Co-written by Claire Joseph
Photo source: http://www.germanicmythology.com/works/CollingwoodART.html
I
“Here you go, ma'am.”
Frances Conroy was fourty-seven years old when her infatuation with the handsome young Georg Haraldsson first began. It was a bleak Thursday morning when Georg walked into her 101 Reykjavík office, holding the large pumpkin spice latte she had ordered a few minutes before. Her erratic yet lovable personal assistant, Simon, had failed to show up for work on time, and so Georg was assigned to Frances’ morning errands.
The next seven days tormented Frances. Her mind would not rest, she had not slept nor eaten for days. When Simon arrived back to work, he found her devastated at her desk. A shell of the woman she once was.
“Are you alright, miss Conroy?” Simon asked timidly.
She summoned enough energy to talk “The boy… the boy who brought me coffee last Thursday, what is his name?”
Simon chuckled. “What, Georg? He’s barely eighteen!”
She paused, then said: “I need you to bring him back to my office.”
“But, you’ve already given me so many things to do today,” Simon replied.
“I don’t want to hear any of your excuses,” she snapped, “just do your job.”
Simon swallowed his frustration, composed himself and made his way to the coffee shop downstairs. Simon placed his order with Georg and asked him to deliver it to Frances’ office on the twelfth floor. Georg nodded and told him it will be done.
Confused, Georg made his way upstairs, holding the pumpkin spice latte in his hand. He knocked on the door of the office that had Frances Conroy's name on it. He was welcomed by the same man that had placed the order, along with the middle-aged red-haired woman he met last week. She snatched the coffee cup from Georg’s' hands and exclaimed: “Do you know what a week of no sleep does to a woman my age?”
Georg stammered: “Erm, no? Not really…”
“Well, thanks to your charming little appearance last Thursday, Georg, I have not been functioning at all,” Frances squawks and then goes on: “if you agree to marry me, Georg, you will never have to work another shift at that pathetic coffee shop downstairs.”
Georg could not find the words to reply to this obscure proposal and turned around to leave, then right before walking out, he said: “I could never marry the woman responsible for ruining the fishing industry in the Westfjords. The place that has been home to my family for decades.”
Photo source: http://www.germanicmythology.com/works/CollingwoodART.html
II
Frances sat back into her office chair, exasperated. She gazed vacantly out of her window, overlooking Mount Esja. She remained silent for a while. Then snapped her finger at Simon and yelled: “I need this boy to marry me at all costs. Whatever it takes, you have my permission and here is my company credit card.”
As the night fell, Simon retreated to his study and swirled a glass of Flóki in his left hand. Simon devised a scheme with the hopes of fulfilling his boss’ wishes. After three full glasses of Flóki, Simon had gained Dutch courage. He grabbed his keys and set out to Georg’s’ family's’ pub. After a clumsy drive there, he found Georg behind the bar polishing pint glasses. He ordered a Brio and beckoned Georg over.
“Georg, can we make a deal?” Simon slurred. Georg raised his eyebrow. “If I get you a downtown apartment, your own car and work experience at the firm, will you please marry Frances?”
Georg snorted and asked: “You are not being serious, are you?”
“Yes, I am. One hundred percent serious. Look, I know she's a real witch but she is determined.”
“I will have to kindly decline,” Georg said, as he continued to polish the glasses.
“You are going to regret this, Georg.” Simon stood up, still holding his beer and made his way to the door. Right before reaching it, he turns around, smashes his beer against the wall next to him and says: “I know you don't have much, son. But I will take everything you do have from you if you do not go through with this.” Simon walked back in the direction of the bar, holding a piece of the broken glass.
He was towering over young Georg, pointing the shard of glass at his neck and hissed: “I know where to find you and your folks.” Then Simon finally headed out, leaving a petrified Georg behind. Simon originally planned to leave Georg after this dialogue, but now with alcohol pulsing through his bloodstream, his mind was elsewhere. He fell onto the bench outside the pub and waited for the first of Georg’s’ family to leave. When one of them would leave the pub, Simon would be prepared to strike them.
III
The next morning, Georg arrived at work, flushed, with red in his cheeks. Before heading to the coffee shop, he took the stairs to the twelfth floor, where he found an unstable Simon doodling mindlessly at his desk.
“I'll do it, just don't touch my family,” Georg warned.
“Great,” Simon beamed, “you have nine days to prepare for the wedding. Meet me here after work, I get off at six o'clock.”
Georg nodded and left. The next nine days were the longest that Georg had ever encountered. He told his parents about the whole affair, they were very supportive of their son's adult decision. He would turn eighteen soon and when he did, the marriage would become official and legal.
When, twenty years later, Frances finally died of old age, Georg was suddenly a free man. He moved back to his home in the Westfjords and left everything he knew in Reykjavík behind.