Burdish delicacies (II)

The butler announced our dinner was served. The table was nicely laid in a beautiful romantic corner of the terrace, beside a tree that looked a zillion years old, whose roots came out of the ground in a strange shape.

There were flowers and candles and the rack of lamb was in the middle of the table, perfectly roasted amid some tasty delicacies. Ed carved it.

- Help yourself, honey. –he said, offering me the tray-
- Mmmmm this is delicious, Ed. –I said, enjoying every single bite of the mouthwatering dish-
- Thanks. I’m glad you like it.

A small chamber orchestra formed by three dead souls played a sad waltz with their violins. Dripping sadness and aching strings made me feel pain and inconsolable sorrow. Two tiny tears appeared soon in my eyes and slowly rolled down my face. I tried to stop them… but it couldn’t be possible: my unstoppable tears kept falling.

It was an awesome night. I could see from the terrace the full moon reflected on the sea, lighting the way of a few clouds drifting by. I sipped from my glass of red wine, still whimpering. Ed stared at me and I showed a weak smile. He rushed beside me, alarmed, kneeled down and stroking my cheeks all wet with tears, asked tenderly:

- Poor little love, what is it you’re crying for? Tell me…
- No. –I said, shaking my head-

I couldn’t tell him I was really overwhelmed by his kindness and yet sad because I hadn’t heard from Bob for three long weeks.

- Perhaps you don’t like the food? Leave it then! I’ll make some other nice and tasty stuff for you.
- No. The food is great, Ed –I answered, pouting-
- Is it the music? Just tell me what you want to hear, honey, and this weepy ballad will stop at once.
- No. I like the music –I said, still pouting-
- Ok, sweet darling. I won’t insist. Everybody has the right to keep secrets. And it’s not a sin to have a good cry sometimes.

He held me sweetly into his arms and stroked my hair. I tried to gain control of my aching heart, but I couldn’t and cried like a baby, all lost in loneliness.

- You feel like when you were at school and the other kids wouldn't let you play with them, right? –he whispered with a low voice, kissing my forehead-.

I nodded. Yes, it was that pervasive feeling of not belonging. My grief was unbearable.

- Your Bob is on a business trip, Leni. Why he couldn’t even bother telling you… I don’t know. –he said, very upset-
- How do you know? –I asked-
- I just fucking know, baby. I know who he fucking is! –he said, raising his voice- Promise me you won’t let him hurt you again.
- How do you think I can do that?
- Next time you see him, tell him nicely to get stuffed. I'm sure he’ll get the message.

That made me giggle and I slowed down my sobbing. He realised I didn’t want to comment on the last things he said.

- Hey crybaby... wipe away those tears. –he said, smiling at me-. I can be a very moody old-fashioned guy, but I know how to make you laugh.

I smiled. Ed gestured to the dead souls and they started dancing and playing a lovely happy tune that cheered me up a bit. He took my hand and said:

- I used to ride a horse in my time, but now I have an Aston Martin and a Triumph motorcycle. I can give you a ride if you want.

Wow! Percy was right! He was probably the richest man in the South Sandwich Islands! And that ride sounded very promising.

He brushed my cheek with his right middle finger and said:

- And please, don’t think I just listen to baroque music and sad pavannes. Look at me. I came back to life as a post-punk. You know, Siouxie and the Banshees, Bauhaus, Killing Joke, The Cure… I reckon it’s a bit outdatish, but that’s my favourite music.

Siouxie rang a bell, but not the others. There was a mini-generation gap between us.

- So you’re supposed to be a Generation X man! –I said-
- Actually, according to my age I should be a Disco Generation man, but I especially dislike cuffed bell bottoms, high-waisted pants and platform shoes. Enough about me… Let’s talk about you now. You seem to have grown up under the scary influence of Pokemon and Harry Potter –he laughed loudly-.
- Oh, no. I’m a little older than that. I grew up with Sesame Street and Pippi Longstockings. Those were my favourite TV programs when I was a kid. And Roadrunner too. I don’t know if you’re… familiar with them.

He chuckled to himself.

- Babe, I was here long before you were born. I watch TV. And I also have a Mac, an iPod touch and impressive songlists downloaded from iTunes. Sorry to disappoint you: I’m not a caveman, but rather a modern grumpy bastard –he laughed very loudly-. Of course I know Pippi… whatever, Sesame Street and Roadrunner.

I blushed and looked down. He pinched my chin between his fingers, lifted my face to look at him and kissed me sweetly.

- In the eighteenth century the main amusements of the Burdish population were Shakesperian theatre and music houses. Haendel and Purcell were my favorites. And, of course, the national entertainment was making children! –he roared with laughter-.

Hm. So he was not sexless. He stared at me, his red eyes glowing intensely.

- Yes, believe it or not people already shagged three hundred years ago. -he said-
- Oh I never doubted they did. Otherwise, the human race would have disappeared long time ago.
- Right. But nowadays we have nuclear fusion, stem cells, information technologies, and so many other techy stuffs. Life is a bit more complicated.
- I see. So you’re updated.

All of a sudden, he seemed to have a brilliant idea and said:

- Leni… let me show you my pool of blood. –he said, reaching out to hold my hand-.

I thought it was the end. I assumed he would be biting my neck on the spot; leaving two tiny bloody holes; gaining mental control over me; sucking my sweet blood entirely; making me feel dizzy; my skin going from pale to vampiric anemic; the perfect finale would be throwing me into that pool of blood he mentioned, where he probably pushed all the victims of his atrocities, condemning them to wander like hopeless drifters through all eternity.

I was about to panic, covering my eyes with my hands, expecting the worst and hoping it wouldn’t hurt too much, when he said:

- Why are you closing your eyes? This is probably the most amazing sight you’ve ever seen!

I opened my eyes and saw a big round pond full to the brim of… dark red rubies shining intensely under the light of the moon. That was what he called… his pool of blood.

The red shine was bewitching. I couldn’t stop watching. He kneeled down and took one of the precious stones with the shape of a heart, exactly the size of my hand.

- This is for you. It’s my dearest drop of blood. Please, make me happy and take it. –he said, putting the red stone on the palm of my hand-. It’s more than just a jewel. If you keep it by your side, it will predict your future.
- Ed… -I said-
- I know what you’re going to tell me. You don’t want to know about your future. Make me happy and keep it, baby.

The red ruby heart glowed on my hand. I was becoming a little bit paranoid. What if the red thingy had a GPS hidden inside so that he could trace me at any time? He was a Hell minion commanded to keep watch on me!

- I suppose I can’t say no. –I said, giving up-
- That's right.

I put the ruby on the table. He held my right hand, pressed my hips to him and we danced. The salty scented sea breeze blew on our faces and the smell of the summer flowers enfolded us.

He gently caressed my flowing red evening dress; stroke my back and let his hands run casually to my bottom, quickly withdrawing them back to my hips again. As I turned under his arm, he arranged that his fingertips would brush my decolletee for a split second. Then, he held me in his arms and we danced cheek to cheek, his voice whispering words of love in my ear.

I struggled with myself to decide what would be better: to protest weakly or just to let myself go.

- Don’t say anything now. Take the ruby. My black winged horse will take you home. –he said, covering my face with sweet butterfly kisses-. Sleep tight baby Leni, and meet me in your dreams.

And he vanished into a dark whirlpool, leaving me dancing with myself. I heard the horse hoofs. The announced black pegassus was galloping behind the trees and stopped by the light of a moonbeam.

I gently caressed its flowing mane, rode it and flew up in the sky, over Ed’s mansion and gardens, over the sea and the fields of the island and over the city, stopping by my flat.

I crawled through my bedroom window and waved goodbye to the sweet black pegassus that flew its way back to the mansion.

Then I sat on the bed, put the ruby on the palm of my right hand and watched it flutter strongly. It was beating just like a real heart.





"Bring me to life" (Evanescence)

Burdish delicacies (I)

Back in Sandwich -meaning back to normal mode (urban hard working girl and hopeless girlfriend of an insensitive to the cold Zeewlander man)- I got this phone call:

- Hello.
- Leni. This is Ed.
- Hi Ed, how are you doing? -I asked-
- I’m fine, thanks. I wonder if you’d like to join me for dinner tonight. I’m cooking a delicious roast rack of lamb with mint sauce.

This was supposed to happen one day or another. If I said ‘no’ he would be insisting over and over until I’d say ‘yes’. Bob had disappeared again for several days without a trace, so what the fuck. The more I thought, the less I could find a good reason to decline the invitation. So out of the frying pan, into the fire!

- Ok. –I said, very determined-
- Ok? Just like that? –he asked, not believing I would be offering so little resistance-
- Yes. Just like that.

There was silence.

- Say something before I change my mind. –I said-
- I may start building my hopes up once again.
- Ed. I’ve just accepted your invitation to dinner. It doesn’t mean you’ll have me for dessert.

He chuckled.

- What a shame. You’d be such a delicious cupcake. -he said-
- I bet I would. But not tonight.
- I’m constantly surprised by how delightful you are.
- Don’t butter me up, please. You already know it won’t work with me.
- Ok, tough chick. As you like it. We can always talk about business. As far as I remember, you still have to write a book for me.

Ooh yes. The book. I couldn't help hitting back:

- No, not for you, but for Hellgirl.

Ed sent a ghost driver with his black Bentley to fetch me at 7:00PM sharp. The car war parked in front of my door, punctual as a Swiss watch.

Needless to say I was left speechless. But that was nothing compared to what I saw when I arrived to Ed's house: I was blown away. He lived in a luxurious mansion in the outskirts of the city. I had never seen nothing like that except in the movies.

I knocked on the door and a pale butler opened it.

- Come in Ms Qinan. Mr Davies is waiting for you. -he said solemnly, with a low voice-

The butler guided me through the hall -twice as large as my tiny flat- to the library where Ed was reading an old book, quietly smoking a cigarette. His private book collection was impressively huge. It made me think of the labyrinthine medieval library of 'The name of the rose', where the evil monks carefully copied incunables, a few years before Gutenberg invented the first press machine. I was overwhelmed with these fantasies when Ed got up and smiled at me.

- Good evening, Leni.
- Good evening, Ed. You have a very nice house.
- Thank you. I really feel honoured by your visit.
- It's my pleasure. I hope you like red wine. –I said, handing him the bottle of lovely traditional Rioja I had bought for the occasion-
- Excellent choice. It will be perfect with the lamb.
- Good.
- Please, follow me to the kitchen. I was going to start cooking.

We went downstairs through the long corridors of stone covered with tapestries and old paintings hanging from the walls, lit here and there by wide candles whose dripping wax would fall on the floor, forming small white piles.

I stopped by the painting of an impressive man who appeared to be very angry; he had followed me with his eyes all along the passage as I walked. His strong voice shouted at me “Go away, intruder! How dare you disturb the deathly peace of this house!!!”.

He really frightened me with his scary look. Ed threw his arm around my shoulder and pulled me close to him. He stared at the man in the painting and whispered into my ear, with his proverbial Burdish stiff-upper-lip:

- Oh excuse me, Leni. Let me introduce you to my great-great-grandfather, Angus Davies. Pay no fucking attention to what he says to you.

I smiled at Ed. But Angus still looked at me, really angry. 'Grrrrr...' -he went-

-Angus was a rich landlord in Burdishland. He lived in the fifteenth century. He fought and died in the Wars of the Roses, but unfortunately he never accepted his fate and his soul was doomed to wander about this world. And there he is, scaring my visitors. But don’t be afraid, sweety. He is totally harmless.

I was not so sure about that. I pulled closer to Ed and looked back at Angus’s portrait, waving goodbye to him with a little sarcastic smile, as he grumbled loudly at me. The echo of his protests could be heard all over the place.

- Ed, this mansion is huge… -I said, looking up to the high ceilings painted with dark angels and scary scenes from the Bible-.
- Yeah, too big for a man on his own. My family has lived here for centuries in Burdishland.
- Centuries? But Sandwich is a very young country!
- Right. But I managed to have my family home here. I’m 295 years old, dear. That’s … as old as the hills. Such an old guy doesn’t like new stuff –he smiled-.
- You told me. But you don’t look older than 45. And great, by the way.
- Thanks, baby. 45 is supposed to be my age. It’s a part of my deal with the devil.
- That’s a very nice age for a man. You’re in the prime of life. –I smiled at him-

We stared at each other and his red eyes glowed intensely. Surprisingly, he didn’t scare me.

I was really flabbergasted at his distinguished lifestyle. The place was palatious. The kitchen was cosy and modern, with that Victorian touch that made it... even more Burdish. He walked towards the big wooden table where the lamb rack was in a crystal tray, ready to be cooked.

- The rack is the most tender cut on a lamb, Leni. A perfectly roasted lamb will be crisp on the outside, and tender and juicy on the inside. Lamb is flavourful enough on its own. It doesn't need much seasoning and is so naturally tender, that it is bound to turn out well, as long as it is still a little pink inside. I hope you like it. –he said-
- Oh, yes, I like it a lot!
- Excellent. I thought you would be some kind of vegan freak.
- Nah. I try to eat healthy, but I need my portion of junk food and I fancy a Big Mac every now and then. -I laughed-

He grimaced when he heard me say that, but continued with the lamb cooking ceremony. His solemn dissertation about lamb’s flesh shocked me. I found it a bit bloody for my taste. He hissed at the sight of the fresh meat. That was weird. But I decided he was probably overdoing and let him have his fun.

- The most important thing to remember about cooking a lamb roast is to not overcook it. This one will taste delicious served with gravy and mint jelly.
- You like to cook, right? –I asked him-
- Yes, Leni. Good cooking is a magic pleasure; pure alchemy; imagination and creativity in a kitchen, and basically a fine art. It’s a joy to cook for an audience that appreciates good food. The same thing happens with conversation. And I am enjoying it. –he said, gazing into my eyes and smiling at me-
- I am enjoying it too. –I smiled back at him-.

What a clever man he was. He certainly knew how to treat women. I didn’t understand yet the trap I had agreed to set myself in.

- Would you like to have a glass of your delicious red wine in the gardens? The flowers look just beautiful at this time of the year -he asked-
- That would be lovely.

He poured two glasses of wine and guided me to the back door.

- Ed, I wonder if I can ask you a personal question.
- Try, baby. But remember: curiosity killed the cat.
- I know. But information made him fat. What did you do in your previous life, in Burdishland?
- I was a physician. And a very good one. I wrote some practice manuals that were studied in all the universities of my time. I wanted to reach success as soon as possible, I told you. Pride and greed are my sins. -he said, looking down-
- I thought you wrote fictional books.
- No. I now write the book about the people’s future and destination. The one you don't believe in. And, I must insist, it’s not fictional, but true.

I didn't want to go into details again; I knew he had visions of the future and he believed blindly we were made for one another. So I continued to dig into his past.

- Were you… married in Burdishland? -I asked-
- Yes. I had two beautiful wives and four children that I loved dearly. But they all died. This is the worst thing about growing so old... to see how your loved ones pass away.

He looked sad and absent minded. I felt very sorry for him. I realised he was suffering a lot. It was time to stop asking questions and change the subject of our conversation.

- If my memory serves me well, we were going to talk about business –I said-

When he came back to reality, he sipped from his glass of red wine, stared at me, grinned and declared solemnly:

- No, baby. I never mix pleasure with business.

"Happy meal II" (The Cardigans)

When pigs fly

Lilly had always dreamed of that day. Her little life, lazily splashed with amazing fantasies, looked rose-coloured through her glasses.

As a Southernese girl born in a remote Orsinian village, life inspired her motivational stories. Three favourite movie heroines were a reflection of her favorite fantasy:

Muriel Heslop, from Purpoise Spit, Australia: The Aussie girl who found happiness and success in her gloomy existence on the day of her wedding, Abba’s songs resounding as her life’s background music.

Toula Portokalos, from Chicago, Orsinia: The Greek girl who fell in love with a non-Greek man and struggled to get her family to accept him. She had her big fat wedding, and of course, it was love’s victory.

Loretta Castorini, the Italian widowed book-keeper from Brooklyn, Orsinia. Loretta thought it was time to marry again after several years of loneliness. She accepted the proposal of a nice, middle-aged fellow named Johnny Cammareri but discovered that in startling contrast to the pleasant, mild-mannered Johnny, his youngest brother Ronny -moody and passionate- was the man she really loved. She was moonstruck.

Those were the stories she liked: beautiful stories with happy endings.

Her wedding dress was on a dummy, in the dressing room. Her veil and the jewels she would be wearing, were immaculate white. Classic. Not like those modern impossible colours some brides wore in Europe: graphite black, pink champagne, ice blue, dusky red. Fashion designers must have gone all crazy.

- A bride in red or black… how funny is it? –she thought and shook her head in disapproval-.

I may be wrong, but I always thought a white bride as a symbol of purity nowadays is something quite flippant; yet, most brides still wear white. Purity itself is an ambiguous concept, hard to define, old-fashionedly misunderstood and more likely to be found in the mind and the soul, rather than in the body. But that is debatable and controversial. And I’m too lazy to discuss the aspects of my point here.

Wedding ceremonies are so beautiful that some people may easily feel like getting married just for the sake of enjoying one of the most emotional and colourful days of their lives. Everybody deserves an awesome moment of glory once in a lifetime. Some even sanctify it for the rest of their lives.

And that glorious day of July 2008, the soon-to-be Mrs. Lilly Brantsch, formerly known as Miss Tigerlilly Mistyglass Hamseller, firmly believed her life would surely change.

I couldn’t help being on a dreamy bluesy mode that day. It must have been the solemn organ music resounding in my ears; the pretty bridesmaids in flashing pink; the soft smell of summer flowers on the church benches. The truth is I felt an overwhelming emotion inside me.

Max was a gorgeous groom. He looked great in his tux. He waited patiently for her in the aisle, alternatively checking his watch and looking at the church gates. As a proud Zantlander, he was punctual as a Swiss watch; but just like every bride in her day, Lilly was allowed a little unpunctuality. And twenty minutes later, there she was. So pretty. The happiest woman on earth.

I felt the sudden urge to go out. The black diamond cat charm I was wearing became a black bat and started chocking me like a tight rope. I was frightened. I covered the shiny black bat with my hands, so that Bob –who was sitting beside me- wouldn’t see it. I needed to leave the church on the spot. Bob stared at me, surprised, and asked:

- Are you okay?
- I need some fresh air. I’ll be back in a minute. Don’t move. -I said-

I rushed to the street, sat on the stairs and removed the choker thing from my neck. I watched the metamosphosed tidbit in amazement. It had black wings and red tiny eyes that… glowed!

- Wow, what a nice Lolita in her red minidress. You look so gorgeous, Leni –said Ed Davies on his huge motorbike, pointing at me-

I looked back. I couldn’t believe it was him again.

- For Pete’s sake, man, make some noise to let me know you’re there and stop scaring me! Didn’t you have business to attend to? By the way, this is for you –I said returning the black diamond bat to him-

He jumped off his bike, pulled my arm strongly and whispered in my ear:

- Hey baby, I’m not trying to scare you. It’s just that you’re easily frightened. And this is yours. –he answered, sharply giving me the charm back, hitting my hand-
- Then why you seem to be everywhere? Here, there and all over the place, yesterday, today and tomorrow? Or is it just my imagination?

He laughed loudly and said:

- I could say the same thing about you.
- Ohmm. Don’t be the smartypants.

He took a deep drag from his cigarette and laughed loudly.

- That’s because I got your number, little miss Sandwich.
- I don’t want this. It’s a weird present. And it’s choking me. –I said, giving him the black bat-

That was rude. He looked very dissapointed and I fell sorry.

In the meantime, the wedding ceremony was over. The church gates were opened abruptly and a screaming crowd rushed outside, throwing rice and rose petals to the newlyweds.

The bridesmaids surrounded them when Lilly announced that she would be tossing her bouquet. Everybody knows that the "lucky" lady who catches it will be the next to get married.

Lilly threw the bouquet at the screaming group of girls. The competition to catch it became a stampede. The flowers flew in slow motion; did a quadruple sommersault in the air; looped describing a weird path and finally landed… on my head!!!

The bridesmaids yelled and pounced on me; Ed laughed his ass off; Bob gasped in anger.

I got up and escaped in a panicky mode, moving the flowers out of my way. To my amazement, the big flower bouquet followed me whilst bouncing along the bumpy road, leaving pink petals trace behind.

I headed down the road and didn’t stop running until I realised I could run, but couldn't hide: the flowers would follow me, no matter how far I would go. I deeply sighed and flopped down on the sidewalk, grabbing in my right hand the flowerless bouquet. I kicked off my shoes, overwhelmed with anger and rage.

Ed started his bike and approached me.

- It seems someone will marry you soon, Leni. -he laughed-
- I hope it happens when pigs fly! –I said, real cross-
- What a touchy little person you are. Getting married is not that bad! –he said laughing loudly-.

I threw the remainder of the bouquet to his face and shouted:

- Get married, then!

I couldn’t help it. These things make me real nervous.




"Tranquilize" (The killers)

High on virtual drugs

It was early in the morning when someone knocked at our hotel room door. I got up; opened it; looked at both sides of the corridor… but there was nobody around.

I looked down and saw a small red box on the floor with my name written on it in black characters. I kneeled down, took it and opened it. To my huge surprise, there was a black diamond charm in the shape of a cat, shining with an amazingly rich and deep shine. There was also a tiny handwritten note saying “You’re all I want. Ed.”

I definitely couldn’t accept that present. I could see problems coming. I sighed.

I went back to the room and rapidly hid the red box underneath my string with a fast movement of my hands, but it fell on the floor. Bob had just got up and saw it.

- Who knocked on the door, Len? –he asked-
- Euh… I don’t know, probably someone from the hotel housekeeping did by mistake. But I couldn’t see anyone. –I answered-
- What’s that? –he said, pointing at the red box-.

Unfortunately, I had no choice but lying:

- It’s a charm that my granny gave me some time ago –I said, in a great display of talent-

Grrrrrr... what a whopper! I turned back; opened the box; quickly removed Ed’s note so that Bob wouldn’t see it and showed him the charm.

- It’s very beautiful. Are you wearing it at the wedding? - he asked-
- Yes.

All of a sudden, he sniffed the air and asked me:

- Len... have you been smoking?

That question scared the hell out of me. I forgot to remove the ashtray where Ed had left his cigarette the night before. And his glass of Scotch!

So I had no choice but to invent a second lousy white lie. I got closer to him, stroke his chest and said:

- Err… hehehe, I missed the smoke of your blunts, baby. I had a drink and felt like lighting a cigarette. Really don’t know why I did that. A silly whim of mine, I suppose –I giggled-

What a bloody cheat. I neither drink nor smoke. In Sandwich we say that you can catch a liar faster than a cripple. It explained my fear so perfectly.

Of course, my answer was shit; strange; not credible; but I conveniently disguised it with a cute tiny kiss, and things seemed to be settled; at least for the moment.

At 6:00PM, as agreed with Hellgirl the day before, the Percy man came to fetch us. I felt very disappointed to see him in his human shape again, formally dressed with a black tuxedo.

- Good evening, honey. –said Percival-
- Good evening Percy. Long time no see. –I said-
- Hellgirl keeps me real busy, Leni. –he said-

He smiled.

- Let me introduce you to Bob, my boyfriend. -I said- Bob, this is Percival… whatever. –I couldn’t remember his distinguished family name-
- Von Der Twit-Wingnutty of Twatshire. –said Percy-

They shook hands formally. When Bob went to the room to get his jacket, I asked Percy with a low voice:

- Has Hellgirl forgiven you yet? She said you to me you had the tiny red demon shape again.–I asked-
- That's right, but I can’t walk through the streets of New Calexico as a red demon, or the FBI would put me under arrest and use my body as part of their biogenetic experiments. You silly girl. Hellgirl gave me back my human shape temporarily. I’ll be back to devil mode at the party. Does your boyfriend know about Hellgirl and me?
- No.
- No???

Percy looked very concerned about that. He had a white limo waiting for us at the hotel entrance. On our way to Lilly’s ranch, he asked Bob:

- So I bet you must have heard about us, Bob, right? Because we have heard a lot about you in Hell.

Bob stared at Percy, not knowing what to say.

- Bob, remember when I said to you I see supernatural people? –I asked-
- Yes.-he answered-
- Well, Percy is one of them.

Bob started freaking out, and Percy sent a red paralyzing light beam right to his chest.

- I can't stand these thin-skinned blokes! You should give Ed a chance, Leni. He’s handsome, clever and filthy rich. He will publish all your books if you only ask nicely. And he’s crazy about you. This Bobby man is a crappy dude. Everybody knows that Hell people exist! How can he possibly not believe that? -said Percy-
- Don't be rude, Percy! I love him and that's that. Now bring him back to the world, please. And I hope he is feeling good.
- Ok, dear, but he won’t remember anything of what has just happened here.

Percy snapped his fingers and Bob went back to reality. The three of us were quiet for the rest of the trip.

When we arrived in Lilly’s ranch, the guests were redirected to the hen or stag party upon their arrival. Then, there would be a disco party for all, men and women.

- I feel very uncomfortable with that stag night invitation, Len. I haven’t forgotten yet that horrible fight Max and I had on the phone not so long ago –said Bob-.
- I’m afraid you can’t skip it. I’ll see you then at the disco party. –I said-

Percy made a hit at the hen party with his red top hat. He was flying completely naked, escaping from the crowd of pissed women who were running after him like headless chickens and screaming like banshees.

- Leni!!! Save me!!! –shouted Percy-
- They just want your sex, Percy! Oh, nice mini-package by the way –I laughed-

Hellgirl approached me and offered a glass of mysterious drink.

- Drink it in one gulp, Leni. It’s virtual DMT. You’ll get high. -she said-
- Hellgirl, I’m not on drugs. Never been and never will be.
- Honey, virtual drugs are not addictive, and therefore neither dangerous nor harmless. I grant you can have as much as you want from them, just as if they were candies. Actually, I’m high on virtual barbituates now. Hm… this track is too slow… -she said, at the sound of the super speedy song-

She convinced me, as she always did. I took a deep sip from my glass and all of a sudden, my left hand seemed to grow bigger and bigger.

- Whooooooooaaaaaaaaaaa!!! –I wowed, under the effects of the drink, amazed at the changing shape of my hand-
- Alright girls? Do you know where I can buy some virtual ecstasy tablets? –asked Percy-
- Get lost, pig! – said an unknown girl who heard him ask-
- I think the guy in red down there has some –said Hellgirl, dropping four of these tablets into Percy’s glass when he was not looking-.

Lilly and Max were leaving the disco. She didn’t seem to be feeling well.

- She’s having a bad trip. Too much virtual Rohypnol –whispered Hellgirl into my ear-

Percy had recovered his human appearance again and was shirtless dancing with two gay dudes, shaking his big belly from one side to the other. Hellgirl said to me:

- Percy is not into men, but after the overdose of ecstasy he could fuck all day, even in the ass. Talking about fuck… Leni, where’s your Bobby dude?
- I don’t know, I haven’t seen him since we got here.
- Hm… I’d love to meet him. Let’s look for him.

A stoned guy tried to hold the reflection of the laser ray that moved to the rhythm of the music. A general view of the dance floor showed at least three hundred people dancing and frantically jumping at the sound of some hypnotic trance music.

We crossed the dance floor and headed to the gents.

- I bet the Bobby bloke is here –she said-.

She opened the door and we went in. Most guys were doing their own thing at the urinals. No one paid attention to us.

A small group was peeing onto the wall. Bob was among them, jumping nervously like a monkey, splashing the wall with tiny droplets of… ew.

- Mind your step, Leni. It gets on the soles of your shoes and the tips of your shoelaces. Not to mention your beautiful red Manolos that probably costed you a fortune. –she said, pointing at my high heels-
- Jeeez… why don’t they just pee in the bushes? They don't even have to sit down!

I stepped back, disgusted.

- Heeeeey Len! –shouted Bob-

He zipped his jeans and approached us jumping all his way.

- He’s high on virtual uppers, Leni. But don’t worry. He’ll be fine tomorrow. -said Hellgirl-

Bob carried me in his arms and we hopped along to the dance floor. We lost Hellgirl.

The effects of virtual DMT appeared stronger in me as I finished my drink: I started strip-pole-dancing for Bob in the middle of the dance floor. Although he was too busy monkey-jumping, my dance certainly made a hit.

Everybody was rather pissed and stoned. The variety of circulating virtual drugs was endless. For endless and varied was the herd.

The only clean people appeared to be a group of gatecrasher Japanese ladies filmed at the party video -below-. They certainly looked exotic among the local gang.

“E-Talking” (Soulwax)

The man who wrote 'The book of life and death'

Hellgirl phoned me the morning after:

- Tomorrow in the evening there will be a hen party for the ladies and a stag night for the gentlemen at Lilly's ranch. We will have dinner and some surprises then. Lilly and Max would love to see you there. -she said-
- We’ll be there.
- Percy will fetch you at 6:00 PM. He’s punished and will be our personal clown at the hen party. He’s not the Archduke anymore.
- Oh, is he the farty guy again? -I asked-
- Luckily for the world, the farty burpy red guy is back.

In all honesty, I couldn’t be sorry to hear that: the Percy man was a pain in the neck, but the Percy demon was great.

I’m not particularly fond of hen nights.

I could imagine what Lilly’s would be like: barbeque and loads of booze and dope at her remote Orsinian ranch. Bar and dance. Karaoke. Strippers hired to do the Full Monty while a lot of screaming pissed hillbilly ladies would throw their knickers at the most gifted guy's face. The perfect finale would be a sloshed bride rubbing the stripper’s package after having filled it with a thick roll of 100 dollar Orsinian bills.

I was lost in these thoughts when I smelled the sweet characteristic aroma of a Virginia cigarette’s smoke. Bob didn’t smoke and he wasn’t there. I was supposed to be on my own, so I was intrigued… Who and where was the smoker? I followed my sense of smell and good nose to the suite.

It was dark and cold, but the balcony was open; I remembered having closed it. I walked slowly, afraid of what I would find… when I saw Ed Davies leaning on the rail, taking a large, deep drag from his cigarette. How did he break into the house? Hell trick, of course.

He turned to face me, waved hello, slowly looked me up and down and said:

- Hey sweet princess.
- Ed! If Bob happens to find us together, he will bump you off! What are you doing here? –I stammered-

Ed slowly took a sip from his glass of scotch and whispered in his deep and husky voice:

- I'm waiting for you.

He chuckled and his mesmerizing eyes glowed to red in the dark. That kept me fascinated. He reached out to touch my hand with his fingertips.

- Give me your hand Leni, and let me show you my world.

I was certainly scared, but my Arian streak of madness pushed me to take his hand and follow him. I was overwhelmed with pleasure, carried away by cold winds that took me to his far away land.

Ed’s world was dark and gloomy. Within my sight, heavy rain was falling quietly; sadly; endlessly. There were no trees. Only a vast meadow and a castle surrounded by dark clouds.

- Join me in the castle. Fear nothing as long as you’re near me. -he said-

I was not sure I should trust him. I had the feeling there was something hidden behind those nice manners and kindness. He was a tormented man and I was being dragged by his irresistible power of seduction. That was enough dangerous.

He stared at me quietly. His amazing dark blue eyes glowed in the dark with such intensity that I started feeling a sharp pain in my heart and I had to look down. He was unshockable; never lost his self-composure.

He put his hands on my hips and slowly pressed me to his body. I felt slightly dizzy and had to rest my head on his chest. His happiness and pains were undermining my resistance.

- I’m drawn to you… I can’t hide it. –he whispered into my ear-

I shivered nervously and stepped back, in a panic. He could feel it and let me go off.

- I’m sorry I didn’t want to scare you. –he said, smiling softly-.
- I’m not scared –I replied, very serious-

He gazed into my eyes and again I immediately suffered the devastating effects of his addictive look.

- Be mine, Leni. I am not an infatuated youngster who spends his time playing online war games. I would do amazing things just for love. Just for you. Like sending a dark cloud above you, to sparkle black diamond rain on your body or take you to the underworld and show you the beauty of places forbidden to the humans many centuries ago.
- Who are you, and why are you stalking me? –I asked-
- I am the man who writes ‘The book of life and death’ –he said in a low voice, looking down-. My silver pen will be writing it with crooked lines for all eternity. My old greed for success took over all my life; that was my sin and this is my punishment.

He left me dumbfounded.

- I have seen you in blurred visions of the future, Leni. Don’t kill me with your indifference. That would make me… extremely unhappy –he said, as his eyes glowed-
- How could I possibly kill you again… you’re dead, aren’t you? -I asked-
- I die every time you walk by, love.

That definitely knocked me out.

He stroked my hair, held me tight and kissed my lips with intoxicating passion. I felt so weak that was dragged for some seconds of lust into his world of dark shades and overwhelming grief. That kiss left in my mouth a taste of blood.

- I find it hard to believe in your books about future and fate. I can’t accept as a fact that our destination might be written in a book. Even though, I wouldn’t want to know what my future will be. -I said-
- Everything written in that book is actually happening, Leni. My destiny is there too. And it’s linked to yours.
- You’re scaring me, Ed. Bring me back to my hotel room, please –I begged in tears-

I could feel in my heart the deep sting of disappointment he was suffering from. He was sad like a dying angel.

He stroked my cheeks, smiled a blue smile and whispered:

- My sweet love, I’ll take you back to your world and you’ll make it safe and sound there… but I swear to God and Devil we will meet again soon. That’s for sure. –he said, gazing into my eyes once more and chuckling to himself-




"Secret love" (Buddah bar compilations)

Alec Magnus strikes again

When I woke up, Ed was still beside me. I had slept for three hours resting my head on his shoulder.

- Good morning to you. Sleeping that much at odd times is not good to prevent jet lag, Leni. -he said-
- Hmmm.
- How do you feel?
- Like crap. I have a pounding headache.
- You should do something about your fear of flying. There are crash courses, therapies, drugs…
- Ok. I promise to think about it tomorrow. Are we flying yet?
- Yep.
- Jeez. And next week I have to fly back.
- Unless you plan to settle in Orsinia and live there forever.
- No way! I’m very happy in my little island.

I sat up and stretched myself.


- Hrm… can I ask you… are you an Aries, Leni?
- Hm. No. I’m a Virgo with an Aries ascendant.
- You said Virgo???
- Yes. Why?
- Don’t tell me you have a dark mole on your left breast. Sorry for the strange question, but I need to know.

I undid the buttons of my shirt; had a thorough look and, yes! I had a tiny black mole on my left breast.

- How did you know that? -I asked him-
- Oh my god.
- What?
- Are you kidding me?
- No, I’m serious.
- I will explain it to you, but you will never believe me. Left or right?
- Left. Why?
- Are you sure it’s on the left?
- Of course I am. Look.

I undid the buttons of my shirt once more and showed it to him. He approached me to have a closer look. His long hair brushed my neck and breasts softly. It tickled me.

- Oh my… what a lovely breast… and what a lovely mole… -he said, gasping-

I saw his eyes glow from brilliant blue… to fierce red! For a split second I feared he would bite my neck.

- Ok… Now tell me… what’s the matter with the mole on my breast?
- Have you ever heard about ‘The book of life and death’?
- No. Is that some book kinda HP Lovecraft’s ‘Necronomicon’ or something like that?
- Hm… No, it’s not that or Ctulhu. These are lost legends, mad and blood-thirsty evil beings. But ‘The book of life and death’ is something else. It was written some centuries ago by an unknown author from a remote Eastern country. He made a deal with the devil to live 250 years and have visions of the future, which he wrote in a book about the future of mankind. Blinded with ambition, his soul was reborn in hell and he was condemned to be writing the book for all eternity. Until the end of the world… Doomsday, or whatever the fuck comes first.
- He lived 250 years??? I’ve never heard of that book in my whole life.
- Everyone have their own page about their future in the book.
- Really? These Hell things never cease to amaze me. But what does it have to do with me?
- I’ve read my page and it says I will have three marriages in my life... the last one is Virgo… and she’s supposed to have a dark mole on her left breast. The book says I will marry that woman and have a wonderful life with her til I die. And I already had two wives; you’re Virgo; you have a mole on your left breast.

That story really scared the hell out of me. Talking about deals with hell. Would I have to live 250 years until I wrote my goddam book for Hellgirl? And… on top of it, would I be Ed Davies’ third wife till he died? What a nightmare.

- Man, what a load of baloney! –I said, giggling nervously-
- Ask Hellgirl. She will be at the wedding with Percival.

I stopped the giggles on the spot. Could it be true?

- I bet I’m not the only September girl with a black mole on her left boob.
- Prolly not. But you’re the only one I know. And you’re near me. That’s an important detail –he said, staring at me-.

Suddenly I saw Bob appear in the corridor and stare at Ed. Bob was angry angry.

- You should be ashamed of using dirty tricks to make out with gullible girls, asshole. -he said-
- Mind your own busines, man. You have no idea of what we’re talking about. You’re a scumbag idiot. -said Ed-

Bob raised his hand to punch him, but I stopped him. He was beside himself.

- Bob, please… don’t… -I said-
- If you wanna see some tits and arses go look for them somewhere else, but not here. Wanker. Len, come with me, please. I’d like to have a word with you. -he shouted at Ed-

I buttoned up my shirt and followed him. In the corridor, he bent down and whispered into my ear:

- Babe, is it my imagination or were you showing your tits to that fucker?
- Err… no, not exactly.
- What exactly, then? I saw you undoing your shirt and showing him your breasts! Don’t deny the obvious! Come sit with me, there’s an empty seat next to mine.

Wow what a change! The indolent and sluggish blond tall alpha male known as Bob Gausman was making a fuss because his girl had shown the mole on her left tit to another guy!

- I can explain that. -I said-
- Ok, let’s hear what you have to explain.
- Remember I told you I see things?
- Oh, no. Not that again.
- Bob, please, listen to me. It’s important for me to share this with you and I’d appreciate your support here. I need you to believe in me.

How to start?

- When we met, you said to me you didn’t want to have a relationship.
- Yes, I remember.
- That really fucked me, because I was… I am, desperately in love with you. You had just broken up with Lilly. Now here comes the funny stuff: you were wearing those boxers she gave you. You didn’t know that, but they were hexed, and you were still infatuated with her. So I made a deal with hell to break that spell and then tried to win your heart by myself.
- And you expect me to believe that cock and bull story and think you’re mentally sane?
- It’s not a cock and bull story.
- I am not a believer, Len. I don’t believe in Supreme Beings.: there is only one God, and it is I.
- I wasn’t either, until this story happened.

He sighed and chuckled, skeptical.

- I know I sound nuts, Bob. But I promise you I’m not. Lilly and Max know about that too. There will be some hell people at the wedding. You will know them and I hope you believe me then.
- This is crazy, Len. It confuses me, makes me nervous and upsets me big time. I can’t help it. This is why I got mad at you when you told me you see things and I’m very sorry for that, but it’s stronger than me. I guess I should give you a vote of confidence. Is that what you’re expecting from me?
- Yes.

It was indeed stronger than him. When we arrived in Orsinia, I cancelled my bookings and stayed with him in his hotel room.


He had to let off steam somehow. After dinner, he switched his laptop on and played Enemy Territory so fiercely and with such violence that he defeated everybody under his nom de guerre: Alec Magnus.

He killed all the players in the virtual scene, just because I said I saw things and he was puzzled.

I was quietly writing down in my notepad some ideas for my book, when I noticed he was staring at me.

- What? -I asked-
- Len. Come here, please.

I approached him slowly and straddled him, as he was expecting me to do. He kissed me and sucked on my lips, excited by the taste of strawberry lipstick that he so liked. He undid the buttons of my shirt; stroke my breasts. He traced a finger around my nipples, rubbing them gently until they were hard.

Then, he then held me tight and whispered into my ear:

- Tell me you’re mine, Len. Only mine.

Anger, rage, fury and madness faded rapidly.

Yes, angry make up sex is sometimes fantastic.

"The ghost of you" (My Chemical Romance)

The Russian roulette

I don’t drink normally. Except when I fly.

To me, flying is like playing Russian roulette. You may crash or you may not. I know the statistics say flying is the safest way to travel; but the more you fly, the higher your chances are of crashing. This is how I see it. Thinking rationally about acceptable risks… just a stroke of bad luck and... boom! You’re gone.

Yet I need to fly quite often. And, believe it or not, I even have a frequent flyer card.

So what do I do when I take a long distance flight? I can’t help getting more paranoid than normal; I start thinking I'm putting my life at risk; I drink until I get sloshed and pretend I’m an educated flyer until I drop dead. Two drinks are enough to raise my blood alcohol level up to moderate intoxication phase: enough to keep me totally out of it for several hours. Then, the procedure needs to be repeated a few times, if necessary, upon arrival. ’Cos if I’m supposed to crash… I don’t really need to know in advance.

This is what I decided after a horrific bumpy flight from Chicago, Illinois, to Appleton, Minnesota, when the plane entered the ‘mother of all storms’ and the trip turned into a scary roller coaster.

The reason why all this is brought here is that some days ago I received an invitation to a wedding in Orsinia: Max and Lilly were getting married. So I asked for some days off at work and bought a round-trip plane ticket to Orsinia.

It was D-Day, H-Hour, and before the plane took off, I got up to open the overhead compartment, where my iPod was: inside my hand baggage most hidden pocket. Once I succeeded to find it, I stuck the earplugs in my lobes and resigned myself to wait until the electronic devices could be switched on again; I would need some chill-out music to help my two alcopops work better. Suddenly, I spotted Bob sitting five rows behind me. I could say with certainty that he had been invited to the wedding too by his ex.

I quickly slid down my seat, expecting he hadn’t seen me; fastened my safety belt; breathed deep and focussed on relaxing. As soon as the plane took off, I ordered my two drinks and gulped them down. But my evasive manoeuvres were completely useless: he had seen me and he was approaching me.

- Oh my gawd, I see things… and I think I've seen a ghost! –he said, covering his face with his hands-
- Hello dickhead.
- Don’t hide, dummy, I spotted you as soon as you entered the plane. I suppose you’re going to the wedding too.

I nodded.

- I’ve been calling you, twat!!! –I shouted at him-.
- I love you too, baby, and I know you called.
- And why didn’t you answer my calls? I haven’t heard from you for two weeks! What a crappy boyfriend you are! You will never have me again! And I see things, but I’m not nuts!
- Not so sure about that, Len. -he said, calmly-
- I’ve been waiting at your door every single day! - I said, in tears-
- Don’t ever do that again! It makes me feel real bad.
- It’s intended to make you feel real bad! -I cried even louder-.
- You're wasted. Now finish your rant and sleep it off!

I was seriously considering the possibility of punching his nose real hard when I heard another familiar voice near me.

- Hiya Leni… and company. -said Ed Davies-

- Ed, this is... -I started introducing them to each other-
- Bob Gausman. Her boyfriend. –he interrupted me, very unfriendly-
- Ed Davies. Her editor. -he replied abruptly-

They shook hands with hostility.

- You’re okay, Leni? -asked Ed-
- I’m fine, thanks. And what a nice coincidence, by the way. -I smiled, already tipsy

- I have some business to attend to in Orsinia.
- We’re going to a wedding in New Calexico. My ex is marrying his ex. -I said, poiting at Bob-
-Fascinating. Sounds like a B-movie title with a happy ending.

I had enough sharpness and sarcasm and concluded I'd better move before one of them would fly across the floor with his feet over his head.

- I need too pee. Desperately. Urgently. I need to go. Seeya guys! -I said-

I got up immediately, as if I had been spring-propelled. Ed stepped back and left some room for me to reach the corridor. I went to the bathroom and then quickly staggered back towards my seat. I was already under the first effects of my therapy against fear of flying, when Ed sat on the empty seat next to mine.

- Hey, Leni, are you sure you’re okay? You don’t seem too comfortable.
- I don’t like planes.
- You’d better try to relax, baby. We still have a long way to go.

He tried another conversation subject, probably to distract me and help me chill out.

- So you’re going to a wedding. -he said-
- Yeah, strange how people still do these things in 2008, eh?
- What things?
- Getting married.
- Yeah, some people still do. What would you say if a guy asked you to marry him? Sorry for the strange question, but you're pissed and you're supposedly telling the truth.

He surprised me a bit, but I was able to give him a quick answer:

- I’d say ‘go to hell’.
- You’re such a sweet girl. –he laughed-
- Are you married, Ed?
- Hrm. Twice divorced.
- Gosh, not only married but divorced, remarried and divorced again… this is beyond my understanding.
- To be honest, when I got married I thought it was for life.
- That’s just crazy. Nothing is for life.

- Right, but it was late for me when I realised that. -he said, serious-

A sour-faced stewardess pushed angrily her trolley beside me.

- Excuse me… could I have two Glenlivets, please? Double, if possible. -I asked-

She nodded.

- I don’t drink Glenlivet, Leni. –said Ed-
- They’re both for me.
- You’re already pissed.
- So what?

That sounded like a good reason to stop pestering me.

- Ok. Let’s talk about something more interesting then. Like… last time we met, you didn’t tell me what you do for a living. Is this a good moment to ask? - he said-

I sighed.

- I was hired four years ago as a chief of staff by Dumbass Industries plc’s Big Cheese. -I answered-
- Wow! It sounds very cool.
- I know, but before you start asking for favours, let me tell you that I have no personal or positional power of my own. I only act on BC's behalf and with his authority. Out of this context, I'm a nobody.
- But you must have some privileges coming from your position. Dumbass is a big corporation.
- Oh, yes I'm right in the first place when Big Cheese is mad and gives everybody hell; but I have my own parking place, company laptop, free internet, e-mail and intranet remote access and also a Blackberry to be available at anytime, if that’s what you mean.
- And how do you like the company?
- Dumbass Industries is full of old stick-in-the-muds who passed their competitive examinations forty years ago and therefore think the whole company is their own damned business. Any attempt to change their inefficient fucking system, as shitty as a thousand years in the making, is doomed to fail.
- Oh bureaucracy and inefficiency. They're good at it.
- They have massive amounts of papers, most of them useless. They still use floppy disks, supposing they're able to use a computer. They use stuff like typewritters and liquid tipp-ex…
- So they’re reluctant to change or innovate…
- Sure. And I must be the youngest person there among all these fossildicks!
- Oh, are they? –he laughed-
- Yeah. They enter my office forty times every morning with one little paper each time, instead of seeing me once with the forty bloody things.
- Don’t blame it on them, baby Leni, You’re a sexy fox. You sure keep them rock hard all day. –he laughed, sipping from my glass of Glenlivet-
- Heeeey! Don’t you drink from my glass!!!–I protested-.
- Why? Is that just for Bob? Like calling you Len?

That was real nasty.

- That's none of your business. It's my glass, and I don't want your drool inside it. You said you didn’t drink Glenlivet! -I complained-
- You’re too young to drink that much –he said, taking no notice of what I said and drinking the rest of the Glenlivet.
- So nowadays… to enter the job market and find yourself a good job, you normally have to finish your college studies; go on Erasmus; do a master course; probably Phd too; speak ten languages fluently; and be young and gorgeous.
- Yeah, and I would add you must pass the competitive exam every day. At least this is how it goes with Big Cheese. But you don't need all that if your dad is the CEO.
- I’m not surprised you hit the bottle.
- Man, I'm not a drunkard! I told you I only drink when I fly!
- Good for you, then.

I gazed into his deep blue eyes with an evil smile.

- My turn to ask now.
- Ok.
- How old are you?
- Is that all you want to ask me?

- For the moment, yes.

- Ok. After a few acid trips… not as old as your fossildicks, but I'm too weird to live and too rare to die.
- Acid trips? –I stared at him-
- I’ve been twisted on drugs, but I’m clean now.

He stared back.

- Obviously, there’s a mini-generation gap between us.
- How old are you? -I insisted-
- Old enough to want you, babe.

He left me dumbfounded but I tried to act as if nothing happened, which was quite hard being drunk as a skunk.

- Ok... tell me more about your acid trips.

- I was a rebel in school. So naturally, when they told me to get my hair cut, I grew it. –he said, laughing-. I slotted into the strong subculture of these days. It was a magical time. But now it’s over. The shit’s still going on.
- So this is basically the reason why you let your beautiful black hair grow long. –I said, stroking gently his shiny long jet black hair-.
- There’s some pleasure in age and wisdom. I definitely would have shagged more women. Oh, but of course baby, we both know that’s not what life is about. –he laughed-
- But you haven't answered me yet... how old are you?
- Listen, Leni. I’m a bit shy about my things. I'm 45. Old enough to want you badly. Now finish your Scotch and sleep it off. I’ll wake you up before we land.

(To be continued)

“Russian roulette” (Jesse Malin)

The path of least resistance

I sat on a stone bench at Grodski Park, near Hallerplatz. That was right in front of his place, opposite to the NBC building, where we first met. I naively expected him to just appear out of the blue and ask me to make peace.

I was wearing my pink shell charm. He gave it to Lilly to decorate her private beach and took it back when they broke up.

He gave it to me some months ago, when we broke into Demon’s House, just to snoop around; we smoked pot from the demon’s hookah; drank his magic tea; fell asleep inside his coffin; dreamed and then woke up; did the gipsy dance; kissed with fire; fucked like crazy.

I wished with all my strength there was a light on into his house; a window open; a shadow shape visible through the curtains; an evidence of life. But unfortunately, that didn’t happen.

It was the day of his birthday. I had a bottle of champagne in the fridge. Hope is the last thing you lose.

I phoned him, but he ignored my calls. I would have e-mailed him if he ever checked his inbox; but he didn’t. Or even knocked on his door, but my pride wouldn’t allow me.

Moons passed; weeks passed; and I sat pathetically on the same stone bench to be invariably stuck outside his house, just hoping to see him. I made the same stupid moves over and over; day after day; from 09:00 to 11:00PM; until I got sick and tired of my sore butt and drenched with tears, I concluded I’d be better off on my own.

- Long time no see… -said someone behind me-
- Eeh?

It was the ineffable Ed Davies, who was about to share my stone bench.

- Small world, eh?
- Sandwich is small, Ed. Not the world.

I didn’t feel like talking, so I simply took the path of least resistance.

- Something that truly amazes me about you is your sense of loyalty. It’s a badge of integrity. -he said-
- You think?
- Indeed. Any girl would have flipped him off weeks ago. But you haven’t. You’re always like that?
- Yes.
- So you’re faithful.
- Faithful and loyal are not the same thing.
- But you’re faithful.
- Is this an interrogation?
- Of course, not. You don’t have to answer me if you don’t want to.
- Good. Because I don’t want to.

And then, there was an embarrassing silence.

- And how long are you gonna be still pathetically sitting here waiting for him?
- Sorry for being rude, but that’s none of your business.
- Put me in the picture.
- I don’t know!!!

- Leni. Don’t fight anymore. It’s pointless. It’s all ashes and tears now. You’re like a rumble fish. They‘re crazy. You’re crazy; too courageous for my taste. You would attack at your own reflection in a mirror.
- Please, let it go, ok?.

I looked into the distance, but he thought I was looking at Bob’s place and said:

- He’s not at home. Hasn’t been lately.

I stared at him and asked:

- How do you know?
- I just know.
- What a lousy answer. And where is he? If I may ask.
- Yes, you may. He took a trip to Zeewland.

That really brought tears to my eyes.

- No worries. He will be back soon. He just went home to visit his mom and dad. Like a good boy -he chuckled-

I wiped out my tears.

- You’re crying a river today, Leni. Can I ask what does he do for a living? -he said-
- He’s an architect.
- Oh. Bob, the builder. –he laughed his ass off-.
- Man, you have laughabiliosis or something?
- No, it's just that you’re giving me laughasms all the time.

The teasing psychowanker spoke.

-Hm. Am I supposed to laugh? Listen, I have questions as well. What the fuck you do for a living? Why do you have a debt with hell? And why are you running around me all the time?

He sighed and said:

- Ok. First question: I am an editor and a writer. Second question: I’m a succesful writer. That’s what I’m paying for. Third question: Because you’re hot and I like you and all these things you must have heard a zillion times...
- Okokok.

That really knocked me out. And then, there was another embarrassing silence.

- Tell me about your books. –I said to break the ice-
- I’ve published five.
- All of them best sellers, I suppose.
- That’s right. Hence, the prison in hell.
- You mean you’re not good enough to write a good book yourself?
- No. I am very good. It's just that I wanted to succeed right on the spot.
- And what are your books about?
- Sci-fi. Would you like to hear the first passage of some of them?
- That would be lovely.

He cleared his throat and went:

“Once upon a time, and a very good time it was, there was a moocow that came down along the road and this moocow that was coming down along the road met a nicens little boy named baby tuckoo …”

- How do you like it? -he asked-
- Erm… Are you sure you wrote that, Ed? -I said a bit shocked-
- Absolutely!
- But… everybody knows that’s the beginning of James Joyce’s “A portrait of the artist as a young man”!
- Nah. I’m afraid you got it wrong. Now let me give you the second passage:

He solemnly started his recitation:

“Somewhere in La Mancha, in a place whose name I do not care to remember…”

- Holy shit! That’s Cervantes "The Ingenious Hidalgo Don Quixote of La Mancha”! Man, you didn’t know that? –I shouted alarmed-

But he wouldn’t answer.

- And here’s my favourite one: “Goddess, sing the rage of Peleus’ son Achilles… “
- OK! you can say what you want, but Homer wrote that. Not you.
- Homer Simpson? No way, it was me! Come on, Homer Simpson can't write!

Weren’t there any normal people in South Sandwich? There was another embarrassing silence.

- I’m very sorry to hear you think I plagiarized these books. That’s probably a little misunderstanding that may be easily solved.

I was amazed at his inability to fight. He was a softy type guy and wouldn’t even raise his voice. I would have smacked anyone who dared call me plagiarizer on the back of their head .

- I think we should discuss this issue some other day, Ed, but I'd like to change the subject now or I’ll have a fainting fit. If you don't mind.
- Ok. So what do you do for a living?
- Unfortunately I can’t quit my day job, but the truth is I am a hot and successful afro-american male singer who is giving a concert tomorrow in the evening here.
- Oh, Kravitz. –he chuckled-

I smiled and nodded.

- The joke's not mine, but i like it. Some people call me Ms Kravitz.

- Ok. Do as you wish, baby. Mystery is half the beauty. Anyway, it was nice to see you smile. Can I call you some day?
- Oh … hm… yes, see you soon! Sorry I really must be going now –I said, nervously-

I waved goodbye and said, in a typical Scarlett O'Hara fashion:

"I can't think about that right now. If I do, I'll go crazy. I'll think about that tomorrow!".

And yes, the day after I indulged myself booking a trip to the Seashells Islands...

did some retail shopping...

slept like a baby....

topfreed on the beach...

And, of course, I went to the hottest afro-american male singer's concert:



"Are you gonna go my way?" (Lenny Kravitz)

Tell me lies, I will survive

Honesty is certainly an overrated virtue. Especially when our significant others (s.o.) are concerned. Do we have to be absolutely sincere with them? Do we have to tell them everything? Or we better keep something to ourselves?

In other words: do we have the right to not share some pieces of information in order to avoid complications? Life would still move on just the same if some of the data saved in our hard drive would remain stored and veiled in secrecy.

I’m pretty good at keeping secrets. But I have a hard time keeping my own and often fall into the unbearable temptation of sharing them.

Have you ever experienced the uncontrollable desire of telling your s.o. about something you should never confess under any circumstances? If so, welcome to the club. You probably know by now that disclosing the information was pointless.

This is how I found out:

I knew some day I’d have to tell Bob about my strange visitors before he would start asking and blaming me for not trusting him. Not to mention the huge amount of anger and annoyance if he ever discovered the whole thing.

So I decided to wait for the right moment and tell him about it. It took me two weeks.

- Stay with me this weekend, Len. –he said all mushy and cuddly-
- You'll get an overdose of me. –I said-
- We’re like ships that pass in the night. And it sucks.
- I’m sorry about my schedules, but there’s nothing I can do about it. You know I’d love to spend more time with you.
- Stay with me this weekend, then –he insisted, putting his arms around my waist-

I was not very hard to convince: I immediately agreed to stay. And there I went:

- Bob.
- Len.
- Gotta tell you something.

This sentence always sounds like the solemn announcement of some unspecific terrible event happening on the spot. The effects on the recipient are often scary and devastating.

He became pale as a ghost; took a step back and asked:

- You became a lesbian.
- No.
- You’ve met another guy and you’re leaving me.
- Nope.

He scratched his chin; stared at me; raised an eyebrow and asked, really worried:

- I suppose you’re not pregnant.

In all honesty, I was tempted to say ‘yes’, to give him what he deserved. The smartass. But that would have been just temporary fun. My supernatural visitors would still be a pending issue.

- I’m not supposed to be pregnant if I don’t want to. And I don’t want to.
- Good. Then what is it you want to tell me?

I didn’t know how to start.

- I see things. –I whispered-
- What kind of things? -he asked-
- Super natural people. –I said quickly, and closed my eyes-

He stared at me, dumbfounded.

- Don’t scare me, Len.
- It’s true!

He smiled, gasped and shook his head in amazement.

- You mean… you see dead persons, like the boy of “The sixth sense”?
- Not exactly. I see supernatural beings.
- What do you see? Vampires? Zombies? Gnomes? Leprechauns? Little green men?
- No, not that. I actually see mermaids, aliens, angels and demons. They sometimes visit me.
- How often do you see them?
- Oh, I see them all the time. They’re everywhere!
- You mean they’re here???
- No, not now.

He was dumbfounded and I could understand that. He took the remote control and started changing channels frantically.

- What are you doing?
- I’m looking for Trailer Park Boys. Or My name is Earl. Or The Osbournes. Or Married with children. Anything gross; cheap; seedy; hyperrealistic. Anything from this fucking real world. –he said, staring at me-.

Apparently, he was taking his time to react. But he was about to blow a fuse.

- You’re taking the piss out of me, right? –he asked-
- No, Bob. It’s true.
- You mean you see ghosts and hear voices and all? You have visions? You talk to dead souls?
- Not exactly, but...
- Have you been smoking dope from my marijuana window boxes or something?
- No. I know it sounds weird, but I’m very serious about it!

He took his time to say:

- The truth is I’d prefer that you would be pregnant, rather than fucking nuts.

I gasped.

- That was really below the belt, Bob. I don’t think I wanna hear more. I’m going home. –I said, very disappointed-
- Ok. Do as you please. –he said, focussing on the Trailer Park Boys episode-
- Yeah, good riddance!

I took my bag and rushed out, really pissed off. When I arrived to my place, Hellgirl was sitting on the couch, having a beer and watching TV.

- Oh, hi Leni. Come in, sweety. I’m watching “Little Burdishland” on the telly.
- Good for you. Make yourself at home, if you haven’t yet.
- Uh oh, do I detect some bad vibes here?
- I tried to tell Bob about you. He said horrible things and now he thinks I’m nuts.
- I’m very sorry to hear that. But I don’t think it’s a good idea to tell him. Have you made some progress with ‘The Burble’? By the way, you didn’t get it.
- What?
- ‘The Burble’. “Where silly people with big beards talk shite and they have speed boats with animals that can't swim and stuff”.

I sighed deeply.

- I don’t know, Hellgirl. Sometimes it takes me half an hour and a splitting headache to understand what this guy is telling me.
- He meant ‘The Bible’. You would have got it if your pronunciation didn't leave a lot to be desired, dearie. You sound more Southernese every day!
- I’m not Burdish native, so it’s fucking hard for me to pronounce and understand sometimes. I’ve done enough learning four languages and now it turns out that I can only speak English like a Southernese, French comme une vache espagnole, Spanish like double Dutch and Sandwichian like Tarzan.
- Hm. That’s not true. But I won’t say anything. You're going through a bad patch. It's just one of these days...
- Yeah don’t talk to me, ‘cos I’m not okay.

I locked myself into my bedroom. I was looking at my image in the mirror, when it became all covered with steam and I had the strangest conversation with some unknown being from the other side. The dialogue started writing itself on the wet surface:

- The best victory is when the opponent surrenders of its own accord before there are any actual hostilities... from Sun Tzu, “The Art of War”. It’s best to win without fighting.

It looked like there was somebody I couldn’t see writing on the other side of the mirror.

- How do I win here without fighting? –I wrote back-
- Even if you wrote that book it wouldn’t mean much actually about how you will perform as a writer in the future. Don't burn yourself out in battles. Final success is your best victory. “Indeed, when armed with the know-how, the commitment, the perseverance, we can actually do our part to avoid misunderstandings and reduce the conflicts that could unwittingly and needlessly plague our lives.” Remember that.

The steam vanished and so did the text in the mirror. I took my laptop and started writing.

Hellgirl opened the door and asked ironically:

- Leni, tell me you’re not writing “The Burble”.
- Grrrrrrrr. No. I’m not.
- Hey! You write your diary twice or three times a week just to entertain your regulars and e-readers. I want to see my book finished before the end of this summer. Your mind needs to be pure. No issues. No confusion. Do some retail therapy; go topless on the beach; go to concerts; go to your favourite clubs or take a fucking break. But write my book!

Then, she vanished. As usual.

Then, I went to bed thinking how to rebuilt my life; write that book; get rid of my ghosts; my nightmares; my slave drivers. And how to win my wars without a single fight.

"Take a break, take a fucking break" (Najwa Nimri)

My life as a ghost writer (II)

After the failed meeting I rushed to the street, where Bob was waiting for me.

- How was the meeting? –he asked-
- Shitty. What a pompous asshole.-I answered in total discouragement-.
- What happened?
- He wants me to write a kinky, erotic and violent story. He thinks it will make the book more commercial and better marketed. I suppose this is the editorial line. –I said-

We kissed goodbye and I sadly walked to work, where I had the most surrealistic telephone conversation with my colleague, Big Shot’s Chief of Staff:

- Hey Q, I wonder if you could do me a lil' favour –she asked, very charmingly-

If my memory serves me well, I have already mentioned here that part of my work is to do her work, including a considerable number of favours and bullshit.

- Sure, Liz. What is it you want? –I answered, not so friendly-
- The Chairman forgot something in the top drawer of his desk: a small yellow box. Would you mind putting it into an envelope? I’m sending his chauffeur to pick it up and deliver it to his house.
- Ok.

So I asked the security guy to open Big Shot’s office for me; I entered the room; walked to his desk; opened the drawer and there it was: The small yellow box.

It said: "Hemorrhoidal Ointment". Eek!!! And I had already touched it!!!

This is what I call “intellectual work”! I carefully put the ointment box in an enveloppe and gave it to the assisstant.

- The Chairman’s chauffeur will pick up this envelope. Don’t touch it. It’s toxic.
- Toxic??? –she asked, very alarmed-
- You heard me. Don’t touch it.

She didn’t know that yet, but I had saved her from massive vomication. And I rushed to wash my hands. I washed them one… two… three consecutive times. Then, I went back to my desk, feeling more relaxed.

Two hours later, an office boy knocked on my door:

- Miss Qinan. This is for you. A boy from a flower shop left it at the reception desk. –he said-
- Oh, ok, thanks. Put it there, please. –I said pointing at the meeting table-

He was carrying a huge bunch of beautiful blue daysies. I knew they were not from Bob. He would have done anything for me, like the scale model of a dumping site for nuclear waste or a fake Molotov cocktail; but not flowers. He always said that was awfully corny.

There was a card in the middle of the flowers that said: “Let’s talk”. Ed Davies.
I nearly fell from my chair. So he wanted to make peace. I was still pissed off, but I called him.

- Ed Davies. –he answered-
- Don’t flatter me with flowers, ‘cos it won’t work. – I said-
- Hiya Leni. –he laughed-. I’m sorry about our rough meeting, but I am convinced that we could reach an agreement if we met again in a more relaxed atmosphere. Let’s have dinner and discuss our pending issues.

Dinner? Dinner with Ed Davies could be murder. That guy really made me nervous. Why not just a cup of coffee instead?

- Hm. I don’t know Ed. I usually don’t go out at night during the week. I have a day work and get up early. –I said-
- Oh you won’t die for changing your habits just one day, Leni. There’ll be some good friends of yours as well. Bring your boyfriend. That will be fun.
- It seems the world and his wife are gonna be there.
- All of them are nice people.
- Like who?
- Like Hellgirl and Percival. I’ll meet you at Le Chauteaubriand at 8:00PM.

Bob was not very happy with the idea of having lunch with the nasty editor.

- I may smash his face in if he doesn’t let you write what you want, Len. –he said-
- That’s very sweet, baby. But to be honest, I think it’s better if I go there on my own.
- Yeah, I agree.

I was okay with that, I would have done the same if I had been in his shoes. So that evening I got all dolled up and drove downtown to Le Chateaubriand: the poshest restaurant in South Sandwich.

The hell gang had booked a private room. Hellgirl was absolutely radiating -as usual- and Percival –dull as ditchwater- was holding a scotch glass and approached me to greet me.

- Welcome darling, we were waiting for you. –he said, blowing a kiss-

Hellgirl and I kissed. Ed tried as well, but I stopped him:

- Sorry, but I don’t kiss. –I said-
- But you kissed her. –he protested, pointing at Hellgirl-
- Don’t take it personal, Ed, but I’m very picky when it comes to kiss.

We sat at the table that was covered with cold cuts and crudités. Two waiters brought a huge roastbeef tray. Hellgirl did the honors and carved it. As soon as the waiters served the dishes, the scene started looking like the remake of La grande bouffe. The hellguys and gall ate like horses. And, in all honesty, they ate like pigs as well.

- So tell me Leni. What are your plans for our common project? –said Hellgirl-
- Goth suggested me to tell you that I'm not a ‘real’ ghost writer, because ghosts can't hold pens or stuff.
- Tell Goth that it was a nice try, but it won’t wash. –she said, roaring with laughter-
- He also suggested that I could write some complete bollocks and call it 'The Burble' where silly people with big beards talk shite and they have speed boats with animals that can't swim and stuff. Sounds surrealistic, but...
- Hm. ‘The Burble’. What do you think guys?
- I assume you may not like that. It will be your novel after all.
- Assumptions will find you in positions you do not care to be in, Leni. –she said, staring at me seriously-

I remained quiet, as I racked my brains, looking for a good answer.

- Listen, Hellgirl. I offered to write the novel and I will do a fine job. But I’m an author. A creative mind. If you lock me in a cage, I will be unable to work and the book will be a shoddy piece of work. I hope you understand my point.

Hellgirl sighed.

- Of course, I do. You're allowed to create as much as you please. But it has to be good stuff. Not complete bollocks. So don’t kid me. –she said, challenging me-
- I won’t.
- Good.

It became dark. Some soft dancing music could be heard and the lights illuminated a small dancefloor behind us. The guys were still eating like pigs. Hellgirl looked nervous. She was stamping her feet on the floor.

- Anyone asking me to dance? I’d love to dance. -said Hellgirl-

There was no answer.

- Like I said, they’re daft as a brush.

- Hey Hellgirl, forget about these ones and dance with me -I said-

She nodded; we got up and danced the strangest tango ever seen. But it was a very nice dance. When we finished, Percival and Ed were looking at the two of us, fascinated

- Wipe the drool of your shirt, blokes and stop the dirty fantasies. We’re only dancing. Go, Leni. Write down that masterpiece for me! -said Hellgirl-

It was midnight when I left. The streets were empty. The streetlights projected macabre shadows on the sidewalks. I drove to Bob’s place. I knew he was sleeping since 22:00 but I didn’t want to be alone.

- Sorry to wake you up in the middle of the night. But I wanted to be with you. –I said, pouting-
- Come in, babe.

I took my clothes off and snuggled into bed with him. The contact of lips with lips and skin with skin calmed me down.

As he held me, I laid my head on his chest, closed my eyes and slowly fell asleep to the steady sound of his heartbeat.

Arrangement by Mark Isham of a traditional Welsh love song circa 18th century, called "Lisa Lan", whose composer is unknown. The singer's name is Carol Ensley.

Incredibly awesome and haunting.

My life as a ghost writer (I)

The day after I woke up to the sound of my cell phone ringing:

- Hello.
- Lena? –said an unknown voice-
- Sorry, wrong number. -I said-

I went back to bed. But I couldn’t sleep afterwards. A few seconds later the cell phone went again. I could hardly open my eyes.

- Hello. –I said-
- I’d like to speak to Lena Qinan. –said the same and vaguely familiar unknown voice-
- It’s not Lena, but Leni. Anyway… -I sighed- speaking.
- Hi. Ed Davies here.

I suddenly remembered. That was the editor who agreed to publish my novel with Hellgirl’s name! They guy who spoke to me through Bob’s laptop. I jumped on the bed.

- Oh, hi Ed. How are you? –I asked, trying to hide I had just woken up-
- I’ve read the stories you sent me.
- And what do you think? –I said-
- They’re good. I’d like to meet you and talk about it.

Jeez… I was going to become a real writer!

- When? –I asked-
- Today at ten o’clock. I’ll see you at my office in Kynkybooks. The address is Main Alley and 5th; our ad can be easily seen from the street.
- Cool. I’ll be right there.

Kynkybooks was the leading publisher in the South Sandwich Islands. I suddenly remembered that I was supposed to be Hellgirl’s novel’s ghost writer. I had to pay off my debt to Hell’s minions. It was agreed with the editor. That poured cold water on my expectations to become a known writer. Same shit all the time.

Bob was slowly waking up beside me; he looked at me intrigued.

- So? –he asked-
- So what? –I asked back-
- Who was it?
- An editor from Kynkybooks.
- Wow, Kynkybooks! Are they going to publish your stories?

I couldn’t tell him much about that. He would think I was going insane. So more lies. White lies. I hate them, whatever their colour is.

- I e-mailed them some stuff a few days ago, and this one editor said he’d like to discuss what my chances of success would be if they ever published my book –I said, pretending to be enthusiastic about it-
- Hey that’s just great! I’m very proud of you!

I was in a rush, so I took a quick shower and had a coffee; Bob insisted on driving me downtown.

Kynkybook’s newly-built headquarters were located in a crystal skyscrapper in the very heart of town, where Ed Davies had his comfortable and sophisticated office.

I was greeted by a friendly receptionist, who escorted me to the impressive meeting room and offered coffee, tea or juice.

- Orange juice, please. –I said-

Ed Davies appeared from out of the blue.

- Lena?
- Leni. –I said-

His little game was beginning to upset me.

- Oh, yes, Leni. This is Ed Davies. Pleased to meet you.

He looked at me from head to toe. We shook hands.

- Come in, please. And show me you’re not like those zillion amateur storytellers who think they’re brilliant just because they won their school contest. -he said-
- Oh I never won a single contest in my whole life.

I can’t deny I felt flattered. But he was in charge of supervising the progress of the promised novel, so he could very well be buttering me up to break the ice and push me to start working.

- So you’re gonna write that novel, right? –he asked me-
- Yes.
- Ok. We basically need to focus on the marketing, then. I would target readers with a moderate to high purchasing power. What we need to sell is… a bit of sex, a dash of kinkiness, some violence, romance …

What???

- Stop. –I said harshly-
- Ok. Let’s hear your suggestions.
- Are you telling me what to write?
- Of course. It has to be a best seller. Or so I’ve been told.
- I don’t need you to tell me what my book has to say.
- Excuse me, but I think you don’t quite understand what I mean: Nowadays, you don’t take your books to the editor. It’s the editor who asks you to write a couple of trial chapters or a sketch on a subject agreed previously. If they’re good, then the book will continue to be written. If it’s bad, the project is over and kept in the round file. Nobody writes artisan books anymore.

I was gutted to hear that.

- Oh. –was all I could say, feeling terribly disenchanted-.
- Oh –he said, smiling sarcastically-. Let me invite a friend of yours to this meeting. He will confirm what I have just said.

He got up, picked up the phone and said: “Would you be as kind as to join us in the meeting room, please?” Some minutes later, a distinguished man entered the room.

- Nice to meet you again, Leni. My face is not familiar to you, but my skills will probably ring a bell. And I am already the Brotanian archduke I used to be.
- Oh, Percy! I’m so glad to hear that!

It was a little bit embarrassing. I really didn’t know what to say or do. That guy had been messing around inside my bra, yet I hesitated between shaking hands with him and hugging.

- Come here darling and give me a big hug!

So that was settled.

- Now tell me guys, what’s the problem? –asked Percy-
- She’s becoming a bit difficult. –said Ed-
- Hey! –I protested-
- Leni, you made a deal with Hellgirl: she helped you get rid of the Orsinian girl so that you could keep Bob by your side and now you have to keep to the deal. You offered to write a novel and Hellgirl will be lending her name to the book. Ed agreed to be your publisher and he’s just giving you some ideas to put into motion. So please, be reasonable, do as he tells you and everything will be ok. –said Percy-

So it meant that I would become a ghost writer and lose my freedom of expression.

I would have to forget my irrational and unconscious bursts of creativity and replace them with the editor guidelines.

I would be unable to dive into my wild imagination; to switch from real to virtual life; to design the limits of my bizarre stories.

My literary devices would be changed. Allegories, metaphors, paradoxes, rethorical techniques, poetic justice: all forbidden.

My beloved characters, based upon those men and women who touched my heart with their magical essence and triggered my sudden emotions would be put aside, along with their happiness and pains; the tears I wrote for them and cried with them; their lives and deaths.

My daydreams, my lucid dreams, my oneiric adventures and reveries: also forbidden.

Eccentricities, originalities, funny little ways and rarities; all these crazy ideas produced ceaselessly by my restless mind that I was so afraid to forget, would be useless.

All would be deleted and the magnificent gift of creativity killed in me, reduced to zero; nil; nought; zilch; NADA.

So this was what becoming a ghost writer meant. I made a deal with the devil, so tough shit.

- Ok. Let me… give it a thought. –I said, very disappointed-

I couldn’t help the small whimper that escaped my mouth.

- Good. Please call me with your answer –he said, giving me his business card-
- Bye Leni. Take care. –said Percy-

Percy looked so strange in his new look.

- Bye Percy. It’s been a pleasure to meet… again.
- Goodbye Len! –said Ed-

I turned round and faced him, very annoyed.

- That’s not my name. Don’t call me Len, but Leni. Please.
- But your boyfriend calls you Len.
- How do you know that? How do you even know I have a boyfriend? And what do you care?
- I know a lot about you.
- Lucky you! And don’t call me Len! That’s only between my boyfriend and me! And you, Percy… you were so funny when you were a tiny red demon! Now you’re nothing but a crashing bore!

I dashed out slamming the door behind me.

"Mr. Writer" (Stereophonics)