I raise my smile game once more, holding nothing back. I pull the biggest, broadest, cheek-squeezing, face-cracking, jaw-breaking grinof all time – I’m gurning for survival, like your first school photograph when the teacher says you won’t get your snack or playtime or ever see your friends again unless the photographer gets his shot. I can feel the heat rising between us as we continue to hold each other’s gaze, waiting for the other to break.
But I don’t break. I don’t even falter. For now, yet I can’t help wonder how much more she’s got? How much more I’ve got? When will it end?
With a sudden burst of energy, I unleash my ultimate weapon: a small giggle that catches her off guard. She blinks rapidly, her smile faltering just a bit. I can tell she’s trying to regain her composure, but it’s too late.
Lenka relents.‘Daisy, Daisy, Daisy… finally, we meet again.’
Oh my God – I think I’ve passed round one. I think I made it. I still feel… okay. Intact. Alive. Now, according to my new mentor and guru, Rory, it’s time to play nice.
‘It’s so great to be here, to see you!What an honour to be invited in like this! I know you’re exceptionally busy, so I know it’s so kind of you to see me at such short notice.’
She retreats her smile and softens her pose.‘You’re welcome, Daisy.Exceptionally busy– that I am. I’m glad you understand. And I do appreciate you coming in to the office for this meeting, especially at such short notice. That’s impressive, Daisy – it shows professionalism and I like that.’
Was that a compliment?Rory needs his own YouTube channel. Subscribe me for life.
I take a deep breath and steel my nerves. Here I go.
‘I brought my portfolio so it would be easier to show you some of the concepts behindForest Fablesrather than try to explain them,’ I tell her.
Lenka’s gaze narrows; she dips her chin and peers at me over the rim of her glasses.
I do it too. Even though I don’t wear glasses, so I just mime along prop-less. Mirroring her every move, like secretly playing Simon Says with the most terrifying woman in the industry. Bar Matilda Wilder, by the sound of it.
Lenka leans back in her seat, her features softening. She exhales.
And so do I. Oscar-worthy stuff by me. God, acting like someone else is so much easier than being yourself! Now I totally get why Lenka opts for pomp and pretence – it takes so much less out of you emotionally. I’m learning lots here and no doubt, this is working – she may think I’m as dim-witted andderanged as our little fox cub, but she’s disarmed for sure. She’s not screaming or firing insults, she’s taking stock, reorientating.This playbook is like a paint-by-numbers kit… genius.
‘You’ve brought your actual portfolio. Interesting. Let’s look at it then.’Her accent is a mix of crisp English and lilting Czech.‘It’s not often I see hard-copy work these days.’ She extends a hand in expectation.
With trembling fingers, I pass her the portfolio. My heart hammers against my ribs as she flips through the illustrations, one by one, a myriad of emotions flickering across her face. She lands on a page, tuts, then mutters under her breath, shaking her head.
‘I mean, why is the hedgehog still wearing a waistcoat, Daisy? It’s bad enough I must point this out once, but twice? Nobody has time for this coddling, for all this guidance and direction you seem to need – I am not your mother!’
Ouch.
My stomach rolls as I struggle to reply, but I gather myself. I’ve managed not to break so far, and in fact I would say I’ve even chipped away at the ice queen a little, so I take a breath and explain.
‘With respect, Lenka, Mr Hedgehog wears a waistcoat to cover his prickly spikes. That’s his emotional signature, his schtick – he’s hiding who he really is, afraid, ashamed, confused; without a waistcoat, he wouldn’t make any sense, and then the whole story wouldn’t make any sense.’
She clicks her tongue and blinks quickly.
I open my mouth again, but she shakes her head in warning. Okay, I’m sensing that she’s not in the mood to hear about the in-depth imagery, the symbolism, the hidden meanings and archetypal themes. I went off-piste there. Tried to improvise and promptly got shut down. Lesson learned – I’m sticking strictly to Rory’s instructions from now on. No deviations.
Lenka stands from her seat and strides to the floor-to-ceiling window overlooking the Thames, turning from me, clasping her hands behind her back.
Uh-oh. Have I messed it up?
Lenka turns from the window, eyeing me sharply. Her imposing stance looms over me as I sit on the small stool, making her seem larger than life. Her eyes rake over my figurebefore settling back on my face. Her lips press together firmly, and then she speaks in an authoritative yet composed voice.
‘Emotional signature,’she says slowly. She strides around the room, her presence barely contained within its walls. She stops directly in front of me, her arms crossed as if daring me to look away before speaking once more.
‘That makes some sense, at least. I can’t be expected to understand the inner psychological workings of every little fantasy creature I come across.’ She taps a long red fingernail against her cheek. ‘You seem to have a good grasp on the subtext – and the author, Ms Wilder, did insist on that, so in that case… I say, adequate.’
This faint praise is the most I’ve received in months. I cling to it. ‘Thank you.’
Lenka stands, the skyline ofLondon against her frame, playing with the string of pearls around her neck, twisting each small white bead between her fingers.
I’m supposed to be FBI mirroring right now… Only thing is I’m not wearing a necklace. So I just kinda bluff it. I’m fully onboard with Rory’s strategy at this point. I keep Lenka’s eye contact the whole time as Iclaw at my neck, at nothing and for no reason, but she doesn’t seem to notice. She then raises her hand to loop a strand of her glossy white-blonde hair around her ear. I do the same.
