Monday, October 23, 2006

Russell Fink--Part 2

I survived the shooting.

Apparently, the blonde crazy woman wasn't trying to kill me, just going for dramatic effect. As I picked myself off the floor, my purpose had now become two-fold: 1) get the scoop, and 2) not die. My iced mocha, however, wasn't so lucky. And my favorite pair of jeans were now speckled with white ceiling tile foam.

When my annoyance fully eclipsed my fear, I turned to the blond gun-woman. "This story had better be good. Or you owe me an iced mocha and a new pair of jeans."

Her grimace faded when she spotted the tape recorder. "A reporter, eh? Perfect! My name is Karen Boothe--that's with an e."

The sound of heavy boots, barking orders, and cocking rifles grabbed my attention. The police, in full riot gear, were setting up at The Gap, knocking over that rack of cute jeans in the process. They motioned for me to come over, but I turned back to Karen. Her eyes were red and welts were developing on her neck. Was she allergic to animals? This crisis wasn't going to last long unless she started demanding Benadryl.

My gaze alternated between the small arsenal pointed at the designer stitching on the back pocket of my jeans and the one Karen was pointing at my chest. "Well, seems like you've created quite the situation here," I said. "What is it you're trying to prove?"

"What I want is Russell Fink to get down here. Now. Or the basset hound gets it." She punctuated her sentences with the business end of her pistol. The basset hound at her feet wasn't as dumb as he looked because he kept ducking. At some point she noticed my cell phone, pointed the gun at my waistband, and said, "Does that thing work?"

A quick call to the local NBC affiliate gave them a run-down on the situation, my role in it, and Karen's taped demands. I closed my phone. "So who's this Russell?"

"My boyfriend. He's a talented artist and--thanks to me and my keen eye for publicity--will be part of the big art show coming to town next month." She began pacing while I wracked my brain for more questions. This was the weirdest situation I'd ever been in.

Suddenly her eyes lit up. A young man who looked like Hugh Grant with a double chin broke through the police line. He was carrying a box of Krispy Kremes and a to-go coffee. I assumed this was Russell.

She grabbed him and pulled him behind the aquariums. Snatches of whispered conversation drifted my way. A few minutes later they emerged, Karen Booth-With-An-E holding a gun on Russell. What? Was this some sort of love triangle? She winked at me over her shoulder, and I got the feeling we were all being manipulated like actors in a play, but Karen was the only one with the script.

She opened her mouth to say something but sneezed and tripped. She and Russell fell. Two gunshots rang out.

Six months later I saw a short article in the paper about opening night at the exhibition of Russell Fink's work. This was apparently the final act of publicity for Karen Fink, nee Boothe-With-An-E, that netted her a job as spokesperson for Pet Planet, a dismissed court case, a couple of B-movie offers, and a husband. All that for the price of a bullet through the side. But now she has a scar with an exciting story behind it, kind of like someone here in Kanner Lake.

Sometimes I think about my ruined jeans and wasted mocha and have to smile. I guess it beats a bullet through the side, but I didn't even get a shared byline. The NBC affiliate just referred to me as an eyewitness on the scene.


-- Leslie

Posted by ~ Bailey Truitt @ 11:16 PM
This is the craziest story I ever heard. Have to wonder if Wilbur's taught you all he knows in the spinning department, Leslie.
Posted by Anonymous r.j. hager : 9:02 AM
Any man that looks like Hugh Grant and carries Krispy Kremes is my kind of man.
Posted by Anonymous sharon : 9:04 AM
This should be in a book somewhere. I'm just not sure what kind of book...
Posted by Anonymous fred wiley : 2:39 PM
I'm still trying to figure out why you didn't put your coffee drink down. A tape recorder in one hand and a drink in the other? What were you thinking? And didn't you need a third hand?

Girl, you obviously got a thing for your caffeine.
Posted by Anonymous kristine : 2:41 PM
But the jeans! Were they okay after the shooting? I mean, when you find cute stuff like that, you know good and well something will happen--a bullet hole through the one and only pair in your size. . .
So, did you go back and get the jeans?

Wanted to know about the Bassett hound but am too afraid to ask.
Posted by Blogger Jenny : 3:29 PM
Jenny--you forgot to ask about the fab nails!!!

Kristine--anyone who drinks good coffee knows it doesn't leave your hand for anything!
Posted by Anonymous Anonymous : 3:31 PM
I think your jeans were too tight and someone slipped something into your iced mocha... I'd check it out!!!
Posted by Blogger Mid Stutsman : 6:06 PM
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