I spend most of my time in my giant swank office. I’m the equivalent of Bill Gates and Steve Jobs except I’m also gorgeous looking and not dead. I preside over a massive global conglomerate that feeds the poor (thus making me likeable) and brings in billions. I’m always on the phone speaking generically. “Get me those numbers, Ted.” “That sounds risky, I’ll need to look over the proposal.” “Reschedule the acquisitions team for Monday at 3:00.” So you can plainly see I’m legit.
On Friday night I fly down to Portland to see my brother and pick up some items from a hardware store. I fly my own helicopter. I also play concert piano, have read and can quote the classics, collect fine art and first editions, and look awesome in jeans. It’s clear I’m an expert helicopter pilot because I say things to the tower like, “Charlie-Tango descending to 1000 feet.” Don’t even try to make sense of it. You have to be a pilot.
But before you know it I fly back to Portland to speak at a college graduation. My speech goes over well because I’m incredibly charismatic. Those kids hang on every generic word.
Home again in Seattle I drive to Bellvue to have dinner with my equally wealthy step-parents and siblings. They have a large mansion. The food is delicious. I'm a foodie and wine connoisseur too.
A few more days of taxing business decisions (“I’m not going forward till I see the projections!”) and I need to take the corporate plane to Savannah, Georgia. As you know, I’m also an expert glider pilot. But my trip is cut short. A business emergency.
I fly back to Seattle and now on the phone I use an angry tone. “Unacceptable!” “Call Gary. We have to re-think this.” That’s me in crisis mode – firm but in complete control.
And that’s about it. Oh wait. During this period I also banged a high-maintenance loony college chick.
Hmmmm. Now I that read it over, it might be a little short for a novel. What do you think? I’ll add a scene where he walks on water.