“You need Terry Blackhaver.” They were listening. “Terry is a local guy who does me. Occasionally I think he does me better than me, but don’t tell him that. Get Terry in here and I’ll cover his fee and square it with Ben. That way the client gets what they need and no one misses out.”
“What, um, no? You want us to hire a guy who impersonates you?” Trent’s disbelief was like an over-pumped basketball bouncing around the room.
“Yeah. Terry will do a good job in half the time it’ll take me to do a bad job. I can’t see the footage, so I can’t get the timing right. It’ll take you too long to splice it together and the interactivity will be an unworkable.”
“He’s the local guy? Are there others? Hell, I mean I guess it’s possible, but I never thought about it before,” said Trent.
“Three, that I know of. Not counting the comedians who do Vox. But Terry is a good guy. I’m happy for him to take the job.”
“What if we could time the script for you and you didn’t need to watch the vision?”
Damon turned towards Georgia. Her voice had a hesitant quality to it, as if she was expecting to be talked over or misunderstood. He’d noticed it earlier and assumed it was first day nerves, but maybe it was something more. “What are you thinking?”
“I know when you voice animation the audio comes before the vision.”
“Normally. Sometimes we come back to handle special scenes but yeah, voice tracks get laid after initial storyboarding. They match the animation to the voice.”
“But the client didn’t have that kind of budget. They shot to a script and need the audio to match. What if we were able to give you a signal in place of the vision as a cue?”
“What kind of a signal?” said Trent.
Damon put his index finger to his Bradley watch, felt for the two ball bearings that told him the time. Hiring Terry would work better and he could be pleading with Lina’s assistant to see Lina before lunch.
“Yeeeah.” He gave the word an infusion of scepticism and reluctance and put both hands on the lectern. What they all needed was for this little adventure to be over.
“What if I gave you a signal where the line needs to start and a physical beat to work to?”
He was set to query that when he felt a gentle press on the back of his hand. Georgia’s cool fingerprint.
“Like this.” She pressed again then followed up with four quick taps. He captured her hand, ice cold, and she sucked in a breath. She must’ve thought she’d offended him.
He wrapped her small hand in his bigger paw, half expecting her to snatch it back. “Like a metronome.”
The shape that was Georgia shifted, maybe she nodded, then she remembered. “Yes.”
He released her hand as Trent said, “Works for me.”
He could be camped out in Lina’s rooms or he could do this. Terry would probably love the income. He was a retired postman who’d won a radio station talent quest by impersonating Vox. The station had approached Damon to do a voice-off with him. Listeners were supposed ring in and vote for the right Captain Vox. It’d been fun and he’d let Terry win. He could give Terry another win. But Lina was going to give him bad news in that unruffled even tone that made him think of frozen desserts and brain freeze.
He was particular about his desserts. “Works for me too.”
Trent whooped and the door swooshed open and closed again. “Georgia?” She’d moved away after he let her hand go, but only one shape had left the room.
“I’m here.”
“How do you want to do this?”
She came around to his side of the lectern, but kept her distance. The monitor was dead ahead. “If you put your hand down like you did before, I can tap it.”
He did that and she edged closer. He smiled, now he could smell her freesia scent. She put her finger to the back of his hand.
“Do you know you smell like fresh washed sheets in the sun and strawberries with vanilla and icing sugar?”
She jerked her hand away.
“That’s a good thing. That way I know it’s you.”
“You really can’t see me?”