Silver Bullet. - Season 1 - Episode 34

6 years ago

Silver Bullet. - Season 1 - Episode 34

☆☆

GADGET SENSE TECH. EXPO CENTRE, MAITAMA

There was a resounding ovation after the Samsung exhibitor completed his exhibition of the latest version of the Optimized Light Emitting Diode (OLED) TV. It marked the end of the exhilarating EXPO.

“That was great!” Emily said, leaning on Derek’s shoulder as they walked to the escalator.

“Same here. There’s been rumour in the media that the President has an award ceremony underway for us,” she said.

What sort of award?” he asked surprised.

“You should have seen it in the papers with our photos splashed all over. There’s chance that it would be the OON or OFR awards,” she said. The chat notification tone of her phone beeped and she opened the message. “Good news, Derek”.

“What’s that?” he asked absentmindedly.

“My mum just scaled through the operation!”
“Wow. That’s cool. Really calls for celebration”

A kid standing in the escalator looked up at them both and called his mother’s attention.

“Mom, we’ve seen these guys on the TV with the President,” the boy whispered and pulled out a scratch pad, thrusting it at Emily.

”Autograph, please!” he implored.
She signed and Derek did the same.

“Thanks a lot, dear!” his mother said beaming.

“It finally came to this, Emily,” Derek muttered.

“Last thing I wanted was publicity. You should learn to live with it, after all you granted our first interview,” she said, glancing around. “Lest I forget, the Vatican called this morning. We have a papal private audience appointment for next weekend,” she said.
Derek pulled out his phone. “That’s a total crash.”
“What? How?”

“The Finance Minister invited us over for dinner, same day,” he said in a low tone.

“I’m really tired of all these!” she said, wiping her forehead.

As the glass door of the elevator slid open, they were surprised.

A group of reporters, armed with mic, notepads and mp3 recorders were coming towards them from the walkway. Most of those standing with them in the elevator were equally requesting for autographs.

A young man clad in a black tuxedo suit walked up to them in the midst of the mayhem.

“Excuse me, sir and madam. I’m an official chauffeur,” he said in fluent English, flashing his I.D. “I’m on an official order to take you to the Presidential villa.”

Emily looked at Derek. Most of the reporters were half running. She looked at herself. She was on a flapper embellished evening dress with Fords designer logo and a McKlein leather platform heels. Not the best attire for an official meeting with the President.

“Can’t we just go home, you know, have a change?” she asked, a worried look on her face.

“No, not at all, ma. You have nothing to worry about,” the chauffeur replied.

The reporters were already throwing questions at them.

‘You’ve been on the media rece…’

“No comment!” she said repeatedly.

“Can you please give us a quick…”
“No comment.”

“The convoy is waiting, sir,” the chauffeur said and helped them get away. He led them to the train of convoy waiting outside the exhibition center.

A guard clad in black suit opened the back door of the white Rolls Royce Phantom.

“Take it easy, lest you fall off those shoes!” Derek said, helping her into the exotic ‘wonder on wheels’.

He finally got in and the guard closed the door. The convoy sped off amidst wails of siren.