Pompous, thin skinned, fucking idiots

A thick carpet of snow soon covered the ground outside the airport and turned to ice. The snowploughs worked hectically to clear the runways, but most departures were delayed or cancelled. My flight to Orsinia was one of them. Ed’s jet was my last hope.

- Do you really know Leonard Ellison? –I asked Ed-
- Sure. We play golf sometimes. –he answered, playing down the importance of my question-

Small world, eh? I couldn’t believe my luck! I had to bring the dough back to Dumbass Industries and drag that Big Shot to the theatre gala. Ed didn’t know that yet, but he was going to help me.

- What kind of business are you doing with him? –he asked, very curious-
- He is the most important benefactor of Dumbass Industries. We’re opening the new theatre in two weeks. There will be a cocktail party and the Parisian Ballet will be performing a late night show. The box office revenue will be entirely donated to rare illnesses research programmes…
- I know, Leni. I’ve been invited too. –he said, interrupting me-. Sorry, go on.

Yes, Ed was a rich businessman and a plutocrat; he probably was at the top of the list, right after the King of Sandwich.

- The funny thing is somebody forgot to invite Leonard Ellison to the opening ceremony. He’s pissed off because they’ve put him in the waiting list and he decided to withdraw the funds that his corporation had agreed to give us to implement our community services projects.
- Whoa!!! What a blunder! –he exclaimed, shaking his head in disapproval-
- Yeah, Leonard Ellison took it to heart and didn’t accept Big Cheese’s apologies on the phone, so he decided to delegate this task to me and told me to make sure that Leonard Ellison accepts the best seats in the theatre, come hell or high water.
- Well, I hope that chicken boss of yours appreciates what you’re doing for him. And I hope you succeed.
- I hope so too. He said he would sack me if I didn’t –I said, looking down-.
- Sack you??? What will he do without you? Nah, he won’t sack you. –he said, shaking his head-.
- Oh yes, he will. –I said, pretending to cry- Or I’ll be demoted from my cabinet position twenty levels down and next week I may be cleaning the bathrooms!

Ed was right. Not in a million years would Big Cheese fire me. I was only putting some pressure on him. Whether he wanted it or not, he was already involved in the plotting. But he was not dumb.

- Hey sweety, I know you’re putting the screws on me, so stop being silly, ok? Now wipe away your crocodile tears and I’ll make a phone call to help you, but only if you stop the sobbing, ok?
- Oooh really? –I asked, and did as I was told on the spot-.
- Yes. But you have to do something for me.

Gosh, that sounded to me like that old Sandwichian joke about a lovely cutie tiny ant that wanted to cross a deep river in the middle of the jungle and asked Mr Elephant, the gentleman of the wild, to help her.
‘With pleasure’ -he answered, very politely-.
‘Chivalry hasn’t died yet’ –she thought, very happy-
So Miss Ant jumped on Mr. Elephant’s back and they crossed the river together, majestically. Mr. Elephant lowered his head and trunk so that Miss Ant could climb down safe and sound to the ground.
‘Thank you very much’ –she said, waving goodbye-
‘None of that: put your knickers down’. –said Mr. Elephant-

Life is hard in the urban jungle too and nothing in life is free.

- What is it you want me to do for you? –I asked, expecting the elephant answer-
- I received my invitation for the opening gala.
- Yes, you told me. And?
- Are you attending on your own or you already have a partner?
- I’ll go with you! –I answered hastily-

Actually, I would have done everything he’d ask me to do. EVERYTHING.

- What makes you think I want to go with you, silly? I was just asking.

Jeez, that was so embarrassing. He turned back immediately, dialed a number on his cellphone and walked away.

- Leo, Ed Davis here.

This was all I coud hear of the conversation. I knew very well it was neither Da Vinci nor di Caprio on the other side. Not even Cohen. But the very same Leonard Ellison the Great!

I had a look outside. It was heavy snowing. When Ed came back he just said:

- That’s settled. Let’s go to my place. Now.
- What? I need to fly to Orsinia.
- Leni, the airport will be closed in a few minutes and the roads are freezing. If we don’t hurry, we’ll be trapped in the snow storm.

I wrapped my warm scarf around my head and neck as a turban, just letting my eyes show. Then I put my gloves on, dragged my trolley and followed him to the parking lot. This time he had brought his Range Rover, one of the cars he drove when he travelled incognito.

- Why are we going to your place, Ed? –I asked-
- Given that you won’t be able to fly to Orsinia… I’m kidnapping you for a couple of days.
- Oh. It’s a good thing. It will be my second time kidnapped. Now I definitely know I will be queuing at the unemployment office on Monday.
- No you won’t, silly.
- How do you know?
- Leonard Ellison gave me his word of honor that he will send back the community services funds to your company.
- Will he attend the theatre gala?
- Send the invitation by e-mail to his Head of Cabinet and he will reply immediately. There’s no need to travel to Orsinia. But don’t tell your Big Cheese. Just pretend you’ve flown before it started snowing and stay with me, ok?
- With what purpose?
- Just because there’s a pending issue that we must solve, Leni. I can’t forget your sad eyes when we last met at Kynkybooks, after you visited the copyreader to show him your story. I need to make peace with you. So please, stay with me. How does that grab you?

I couldn’t forget that day either. This unworldly man really knew how to leave me speechless. I was not sure this was the expected outcome of my efforts, but how could I possibly say no?

- Ok Ed. I’ll stay with you.
- Excellent.

Before I even realised it, we were in his mansion. I hadn’t been there since last summer but things hadn’t changed a bit: the same ghost driver opening the car door; the same Romanian ghost butler giving me a warm welcome; the same Burdish ancestor shouting at me from the painting hanging on the wall of the corridor; the same angelic voices of his two dead wives and four dead children whispering “goodnight Leni” from the cellar.

We entered his studio and sat on the sofa. I opened my laptop and started writing that e-mail to my colleague at Leonard Ellison’s office, under Ed’s watchful eye.

“Dear Mr. Ashton,

Words cannot express how deeply sorry and embarrassed we are for the inconvenience that we have caused to Mr. Ellison, due to a very unfortunate and completely involuntary mistake. This is especially saddening because of the tight bonds of union existing between both companies.

We are committed to the Ellison Corporation, our valued partner, in so many projects undertaken together in the South Sandwich Islands, and are taking immediate corrective steps to regain your confidence in us.

Once again, we would like to extend our invitation to Mr Ellison to attend the inaugural ceremony and luncheon that will be held at the new Theatre of Grytviken on the 8th February.

We look forward to seeing you there.

Yours sincerely,

Leni Qinan
Head of Cabinet
Dumbass Industries plc.
Grytviken (South Sandwich Islands)


- Does it sound ok to you? –I asked-
- It sounds great to me, honey. Come on, send it. Ashton is waiting for your e-mail. -he said-

Ed prepared a delicious beverage with hot brandy, lemon and sugar and handed me a cup as I waited nervously for the answer, with my laptop on my thighs.

- Here's a ration of pirate’s grog to calm down a bit –he said, offering a mug of drink-

I took it and drank. He sat beside me, lifted his hand to my face and stroke my cheek, whispering:

- Everything will be ok, sweety.

A few minutes later, my inbox flashed and I eagerly opened the incoming message.

Dear Ms Qinan,

Mr Ellison regrets that he will be unable to attend due to absence from the city on that date and wishes Dumbass Industries every success on the event celebration.

Yours sincerely,
Peter Ashton
Head of Cabinet
Ellison Corporation


Here you have the living proof that those who call the shots never die at war action. They have their pawns to do that dirty work for them and wash their hands clean of the ‘not so nice stuff’.

Leonard Ellison could have excused himself saying he was unable to attend because he had to scrub his bath tiles instead. That would have sounded truer to me. And Big Cheese would certainly jump for joy upon arrival of the desired funds to the company’s bank account.

I closed my laptop and finished the drink.
What a pair of pompous, thin skinned, fucking idiots.

Learning how to stop a cold war

I’ve always thought that Big Cheese has been kind of a hyper guy since he was a baby. Most days he is so energetic that everybody except him seems to move in slow motion. But some other days he can be the antithesis of that, often falling into such a pathetic lethargic state that he can only sprawl on his chair and play endless minesweeper games, until his biorrythm clock struggles to cross the zero line.

It was one of these days. When he called me to his office, he looked like he had no more gas in him:

- Q. I’m afraid we have fucked up with Leonard Ellison. –he said-.

“We? Why we? I didn’t do anything!” –I thought to myself-

How come he always thinks he deserves a merit award when something goes right, but he just denies it, whistling in the dark, whining “WE fucked up” when something goes wrong?

Just FYI, Leonard Ellison is the wealthiest man in Orsinia –Sandwich’s rich and powerful neighbour to the north-. He owns a profitable huge corporation, which is Dumbass Industries’ oldest and most important benefactor.

It’s worth mentioning too that the loathsome, obnoxious, thin-skinned, narcissist, egocentrical, arrogant, proud and self-centered Leonard Ellison is a middle-aged Orsinian tycoon, well-known for his haughtiness and irritating mannerisms.

- What’s the problem with Leonard Ellison? –I asked-.
- Due to our sheer incompetence and unbelievable lack of foresight, somebody forgot to send him an invitation for the new theatre opening gala. His assistant called this morning to reserve four seats. Since there are none available, she was told that his name would be added to the waiting list and taken off as cancellations would come in. When Leonard knew this, he freaked out. Not only did he take offence; he also took action immediately: he phoned to tell me he’s cutting the funds allocated to our community services.

I can’t deny I felt some sadistic pleasure when I imagined the scene.

Dumbass Industries’ had sponsored the construction of the first theatre in the capital of the South Sandwich Islands. It was Big Cheese’s most ambitious project. The opening reception would be the event of the year and everybody wanted to be invited, but only the cream of society would. And Leonard Ellison was supposed to be at the top of the list.

- This is gonna be my downfall. He will slaughter me! –he said, tearing out his hair-.
- Hey, pull yourself together! Summon up courage, he won’t slaughter you for that!
- Oh yes he will, we’ve hurt his pride and he will be seeking revenge! I need some cigarettes. And bubble gum too.

He was asking for his pacifiers.

- Don’t overdo it! It was only an unfortunate mistake; we just have to offer him our most sincere apologies; stroke his ego by telling him how happy we are to be his partners in social programmes and compensate him for his “ordeal” by giving him the best seats in the theatre. You just have to give the boot to some b-list celebrities, that’s all! –I said, offering him a stick of chewing gum-.

He stopped some seconds and stared at me. Suddenly, his expression changed and he came up with this brilliant idea:

- Q. You convinced me. Your arguments are perfect. I need you to go to Orsinia, see him and apologize on behalf of the Company; of the Board of Directors; of the Executive Committee, of every single employee.


Gosh, what a skiver! What a shameful coward hiding his head in the sand! That was supposed to be his job, not mine!

- Why don’t you meet him yourself? –I asked-
- He hates me now.
- Why don’t you send the Institutional Relationships Manager? He’s more experienced than me! I’m just a junior chief of staff! Leonard Ellison will kick my ass just because I’m your closest collaborator.
- Wrong assumption, Q. You’re neutral and new in this old company. Everybody likes you and you know how to do these things.
- But Leonard Ellison is not one of the plebs from Dumbass Industries!
- Stop being chicken! I trust you completely.

So summarizing, I wasn’t really going on a pleasure trip, but on a desperate diplomatic mission to Orsinia to save the company’s community services funds and last but not least, to save Big Cheese’s ass. I had nothing to use as a bargaining chip but the four best seats at the theatre opening gala and what was termed "my good offices". So I had to grin and bear it.

After a hard negotiation on the phone, Big Cheese arranged personally my meeting with Leonard Ellison. He deigned to meet me the day after.

- Now leave ASAP and come back with good news, or you’re sacked.

That joke wasn’t fun at all, but Big Cheese isn’t a funny guy at all: when he's at the office and going full blast, we're all worn out by his energy. I followed his instructions and booked online a return air ticket on the first flight to Orsinia.

The weather was terribly cold in Sandwich. When I left Dumbass’ premises, a strong snow storm was hitting the island. The weather forecast hadn’t warned about it, so it was a funny surprise for everybody.

Giant snowflakes danced quietly their way to the ground. I watched them float in the air, mesmerised. The trees looked like white lace and the cars seemed big cakes topped with icing sugar.

I decided to put warm clothes in my luggage. I’m unable to take just the bare essentials, so I packed my suitcase to explosive capacity with everything necessary to be warm in the event of unexpected glaciations and drove my way to Mount Pleasant, South Sandwich International airport.

I parked near the elevator entrance door, right when it was closing. I had the feeling of having seen a familiar face. I pressed the elevator button, and when the door opened, guess who was inside.

He was staring at me, carrying a big trolley and a metal briefcase. I gave a start. I hadn’t seen him since our unfortunate Christmas lunch at my place, but the world is so small in Sandwich that you often come across people whom you love or hate most. I turned back to take another elevator, but it was too late: he caught me.

- Don’t pretend you didn’t see me. –said Ed-
- Don’t pretend to be the boogie man who caught me when I was mourning like the crows –I said, a bit upset-

We stopped arguing and tried to calm down. As we left the elevator, he said:

- May I ask you …where are you going?
- I’m flying to Orsinia for work. Just a couple of days, I hope.
- Excellent. I’m flying to Orsinia too.
- Oh really? I’m leaving on the 17.30 flight. Don’t tell me you’re booked in that flight too.
- I don’t think so. I’m flying my private jet. I would offer you a seat but I have recently decided not to travel with silly, childish and stubborn little Sandwichian ladies again. –he smirked-

I deliberately ignored his comment and asked:

- Ooooh, do you have a private jet, Ed?
- Yes. I know you think I’m ready for the glue factory, but I’m still young and I like these toys. Like my motorbike. I’ll feel the riding virus as soon as the good weather comes.
- Hey! You’re not ready for the glue factory yet. And… I do like these toys too! Won’t you show it to me?
- I’m not sure.
- Please…
- Only if you ask nicely.
- Please…
- I don’t think so.
- Oh, please…
- Jeez, you brought everything but the kitchen sink! –he said, pointing at my big trolley and bag- If you get on my jet with your luggage we will fall into the sea!
- Oh Ed, please please…
- Only if you tell me what city in Orsinia are you going to and what are you doing there.
- I’m going to Madhattan. Big Cheese got in trouble with a businessman who lives there. I need to see him and try to settle their differences.
- Who is it?
- Leonard Ellison.
- Leonard Ellison! I know him well. We've done some business together. We’re good friends.

I couldn’t believe my luck. I bet you can imagine what kind of contingency plan my cunning mind was already devising.

Kynkybooks, revisited

- Don't say I didn't warn you, darling. -said Hellgirl making on of her star appearances.

I turned back. I hate it when people just harp on about "I told you this would happen" and things like that. It wears me out; physically and mentally.

- I told you about Ed. He won't publish your books just like that.
- Why not???
- Because he has something you and I don't have: decency and integrity. He is consistent and will never bring out your works if he doesn't think they're good enough. Getting published is neither easy nor simple. But he will be helping you, though. And I know what's going to happen.
- Oh, you know everything.
- Almost everything, my dear: The copyreader will read your manuscript just because Ed asked him to. That’s absolutely exceptional. I can’t believe you’re having such an amazing piece of luck: normally, he would have just ignored you. The vast majority of publishers just round file any unrequested work they get. They don’t do charity; they want to sell. But don’t think you’re sitting pretty just because you know the editor. Hopefully, if you attract his attention, he will read the first couple of pages and make an assessment. But it isn’t about being good enough, Leni: you have to be the best. Ed will remain off stage, but will ask to be informed at all times and will follow carefully the whole process. In the meantime... you'll start hating him... but you'll be fucked up about missing him. How do you like it? –she asked, as she was filing her nails-.

- Is this how it happened with Misty McGuire?

But Hellgirl had already blown me off, leaving me in mid-sentence, as usual.

Shame. I would have loved to hear how Misty McGuire became Ed's best selling author twenty years ago. I bet she shagged him like crazy. Gosh... what a despicable thought. She was more talented than me. That was the only reason.

The day after, I received a phone call from McGillicuddy, as expected.

- Ms Leni Qinan?
- Speaking.
- This is John McGillicuddy, from Kynkybooks. I'm calling you on behalf of Ed Davies, about your works. I'd like to meet you tomorrow if possible, to have a look at your stories.
- That would be fine.
- Please bring a copy of your best works. I'll be waiting for you at 10am at Kynkybooks. Is that ok with you?
- Sure! I'll be there.

The day after at 9.30AM, I was already at Kynkybooks. I'm not a good person to ask about punctuality and most times I'm either too late or too early. So I had a few nail-biting time at the waiting room. It was the second time I visited Ed's company. The new premises were impressive. I enjoyed the panoramic sea view during the half hour I had been early. At 10am sharp I walked to the reception desk and said:

-I have an appointment with Mr. McGillicuddy. My name is Leni Qinan.

Some seconds later, a hostess escorted me to the elevator; we got to the tenth floor and walked a long quiet corridor to McGillicuddy’s office. The door was open.

- Mr. McGillicuddy? Ms Qinan is here.
- Thanks. Leni, come in please.

He was probably thirty-something. Blond and very tall. He had glasses and a rather bohemian intellectual look. His desk was full of book and papers. Actually, he could have been the class swot.

- I always read over there –he said pointing at the sofa, on the other side of the room- Have a seat, please.

I sat beside him.

- This is my manuscript. –I said, very determined, giving him the book I had just ordered at the bookbinder’s store.
- Ed said to me that you write wonderfully weird and surrealistic stories. I like to read aloud, if you dont mind. –he said, opening the manuscript-. So “My name is Vilma”, right? –he said, after I sat next to him on the sofa.

- Right, that’s the name of the story.

He took the book and started reading:

“Once upon a time there was a mild and wet winter, and a group of Romanian gipsies playing melancholy airs at the metro exit.

They were there every morning, dressed in sombre black clothes, with colourful neck scarves, polishing up their brass trumpets until they shone and glistened. Lifting their hats, they greeted passers-by.

The first day they welcomed me with a rendering of “O sole mío”. It was amusing. For just two coins, those five street musicians would accompany me to the door of the library, dancing about as they played their trumpets. But my purse could not keep up with the pace and, as soon as my contributions ran out, they paid no more attention to me. From then on, the ungrateful wretches even pretended not to see me go by, feigning pride and dignity, as if they were in the streets of Bucharest and their performance as powerful as a scene from Kusturica’s latest film.

From October on, I had been going to the library at No. 5 Liberty Street, taking with me my laptop and backpack full of notebooks. Lovely calluses formed on my hands, which were rather more used to doing nothing.

In the reading room on the sixth floor, I began a study on censorship on children’s books, with the aim of aspiring to a position as an assistant lecturer at the University.

I took out my ID card in its plastic cover, with a photo which did not do me justice and showed it to the librarian. She seemed to have been born in a clone factory which supplied identical copies to the cinema and the theatre: of indeterminate age, she had dyed blond hair done up in a bun, and wore glasses. She was bad tempered too. She hissed a few words at me to let me know the limit of the decibels authorized, which was not to be exceeded under any circumstances. Then, she gave me permission to stay there indefinitely, just so long as I never raised my voice nor stole books.

I spent four months sitting in the same place, which, through use and in time, became mine: a seat at the head of the second table to the left, next to the notice board on the wall advertising the story competition which had been awarded five years before.

In the library at No. 5 Liberty Street, everything had finished, was on the point of becoming out of date or got old fast: the carvings in the wooden wall panels had accumulated the dust of ages and two large sphinxes in granite, which had nothing enigmatic about it at all, guarded the entrance, without any catches. The doors creaked on their hinges, the shutters applauded noisily, the floor squeaked painfully, and the inhabitants of the reading rooms seemed to be covered in a dark varnish, in the image of the sinister place ... just like it, in fact.

Every day, once I had opened up my computer, I looked at the familiar faces over the monitor: the thickset fellow on the left, gesticulating as he ordered his medicine books; my neighbour at the table: she seemed to be correcting boring mathematics exercises; the skinhead girl at the end of the room pouring over the driving test questions; the lanky fellow with his comics, who played computer games not far from me.

In just a few days, I devoured all the children’s books within reach: I swam in the North Sea with Andersen’s mermaid, I clambered up Rapunzel’s long hair and I shared Lemony Snicket’s unfortunate events. I tasted the Little Vampire’s sweet blood. I tried on the crown of Babar the elephant and tested Roald Dahl’s Matilda’s magical powers. I faced up to the fury of William Brown and his Outlaws. I won Willy Wonka’s prize in the chocolate factory. I met Wally and finished Michael Ende’s never-ending story.

It was 1st February and while a treacherous moment of boredom attacked me suddenly during my first coffee break of the day, a man came up to me to ask if he could share my table. Who would dare to interrupt my morning’s stupor and ask permission to invade my private space with the excuse that there was no place anywhere else? I looked up from my newspaper and saw that it was true: all the other tables were occupied. Out of politeness – or rather, kindness – I accepted.”

When McGillicuddy finished reading, he closed the book, stared at me and breathed deep.

- I'd appreciate your e-mailing me the next two pages. I’ll speak to you in a couple of days about it –he said formally, diving me his business card-

"Is that all there is?" -I thought-.

He was certainly tightlipped, but I had to accept it. He had taken full control of the situation.

We shook hands and I left his office. To be honest, I didn’t know what to think. So I decided not to think about it until I heard from him again.

As I made my way to the elevator, I heard someone say:

- Hi Leni.
- Hi Ed.

I turned back and I saw he smiled at me. I smiled back at him.

- I’ve just met McGillicuddy..
- I know, baby. Call me to tell me what are the results of the copyreading, ok?

I nodded. He would know about the results before I did. He stroke my cheek.

- I need to go now, sweety. I have a meeting.

I nodded.

He waved goodbye and smiled sadly. I watched him go; holding back the tears; keeping rooted to the spot until he disappeared.

Traditions some men will never observe

First and foremost, Happy New Year to you. I've been giving my brain cells a little break to come back fresh and ready to tell you about my things and my weird life again.

So where were we... ah yes. It's already history, but I was on the verge of telling you how my Christmas lunch with Ed Davies -the supernatural Burdish editor that some consider my love affair- went.

The scene recommences at my small flat in Grytviken, the capital city of the South Sandwich Islands. I was all dolled up; had just set up a beautiful and well-arranged table. I was clenching my fingers around the green jade and gold magic fountain pen that I would be giving to Ed as a Christmas present... when the doorbell rang.

When I opened the door, Ed was there, leaning against the doorframe, killing me with that smile of his. Don't think it was kinda Cary Grant's smile at the Philadelphian ladies in the old classic movies, no. It was a hugely seductive smile, indeed; but a sort of evelish piercing smile; as wild and powerful as an uncontrolled force of nature; the kind of smile that makes a man intensely, truly, inevitably dangerous.

And every time he smiled at me, my heart skipped and I shook like a leaf. A delightful shiver ran through my body. I smiled back at him and couldn't help blushing. I even lowered my gaze.

He was holding in his hands a bouquet of roses wonderfully red as blood.

- Hi sweetheart. You look absofucking gorgeous. This is for you. -he said, giving me the roses-

Wow. Ed really knew how to treat women. Nobody but him could manage so elegantly to keep the balance between swearing and flattering. But I felt very iconoclastic that day and couldn't help to start teasing him a bit about his anti-traditionality.

- Thank you, Ed. Your roses are simply beautiful -I said, inhaling deep to feel their awesome smell-. Come in, please. I know traditions are not your thing, but don't worry: I won't start caroling or wishing you a Merry Christmas. But since it's a tradition in Burdishland to kiss under the mistletoe, I thought you'd like it and pinned some up there above the doorframe in your honour. -I said, pointing at the ceiling-
- You don't need to do that, Leni. If you want me to kiss you, just let me know and I'll be more than happy to kiss you anytime. Not only on Christmas Day.

And again, he stared at me. Jeez, he had an answer for everything. And he always came up with brilliant ideas to hit back at my jokes.

He put his arms around me and kissed me with such a feeling and overwhelming passion that my legs started shaking and my knees went weak. I had kissed a few guys before, and I had never once had one make me shake just from kissing him like he did. He left me totally breathless. I went into a hypnotic trance. My mind and consciousness became so weak that my will was completely missing.

- So what were you saying about traditions, Leni? -he whispered in my ear when the kiss ended-

Man, do you really think I was able to answer his question at that very instant?

I hadn't even noticed that during my ecstatic state I had let myself go to such a point that I opened my right hand inadvertently and the fountain pen rolled down to the parquet floor bouncing and making a loud noise. He picked it up and gave it back to me. I suddenly woke up from my reveries.

Shit. That was not exactly the way I wanted it to happen. I had carefully planned to choose the fountain pen; I almost went into trouble when I stole it at Breuninger with Hellgirl; I had bought the nicest paper and lace in South Sandwich to do the gift wrapping. I had even dreamed of that unique moment when he would be opening the present impatiently. But instead of that... I accidentally dropped it on the floor. The magic moment I had so much dreamed of, disappeared before it had even happened.

- Oh my... it was going to be your Christmas present! I'm sorry I couldn't wrap it properly. I was about to do that when you arrived... -I said almost in tears-
- Is it for me? -he asked, interrupting my heartfelt words-
- Yes, but I'm sorry I couldn't wrap it nicely as I would have wanted!
- Holy shit! A genuine Occhiobello fountain pen! What a treasure! Jeez, Leni... thank you... -he said, looking closely at it-

That sincere exclamation of joy made me feel a lot better. And he didn't know yet what that thingamajig could do.

- You probably have a zillion fountain pens... -I sald-
- Sure I do, darling. But this one is the nicest I could ever dream of. And it's a present from you. -he said, smiling at me-
- The truth is it has a special feature, apart from the excellent writing.

He stared at me intriggued.

- Hm... tell me about it.
- You will be able to paint your dreams in the air and make them come true if the image is faithful to reality.

He couldn't wait to try it. He draw strange figures and complicated writings and the delicate coloured mist started spreading in the air. I couldn't understand any of the sentences he wrote.

- What was your dream about? -I asked when the mist started clearing away-.
- To have a life with you.

Yes, what he said destabilized me big time. He was reviving his old dream of having a third wife who would be suposedly a Virgo girl and have a brown mole on her left breast. Just like I was and had. But the best was yet to come.

After we had finished our non-Christmas lunch, I thought back to what Hellgirl suggested me to ask him: to publish my books. I would probably never be that close to an editor again in my whole life. I had never asked him for anything, so I decided it was worth trying. It was now or never and I was confident he wouldn't object, so I crossed my fingers and said:

- Ed...
- Yes, Leni?
- Do you think Kynkybooks could publish my stories? Do you think you could read them and bring out my works?
- Honey, I never do that. There are people at Kynkybooks whose work is to read and evaluate the new writers' works. It's not as simple as you think.
- Oh but I'm sure you're the one who has the final say... so please... read my books... you did it once... it means a lot to me... why can't you do that again? -I asked, rubbing his right hand with my fingers-.
- Because Hellgirl entrusted me with the reading of your books when you made that deal with her, remember? And I had to set you free from your debt.

I nodded.

- Oh but... I have new stories that you haven't read yet and I'd like you to give me your advice and tell me in all honesty if you could publish them.
- No Leni, I cant do this. It's not a company policy to favour the writers just because they know the editor.
- Can't you just break your strict rules for once in a lifetime, Ed? You won't die for reading my books! Why do you always have to be so decent and respectable? -I said, nervously-

And then, there was silence. It was the silence before the storm. My womanly wiles were not working at all and I started getting worked up.

- I'll get you an appointment with McGillicuddy, my Copy Chief. He's an excellent copyreader and proofreader. I'll see to it. -he said-
- But I'd like you to do that, Ed. Do it for me... please...
- I'd love to, baby, honest, but I can't do it. I've just bought new premises for Kynkybooks and I'm very short of time. I'm confident that McGillicuddy will do a fine work if you send him your book.

I was consumed with intense anger … a fire whose temperature was reaching excessive degrees.

- You can't do it? My arse! YOU CAN DO IT, BUT YOU DONT WANT TO DO IT! Your lousy excuses make you sound so pathetic! How come you can't even bother to read my books? It will take you just two hours of your precious time! I bet this is not the same you would say to your beloved Misty McGuire!
- Hey, child, don't talk to me like that!
- Stop treating me like a baby! I'm not a child! I'm a woman!

He quietly got up and said in a low voice:

- I think I better leave now, Leni. You're being very unreasonable, very selfish and throwing fits at everything, just like a baby. You can't always get what you want. Learn this lesson. The sooner, the better. The world doesn't revolve around you.

And he dashed out, slamming the door behind him.

Yes, I have a sharp tongue. But disappointment kills.

I cried tears of dark despair and sorrow, but my cry for help remained unnoticed. I would have given my life for him and yet he was unable to spare me two hours of his time to read my fifty-pages book. Was that so much to ask?

My love for him had always been unconditional, wholehearted, loyal, faithful and I expected him to love me accordingly. But to him, I had just thrown a fit. A total tantrum, like a little kid.

From that day on, I knew what my first New Year's resolution would be in 2009: to get published, whatever it took. And I didn't give a damn wether it was with or without Ed Davies' help.




"Calling all angels" (Jane Siberry & KD Lang)