Chapter One - `Take it Easy, Mr. Bond.'
Brosnan (I mean Bond) slowly reached for the handle, pulled open the door of the casino, and strutted proudly in. The `dashing' agent, slightly flabby around the chest, and with a slight swell to the stomach (too much of the good life perhaps, or just a sign he was maybe getting too old?) cut a less-than-impressive figure as he walked on past the first table, stopping to admire a couple of attractive women, who were playing poker, but looking rather bored. He felt slightly annoyed when they ignored his glances. Christ? What was it? Maybe he was getting too old for this game now. The hair was starting to show signs of grey (too much, from what he had examined earlier in the bathroom mirror), not to mention the tuffs of billy-goat white hair sprouting from his wobbly chest.
Brosnan (I mean Bond) shrugged his shoulders. To hell with it! If he was getting old, then so be it. At least he could still raise his eyebrows, squint unnecessarily, and purse his lips at the same time, to try and give the impression he was still cool - or appeared to look cool at the very least. Maybe a little tie-straightening during an uncalled for moment may win the ladies over again? Or a grimace perhaps? Or maybe just a good old-fashioned, over-the-top, unashamed, amateur dramatic theatrical may do it.
Blast! Not a CGI graphic in sight! And no witty Roger Moore one-liner either, or a silly gadget to try and cover up his lack of acting ability. Oh well! Maybe he really was getting too old for all this now. Whoever replaced him, Brosnan already feared would be the best replacement ever. And all he could do was look on in envy at what may have been.
If M damned well had plans to fire him, and replace him with this other person, he had made his mind up. At the first opportunity, he would sell his story to the press, milk it for all its worth. Someone would surely listen. Playboy magazine perhaps?
It was at that moment when he heard the phone ringing over by the bar. The huissier answered it.
`Hello. No, there's no one of that description here. Not dark hair and slim. There's an old silver-haired guy here though, with a paunch, and by the looks of things, a very depressed look on his face. Ok. Sure. Wait a second.' He looked over at Brosnan. `Hey you! Yes, that's right! You! The old timer who looks like he cannot pull anymore. Come here will you. Your boss is on the phone. Guess what. News for you, grandad. You're fired!'
Brosnan gritted his teeth. So! This was it! Marching orders, and not even with regret!
To be continued.....
