If your PA is a gluttonous narcissist who fake cries over k.d. Lang songs do I get paid extra for that?

In supplement to my consulting(yes, I'm making money but I want to make more money), & in order to combine money making with a good deed(or 2), I had to vibe the perception of a corporate but sympathetic character.  Which I can do(after a Starbucks), because sometimes I am one.

A bony, very senior woman with a postage stamp skirt, partially see-thru blouse(try not to think about it), & blond hair teased within an inch of its life stood up & greeted me at reception.  She had pink frosted lips & a professional wrinkle my face the least smile.  Her eyes said: I'm trying to hold onto this kicky-arty environment job by pretending to be my own granddaughter, but yes, I do suspect that I just come off looking like Nursing Home Barbie.

An old friend from AIDS charity fund-raisers called to set this meeting up for me.  He matters in this world, but I don't, so it is a toss how I'll be treated. 

There is a Warhol to my left.  I gave my Warhol away while I was psychotic,  because besides other command hallucination issues, I'd also thought the painting was xraying my Circle of Willis(fun with schizophrenia).  I want my Warhol back. 

Focus.

The PA to the boss comes out to pre-test meet me.  He is one of those scarf-camouflage guys.  They still talk about Jean-Michel Basquiat & they still smoke too much Jane, but have given up the heroin.  I almost wish I still had my Fiorucci jeans. I'm betting he was taut & thin in the 80s & wants that back as much as I want my Warhol, but knowing it isn't going to happen just wraps a big artsy scarf around to deflect from girth.  Which it does not.  He looks like a balloon animal draped in a table runner. He doesn't know what cause-related marketing project means. He's asking me about my feelings in relation to performance art. He keeps offering me artisan chocolates & then eating them himself.  He gets misty when a k.d. Lang song comes on.

I should have had a second Starbucks, or an epidural. Maybe I could leave right now & go get a holiday season job at Boscovs.  They probably give an employee discount.  Trying not to cry bitter tears while smoothing down my Alice + Olivia outfit.  

Focus.  Shaking off Boscovs.

Not a moment too soon, Balloon Animal's boss(I'm pretty sure he was listening) casually pops in & greets me warmly. He seems aware of the general premise behind my offer & he does not look like he carb-loads, so this is promising. 

My volunteer friend who brought the two of us together said that Boss is a rich, old fag upscale, mature homosexual like himself who would be sympathetic to my endeavor & intrigued by the potential profit structure.  Turns out he is & he is. 

We discuss the sad but preventable core of this project.  50,000 new infections of HIV in the US last year.  Boss lost  his partner, then his best friend to AIDS in the 80s.  He admits to a certain level of  past denial in getting involved with anything  even minutely related to this because it brings on a deep level of desperation for him. 

I tell him that there are many things these last few years that have brought on a level of desperation for me. I say I am sure that like me, he has developed his own style of coping. Yes, he says enthusiastically, like I said, denial!

I weigh saying something else & then decide to go for it:  Darkness is never entirely black for me because memories of my parents & their love for me are inseparable from all the things I still find blissful in this world.  You have to take the first painful breath after near drowning. 

We talk about a few other too personal things. He says I make him feel less lonely. I understand, I say, wanting to.  But I always seem to understand another person not enough or too much.  I am not sure which it is with Boss yet.   

5 hours of grow & fade & rise & fall business plus a split vegan sandwich later we have a deal.