By Mark Miner
What motivates YOU? The seminar banners were fairly humble, dark blue and maroon on cream fields. There were a few dozen people in attendance, and the conference room echoed with the shuffle of a few papers and reverberated at a slight cough. Ray stood at the podium, surveying the attendees. A small crowd, but he expected that. It was, after all, the debut of his dream. More people would come, as the world recognized his brilliance. Wanda motioned to him across the stage. Sequins and hair spray shimmered equally under the lights. Ray smiled, she was gorgeous, and she was his wife.
"Well, folks, let's get started, shall we? I'm Ray Blazefield, an-
EEEEEE" The microphone squawked at him, and a sound tech jumped and busily began adjusting knobs on the mixing board. "Heh, no trouble, folks, we'll just
SKREEE-t that worked out and m-
KHHHRK on with our personal development. That's why you're all here, right?" A few heads nodded, others rubbed their ears.
"I'd like to introduce you to my wife, Wanda," Ray made a sweeping gesture towards her, and she tittered, half-bowed, and waved. "She will be helping us out as you good people learn how to identify and leverage the key motivators that move you. Let's start with some introductions, shall we?" Wanda, toting a wireless microphone, bounced down the stairs to the audience. "Who'd like to tell us a little about themselves?" Ray boomed out.
A thin man with wire-rimmed glasses and a brown striped cardigan raised a quavery hand. Wanda sashayed over to him and leaned down to present him with the microphone. The man took the mic, blinked a few times, swallowed, and began to speak.
"Hello, my name is Walton Alfred Hughes, and I'd like to learn how to get myself excited about a job, and a relationship, and try to figure out why I feel like I have no direction when people like you, Ray, they have beautiful wives, white teeth, perfect eyesight, muscle tone, and the drive to succeed, Ray, and I just don't have any of those, I just don't I just don't I just don't…" Wanda patted him on the shoulder and cooed as she pried the microphone out of his hand.
"Well, Walton, you came here, so you must have some kind of motivation!" Ray was being as chipper as he could. The burly woman sitting next to Walton waved and said "I made him. He's my son." Ray grimaced, invisibly, he hoped.
"SEE!" Walton cried out, "Ray frowned at me! He knows I'm a failure! He can't help me!" Walton jumped out of his seat and ran out of the room, sobbing. His mother trotted after him, popping her knuckles.
Ray stared, wide-eyed as they passed the continental breakfast table and out the doors. "Well," he swallowed, "Wanda, why don't we meet someone else?" Wanda nodded hurriedly and found the next raised hand, a twentysomething in jeans, nice shoes, and a jacket. He had good hair, too.
"Good morning, everybody, it's nice to be here with you people. I know we all came here to try to learn about ourselves and jumpstart our lives. So, I think that you all should come down the hall to Room 139, where my "Principles of Progress" seminar starts in five minutes, my name is Jay Jetfield…" Wanda grabbed the mic from him and shooshed him out the door. Ray's smile twitched.
"Okaaaay, I guess we've had enough interruptions, er, introductions, so let's move on!" Wanda shuffled back to the stage and stood by the display board. It was 10:30, and they were supposed to have been halfway through today's program by now. Things looked grim. A man in a sportcoat opened the back door, looked around, and ducked back out.
"So, let's talk about triggers. What gets you going? What rewards do you crave in your marriage, family, job, or recreation? We will learn how to tap into those to break almost any funk or slump. Wanda, if you please?" Wanda turned to first big page on the pad up front, revealing a diagram of a few blocks and circles. "Who can tell me what to put in…Excuse me?" The hotel concierge walked briskly to the podium and whispered in Ray's ear. Ray went white.
"But you said until 11:00! It's only 10:35!"
"Sir, I must clear the room for our next guests. Please, sir."
Ray slumped at the podium. "Well, folks, we will meet again tomorrow at 10:00 sharp for another session. You'll all have to learn quick, but I am sure that…What?"
"Sir, I am afraid that this room is not available tomorrow."
"But I booked it months ago! You can't tell me that!?"
"Sir, please, I must have the room vacated. Also, you will be charged for the continental breakfast. It was ordered for the 10:30 seminar by a Mr. Jetfield, and was being stored here."
Ray sat on the steps by the grease trap, crying. Wanda sat in his lap, rivulets of mascara streaking her face. She wiped away his tears and kissed his forehead, cradling his head on her chest.
"Shh, honey, it's okay," she cooed at him. She was very good at cooing. "We'll make it alright, we always do. Remember when we decided to go to Wall Street? Hmm?" Visions of New York alleyways and being accosted by waiters at fancy restaurants and washing dishes for hours and days to pay off his bill flooded his mind. He clutched at Wanda, rocking back and forth and sobbing.
"What about your emu farm idea, baby? We could go start one of those." Wanda traced her finger under his chin and tugged his head up, gazing into his eyes. "We could go out to Arizona and buy a little property, maybe. We could order the birds from South America. Or alpacas! Everybody loves an alpaca coat, so we could raise them! Or maybe we could sell that knife sharpener you invented. That was a very handy thing, and my finger has almost healed. Baby, cheer up, won't you? We'll come out alright, we always do. And what's the one thing we always have?"
Ray looked into the baby blue eyes of this wonder-woman on his lap. He smelled her perfume and felt the roughness of the sequined dress, he saw the runny mascara and the runs in her hose, and he knew that this was the best woman in the world. He smiled at her, she smiled at him. "Each other."
