Jazz notes floated through the air. A woman named Tabby wearing six inch clear stilettos sat next to Entrepreneur Paul. She attempted to speak. Atkinson raised a hand and closed his eyes, savoring the trumpet solo. He then opened his eyes and turned to the woman.
“You wanted something?” he asked.
The woman sucked her teeth and folded her arms.
“C’mon, you wanted to say something….” Entrepreneur Paul nudged.
“I just wanted to say—” Then someone crashed the stage, stole the mic, and rambled.
“We’re living in a state where only the rich benefit. The wealthy are the ones who get everything. Nothing is for the man at the bottom. The top one percent control everything!” Security personnel finally rushed the male offstage.
A look of fear showed on Tabby’s face. Atkinson looked pleased, almost too assured. He sipped from his gin. He wanted to direct the energy into a different place.
He stood up, walked over to the stage and regained the room.
“Alright, now that the charlatan is out of here, let’s have a good time, alright? The next round is on me for everyone in the house.”
Cheers and whoops arose from the various tables. The musicians resumed their instrumental wonders. The piano seemed crisper. The drums sounded a bit more resonant. The trumpeter displayed his confidence again.
Entrepreneur Paul showed his watch to the barkeeper and paid. Tabby rose from her seat and walked towards the door. In a moment, Atkinson followed her. He called for his driver to bring up the Goulding.
“Tabby, let’s go home,” he said.
“Not with you. Not after a stunt like that.”
“That was nothing. I’ve paid for entire stadiums to get a beer or a hot dog. It all comes back. It’s just publicity for my companies.”
“Alright. Okay.”
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Skyler Saunders
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Comments (1)
🌹🌹🌹Sipping on gin is a good way to relax I suppose. Buying a stadium to taste a hot dog would be exhilarating