Say 'cheese'

I didn’t even suspect that some days after the tennis match my life would be changing completely.

It was Wednesday; just a normal working day. I woke up at 7 AM, as usual. I had a sudden flashback of Ed and our incident with the hidden reporter at the Arena. After we saw the camera flashes and realised we were being photographed, Ed escorted me to my box in the Arena, making sure Bob was not looking. When the match finished, I went back home. I had a thorough look, but I failed to find any trace of a reporter; until that fatal Wednesday.

I took my daily shower; had breakfast in the kitchen as I listened to the news on the background and checked my e-mails; as I usually did every morning.

Then I drove to Dumbass premises, just like every day; but this was not going to be a normal day: As soon as I left my flat, I started noticing strange things.

I had the impression that two guys on a motorbike were following me through the streets. I looked in the rear-view mirror. Nothing seemed to be suspicious there. I thought I was getting a bit paranoid, so I tried to calm down and followed my way.

But five minutes later, I spotted two guys in a car behind me. They were equipped with cameras and huge zoom lenses and were shooting in my direction. I moved several times to the next lane, but couldn’t shake them off.

When I arrived to my office, I had the very shock of my life: Leslie, the assistant, was waiting for me.

- Leni, you may want to have a look at the papers before Big Cheese arrives –she said, pointing at the newspapers-.

I took The Sandwich Gazette and I saw with horror, on front page, next to the Orsinian candidate to the Presidential elections’ picture, a snapshot of Ed and me French kissing at the Arena terrace the day of the tennis match. The caption read:

“Plutocratic Burdish publishing tycoon Ed Davies kisses passionately unknown Sandwichian girl: Cinderella dreams come true!”

Nerds. My face was slightly blurred in the picture, but it was not hard to recognise me. I collapsed on my chair.

- Wow Leni… are you really going out with Ed Davies? –she asked in amazement-

I was too nervous to answer that question.

Leslie had piled up the tabloids, local newspapers and gossip magazines that had published that picture on their front page. There was a load of them. I felt a strange cocktail of rage and embarrassment inside. What an unfair and flagrant violation of our privacy.

The whole world and his wife would see these pictures and I would have to explain things that were still at a very early stage. I was overwhelmed. It was blowing my mind. I would be the butt of many of the jokes at Dumbass street that morning. And what was even worse: That would be affecting my relationship with Ed; and we hadn’t even started.

He predicted this would be happening. I needed to speak to him, but he was in Burdishland, on a business trip. I called him and got his voicemail, so I decided to phone his secretary, the pandimensional Lotte Artmann-Rottenmeier (a Zantlander lady of indeterminate age, who had dyed blond hair done up in a bun, and wore granny glasses. And boy, she had a face like a slapped arse).

- Can I speak to Ed Davies, please? –I asked her-
- I’m sorry but he’s on a business trip this week –she answered shortly-
- When you speak to him, would you be kind enough to tell him that I need to talk to him? It’s very urgent. This is Leni Qinan, my cell phone number is…
- I have your number, Ms Qinan. I’ll give him your message as soon as I speak to him.
- Thank you. –I said shortly, putting the cellphone down-

She hated me. I knew from the very beginning we would never be good friends. That happened some months ago, when I first visited Ed’s office. She hated me just because I used the word ‘secretary’, instead of ‘assistant’ when I referred to her. (Does it make that much difference? Even to the point of being offended?)

- I'm his Personal Assistant. –she said, projecting an air of feline self-satisfaction-
- Ehm… ok, I’d like to speak to the secretary, then –I replied. I was not going to let my arm be twisted-
- He doesn’t have a secretary, but a Personal Assistant; and it’s me –she insisted, smirking-

I knew very well what she meant. I knew she was more likely to be found in the boardroom preparing a presentation than in the kitchen preparing a morning latte. But I was not into the Women’s Lib jargon little game.

Women’s Lib is the biggest lie ever believed. And secretaries will always be secretaries; whether you call them administrative assistants or associates; that doesn’t make much difference to me.

It’s the minds of those who consider secretarial work as a second class occupation what needs to be changed, not the name. Words have the sense we want them to have. With all due respect for the secretaries: what really counts is recognition for their hard work behind the scenes in an office. Not what they call them.

The word ‘secretary’ derives from ‘secret’ and relates to a person overseeing business confidentially, usually for a powerful individual. In my opinion, that concept is neither sexist nor politically incorrect in itself. And it’s good for both men and women in the profession.

But inexplicably, it has been renamed "Administrative Professional" to highlight the increased responsibility of today's secretary and other administrative workers, and to avoid embarrassment to those who out of political correctness believe that the word "secretary" refers only to women or to unskilled workers.

So obviously, Frau Artmann-Rottenmeier was one of those who were ashamed to be the Chairman’s Secretary, but happy to be the Chairman’s Executive Assistant. Live and learn.

I was in distress and texted Ed: ‘Our last kiss appeared in the papers and gossip mags this morning’.

Five minutes later he called me.

- I got your message, baby. I’m very sorry for that.
- It’s not your fault, Ed. Four guys with cameras and zoom lenses followed me this morning as I was driving to work and took pictures of me.
- I’ll bring my travel date forward. Not sure yet when I’ll be back, I still need to sort out some things here…
- Ed, I’m very scared at the way things are turning!

At this point I broke down and started crying. That was just my way of unlocking the stored tension. I was very worried about the consequences. They could even stretch the truth about him and me. Would I have to be running away for the rest of my life?

- Hey love… we’ll be alright. I promise to take the first flight back, ok?
- Ok. –I answered, feeling better-
- I love you, baby. –he said-
- I love you too. –I replied, out of fondness, rather gratefulness-
- Oh, good. Finally, you said the L word!

Well, it seemed so. Eloquent silence on my side. But I was saved by the bell.

- Ed, I need to go now. Big Cheese is arriving.
- Ok, sweety. Don’t forget that I love you. Chin up. I’ll see you tomorrow.

Big Cheese looked serious. I saw him go into his office. He stood there for half an hour very quiet, until he called me on the phone.

- Q, come to my office, please.
- Ok.

Jeez. Things didn’t look good. I entered his office, sat on the guest chair, knowing what I would be hearing next: the morning papers were on his desk.

- Holy crap! These bastards took one hell of a snapshot –he said, pointing at the picture that was already so familiar to me-
-Indeed –I said, looking down-
- Hey, Q. This is not the end of the world, ok? Tell me something. In all honesty, are you really going out with Ed Davies?

Big Cheese enjoyed gossiping, but would never admit it, like men often do. That seemed to be the million dollar question. I didn’t know the answer myself.

- Some months ago I sent him three stories I had written and asked him if they were suitable for publication. He was interested; we met and then got involved in some sort of romance. I see him, but I’m not sure whether we’re dating on a regular basis or not. That’s the plain truth. –I said-

He looked very surprised.

- I never knew you wanted to become a writer, Q!
- I’m an amateur. I do it just for fun. But some time ago I felt I had to try and publish a book.
- I see. Ed Davies is a very rich and powerful publisher. You know that, don’t you? –he asked-
- Yes.
- If you see him, you will become an involuntary public figure, Q. That’s a real cockup, I know this very well. You will have to change your lifestyle a bit and bear a number of unpleasant situations; you have no choice but live with that if you maintain your relationship with Ed. Have you spoken to him about it?
- Yes, he is in Burdishland now for work, but he’s taking the first flight back.
- Good. He’s used to this shit, but you’re not; and you will need a lot of help to overcome this situation. Of course, you have all my support.
- Thank you. I really appreciate this.

We continued talking for almost one hour. That was the longest conversation I ever had with Big Cheese. When I left his office, I tried to focus on my work and forget temporarily about the whole thing. But it was hard. My cellphone was going all the time, so I decided to put it off.

It was almost midday when Big Cheese came over to see me and asked me to prepare some documents for Big Shot. Leslie, the secretary, was also there. Suddenly, the security guy knocked on my door.

- Leni, there´s something for you here –he said-.

Behind him, there was this guy from the flower shop who came in with a huge beautiful bunch of red and orange daisies. He handed it to me and said very loud, so that everybody could hear:

- Miss Leni Qinan? This is for you, from Interflower Burdishland.

My heart started beating so fast that I thought it was escaping from my chest. My legs became suddenly so weak and I started sweating and shivering, but I managed to hide it. Leslie and Big Cheese looked at the flowers and smiled quietly.

I was overwhelmed.

- Who’s gonna sign the voucher? –asked the flower shop guy-.

I couldn’t do that. So petrified I was.

- Oh, I will –said Leslie on the spot, snatching the voucher from his hand-

I put the flowers on my desk just pretending nothing had happened, turned to Big Cheese and said with a trembling voice:

- Eehm… where were we…?.

The truth is that my heart was beating like a machine gun. Big Cheese finished telling me what he wanted me to do but -of course- I didn’t even understand what he was saying. He knew that and left, after having a further look at the flowers.

- Leni… who sends you flowers from Burdishland? –asked Leslie-

I sat on my chair, leaned back and tried to calm down.

- Who do you think? –I asked-
- Ed Davies!!! WOW!!! This is so fucking romantic!!! –she shouted-

Soon my office was full of people who wanted to see the flowers and ask if Ed and I were really going out. I took the small envelope containing Ed’s message and managed to leave. I ran through the corridors, and when I felt I was on my own, I opened it, took the card and read the message:

“I’ll take care of everything, love. Meanwhile... say 'cheese'.”

"Come rain or shine" (BB King & Eric Clapton)

South Sandwich Islands, 1 - Orsinia, 0

Sandwich is a small island where small people sometimes do big things. Sandwichians are generally happy persons, lacking any trace of inflated patriotism and national arrogance.

Probably this is the reason why we do not invoke the god of war to discourage and frighten the enemy before a battle; but we’re gaining national identity, as some successful events have recently triggered our collective enthusiasm. Sports specifically, made the miracle of getting together the good people of this land to encourage the national team.

In 2008 Sandwich won an international soccer cup, an Olympic medal in basketball, some important cycling races… and what can I say about tennis? That cute Sandwichian boy, who wins all the tournaments lately, is known all over the world not only for being no.1, but also for his perfect body and outstanding butt.

Talking about tennis, some days ago Bob the Great phoned me with this tempting offer:

- Hey Len. Are you still cross? –he asked-
- No I’m not cross, Bob. And you? –I answered-

- I’m good, baby. I got two vip box seats for the Yoobie Cup final. The match will be tomorrow afternoon at the Arena. Would you like to go there with me? They have free grub’n’booze at the hospitality suite. And I promise to support the Sandwichian guys.

Sandwich is populated by people of different nationalities who coexist in peace and harmony. Just as a refresher: Bob was born in Zeewland, a small and proud country under sea level. Zeewlanders are big people –tallest in the world-, so they can do big things very often.

The Yoobie Cup is the premier international event in men’s tennis. The tournament was conceived in 1850 by four members of the Rocketts University tennis team in Orsinia, who wished to challenge the Burdish to a tennis competition.

Last year, Sandwich qualified for the Yoobie Cup and it was scheduled to play in 2008 against Orsinia. ITF gives Orsinia the first place in ratings. I’m not a huge sports fan, but the match was going to be the most important sports event of the century in Sandwich and to be sure, it would be thrilling. And also, it would be a good opportunity to make peace with Bob in a civilized way. That sounded good, so… why not?

- That would be lovely, Bob. –I said, accepting his invitation-
- Excellent. I’ll pick you up tomorrow at 2PM.

I put my ripped faded jeans and blue tank top on for the occasion. He wore his baggy trousers, Nike Air Max Light Academy and black t-shirt with the slogan ‘Sorry girls, I only date models’. He looked very trendy, in the most typical Bobster fashion.

Sandwich is a very small island and there’s no room for big sports facilities, due to lack of space. Instead of them we have the Arena, a reduced bullring where apart from bullfighting –which by the way, I hate-, some other events are organised.

The Arena was designed in the mid 30s and has a sitting capacity of 25.000. It’s often used as a concert and sports venue in summer. There are also Christmas pantomimes and circus for the kids in winter.

So that day, Bob picked me up at 2AM, as agreed.

At the Arena, we were escorted to our seats by a voluptuous blond hostess dressed in flashy blue miniskirt and white top two sizes smaller than it should be, who showed us the free buffet place and gave us two hats to protect ourselves from the sun –a privilege only for vip guests-.

The buffet counter was covered with mouthwatering sandwich mountains of all sorts: chopped egg with smoked salmon, date, walnut and cream cheese, California veggie wrap, croque-monsieur, focaccia, bagels and other tasty delicacies. Bob started drooling alternatively over the hostess and the sandwiches, until I pushed him gently to wake him up from his daydreams and move. Our box was excellent. We had very comfortable seats and impressive view of the tennis yard.

The Arena was packed with people. It was hot and the sun was beating down on the audience. The match could last up to four hours or even more, so almost everybody was wearing a newspaper hat, using a fan, having a drink or doing the three things at the same time.

Thousands of Sandwichian flags were proudly waved by the supporters, who started their chants with ‘We will rock you’, accompanied by horns, bass drums and a great fanfare. Just in case you didn’t know: Sandwichians are very noisy people. As a proud Sandwichian, I include myself in this category.

The Orsinian supporters –a small group seated on the first floor stands- were very quiet, probably intimidated by the impressive racket. When the players came onto the yard, a great roar filled the Arena. Sandwichians and Orsinians stood up as the national anthems began playing.

- Who did you shag to get vip box seats for the final match, Bob? They’re selling them for more than 200 G –I whispered into his ear-
- I didn’t shag anyone, babe. I’m not the only one who has contacts. –he answered, deliberately making reference to Ed-. I made a nice banner at home. Look, Len. What do you think? –he asked-

He opened out the banner. It read “UP WITH SANDWICH. FUCK ORSINIA” in big red flashy capital letters. I gasped in horror and snatched the banner away from him.

- Are you crazy??? If you show this, the security guys will kick you off and I’ll tell them I don’t know you. –I said, very nervous-
- I’ll tell them the banner is yours, then. –he replied-
- If you show the banner I’ll go home. –I threatened-.
- Oh Len, it was just a joke to scare you! –he said, pulling my hand-

What kind of joke was that?

- Fold it right now and hide it in your undies so that nobody can see it. –I said-
- Jeez Len, you have no sense of humour at all … -he complained-
- That’s not fun!

Bob was crazy. Definitely. I looked around, just in case someone who knew me would identify me with that stupid banner, if Bob eventually decided to show it.

It was hard to spot familiar faces in a crowded place with 25.000 persons around, but I succeeded: I nearly fell off my chair when I saw Ed and Hellgirl relaxedly sipping a long drink at the presidential box, only a short distance to ours. Kynkybooks sponsored the match; that was the reason why they had the best seats.

I removed my hat and covered my face with it. I continued to scrutinize the boxes looking through the tiny gaps in the fabric and I had the fright of my life: next to Ed and Hellgirl, Mr and Mrs Big Cheese were lively chatting with Mr and Mrs Big Shot. Small world, eh? This is Sandwich.

But so far so good, the match continued and I put my hat back again.

The score was tied. As soon as the fifth set started, Bob began to fidget around on his chair and shake his legs.

- Hey Len, I’m starving. Gonna get some grub at the counter. May I bring you something? –he asked-
- Ehm… yes, a diet coke, please.
- Babe, why were you covering your face with the hat?
- Don’t want to get sunburns. –I whispered-
- Jeez Len, why don't you just use sunmilk? Sometimes you’re real weird. –he said, staring at me-

He quickly left to the buffet and just some seconds after, my cellphone went.

- Hi sweetie, how are you?

I recognised Ed’s voice. I looked back and saw him wave hello from the presidential box. And so did Hellgirl, who was sitting next to him.

- I’m fine, thanks. Nice to speak to you. I thought you were travelling.
- I’m flying to Burdishland tomorrow, babe. Why are you watching the match with Mr. Arsehole Man?
- Oh pack it in, Ed.
- Next time you see me with a woman and you call me into account after blowing up your temper, remember this.
- Bob only invited me to the match. There’s nothing more to add.
- That’s excellent. But I’m still waiting for the answer to some questions you brilliantly avoided a few weeks ago.

I knew that. The hour of truth was arriving for me and I was postponing it deliberately. I hated ultimatums, but after our recurrent affair, I owed him an answer for his repeated attempts to bring to an end my ‘available status’.

I had no power on my feelings and emotions, but desperately tried to hold them back; I was afraid to be lost in a flush of love; scared to think he might not be the right person; terrified to surrender independence and change my lifestyle; worried about the age gap and maturity differences between us.

And yet, my heart skipped a beat every time he was around. More than I could ever remember with any other man I had met in the past. Sometimes I even scared myself at the depth and intensity of my feelings for him.

I needed to strengthen our connection rituals before committing; to feel our empathy; to share our inner selves. I needed not only physical intimacy, but also emotional and spiritual closeness. And above all: I needed reciprocity.

I knew I was very demanding. I never found what I was looking for in my whole life, so I always assumed I was asking for too much.

- Ed. –I said-
- Yes?
- Can we meet now? I don’t think we should discuss this on the phone.
- You’re right. Let’s meet at the second floor terrace.

I rushed. I almost ran into Bob on my way to the terrace. He was carrying a big bag of sandwiches, ice cream and two soft drinks.

- Hey, where are you going, Len? –he asked-
- Eew… loo! I have an emergency! –I shouted, running to the corridors-
- Oh, ok but you’ll be missing the game! –he said, disappointed to see me run away-

Yes, I know this was a bloody awful miserable lie and I regretted that, but I had no choice.

I ran upstairs as fast as I could, asking myself why I was feeling so nervous and excited about meeting Ed. When I got to the second floor, he was standing there in the shadow, leaning on the ballustrade of the terrace.

There was nobody around and that made him look so lonely and strong at the same time. He smiled at me and I thought I was burning in a fire of a thousand years in the making. But I held back my passion for him.

- Hi sweet princess. Let’s hide over there; there are reporters around and I wouldn’t want to be photographed. –he said-

I smiled and followed him to the other side of the terrace, where nobody could see us.

- How are you? –I asked-
- How long will it take you to say ‘How are you, my love’? –he asked back-

I blushed and didn’t know what to answer.

- Come near, please –he insisted-. I love you, little one. You know that, don’t you?

I approached him and smiled. He grabbed my face and kissed me deep and passionate. Two seconds later, a great roar filled the Arena. Sandwich had won the match.

I closed my eyes and enjoyed his endless kiss. His stiff tongue licked and tickled my upper lip. I wanted more, and he started sucking gently on my lower lip. He wrapped his hands around my waist, pulling me closer to him. I took a deep breath and quietly moaned with pleasure. Then he tenderly kissed my eyes, my cheeks, my forehead, my hands and I thought I was going to melt right there.

Before our kiss would end, I saw what looked like several flashlights at the deserted corridor, opposite to the terrace. Somebody was taking pictures of us. Ed held me tight and whispered into my ear:

- Oh fuck, don’t look. I knew this would be happening sooner or later. I’m sorry, Leni, but I’m afraid you and I will be in the gossip pages tomorrow.

I rested my face on his chest. Ed covered my face with his hands, so that I wouldn't be recognized in the pictures. He became pale, but I was floating on a cotton cloud, dancing in the dark.

I didn't realise what was coming.




"A whiter shade of pale" (Procol Harum)

A letter from my lover

The office boy knocked on my door at 8:30AM and quietly left the press summary on the table. ‘Thanks’ –I whispered, smiling-.

As soon as he left, the door locked itself making a terrible noise and a red firework show exploded like a jet on the meeting table in front of me. Ka-boom! The shape of my beloved Hellgirl appeared on–the-scene.

- You really love these theatrical gestures, don’t you? –I asked-
- Oh yes, indeed. –she answered, smirking-
- Don’t block Big Cheese’s phone calls, please, or he’ll freak out.
- No worries, Leni. Everything is under control. I gave everybody a momentary nodding off. When I snap my fingers they will return to normal and forget all this.

She took a chair to sit and put her feet on my table.

- So you gave Bob the finger after all… -said Hellgirl-
- Will you ever stop spying on me? –I asked-
- No, Leni. You need someone to take care of you. You’re very silly sometimes. Especially with guys. I told you to never give your heart -least of all your soul- to a human male, unless you're on equal basis; but you’re paying no fucking attention to what I tell you.
- Thanks, I love you too.
- Now what are you going to do about Bob and Ed? Look at yourself! Pains are playing yo-yo with you. Don’t come to me next time with your heart torn into pieces… are you listening, Leni?

No, I wasn’t listening. I was leafing through the press summary and sipping coffee when I came across a copy of Ed’s picture published in a tabloid. It was included in the chronicle of the Orsinian Embassy Annual Candlelight Ball. He and Misty McGwire, his platonic lover, were dancing together. It made me blow coffee out of my nose. My eyes widened like saucers as my jaw dropped open. I gasped and showed the picture to Hellgirl.

- What did I tell you? Don’t you just feel like a ping-pong ball to your lovers? You just dumped Bob because you thought you loved Ed. Now that Ed disappoints you, you wanna go back to Bob. You just don’t know what you want. –she said-
- Oooooh Misty McGwire again! –I said, ignoring what she just said-
- Oh boy, yes, he’s dancing with the platonic bitch. So what? Do you know what the meaning of the word platonic is? Read my lips: No sex at all. The funny thing is that you’re shagging Bob and Ed and yet you’re jealous! There’s a name for that stupid, selfish, resented, ridiculous, bitter, pathological feeling of yours… and it’s jealousy! –she said, pointing at my face- It has to be cooked out of you. The sooner, the better.
- I’m gonna call him. –I said, very determined-
- Don’t be silly, Leni. What are you going to tell him? ‘I saw you dancing with your platonic girlfriend’? That sounds so pathetic.

Too late. Ed was already answering my phone call.

- Hi sweety. How are you? –he asked-
- Why in the world did you take Misty to the Candlelight Ball instead of me? -I asked back-

I heard him laugh. In the background, Hellgirl whispered ‘How silly can you get?’

- Erhm… Good morning... yes... I'm fine, thanks... and you? Now can you repeat your question, please? -he said-
- Why in the world did you take Misty to the Candlelight Ball instead of me??? -I asked again-

Hellgirl covered her face with her hands, begging ‘Leni, please shut up. You're making a fool of yourself.’

- Leni, it was like I would meet my sister, only with a bit of electricity. –said Ed-.
- Oh firstly she’s not your sister, and secondly you two look rather electrocuted in the tabloids! –I said-
- Aww… don’t tell me you’re jealous, baby… –he laughed-. This means you love me a little.
- Grrrr…
- Baby, you’re so funny –he said, laughing even more- What do you think Misty and I did there? Oh, yes, let me tell you: we danced in the moonlight, I asked her to marry me and then we shagged passionately until the break of dawn. Come on, Leni. Does this sound true to you?
- …

- I’ll consider your silence as a negative answer. And now listen to me, silly. I’m a public person. Reporters make my life very complicated and I try to remain as unnoticed as possible. Yet, due to my position, I have to attend public events quite often. When I was invited to the Candlelight Ball, I didn’t even know you.
- …
- I assume you’re blushing like a beetroot and listening to me now. Let me just tell you this, baby: I’m not in the habit of explaining what I do or do not do. I would have loved to go there with you. But you should know something: as soon as you start joining me publicly, you will be stalked by a mob of reporters who will make you life very uncomfortable.

Oh dear, that was new for me. Hellgirl shook her head in disapproval.

- Now give it a thought, baby. Call me back when you make up your mind about your feelings. Oh, and in the meantime, take that little book I gave you for your birthday. Read page 23, feel what I wrote and stop being silly, love. I'm a big boy and I didn’t do anything my mom shouldn’t know at the Candlelight Ball.

He put the telephone down. I was very embarrassed. Hellgirl clapped her hands.

- That was the most pathetic performance I’ve ever witnessed, Leni. Being jealous gratuitously is the height of selfishness. You sounded like a real arsehole. Nevertheless, Ed has been a gentleman this time. I am amazed. In other circumstances he would have just told you to piss off. –she said-
- He is always very gentle with me. –I whispered-
- I suppose it means something. By the way, aren’t you going to have a look at page 23 in that book?

I immediately opened it. Page 23 started like this:

"First letter to my lover

I like your taste when we make love. I could recognize you with my eyes closed just by your flavour in my mouth.

I got used to your delicious fragrance too. I could distinguish you from others just by smelling your scent on my skin.

I could lose my fears just by looking at you quietly until the break of dawn, as you keep dancing in the middle of my dreams, equidistant from your wild visions and hopes.

Never forget this:

The more I get to know your body, the more I want you;
The more I get to know your soul, the more I need you.

August, 2008"


I sighed and closed the book. Hellgirl was impressed too.

- Is “Letters to my lover” the book you’re supposed to publish with your name on account of my debt? Ed wrote it. Not me. –I asked, showing her the book-
- I know. I said to Ed I would publish the book with my name, but I can’t do that. –she said, serious-. These words are for you, Leni. I can’t steal them. I’m evil, but I have my principles.
- What about our deal, then?

Hellgirl smiled softly and stared into my eyes.

- There’s no such deal, Leni. I never took you seriously. I’m sorry you had a rotten time, but this is to show you that you can’t bite off more than you can chew. Deals with the devil should be kept only for serious matters, instead of silly stuff like getting your boyfriend back. You should have been able to sort that out on your own. I hope you have learned the lesson and won’t repeat the mistake.

As she usually did, she snapped her fingers and vanished, without even saying goodbye. The door to my office unlocked itself on the spot. I could hear Big Cheese speaking on the phone in the office next to mine. Life moved on.

Yes, I had learned the lesson. Maturing was painful. Learning from our mistakes and not making them again is almost an art. I’m not sure yet I can do this.

Life is an exhausting endless search for happiness: a rare and ephemeral gift interspersed with bleak moments.

I opened the book on page 23 again. I needed to grab that little piece of joy.




“Miles away” (Madonna) - For anybody who's afraid to fall in love

The untamable Bob Gausman

How can love possibly turn to anger and hate so quickly? The morning after my birthday I knew why getting hurt by someone I loved and trusted would lead me to a horrible feeling of betrayal towards that person: I went from love to hate in just a few seconds when I found in my inbox a strange e-mail from Bob that triggered my anger -even more, if this was possible- after his two-month quiet absence:

“LQRUOKxBG
PS.URVQ@TM”

I hadn’t heard from him for such a long time and the next thing I knew were those incomprehensible acronyms. My answer was just:

“WOT?”

His laconic reply was simply the transcription of his message.

“Leni Qinan are you ok x Bob Gausman.
PS. You are very quiet at the moment.”

Me, very quiet? What a nerve!

“Thanks for translating, Bob. I'm not as good as you at English acronyms.
Yes, I've been quiet lately. If my memory serves me well, my last e-mail is dated 23rd of July. You neither answered nor phoned. So you’re not supposed to hear from me until November.”

Just a minute later, I got another e-mail from him. It was apparent that he was getting pretty nervous.

“I know Leni, I have been quiet too! Hope you are doing well, and having fun, baby. Big hug from the Bobster”

That was the most moronic piece of garbage I had ever seen. I got mad. I couldn’t believe he had such a hard nose. And who the hell was “the Bobster”? His alter ego?

“BTW, yesterday it was my birthday, Bobster. Thanks for not whishing me a nice day. You suck.”

After that… I got no answer.

He had completely forgotten my birthday and I was so upset. I didn't want to make a big deal out of it, but in all honesty, I expected a little more from him. He had asked me several times when my birthday was when something came up in a conversation about it. But I didn't want to keep reminding him anymore, because I felt he would be remembering the day.

I knew that Lilly -his ex girlfriend, now Mrs Max Brantsch- got balloons, flowers and really nice gifts from him on her birthdays. He himself had told me.

So Bob was capable of doing nice things, but he just didn't do anything for me. He remembered other dates, then it was not that complicated. And if I was not important enough after several months dating… then I was wasting my time.

Was I making more out of this than I should?

My cellphone went.

- Happy birthday, Len. –he said-
- Thanks. –I answered shortly-.
- Ok I forgot, but don’t make a fuss, baby. Let me take you out to lunch today.
- Not if it’s again roast chicken and chips. They make me throw up.
- If somebody heard you, they would think I’m such a tightwad, but I’m not. Actually, I was gonna take you to a very posh and classy place. And I’m going to buy you a nice present as well.
- Oh, let’s hear about it.
- Meet me at “Le bistrot Parisien” at midday.
- Oh la la… la finesse! Just for my information… will I have to pay for the lunch?
- Don’t be the smartass, Len. I’m inviting you.
- Ok, I’ll be there.

I arrived to “Le bistrot Parisien” at the agreed time. Bob was there, waiting for me. He approached to kiss me and I turned my face to avoid his lips on mine, not even realising what I was doing. So he finally gave me an innocent kiss on the cheek.

- Heeey… give me one of your cute kisses, baby. I’m not your brother! –he protested-

I did, for my own good.

- Happy birthday, Len. Now you are… twenty two? How old is that? Soon you will be really old like me! –he said, holding me-.

He handed me a small box wrapped in golden paper. He rubbed my hand with his index finger on the table. I felt strange. These love displays were late. I withdraw my hand and said:

- Bob, I have to tell you something.
- Oh my God. Things are not looking good.
- That’s right, Bob. Things are not looking good. Where have you been hiding these two months?
- I haven’t been hiding. I’ve been traveling. On holidays.
- Why didn’t you tell me? I mean… You don’t have to tell me everything, of course, but I thought we were more than just friends. How could you be so careless?
- Careless? –he asked, very surprised-
- Bob. I always thought we would spend our summer holidays together, but maybe this was asking too much. I've been missing you; I've been sad; couldn't stand it; went mad; felt hurt. Felt real bad. Don't blame me for that. You've been out for a very long time.


He listened carefully.

- Just a few words to let me know you were there would have made me feel better, but I never heard from you. That hurt big time. I thought you had lost interest. I thought horrible things. –I said-

His face became serious, like he was shocked by my words.

- I didn't want to get bitter or angry, so I pulled myself together and learned how to live without you. You know me, Bob. You shouldn’t take things for granted: I give everything but I need to feel corresponded. This is how love works: hard effort on both sides.

He stood quietly listening to me.

- You have nothing to say? –I asked-
- When I have nothing to say… I say nothing. –he answered-

His apathy was killing me.

- What have you done in summer… apart from hating me. –he asked, serious-
- I never hated you, Bob. It was excruciating to wait for you helplessly. So I decided to stop it and took a trip to the Seashell Islands.
- That sounds good.
- No. That doesn’t sound good, Bob. I’ve been with Ed Davies there.
- I see. Did you enjoy yourselves? –he asked ironically-
- Oh, don’t be sarcastic. You always said to me you didn’t want to have a relationship. You have left several times for weeks without saying when you would be back. You’ve been away for almost two months! What am I supposed to say or do?
- Ed Davies, eh?
- Yes.
- The fucker.
- No, Bob. You’re a dog in the manger and love does not work like this. Uneven love means emotional slavery. The sooner your realise it, the better for you.
- So we’re over.
- Have we even started yet, huh?
- You’re so unfair, Len.
- You asked for it.

He got up, very upset.

- You’ll hear from me again, Len. I’m not giving up just like this. –he said, pointing at me-

Then, he left in bitterness.




"Leather" (Tori Amos)

Love in the time of androids (II)

Ed took a candle and we walked through the dark corridors to the upper floor, while the storm furiously broke upon the mansion, sounding like the wind and heavy rain would sweep away the entire place.

The house was so empty that I could hear the echo of my own voice. There was a strange coldness in the air. Not only because of the huge and empty rooms; there was something I can’t describe; something scary that could freeze your heart to death.

- Don’t you feel very lonely in such a big house, Ed? –I asked-

Quite after I asked, I realised that my question was poisonous. But I never meant to hurt him. It was easy for me to ask that: I never felt lonely in my tiny flat, where I could always hear the sound of the streets: cars running; kids laughing; people talking.

He looked down and quietly opened the door to his room. He gently asked me to enter. We sat on the couch and warmed up by the fireplace.

- I am very lonely, yes. But life isn’t meant to be fair and nobody has the right to be blissfully happy. We must accept what we’re given. –he said, sadly-
- Oh, I'm sorry to say I disagree with you completely: everybody is entitled to look for happiness, I think.
- I’m looking for happiness, Leni. You know that, don’t you? –he asked-

For some reason the dark fatal man appeared before me showing his emotions out in the open, in such a powerful way that I completely forgot about the storm. Again, his blue eyes glowed in the dark and I couldn’t stand his piercing look.

- I’m glad that you made a deal with Hell; glad to have met you; glad that you have to write that book and so glad that we’re writing it together. –he said-. It’s the first time I feel close to happiness in many years. I almost forgot what it felt like to be happy.

His confessions made me blush.

- Are we still writing together, Ed? –I asked, intending to change the subject of our conversation-
- We certainly are, Leni. Read this… -he said-

He handed me four sheets of paper. The caption read “Moonshine killed a shade of grey, chapter 11”. That made me smile. His short break of inactivity was over and we were writing again. I sat closer to the candle to read these pages I had eagerly longed for.

Chapter 11 was very nicely written: Ed was a good writer. Way better than me. His style was very direct and his works had that powerful emotional ingredient that could easily reach the hearts of the readers without fear of overdoing them.

As I said somewhere before in this diary, his help offer with that difficult assignment I had received from Hellgirl, moved me deeply. It was not just a temporary association for the purpose of sorting out my biggest problem at the moment, but also a hidden way to get closer to me: the more we would write together, the longer we would be in touch.

Ed’s life had been miserable for a very long time. He had lost everything but wealth. His two wives and four children had died. He was out of time; facing strange days to which he didn’t belong but compulsorily had to live, forced by circumstances. He admitted he had been living in a self-imposed loneliness for years until we met. He was restoring his damaged soul, struggling to survive. And yes, I knew I was included in his plans.

- I’m so happy that fate allowed our destinies to meet–he said in a fit of honesty-. You’re a godsend, Leni.
- I’m happy for that, too –I said in a small whisper-

That was clear to me and I was flattered, but also scared to death of the future. Hence the whispering. I couldn't speak louder. Thank God he couldn’t see in the dark that I blushed to beetroot red.

Yet, whenever I felt overwhelmed with fear, I acted and sounded like Scarlet O’Hara after having to eat raw potatoes to save Tara. “After all… tomorrow is another day” –I would go, ignoring and postponing what was going on at the moment-. It was my way of saying to myself that everything would be all right.

That strategy would work with someone like Bob or Max, but not with Ed. He was light years ahead of them. So. I knew I would be hearing soon about his feelings for me.

The whole situation was worrying me big time. He was not like other men I had met in the past but rather mature; very direct; self-confident; he knew very well who he was and what he wanted. There was an overwhelming rationale for his decisions and actions. He took things to heart and seldom joked about serious stuff, so I had to be cautious.

Even though, he could not control his feelings. I didn’t want to cause him any harm or have a rotten time myself, but I felt I had to break down the walls of his isolation somehow. And no, it was not at all a matter of sympathy.

So I avoided fairly well my erratically childish moods –had I grown up yet?- and allowed him to knock on my door with unexpected force.

- I will be out for five days, Leni. –he said-
- Are you travelling? –I asked-
- Yes. And then I will stay for some days -perhaps weeks- in my retreat, at the Seashell Islands. But we’ll be in touch by e-mail.

No. I was starting to be very fond of him and he was already leaving me. That was just not fair. He sweetly took my hands and kissed my fingertips.

- This selfish Burdish fool should drive you home instead of keeping you here until early hours of the morning, don’t you think? –he asked-
- No! –I said, throwing one of my infantile fits-

He laughed loud. I scared myself. I was about to cry, couldn’t stand the idea of not hearing from him for weeks. But I tried to pull myself together to avoid sounding pathetic.

- What are you gonna do then, darling? –he asked-
- I’m staying here tonight… if you don’t mind. –I said, daringly-
- I don’t mind, but you know what that means.
- What?
- You’ll sleep in my bed. Next to me.

This is what I call being direct. The good thing was that I knew where I was and where I would be soon: for the moment, I was facing him; then, I would be naked in his bed. I didn’t object and silence spoke volumes.

I could barely see him in the dark, but I knew he was there. His silhouette became clear with every lightning and disappeared then, in a split second. He tenderly kissed my forehead, my eyes, my nose, my lips. I already knew his taste and it was sweet.

He didn’t waste his time: he approached me and started undressing me, quietly staring into my eyes. He kissed me with burning passion, sucking on my tongue soft and slow, with overpowering intensity. I took his right hand to my lips and sucked on his middle finger. That drove him crazy.

He carried me to bed in his arms. We whispered words of love into each other’s ears, just like lovers have done since the beginning of time. But time had little meaning, if any. We had chosen to be close, loving and vulnerable.

We were aroused with desire. All we could feel was intense urge and passion.

He asked me to rest my hands against the wall and bend forwards, before gently sliding inside me. I moaned as he slid in and out, his hands firmly holding my hips.

I begged him for mercy, but no mercy was shown to me until my whole body shivered when I felt that unmistakable tingling and strangled a scream of pleasure. I cried out his name, breathing heavily, almost glowing. Flashes of colour exploded behind my eyes.

His hands gripped my hair. He threw his head back, convulsing and cursing with every wave of spasm after spasm, groaning intensely.

Then, he collapsed beside me, closed his eyes and smiled as he tried to catch his breath again. I laid beside him, watching quietly until he turned to me and said:

- You’re so lovable, sweet little one.

That was one hell of a magic dream.

When I woke up the morning after, he was not there. I sat up in bed and had that sinking feeling of missing him. I dressed up with the same clothes of the previous day. - ‘Happy birthday, Leni –I said to myself- One more year of life to celebrate… and holding’.

I was looking for the keys to my car in my handbag, when I heard him say:

- Happy birthday, Leni. I have a little something for you.

He walked in the room with a small bunch of fresh cut tulips and bougainvillea and a small book called “Letters to my lover”. I smiled and kissed him.

- Is this the book about android love? –I asked, naively-.
- Nah, There is no such book, that was a white lie and my lousy excuse to bring you here and tell you that your balance with Hellgirl is settled. Your debt is paid with this book. I wrote it for you.




"Hidden place" (Björk)

Love in the time of androids (I)

The first memory I have of a sci-fi book is Aldous Huxley’s “Brave new world” on a shelf of my dad’s study library. I was eight years old. Tom Sawyer, Huckleberry Finn, William Brown and his Outlaws were my heroes. I was drawing comic characters for a mag I did with my two best friends from school at the time, and writing a story about scary monsters too.

That “Brave new world” book peculiarly focussed my attention and one day I decided to take it and flick through. All I could understand from it was the loveless and sinister place where the action developed, and the genetically predestined caste system.

Some years later, I devoured the book. I loved that hopeless story of rigid social stratification, reproductive technology and biological engineering, where everybody was artificially happy with conditioning drugs.

Later on, as a law student, I went through an intense sci-fi period. I borrowed Isaac Asimov’s Foundation trilogy from a boyfriend who got me interested and shared with me his taste for the three laws of robotics, time trips, replicants and Dune’s spice melange. But that chapter of my life concluded abruptly when we broke up.

So sadly, the planet of the apes, Trantor, the Force and other sci-fi wonders were quickly erased from my mind. Fahrenheit 451 was only the temperature at which book paper catches fire and burns; 1984, a simple figure years behind; 2001, another figure, years ahead; the left hand of darkness was nothing but a left hand; and Sonny, the bot who was unfairly accused of killing his creator … was just a bot.

Driven by pain, I registered a long period of silence during which I never felt the desire of reading a sci-fi book again. Never… until a casual telephone conversation suddenly brought that world back to me, in the most coincidental way you can imagine.

- Hi Leni, it’s Ed. How are you today, sweety?
- Oh, hi Ed. –I said-

I hadn’t seen him since Misty’s book presentation at the Ritz and I reckon I was glad to hear from him again.

- I’m fine, thanks. And how are you? –I asked-
- I’m fine too, babe. I saw you the other day at the Ritz. –he said-
- And I saw you too. Hellgirl asked me to go with her. Congrats for the success of the book.
- Thanks. I would have loved to meet.
- I nearly didn’t attend the presentation; didn’t get an invite. And you were very busy there with Misty.–I said, with a little sarcastic touch in my voice-
- Right. My inexcusable mistake. Let me fix that before you get cross. I know you.
- I’m not cross, Ed. –I laughed-. Actually, I’m in a very good mood.
- Excellent. I wonder if you’d like to join me this evening, then. I want to show you something.
- Sure. What is it? –I accepted immediately, without any persuading-
- A manuscript about android love. Someone has sent it to my office a few days ago. I’m considering publishing it, but I’d like you to have a look first. –he said solemnly-. Do you think this could be possible? I mean… android love?

That rang a bell. Asimov, Lem, Bradbury, Orwell, Le Guinn… all those sci-fi authors I had long forgotten knocked on my door again.

- Why not? R2D2 and C3PO show emotions; they were good friends and even fought sometimes. Blade runner’s replicants could cry their heart out. Fritz Lang’s Maschinenmensch was an agent-provocateur. And Frankenstein, probably the first android, brought flowers to a little girl.
- Leni, I definitely need your help here. You’ve left me speechless. –he said-

I felt embarrassed.

- Oh no, I’m not an expert. I’ve only read some sci-fi books and seen some movies in the past. Just that. I hope I didn’t sound like a namedropper.
- No worries. You sounded cool. I’d love to continue this interesting conversation at my place, say… 7PM. We could have dinner too, if it suits you. –he laughed-

How could I possibly say no? I never found many people interested in sharing my taste in certain subjects. Since I was a kid, I found myself talking about the things I liked to an audience who thought I was… weird, pedantic, boring and even obnoxious. So, once I assumed I was a little know-it-all, I decided to save my words for those who really wanted to hear them. I gave up attracting supposed soulmates by conscious choice and abandoned the search.

I arrived to Ed’s place at the agreed time. As a public person, he seldom went out. Whenever he did, it was swarming with reporters.

- Welcome, my lil’ sci-fi freak. -he said, walking with me to his study-

I laughed and shook my head.

- Have you read Stanislav Lem’s books? –he asked-
- Only “Solaris”. Saw Tarkovski’s movie too. And Soderbergh’s remake, but I didn’t like it. –I answered-
- That’s absolutely exceptional for a woman!
- Why do you say that? –I asked, raising an eyebrow at his remark-.
- Ohm… Just my experience. I never knew a gal who had heard about that book, Leni. Sharing this… is a rare godsend. –he said, smiling-

Silence. I passed the acid test, or so it seemed. He didn’t stop staring at me and it made me feel a bit embarrassed.

We left to the terrace and had dinner there. I could hear the sea rocking the beach from there. The night was warm and a soft breeze was blowing. I could smell the scent of orange and lemon blossoms. The stars slowly appeared in the sky. There was a cosmic symphony of peace and harmony, as the planets completed their quiet daily orbit around the sun.

- What do you think an android could do for love? –he asked-
- Androids are robots designed to closely resemble humans. They look exactly like humans on the outside, but with internal mechanics, the same as that of robots. In the movies, some of them even fall in love and have emotions.
- You haven’t answered my question, darling. –he smirked, approaching me-.

I sighed.

- I guess an android with human emotions could act exactly as a human. But… I’ve never been an android. –I laughed-

He stared at me quietly. I had the feeling he was casting a web around me.

- And I hope you never will. But tell me… as a human… what would you do for love? -he asked-

Big big question.

- I would do, in fact I have done, all kinds of stupid things. And you?
- Same as you –he answered immediately, gazing into my eyes with that piercing look-.

All of a sudden, a hundred metres aways from us, a tree was blown by a lightning bolt. The shock wave threw us in the air. There was a deafening thunder and the storm broke furiously.

- Are you okay? –he asked, as he helped me stand up-

I nodded. Heavy rain and large hail started falling. We rushed inside. Ed stood beside the large window, watching the lightning, fascinated by the uncontrolled force of nature.

- Romans thought them to be battles waged by Jupiter, the king of the gods, who hurled lightning bolts forged by Vulcan, the god of fire. –he whispered-

The lights went out, and that was real scary. Spectacular lightnings projected macabre shadows on the walls. I was afraid. Ed took a candle from his desk and lit it.

- I should be going back home. –I said-
- Stay here tonight. –he whispered-

His eyes glowed in the dark.

- Don’t worry, we’ll be okay. Just let me take care of you tonight.

- By the way, it’s my birthday.
- I know. -he smiled and kissed me- Happy birthday, sweety. Let’s go to my room. I have something for you.

What an old trick.

"All is full of love" (Björk)

Yes, androids are able to make love almost like humans. (Have a look at this vid)

Of men, bitches and roast chicken

Bitches at work make me bitchy.

It was 6PM at Dumbass Street and I was having this nice conversation with my colleague from Big Shot’s Cabinet:

- When are you gonna fucking send me the draft I asked for this morning? –she asked-

Let me introduce you to the bitch from hell: Named Lizzie. Referred to as Big Shot’s Chief of Staff. Colleague lawyer. Tall. Looks a bit like the redhair at left. Absolute winner in the women’s lib struggle. Merciless professional executor of those who wouldn’t follow her, and therefore potential candidates to be professionally dead. Men predator. Favourite pastimes: cultivating obstinacy and deriving enjoyment from being difficult. Oh, and I almost forgot the most important thing: she's a master in the fine art of delegating.

I didn’t bat an eyelash when she shouted at me. She asked me to write a rough draft for Big Shot’s Tuesday’s speech at a businessmen and philantropists summit, including the most outstanding figures and achievements of the company. Still more than one week to go, but she wanted to cover her ass.

Speeches take some time. They need to be written very thoroughly; otherwise the speaker may sound like a real twat.

- If I don’t have the draft in my inbox in two hours, you’re sacked. –she said, with a threatening voice-
- You can’t sack me. –I chuckled, pretending to sound unperturbed-
- Oh yes, I can. And I can sack your Big Cheese as well.

She could very well hoodwink Big Shot to do that. The lady didn’t dare to kick Big Cheese’s ass, but she dared to take me on. Things were not looking good. I got pretty worked up but tried to keep my cool.

- Hey, chill out, ok? We’re double-checking everything. So no need to put more pressure on that. –I said-
- Don’t give me the details of your miserable life and tell your people to move their ass. I’m fucking sick and tired with you guys. It always takes you eons to do what you gotta do. And when you fuck up it’s the Chairman who has to take the blame for your mistakes.

And she hung up on me, leaving me dumbfounded. I needed to shout and let off steam.

“BITCH!!! JUST BECAUSE YOUR HEAD IS POINTED, THAT DOESN’T MEAN YOU’RE SHARP!!! EVERYONE IS ENTITLED TO BE STUPID, BUT YOU’RE ABUSING THAT PRIVILEGE!!! PEOPLE LIKE YOU SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO BREED!!!” -I shouted, as if she could hear me-

The door opened and Big Cheese popped in. I forgot he was there. I wished the earth would have swallowed me up on the spot.

- What happens? –he asked, coldly-
- Nothing. –I answered, red as a beetroot-
- I heard you shout. What happens?

He knew very well what happened. These rants were not new. I didn’t want to be a big headache, but that time she had gone too far. I told him about that last conversation, almost in tears. He laughed loud when he heard the story.

- I can't stand that anymore! I quit! –I cried-
- Don’t be silly. –he said-
- I quit! That stupid cow said I have to report to her, not to you! She’s been thrashing me every single day since you and the chairman were travelling in South Orsinia!

Big Cheese laughed again. In all honesty, I didn’t find it that funny.

- She said she would sack the two of us! What do you think? –I asked in desperation-

He laughed even louder.

- She needs a good shag; trouble is no man will go near her with her bad temper. -he said-.

Have I already said Big Cheese is coarse, offensive and very politically incorrect? And he swears a lot.

- Let her dream on. –he said, very calm-
- I won’t speak to her again. I quit! –I bursted out crying-
- No you won’t! –he shouted, thumping the table with his fist-

Big Cheese looked at me quietly. We had known each other for more than ten years and it was the first time he saw me crying. I had always been his right-hand person and stood up for him with extreme loyalty. I never complained when I had to take the hit for him, but this time it was immoderate.

- Q, go home. You worked enough today. –he said, calmly-
- No way! I’m almost done with the draft. I’ve been working on it for hours. If I don’t send it to her before I leave, that bitch will slit my throat and I will even have to apologise for getting blood on her shirt!
- Fuck the draft. She will have to wait until tomorrow. Go home. I’ll take care of this.
- I don’t want to give you more things to do.
- I’ll see you tomorrow, Q. Off you go. -he said, pointing at the door-

I’m well known for handling situations gently, firmly and immediately. But this time I failed. I took my handbag and walked to the toilet. I was washing my face in the sink when I saw Hellgirl appear on the other side of the mirror, smoking one of her long thin red cigarettes.

- Hi Leni! –she said, waving hello-
- Gosh, Hellgirl, you gave me the fright of my life! –I shouted-
- Hey hon… it’s just me! I heard the punch-up. Sorry for that. Hm… want me to give that bitch some Shiga toxin… better known as a bad case of the shits?

She made me laugh. I shook my head.

- Nah… she’s not worth the effort. Big Cheese must be talking to her right now and taking her down a peg or two. –I said, feeling a bit better-
- Let’s have some fun then. I heard there’s a hugely glamorous party at the Ritz tonight. Ed Davies is presenting Misty McGwire’s new book. The crème de la crème will be there.
- Is she good, that… Misty? –I asked, putting some lipstick on my lips-
- Yeah, a lot. Chin up! Let’s go!

She jumped off the mirror, pulled my sleeve and we got into my car.

- But I don’t have an invite. –I said-
- Hm… how come Ed hasn’t sent you one? -she asked, very surprised-
- Eew… I don’t know. But I won’t be gatecrashing.

My wild imagination immediately started creating all kinds of betrayals. Like Ed wouldn’t want me to be at the party next to Misty, his supposedly platonic girlfriend, as he confessed to me some days before.

- That won’t be a problem, Leni. –she said-.
- I’m not even dressed for the occasion… -I whined-

It was true. My make-up had disappeared long ago; my face was falling apart; my eye-liner had smudged. My body had recorded ten consecutive hours of work and they were very painful.

But Hellgirl snapped her fingers and a personal invite with my name written on it in golden capital letters appeared on the dashboard. My dark blue jacket and trousers were suddenly replaced with a stunning black silk cocktail mini-dress and beautiful bling high heels. My hairstyle and make-up looked perfect. I smiled, as I watched the metamorphosic process on the rear-view mirror.

The street was packed with limousines and expensive cars. The Ritz was busy with journalists and cameramen, like it had a celebrity magnet inside. The guests entered the lounge until full capacity was reached.

A zillion flash shots were fired when Ed and Misty walked arm in arm into the hall. They looked so good. He took the floor and presented the book; then, he asked her to join him up onto the platform. They held. Kissed. Long. On the lips. Publicly.

I gave a gasp of surprise. A zillion flash shots were fired again.

Ed spotted me from the platform and stared at me. My cell phone went.

- Hey Len! –said Bob, as if nothing had happened since last time we spoke-.

- Do I know you? -I said-

He laughed.

- I thought you had been abducted by the aliens last month. –I said-
- Nah, too much hassle… they know I’m a glutton and need to process some tons of food every day.
- Ok, what is it you want.
- It’s dinner time, baby. Do you wanna go grub, or stay at my place?
- I’d rather starve than eat at your place.
- Cool, bring some roast chicken and chips then. I’ll buy the beers and the ice-cream. We'll have dinner in the park, like hobos.
- Why are you paying no fucking attention to what I’m saying?
- Len, I’d love to meet up. I was just teasing you. Come to my place and I’ll show you some nice pics of my trip to Denmarkland. –he said, serious-.

I tried to sound a bit sweeter, but couldn't hide I was real cross: I hadn't heard from him for about two months.

- Ok but… why is the menu always the same? We always have roast chicken and chips... –I asked-
- Coz that’s my favourite food, Len. And the best ones are those from Gerasimo's BBQ. –he laughed-
- I’ll sms you to tell you what I do. -I said, shortly-

I put the cellphone down. Looked at Ed; he was sitting next to Misty; they laughed; she whispered into his ear and picked up with her fork some food from his dish!!! I went mad.

I immediately took my cellphone. Clickety-clicked. Texted Bob.

“Will b there in 20min”
"That was fast" -he answered some seconds after-

I got up.

- Where are you going, Leni? –asked Hellgirl-
- I’m leaving. –I answered-
- How so?
- I have seen enough.

I left her behind, talking fascinated to George Clowny, the famous actor.

I walked off to Gerasimo's BBQ in quest of the perfect roast chicken, asking myself why some men love bitches.

"You look so fine" (Garbage)