Ready

It was rare for Mr. Christopher Muse’s assistant to pass along any of the mountains of correspondence they received. For years, sanctimonious threats were ignored, invitations received politely worded regrets, and fans received digitally signed photographs with no effort from himself.

The video file began with an old clip of himself from many years ago. “Why do you want to contact me?”

He remembered the interview. He had been talking about how people only contacted him because they wanted something selfish from him.

The clip cut to a woman sitting in a chair. Her business suit was fashionable, but designed for a completely different body build that the woman who stretch it in unflattering ways. Her posture was terrible too. She sat on a bar stool like the one he had used in the original interview, but slumped over like a turtle ready to retreat back into her shell. “I want to see something exist and I can’t make it on my own-”

Christopher paused the video then pulled out a piece of stationary to send his assistant an angry note. This woman, this stranger, had the audacity to ask for something she wanted and was so clueless as to include a clip from him complaining about that exact same thing? The gall.