Sweep Me Off My Feet

Jackson looked at him.

“Dude, there is never a good time to be racist not that I am saying that you are or anything like that.”

“No, I know…it is just…” His voice trailed off. “Really fu*ked up.”

Michael began pacing again. He was not sure what it was about pacing, but it seemed to calm him down somehow and he badly needed to calm down if he was going to get an answer to his problem.

“Should I probably call another press conference? Set the record straight maybe?” Michael wondered out loud. “Maybe if I distance myself from this whole crisis…”

“Whoa, O’Brien,” Jackson started as he leaned forward and put his latte on the desk. “You need to slow down. I mean, really slow down.”

“How, J.J.? How am I supposed to stay calm while everything is crumbling around me?” Michael asked. “I feel like everything is going wrong and God knows, this is important to me. It is everything I always wanted. Everything I worked for my entire adult life.”

“Looks like you need some tough love here. First of all, get yourself a new public relations outfit to handle your mess or at least put a spin on things.”

Michael frowned.

“I already have a public relations department handling everything. My PR is in-house.”

Jackson nodded as he raised an eyebrow over the other.

“So, let me ask, this in-house PR,” he started, leaning forwards. “Are they the same guys who advised you to call the first press conference? You know, the one where you put your foot in your mouth?”

Michael nodded reluctantly.

“I hate to point out the obvious, but you see where I am going with this?” Jackson asked and Michael exhaled loudly.

He hated the fact that his mind had been so crowded that he did not even notice how fu*ked up his in-house public relations department was. It was like he had been sitting in a fogged up room until that very moment. He clenched his fist and exhaled silently.

“Fu*k!” he hissed when he realized just how right Jackson was.

“Don’t worry. We can fix this,” Jackson went on. “Getting a new person should be top on your list and then we can take it from there. But this? Pacing and making yourself go crazy is not going to make anything better.”

Michael looked at Jackson and sighed loudly. He knew that Jackson was right. Praying for this disaster to blow over was not really going to work out. That is just not how the world worked. He looked at his coffee that was now not as hot as it had been a few minutes before wondering if he should just get himself another cup of coffee. A cup that he would drink without thinking about the fact that his career was very much heading to a point of no return. He was about to say something when Jackson’s pager suddenly went off.

“Damn it. I guess I have to get going,” he said as he got up. “No rest for the wicked, right?”

“Never,” Michael said.

“I hate to leave you like this…but please don’t over-think everything. Just go home, have some relaxing chamomile tea, and have some sleep. Everything is far clearer after you get some rest, all right, buddy?”

Michael forced a smile.

“Go and save some lives, Dr. James.”

“I save them, you dress them,” Jackson said as he walked towards the door.

“I already told you, J.J., that catchphrase is not going to work,” Michael said, rolling his eyes. He had been saying the same thing ever since they talked about the path they wanted their careers to take while they were applying to colleges.

“Yeah, whatever, dude, and you should probably know that I am not leaving you on your own.”

“No, I still have to…” Michael started before Jackson shook his head as he beckoned Michael to follow him out.

“Fabian,” Jackson said as they walked past Michael’s assistant’s desk. “Whatever he had on the books today, cancel it.”

“You cannot tell him to cancel my day…” Michael started to protest, but Jackson was already pushing him out of the way.

“Cancel it, Fabian,” Jackson said again, the seriousness in his voice apparent.

“Yes, sir, Dr. James,” Fabian said, with a smile.

Michael was not so sure getting an early night and catching up with his sleep was the best thing he could have done, but it was not like he had any choice in the matter. Jackson was right. He had been spending a lot of time in the office and for what? All he had been doing was pacing up and down, something he had found out was not really helping. But even then, he found himself wondering what good going home was going to do for him or his company.

Over the last few weeks, the one thing he found himself wondering was whether his company was ever going to get out of the black hole the media had created. When the frenzy first began, he had assured himself that all was well. That it was just a bump on the road to better things. After all, he was Michael O’Brien, founder, proprietor, and the creative genius behind what the fashion industry had called the best thing a millennial had ever delivered. But even with the high praise he got, his legacy was one public relations nightmare away from crumbling. He knew that everything was heading to sh*t when he went to bed one day with everything right in the world. His new collection was about to be released to the market, and the world was abuzz with news that The Big O would be dressing Hollywood’s latest celebrity, Miranda Keller. That piece of news alone was worth everything because before he could wrap his head around the fact that he was now dressing celebrities, he suddenly got a call to show his designs on an exclusive Italian fashion show so special that it only ever showcased the very best to the top one percent of the top one per cent. The kind of people who had so much money that they had their own special, not to mention private, fashion show. It was that kind of thing that would take The Big O to the next level. But he hardly got enough time to celebrate the news because he suddenly had to deal with the fact that the world saw him as a racist and while this small group would not really care, this kind of bad press could very well ruin his company or even mark the beginning of the end of The Big O. This was not something he was looking forward to. The worst thing was that the accusations, though false, had some ground because when he looked into the models who represented his brand, they all had one thing in common: they were all blonde and brunettes with alabaster skin. He hated that he had never really noticed this. After all, he was just a designer. When he sketched, he sketched for the female form not any particular color. Even though he had almost nothing to work with, he knew that Jackson was right about one thing: he did need a new team working to clean up his image and while the new team did that, he needed to prove to the world that he was not a racist designer. If anything, he loved how diverse the world was and even though he had never really thought himself as a racist man, maybe it was time for him to get some new friends.

“But maybe all this can wait until I get off the effects of this damn pill,” he thought as he rode in the cab Jackson had put him in. He was beginning to think that the melatonin he had given him really does work…