clearance. Raymond’s efforts to explain the process were futile leaving him in a state of complete bewilderment.

Lynn continued to repeat, “These plants were ordered according to the express wishes of The Ambassador. These plants were ordered according to the express wishes of The Ambassador. These plants were ordered according to the express wishes of The Ambassador.”

“I’m just saying… I’m just saying… I’m just saying…” he attempted to interject whenever she would pause long enough to take a breath.

Soon he was surrounded by The Ambassador’s entire personal staff, all vociferously demanding he allow the admittance of the plants.

Under most circumstances Raymond had the appearance of an animated snowman: pasty pale skin with a little round head perched atop his round body, but with patience wearing thin and frustration levels running high, he began to turn a brilliant shade of red.

Broom in hand, Bruno stood under his new window looking up. Through the grid of security bars he could see a small patch of blue. It had been a busy morning converting the dungeon, as the room behind the furnace had always jokingly been referred to, into an office for him and his colleagues while The Ambassador’s personal staff occupied his old office. The bare brick walls had been given a coat of paint and some make shift shelves were constructed and mounted on them. Desks that had been pulled from the trash heap and repaired now sat waiting to be occupied. As he took a short break from the clean up the phone rang, a frantic voice on the other end.

By the time Bruno arrived on the scene a second delivery truck had arrived with reinforcements. The sea of color flowed off the sidewalk and engulfed the street.

“Mr. Hoffman, I must insist the street be kept clear of all obstructions,” the Royal Nordelandian Policeman on duty advised.

“Who is going to pay this bill?” a short, fat man waiving papers demanded.

Lynn grabbed the papers and handed them to Bruno. “Here, pay this.”

“Mr. Hoffman, we must keep the street clear,” the policeman insisted.

“Who authorized this?” a confused Bruno asked as he read over the bill.

“The Ambassador!” Lynn haughtily proclaimed.

“What’s going on here?” the Colonel challenged as she waddled through the gate. “This is a serious security situation. Why are these people being allowed to congregate here? Where did all these plants come from? What if we were to need to get out of the compound? What is being done about this? I demand to know!”

“Do you need to get out of the gate?” Ray asked.

“No,” the Colonel snapped. “But what if I did?”

“Mr. Hoffman,” the Royal Nordelandian Policeman insisted.

“What are you doing about this?!” the Colonel virtually screamed.

“We didn’t budget for this,” Bruno exclaimed. “This cost would feed a small African village for a year.”

The delivery men continued to unload more and more plants: ficus, zinnia, Norfolk pine, orchids, African violets, roses, chrysanthemums, petunias, palms, marigolds, Boston fern.

“Oh, the flowers are so lovely!” Gunnery Sergeant “Gunny” Andrews effervesced as he marched smartly through the pedestrian gate attired in his crisp dress uniform. His many passions that were considered somewhat uncharacteristic for the Marine Corps had earned him the nickname “The Queen Marine” years before. “Who are these for?” he asked as he picked an arrangement, holding it up to the sun for closer inspection. “There are so many. Can I have some for my office? Plants do so much to brighten a dreary space.”

“The Ambassador wants it. And by the way, she also wants to rent a carriage,” Lynn continued.

“A carriage?” Bruno questioned.

“A carriage.”

“What for?”

The Colonel, tired of being ignored, turned and stomped back through the gate.

“The Ambassador would like to use it when she presents her credentials to the king at the palace.”

 

“Now Bruno, plants are important,” The Ambassador explained. “They are symbols of life, birth, rejuvenation and more. The oak leaf stands for strength, exemplifying the power and grandeur of our great country. Ivy symbolizes eternal fidelity, as in our commitment to freedom and democracy for our friends, allies and all the peoples of the world. The pear blossom represents lasting friendship characterizing the United State’s commitment to the relationship with Nordeland. I want this place to be full of plants, flowers and greenery. It will be illustrative of the revitalization of the relationship between our two countries.”

Bruno figured The Ambassador was spreading it deep enough to regenerate a desert. He sat in a chair, situated in the middle of her office, trying not to stare at the walls on which were displayed her tribute to herself. Harnessing his will power and restraining his curiosity, he instead focused his efforts on the task at hand, appearing to be interested in what The Ambassador was so passionate about, plants. The Ambassador sat at her desk flanked by her personal staff. Their shared demeanor was that of an inquisition. He would make sustained eye contact with The Ambassador for ten seconds, and then shift to Lynn, whose look of disdain was so intense Bruno felt as if she was holding him personally responsible for all the world’s injustices since the beginning of time. He couldn’t take ten seconds from Lynn so he moved on to Bob, whose expression was his usual one of shocked disbelief. Bruno always felt as if he at least had Bob’s sympathy, if not his support. Unfortunately even his support wasn’t much use against the juggernaut of determination that was The Ambassador. No cause was too trivial for her to mobilize all her considerable resources. And if she wanted something Bob wasn’t going to be the one to try and dissuade her.

Roberto was next in line. Bruno wasted little time on him. Roberto stood there with his ever present vacant smile, as if lost in imbecilic thought.

Roberta stood shoulders squared back, arms crossed in front, staring intently as if trying to intimidate. It wasn’t quite working.

“Now Bruno, in the future, I want you to cooperate with Lynn. She is a representative from my office. Did you know she is an immigrant?”

“No ma’am, I didn’t,” he answered looking up at Lynn. She stared back through dark, steely eyes with a look of righteous superiority.

“Well, she is. When she was a baby her parents set out from Vietnam in a small, rickety, leaking, boat with nothing more than the hope of freedom and a better life for their daughter. Now, in just one generation, she is the personal attorney for an Ambassador Extraordinary and Plenipotentiary of the United States of America. Only in America.”

“Yes ma’am,” Bruno tried to interrupt. “It is not that I am trying to be uncooperative. We just do not have money in the embassy budget to pay this bill. After the recent cuts our finances are strained.”

“It’s Congress. All their wasteful spending on pork barrel projects. Tax and spend. Tax and spend. Big government waste. Yet they cannot provide the precious resources we so desperately need in our struggle against extremism. Don’t they realize our work is vital to national security?”

“I don’t know ma’am, but the fact remains that we don’t have the funding for this.”

“Well then, give the bill to Bob and I’ll pay it.”