Chapter Seventeen: Intervention
Bond admired himself in the mirror, the tuxedo Chang provided from the lost and found was a perfect fit. The Canadian hockey player who accidently left it behind had good taste. It was Bond’s face that lost him now, beard free he didn’t remember looking so old. In his mind he remembered quite clearly that he resembles Cary Grant but the tired old togger before him really challenged this reality.
‘Hoagy Charmichal my arse.’ he said to the mirror wondering if it was too late for botox.
Bond fidgeted with the bowtie and shirt buttons as he walked down to the lobby to met Eve. Eve subconsciously shuttered when she saw Bond approaching her. Silently wondering if Vladimir Putin needed a body double.
‘Well you clean up nice’ she complemented him.
‘So how does this work?’ Bond said wanting to go over the plan again.
‘You have five minutes to make conversation with each...’ she paused then said, “lady” because “trollop” would have sounded too indelicate even to own her ears ‘before the next arrives. Now remember you have to turn on the charm for Severine, she has to choose you and if there is a fight for your attentions she might turn her attention to lower hanging fruit.’
‘So be the lowest.’
‘But not too low.’ she cautioned
‘So why is this Severine bird so important?’
‘She is paramour to the principle who M thinks is behind the attack on Mi6’
‘Who’s that?’ he asked
‘You’d have to ask her. But the plan is to get an embarrassing sex tape of Severine to essentially blackmail her into helping us.’
‘I don’t know if I can do it.’
‘Just lie back and think of England’ she said with a smile as they tuned the corner to the auditorium.
Bond stopped short his blood running cold. The Banner over the door said “Welcome to the Heineken® International Speed Dating Extravaganza“
The next few hours were pure hell for Bond, each girl would leave and the next contestant would arrive as would a fresh round of Heineken®, the old bottles removed. What bothered him the most aside for the taunting green bottles were the inane questions from doe-eye dames.
‘What’s your favourite book?’ Dunno never read one.
‘What’s your sign?’ Heineken®.
‘Are you someone I can take home to mother?’ Huh? What? Ohhhh... Fine, OKEY, I’ll sleep with her too.
‘What’s your ideal date?’ Poker tournament. Texas Hold’em (said with a wink.)
‘Who is your favourite composer?’ Snoop Dog.
‘What’s your favourite drink?’ Vesper.
‘Describe your ideal woman.’ Vesper.
‘What kind of car do you drive?’ Ford Mondeo, 1.6 L Diesel.
‘Are your religious?’ I’m part hitman, part monk and all yours. (dry laugh from Bond followed by the lady nervously taking her leave)
‘How do you feel about committed relationships?’ I’m against them as a rule. Soon as I find myself falling for some girl she offs herself.
‘Favourite fruit?’ Banana.
‘What do you do for fun?’ Think about death.
‘Favourite band?’ Lynyrd Skynyrd.
‘Favourite poem?’ There once was a girl from Nantucket.
Bond finally lost his friendly demeanour when a particularly buxom gal in low cut dress seductively rolled a ice cold Heineken® (fresh with crystal clear drops of cool condensation) across her ample bosom, one way then back again, resting the happy bottle against the middle of her cleavage. She gave Bond a hungry look asking the question “want some?”
‘Oh, f**k off for pity's sake!’ the cool man of action gone. ‘Go on get out of here you god d**n cow!!!’ Bond bellowed sweeping the table clear with his fist. His bottle of Heineken® shattered across the room. Its frothy goodness wasted. The shocked female, whose only crime was to offer a nights companionship left in a hurry taking her Heineken® with her. She dared not waste a drop of it.
The next contestant sat down as the bottles were replaced unaware of the fit Bond threw moments earlier started off on chipper note.
‘Well just let me say my favourite colour is yellow and I find...”
‘Get the f**k out of here!’ ..‘ NOW!’ Bond’s angry eyes burned into her. She did so and the cycle repeated itself over and over. The waiting staff serving Bond’s table no longer bothered to uncap the Heineken.
With a new girl barely sitting down Bond decided to beat her to the punch by starting the conversation.
‘Look lady it’s real simple. Life is s**t!’ Eve observing from the balcony gasped in horror as she saw Severine seated at the table directly behind Bond turned her head listening to Bond.
‘Live to work, s**t to live. It’s a cycle of pain and misery. I don’t know why you women are so f**king determined to get me to drink a Heineken®.’ He reached across the table clasped her hands with his squeezing them, his tone took on a pleading aspect. ‘I’ve just got out of that life. I can’t go back. Not now.’
A waiter brushed past them, Bond grabbed at the man’s arm stopping him.
‘What that f**k do I have to do to get a vodka martini neat with a zest of lemon?!’ Bond pleaded, his eyes full of sorrow.
The busy waiter disengaged himself from Bond’s needy grasp. ‘So sorry. I can’t help you.’ The waiter quickly returned to his station by Heineken® cooler at the bar. Bond slumped away dejected. All was lost. The young woman Bond poured his heart out to slowly pushed away from the table praying for the five minutes to be over soon.
Bond didn’t notice when the five minutes were up or when Severine sat down facing him for the first time. Eve now regretted asking Chang to arrange it so Bond and Severine met up last.
Severine held her hand out to Bond. ‘It’s Bond, James Bond. Right?’
A sexy foreign accent Bond couldn’t quite place saying his name made him look up. Seeing his target stirred Bond out of a deep depression. Bond gently took her hand almost as a gentleman would.
‘I’m Severine’ she said.
‘Yes. I know.’ He said smoothly.
‘What was this you were saying about all life being s**t?’
‘Well you see...’ Bond was stopped short by a ditty dinging out the speaker of his old trusty Sony Ericsson. Bond answered the phone. From across the table Severine could hear the tiny sounds of a deep yet feminine voice reading Bond the riot act.
Bond hung up the phone looking sheepish.
‘Was that your wife?’ Severine asked.
‘Good lord no! Nothing like that.’
Being a natural chatterbox Severine didn’t wait for Bond to finish his sentences’ she rattled on continuing the conversation at a break neck pace whenever it began to slow.
‘Such an old phone. That’s so cute. Adele’s “Rumour Has it” is your ring tone. I just love Adele.’
‘Yes. Me too.’
‘Wouldn’t it be great if she were here to sing for us? Right now?’
‘Yes, I can’t think of anything I’d love more.’ Bond agreed.
‘What you say about life being s**t, is sooo right on. I mean, my parents tried to name me after a river....and failed’ she look so sad at that moment Bond only wanted to hold her close and offer her what comfort he could.
The waiter seeing this conversation was going to go on alot longer than any of Bond’s other conversations brought two ice cold Heineken® to the table.
‘Oh!!! Heinekens!!!! I just love Heineken®!’
The sour look on Bond’s face vanished in an instant.
‘So do I.’ For England James! he thought.
‘But they are not even open.’ She sadly observed, her lips forming a cute little pout.
‘Not a problem,’ Bond said ‘watch this!’
Bond stood up to show off a trick he picked up during his formative years living at the Skyfall council estates. With the flare and skill of a magician Bond popped the top off the beers using his belt buckle, Coyote Ugly style.
'You’re such a manslut.’ she teased taking a Heineken® from Bond. She thistly drank it down.
'Oh, it is soo good.’ She said orgasmicly ‘I have never had a bad one, that is how good Heinekens are.’
After a seconds hesitation Bond took a swig from his bottle. The refreshing flavour cleansed his pallet, each drop slaking his thirst as nothing else on earth could. As the cool beverage worked its way down Bond’s gullet he wondered why he had resisted the siren call of the green bottle so vehemently. He knew then he could no longer fight what he was. And what he needed.
‘So what do you do for work James?’ Severine asked
Bond looking serenely at the green bottle answered her honestly, for he expected she would do the same. It was a hunch he had to play.
‘I am in the employ of Her Majesties Secret Service, right now I am rooting out a nest of f**king spies.’ He looked at her in all seriousness.
She returned the look. Took a dainty sip of her beer and said. 'I just love that movie! So good. So much better than the one with Casino in the title. You know the one where guy cried a lot and got nut slapped. But seriously James your job sounds so dangerous. I think you may not like it when you find what you are looking for. Me I work for a very important man, he sends me here to the world’s biggest PEZ® convention to buy for him the rarest PEZ® dispenser. The "Make A Face" Pez® from the 1970s -- sort of a Mr. Potato Head®, with attachable parts. Quickly taken off the market due to concerns about the swallowing habits of small children, it's now worth $5,000 (in the package). I buy for him the last two in existence. You see its very important to him, his father had bought for him the night before he and Raoul's mother were tragically killed in something that was not an accident at all.’
How she said all this in one breath Bond knew he would die without knowing.
‘He sends two of his guards and metal security briefcase like from a spy movie to look after the dispensers.’ She gestures to the two men in black standing immediately behind her, one with a security case handcuffed to his wrist. Noticing the men for the first time Bond shifts his gaze taking them in.
‘They are former Secret Service, they watch all my movements very closely.’ She said. A lecherous grin followed by a nod from one of the Ray-Ban wearing men confirmed this to be true.
Severine then continued talking hardly needing to pause for breath ‘I am thinking maybe I am giving them the rest of night off and taking you, sad monkey man to bed with me. Come we go back to my place.’
‘Er, sure. I mean why not.’ Bond responded, the four of them had almost left the building when Bond’s cell phone began to sing again. Quickly hitting ignore, knowing how to find the button blind after years of practice Bond remembers his mission.
‘On second thought I have a room here. Let’s go there.’
Severine agrees and the two of them make their way to the room Chang and Eve have prepared for their surveillance. Once in the room Severine shreds Bond’s clothes her long fingernails tearing them off him in rapid succession. She ran her tiny hand across his broad gym sculpted chest, she rest her hand on one of his massive manboobs.
‘You have no hair.’ the sweet sound of her voice couldn’t hide her disappointment. ‘You know a bird will not nest in a barren tree.’ She chided him.
‘Nesting? Is that what we are doing?’ Bond said humorously his wrinkled leathery face struggling to hold a smile.
Severine jumped up and away from Bond excitedly calling out ‘Oh! I know! We turn off all the lights use candles make shag time on bearskin rug! I just love how a real bearskin smells!’
As Bond settled on the rug he wonders if she were tuning off all the lights to avoid looking at his face. He rests his head back closing his eyes, his other senses take over, the smells, the tactile sensation, it reminds him of something. Something repressed in the back of his mind begins to break free.
Severine was a whirlwind of activity her now naked silhouette sashays towards Bond. ‘Oh! I almost forgot my video camera.’ She quickly sets up a high res Sony HDR-CX500V® video camera complete with night vision, standard kit for debutant bad girls.
In the hidden room behind the false mirror recording the proceedings, Eve and Chang exchange a look each thinking the exact same word. “s**t!” M’s prudish cold war thinking didn’t account for the internet age or bad girls.
Camera set up Severine tackled Bond, now starting to whimper. Despite the pleasant company, he was relieving a traumatizing encounter several month earlier with Barbara Latrine the mad woman of Thunderball woods, whom he had sold himself to for the night for a six pack of Heineken®. It wasn’t long before Bond began to cry. He cried and cried and cried. He wept so openly Chang, hidden behind the false mirror, hides his face behind his hands embarrassed for all mankind. Embarrassed for secret servants everywhere they stop and erased their recoding fearing it might get out.
Half hour later Severine deciding it was time to leave locates James fully clothed in the tattered remains of his tuxedo, crying in the shower stall as warm water from the gold plated Price Pfister® shower head pours over him.
‘I have to go now, but I feel bad for you so I will send Jeremy to meet you by the pool here at 3 A.M. He will give you the information you are looking for.’ Almost out the bathroom door she turns to him once more, ‘take care of yourself James.’ Then she was gone. She went back to her place to tweet.
Hours later feeling more composed Bond sat at the edge of the pool in his favourite blue trunks, with the appropriate amount of ass cleavage showing he awaited the rendezvous.
Chang and Eve were monitoring Bond from the main security room, Chang’s phone beeped an alert. Checking his phone Chang utters several Chinese epithets.
‘What’s wrong?’ asks Eve ‘you don’t think they are coming?’
‘No. It’s not that,’ Chang reassures her, ‘we already have eyes on the currier. We’ll know if it’s all good soon enough.’
‘So what then?’
‘The Crying Man Video’s gone viral!’
12:51 am local time
“Just had shag time with sad monkey man. See my video here.”
"Those were the days when we still associated Bond with suave, old school actors such as Sean Connery and Roger Moore,"
"Daniel didn't have a hint of suave about him," - Patsy Palmer