Les Challenge 1000.03

Les drove straight into Green Laboratories' parking lot.  True, it would've been easier on the eyes for him to have spent the night at a hotel, and make the drive so he arrived back in Dawson County that evening, but he figured pulling a midnight run would've been a smart way to dodge rush hour traffic.  He hadn't counted on construction crews working on the highway to delay things, but he drove wisely, and kept his eyes open for the workmen, and got through without any problems.

He yawned.  He had problems keeping his eyes open just then.  He hoped that Dr. Green would have his usual pot running and ready to go.  If not, well, he could gulp down a cup of the doc's jasmine tea while waiting for his bean juice to brew.  

What was waiting for Les in the lab proper, though, made him blink.  No, seriously, the lights slammed his eyes worse than the sun when he raised a window in a darkened overnight flight from Hong Kong when he wanted to check if it was morning yet.  Around the walls of the lab stood sets of screens, lights, and other stuff that looked more at home in a photography studio.  

“Ex-squeeze me?!” went a voice behind him.  “Just what do we think we are doing?”  

Spinning around, Les faced a thin, middle aged man in a black turtleneck shirt, dark bell bottom slacks, and wire glasses with small round frames.  He pointed to Les' button down shirt, Les' slacks, and then to Les' own Buddy Holly spectacles.  “We are not wearing that, we are not wearing that, and we are most certainly not wearing THAT.  The plaid, the breast pockets, the horn rims, what are we trying to say here? 'I am here for the audition for Revenge of the Nerds V'? No.”

Les stared at this fellow for a long moment.  “Uh... ex-squeeze ME, but who are you, and what are you doing in my lab?”

“Who am I?  Who am I?!”  The man in black put his hands on his hips.  “You have the nerve, the AUDACITY to actually ask that seriously?  Please do not tell me you have been living under a rock for so long that you do not know who I am.”

Les tilted his head sideways.  “If I did, I'd have called you by name already.”

“You're fronting and playing games with me.”

“No, I'm Les.  Les Safer.  Fronting and Games couldn't make it.”

“Les,” the man said, peering him over his glasses.  “How apropos.”

Before Les could say anything else, Dr. Eaton Green walked in.  “Ah, Anton, I see you've met Les Safer.  Les, this is Anton L'Outrance.  I'm sure you're familiar with him.”

Les wrinkled his nose.  “You know this guy?”

Dr. Green wrinkled his forehead.  “You don't?”

“Here we go again,” Anton muttered.

“Anton L'Outrance?  You know, fashion photographer from Paris?  Pretty much the Annie Liebovitz of the EU?  Don't tell me you didn't know he was going to be here.  Don't you ever look at the messages on your phone?”

“I was visiting family and had the thing off, remember?  Didn't you ever look at MY messages before I left?”

Dr. Green let a sigh through his teeth.  “He's here to do a photo shoot of our Greenwear, and do some photo shots for our social media presence makeover.  We're going to have our portraits done for our webpage.”

“But NOT with you looking like that, mon cher,” Anton put in.  “We're not going to have our work sullied by what you apparently fished out of the Salvation Army donation box while blindfolded.”

Les glowered.  “This is an original.  Living greenwear fibers from azelas, heather, and thistle blossoms.  Grew and made it myself.”

“Nonsense, my boy.  To whom do you want to market that?  Faded Glory in Wal-Mart?”

“Well, where'd you fish your outfit out of?  Steve Jobs' coffin?”

Laughing nervously, Dr. Green came between the two.  “Terribly sorry, Anton, Les here's had a long drive overnight.  Lack of sleep and all must have him grouchy.  Could we have ten minutes or so to get him his caffeine fix?”

“Take as long as you need, ami,” Anton said.  “Somebody's got to do something with the light levels in here anyway.”

And with that, Dr. Green whisked Les to the kitchen.  

“Look, mate,” he said lowly with a growl, “you do not want to get on the wrong side of this guy.”

“Too late,” Les said.  “I don't care who he is, or thinks he is.”

“He's flown all the way from Cannes for this shoot.  He's pretty much the gateway to the fashionistas in Europe.  I had to use a lot of favors and connections to get him here.  And he's also brought a whole retinue of people to help get Safer-Greenwear known.  You'd have prepared better if you had paid more attention to your memos.”

Just then, a high-pitched, astonished “Uwaaaaah!” sounded at the doorway.  Les saw it was an Asian girl sporting long, black, straight silky hair, a soft white sweater, blue jeans, cute sandals, and a lovely but pitying face that gazed at Les like he was a puppy with a thorn in its paw.

“Oh, you poor thing!” she exclaimed.  “Those bags under your eyes, you look so tired!  Didn't you get enough sleep last night?  We can't take your picture like that!  You look like a panda!”

“All night drive from family visit,” Les said.  “I can function.”

“But your picture!  We must get you ready for it!”  And she rushed over to Les and put a gentle hand on his elbow.  “Please, sit.”

Les reluctantly did at the kitchen table.  The Asian girl reached into a lunchbox sized pouch and pulled out a couple of tea bags.  “Put these on your eyes.”

Taking them, Les closed his eyes and did so.  “Woo!  They're cold!”

“Frozen tea bags.  Great remedy for removing bags under eyes.”  And as she adjusted them to cover his  eyes a bit better, she said, “Oh, I am so sorry.  I am Ayako.  Ayako Shinri.  I am L'Outrance-san's make-up girl.”

“Les.  Les Safer.”

She giggled a little.  “I like that name.  It sounds like you're a secret agent.  If only you had the fine suit to go with it.”

“Ayako!” Anton called from the hall.

“Oh!  Gomen, Safer-san.  I'd better see what he needs.  Keep them on your eyes for fifteen minutes, please.”  And she went out the door.

As Les adjusted the tea bags and tried to keep them on, he heard another voice; a man's with a British accent.  “Quite a piece of work, aren't they, mate?  Not that the sakura blossom's harsh on the eyes.”

That wasn't Dr. Green.  Peeking, Les saw it was a fat guy with mousy brown hair and mustache, a flannel shirt, blue jeans, and a blue track jacket with red stripes.  He seemed only a few years older than Les.

“You're not going to snark on my style, too, are you?”  

“Can't snark on what we don't have.  Aw, don't get sore, I meant either of us.  I'm just here to help get your websites on the map and loading faster and looking sharper than AOL on dial-up.  Hopefully, all our interested parties will know you and your company inside and out.”

Les sighed, smiled, and stuck out his free hand.  “Hi.  I'm Les.  Les Safer.”

He took it with a friendly nod.  “Name's Phillip.  Phillip Emporia.”