Idea in Stone | Page 7

finger. Difficult? He pulled his sides -- the dialogue he was supposed to record -- from his satchel, then reached back in and rummaged around for the little figurine of his character. He found it in a corner of the bag, a blue plastic ox with a ring through its nose, standing upright in a pair of running shoes. He pulled it out, blew it clean, and sat it on the music stand in front of him. Looking at it, he cocked his head, made an adjustment in his throat, and said, "Reduce!" He shook his head, poked fingers at his throat, and tried again. "Reduce, reuse--" He smiled, then turned to the sound booth, giving a thumbs-up and nodding.
~
An hour later, the show's producer visited the booth. "How's it going, Stefan?" she asked.
"I don't know, I'm a little off today," he said. "I had this weird conversation with the new PA just bef--"
"Yeah, sorry about that, we've been having some problems with her."
"No, it's not her fault. She just said -- nevermind. Look, I have issues with this week's script."
One of the producer's plucked red eyebrows rose. "Really?"
"I know you don't care what I think. I'm just a guy who's paid ever-so-slightly above scale to do a voice-over. But, you know, I am Bloob's voice, so I feel a certain responsibility for what this public figure says to children."
The producer said nothing.
"I know, I know. It's just a stupid kiddie show."
The producer's other eyebrow raised.
"What I mean is, I realise that it's an important commercial property for you and it's become a very popular show. But we are making statements about the environment here, and I think it's important for them to be accurate." He flipped through his script. "Like this part: 'Kids, you are the future of the earth. Only you can save it.'" He looked at the producer. "C'mon."
"Stefan, don't you believe that children are the future?"
"Don't get all Whitney on me. The show's biggest sponsor is Porvental Chemicals. Last year the company paid no Canadian taxes and 'accidentally' spilled enough solvents into Lake Ontario to petrify every last zebra mussel."
"But the mussels were growing out of control. They were a hazard to the lake's natural ecology."
"Yeah, so the company got an environmental grant for $11.2 million."
"Stefan, did you ever think that the company is trying to turn their industry around by investing in projects like our show?"
"But--"
"Stefan, it's not your concern. Don't make trouble. Just do your day's lines. Leave the issues to us." She started to leave, but paused at the door. "Oh, did you happen to make a statement to Greenpeace?"
"Um, I might have."
"Please don't do things like that," she said, leaving the room.
Stefan went back to the music stand and picked up his figurine. "Hey kids," he said in the character's voice, "do you know that your mommy's makeup contains poisonous chemicals called phthalates?" He turned the figurine's head back and forth. "Hey kids, did you know that my ass is completely for sale?" Stefan tried to make the head nod, but it wouldn't, so he picked up a pencil and poked it into the ox's chest repeatedly. He looked up to see the sound technician laughing and holding up a sign that said "Lunch".
Stefan left the booth, and Wendy ran up beside him. "Jean said that I upset you this morning. I'm really sorry, I don't know how I--"
"It's okay," said Stefan, "it's not your fault. It's between me and her. Well, me, her, a multinational chemical company, and some zebra mussels."
"Oh, good. Here," she said, handing him a slip of paper, "you got a phone message from someone while you were in the booth. It sounded like he said his name was Ellen."
"Do you suppose it might have been 'Allen'?"
"No, I don't think so. Sounded like Ellen."
"Right, okay. Thanks." He left her, banking off down a hallway toward the commissary where he bought his lunch. Although it was November, the weather was still warm, so he ate outside in a concrete park sheltered between skyscrapers, looking at a phone booth all the while. When he finished, he crumpled up the packaging, napkin, and bag from his lunch and threw it into a waste-bin, thinking what an awful amount of garbage it was. I sound like Mom. Then he marched to the phone booth.
He dropped a quarter into the phone, dialled the number he'd been given, and braced himself. "Hello, Lewisbus, Traffordwalk, and Lemirefish. How can I help youbuttie?" Stefan struggled to filter out the second voice.
"Hi, could I please speak to Allen Hoffstand, please?" asked Stefan, realising that he'd said 'please' twice. He wasn't good at business-speak.
"One moment," said the receptionist.
Allen answered a moment later. Aware of Stefan's trouble with the phone, he communicated the evening's plans slowly. The guys and