August 27, 2007
Public Relations
“I don’t even know what I did wrong,” I muttered, trying not to make direct eye-contact.
Lacey gave me an impossibly hard look—I never expected her to be such a shark with this whole PR thing. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
“What did I do that was so bad?”
“I don’t know, Girth,” Lacey sighed. “You spent a month posting itemized lists of crimes you and the rest of the band were committing throughout Europe, which led to you getting arrested and escaping from a French prison and fleeing to Algeria, where you swindled $830,000 out of Nigerian scammers, then went to Japan and got involved with mobsters, played your music for five-year-old Japanese girls. You don’t think anyone here in the States will find anything…I don’t know, unseemly about that?”
“I pride myself in being honest,” I said.
“You are so full of shit!” Lacey yelped, pounding her fists on her desk. “You’re just pretending you like being honest because what you really pride is living that stupid rock-star part, being a bad-ass with criminal ties. That’s why you made up a story about being imprisoned for murder as a PR stunt, then wrote a book about it when people stopped believing you.”
“That’s a half-truth.”
“Which half?”
“Um—”
“I know what you wrote about on the tour all really happened. I had to deal with all the tear-filled phone calls from Mikey.”
“Mikey?”
“Bottom line: I know they dropped the charges in Europe, but you need to tone down the blog. Less detail, less crime, and we have to issue a press release that basically shows you as a fluffy bunny.”
“A fluffy bunny, eh?” I tried to arch a single eyebrow but failed.
“And you have to donate the rest of the money to charity, after you’ve paid your bills—including mine.” She gave me that hard stare again, her enraged eyes boring into my skin like twin lasers.
“Can’t I just say I’m donating it to charity?”
Lacey shrugged. “I don’t see why not. Just keep it quiet.”
“Will do,” I said.
Written by Girth McDürchstein on August 27, 2007 1:37 PM
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