Cows and old friends

That night I slept like a baby. I woke up from fuzzy dreams where my diamond ring was stolen by a scary gang: a joker, a minstrel and a buffoon, whose faces I couldn’t even remember.

When I opened my eyes, I urgently looked at my left hand and breathed a sigh of relief… the ring was still around my finger.

It was 8am: a critical time for my biological clock; it wouldn’t stop working even on holidays. I tossed and turned in bed. I tried to sleep again, but I couldn’t.

I checked the messages in my cell phone:

Mom asked: “Enjoying yourself, honey?”
I answered: “Enjoying the hell out of this place”

Big Cheese asked: “How’s that chickenpox thing going?”
I answered: “Still infectious: too many spots, bumps, blisters and crusts”.

My cell phone credit was doomed by the mobile operator, who relentlessly threatened: “Your 500-minutes-of-free-calls offer expired today; from now on, regular tariffs will be applied”.

I knew it was a no-reply message. Nevertheless, just for the sake of hitting back, I texted: “Thanks for reminding me that the poor always stay poor and the rich always get richer!”

Ed said nothing. I hadn’t heard from him for a while. He was probably busy, as usual; chairing the his huge corporation's Board of Directors; updating spreadsheets on his laptop; racking his brains trying to find out how to save one more cent per envelope at his great financial empire; or maybe topping off a cappuccino with a bit of caramel sauce, just about to savour it in his back garden, reading the morning papers while listening to Mendelssohn’s Sonata. Yes, that was him: a thrifty guy who enjoyed the small pleasures of life. This is how big fortunes are amassed.

I always believed in ‘quid pro quo’ and its hardcore version: ‘an eye for an eye’. So I had to fight hard against my natural inclination to let him know that he was too often in my thoughts. But this time, the rationalistic little creature in my brain recommended an alternative: “No contact? Then, no message”. It was time for him to take initiatives and make moves in our strange relationship, so for the moment I opted to remain silent.

Then I had a long, hot, relaxing shower. I always loved hotel amenities and toiletries; especially these small shower gel bottles in the bathroom. One of my favourite summer amusements when I was a kid –or rather a little monster on holidays- was to steal these mini-soap bars from the cleaning lady’s trolley.

I even stole the tips that my parents left at the restaurants when I was little. Funny how nobody ever noticed. But as I grew up, I realised that stealing from waiters and cleaning ladies was wrong and extremely unfair; so I stopped doing that. I changed my mind and decided I’d rather steal from those who were filthy rich instead. And after my initiation ceremony with Hellgirl, my criminal record grew with seasonal emotional robberies in Christmas and Valentine’s Day at Breuninger's. Too bad that my lover's criminal attempts were never corresponded in these special dates.

I got dressed and took the elevator upstairs to have my energy breakfast at the hotel terrace, beside the swiming pool on the tenth floor: big mug of milk and coffee; bread roll with butter and jam. Ham; honey; orange juice; cheese.

It was a sunny spring morning and the sight of the city from the hotel terrace was breathtaking. I took some time to read “The Mawi-Mawian Chronicle” as I quietly drank my coffee. To my surprise, the news was quite shocking:

“Public Health representatives speed up the 'Anti-topless Act' approval, in order to ban topless sunbathing on Mawi-Mawian beaches and prevent flu epidemics”. What a bunch of reactionary governors. That was the most idiotic piece of crap I had heard in my whole life.

“Alien visitors to Earth declared to have been abducted by a group of Orsinian scientists who experimented on them”. I had always believed that the aliens were the ones who abducted people and experimented on them, not the other way around.

“Popular twin cartoon characters, Cow and Chicken, finally get married!”. WOW incest and marriage between two different species! I had never heard of such thing before. What would their kids look like?

“Tooth Fairy goes on strike”. At last, one exploited tiny proletarian rose up against the dictatorship of children’s endless falling teeth! Karl Marx and Friedrich Engels would spin in their graves to hear their most famous rallying cry of communism replaced with: “Fairies of all lands: Unite!”

And last, but not least:

“Research carried out by the University of Mawi-Mawi City demonstrates that contrary to metaphysical naturalism and common belief, the Earth is flat”. How could possibly the rest of the world be so wrong?

It was not April’s Fools Day yet, and I decided to stop reading all that nonsense before I went mad. I walked downtown to visit the Cow Parade, the city art exhibit of life-sized cows from international artists, with auctions at the end of the event, benefiting charities.

The colours of this cow went very well with my dress, so I asked a native to take this picture of me.

Suddenly, I heard a man shouting at me from a balcony. His voice rang a bell, but I couldn’t exactly identify who he was:

- Hey Len!

I looked up, but saw nothing. I was shocked.

- Hey Len! Don’t pretend you haven’t heard me!

At that point, I really got scared and started running away, just in case.

- I'll give fifty dollars to the one who stops the shorty brunette in purple! –shouted the unidentified guy-

Four passers-by grabbed my arms immediately. I couldn’t move. I resisted, but it was useless. Two minutes later, silence descended upon the street.

- Hi, Len. Long time no see. -he said-

I turned back and saw that huge blond guy dressed with grunge clothing, who was giving fifty dollar notes to those who had stopped me.

He winked at me.

I immediately recognised his face. There was only one person in this world who would call me ‘Len’ at the top of his lungs: Bob Gaussman, the Great.



‘Time passes’ (Paul Weller)

Always at your service

After my ordeal in the plane, I landed safe and sound in Mawi-Mawi. To my surprise, Moebius Hax -the jeweller who told me about Ed’s supposedly fake diamond ring- disappeared into thin air.

Tourists were most warmly welcomed by a few sarong-draped local beauties who offered colourful flower necklaces to the visitors at the airport lobby. This gave me the wonderful feeling to be in a land where nobody was a stranger.

Mawi-Mawi is a beautiful country with white sand beaches, tropical vegetation, enviable temperatures all year round… and most peculiar people too, as I could confirm upon my arrival.

I took a taxi at the airport and asked the driver to take me to the Majestic Hotel, where I had booked a room. I’m fluent in Mawi-Mawian, but my strong Sandwichian accent often betrays me.

- Are you from the South Sandwich Islands, ma’am? –he asked-
- Yes. –I answered shortly-
- Are you coming to Mawi-Mawi for tourism or business?
- For tourism.

When he stopped the taxi at the first red traffic light, he turned round to face me, stared at me and asked:

- Can I ask you a question?
- Sure. Go ahead. –I said, not knowing whether I would regret it or not-.
- Would you like to hire a male stripper for a private party?
- Ehm… no, thanks.
- What a shame. Just in case you changed your mind… here’s my number. I perform artistic stripping shows at weddings, birthdays and all kinds of social events. My name is Seymour Butz; always at your service! –said the cab driver, as he held his hand to me-
- Thanks Seymour, I bet it must be an excellent show.

We shook hands. Seymour Butz, the taxi driver and moonlighting stripper, probably was in his fifties and owned a big pot belly. It seemed to me that the crisis was really affecting the taxi sector. He smiled and gave me a small paper where he had written his name and cell phone number; I promised to call him if I ever decided to organise a hen party or a late night orgy.

My hotel was located in the most elegant neighbourhood of Mawi-Mawi City. I found this exceptional offer of accommodation in the internet and didn’t hesitate to book. The crisis was particularly hard on the hotel industry and catering trade, which were Mawi-Mawi’s main sources of income and it was easy to find bargain holiday offers and cheap flights in these days.

Unfortunately, my skinny budget wouldn’t allow me to book a suite in one of those truly unforgettable and extraordinarily unique luxury Mawi-Mawian coastal resorts, with attractions such as golf, watersports, spa, beauty facilities, natural ecology… and tranquility. So I had no choice but to stay in the city, sunbathe at the hotel terrace and swim at the hotel pool.

I had booked a room in what I thought was an ‘elegant small quiet hotel with charm, far from the city noise and fumes’; but instead of that, I found myself in the very heart of town, entering the lobby of an exclusive, sophisticated, five-star facility marked by distinguished style and attentive service… or so I thought.

Twenty minutes later, Seymour the cab driver dropped me off at the Majestic, took my trolley out of the boot, waved goodbye -smiling grateful for the generous tip I had given him- and disappeared in the blink of an eye, after reminding me about his stripping skills.

I entered the hotel and walked towards the reception desk. The room was well illuminated by a beautiful crystal chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, projecting its light on a round marble table crowned by a wonderful bunch of orchids planted on a huge clam shell.

Three male receptionists worked hectically with their laptops, behind the black granite counter. I walked towards them, very determined…

- Good evening. My name is Leni Qinan and I’ve booked a room…

But I couldn’t finish my sentence. To my surprise, they started to fight. One of them knocked out the other. The third one, who was peacefully watching the scene behind them, tripped up the winner of the previous round and finally stood up right in front of me, primping and raising two fingers, in a sign of victory.

Nobody, apart from me, seemed to have noticed the mess going on there. I was shocked. After pushing backwards his two knocked out co-workers, he smiled at me as if nothing ever happened and said:

- Good evening Miss Qinan. Welcome to the Mawi-Mawi City Majestic Hotel. We hope you have a pleasant stay with us. May I have your passport, please? –he asked, in a perfect Sandwichian English-.
- Sure. –I said, totally dumbfounded-. Are they alright? -I asked, pointing at his workmates-

- Oh yes, don't worry about them. -he answered-

They probably got a commission on the number of customers served. Hence, the fight. And again, the crisis on the background.

He checked my bookings on the computer and turned back to me, with a smile in his face.

- I’d like to have a quiet room; far from the elevators, if possible. –I said-
- I’ll arrange that for you, Ms Qinan. Your room number is 429. My name is Frank Furter, but everybody calls me Paco, the nickname for Frank. Always at your service. –he said, winking at me-
- Thanks a lot… Paco.

Sometimes I wonder why on earth I attract all kinds of unusual persons like a magnet, everywhere I go. I was intrigued and a bit puzzled about that kind of familiarity. But I was too tired to think, so I let it go.

The bellhop took my trolley and escorted me to my room. He took the magnetic key and opened the door. The room was not big, but very nice and cosy.

- Thanks, you can leave the trolley over there. –I said-
- The restaurant is open until midnight, madam. Breakfast is served from 7 to 11am. The terrace and swimming pool on the tenth floor are open till 8pm. There are beautiful art galleries in the city and you may like to visit the Cow Parade too.
- I will. Thank you…
- My name is Dixon Hand, madam. Always at your service. –he said, seriously-

I had a strange déjà-vu feeling: it was the third time I heard that sentence preceded by a funny weird name in less than one hour. And it was getting worse by the minute. I got the giggles and managed to stop it but I had a hard time trying to hold back my fit of laughter.

- Is there anything else I can do for you, Ms Qinan?
- No, Dixon, thank you very much for your help.

I tipped him and pushed him out of the room. As soon as I locked the door I nearly split my sides laughing. I couldn’t believe everybody had these names in Mawi-Mawi. How could I possibly survive one week there without being arrested by the police for dying of laughter in their face when they introduced themselves?

I focussed on a touring plan. The art galleries and the Cow Parade sounded very interesting. And a relaxing session at the swimming pool would do for a start. So it was decided.

I jumped on the bed, looked at my ring and dreamed for a while. Fake or true, it was the most amazing diamond I had ever seen in my whole life. But I was dying to hear from Ed’s lips what the meaning of that ring was. So I took my cell phone and called him.

- Hi Ed. I made it safe and sound.
- Hi sweety. Did you have a nice flight?
- Not really, it was very bumpy, but I’m ok.
- Excellent. Did you open the box I gave you?
- Of course I did. And Ed… it’s such a beautiful ring! How did you know my finger size? –I said, enthusiastically-
- I know everything, love. We’ll talk about it when you’re back, ok?
- Oh, no please, I won't be back until next week! I can't wait! Let’s talk about it now!
- I’m sorry, Leni. I'd rather talk about it personally. Now I need to go, love. Some people are waiting for me to start a videoconference.
- Ok sir, always at your service! -I said, very upset-.

I put the cell phone down, really disappointed. He was always so busy.

ALWAYS AT YOUR SERVICE.

I had that sentence stuck in my head. But that was not going to spoil my vacation.

I took my notepad and wrote down my schedule for the week.

Monday: Cow Parade. Swimming pool.
Tuesday: Magical mystery park; Swimming pool.
Wednesday: Cubist artists expo at the Art Museum. Swimming pool.
Thursday: Old quarter. Swimming pool.
Friday: Shoppings. Swimming pool.
Saturday: Royal Palace and harbour. Swimming pool.
Sunday: Back to Sandwich and ASK ED ABOUT THE F*CK*NG RING.

I was now isolated in a carousel of jokers, clowns, buffoons, weirdoes and comedians… but in spite of that, Ed would not escape my questions just like that.



'Across the universe' (Fiona Apple)

Leni in the sky with diamonds

My eyes widened as I let out a small gasp. It wasn’t like when someone bumps his groin area on your buttcheeks at the tube, but I didn’t like it to be pushed.

So I turned around quite annoyed and saw this skinhead thin tall guy right behind me. I figured that the queue was busy and it was what caused him to bump into me, so I let it go. Otherwise I would have slaughtered him.

- I’m sorry. Someone pushed me too. It was kind of domino effect –he said-
- It’s… okay, no worries –I answered-

He had penetrating eyes under his round glasses that gave him a bohemian intellectual look.

- I hope I didn’t bother you.–he said-
- Oh no, not at all. It was an accident. –I answered-.
- My name is Moebius Hax. I’m flying back to Mawi-Mawi, the place where I live and work. –he said-
- Nice to meet you, Moebius. My name is Leni.
- Nice to meet you too, Leni. You can call me Moe.


We shook hands quite formally. Obviously, he was not Sandwichian; in that case we would have done the traditional Sandwichian cheek kissing salute. We’re warm and hospitable people over here.

I couldn’t believe the amount of information about himself he had given to me in just a short sentence. Maybe he expected to be supplied accordingly about me, as would be right and proper? No way! I was not exactly keen on making friends with total strangers. Talking to me when I refuse to unveil my personal mysteries can be very tiring: One has to draw the words out of me with a corkscrew. And it may sound silly, but just in case he would feel like asking again, I shyly took a step forward, so he couldn’t see my tomato red cheeks after our presentation.

The queue was progressing and we started to walk towards the boarding gates. And yes, my recent new acquaintance wanted to know more.

- Are you travelling to Mawi-Mawi? –he asked-
- Yes. I’m on holidays.
- Lucky you. Have you ever been there before?
- No, it’s my first time.
- I really hope you enjoy it. –he said smiling-.

I can’t stand to fly, and as soon as I caught my plane, I decided to take two tranquilizers, strong enough to knock down a gorilla. But it was always better than getting sloshed to the point of unconsciousness, as I usually do when I have no choice but to fly.

The small red box that Ed had given to me was in my pocket; I couldn’t wait to open it. And I did it right after the takeoff.

My heart was pounding. I opened the box… and I gasped in amazement: it contained the most beautiful brilliant sparkle ring I had ever seen. It glowed with a brilliant aura, shining like the morning sun, displaying amazing shades of purple, lavender and blue, forming a jaw-dropping tiny magic rainbow. I was breathtaken.

I put the ring on my finger and stared at it for at least ten minutes, sighing, with a smile on my face.

But the magic pills I had swallowed before worked so well that soon I fell into a profound sleep. I had a fuzzy dream about Ed grabbing my hand and proposing on bended knee, saying:

‘Marry me. I’ll make you happy, or at least I’ll try’

My sweet dreams were interrupted when the plane hit a bad pocket. I woke up to the clanking sound of my food tray. I heard from afar the pilot speaking over the loudspeaker:

"Ladies and gentlemen, there is some rough weather ahead so please put your seat belts on and your tray tables up."

The flight attendants shut and removed everything, went back to their seats and quickly buckled up. The roaring of the engines caused a strong vibration on the floor, as if the pilots would be struggling to keep the course of the aircraft. Oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling as the plane descended rapidly. The passengers were completely silent, paralysed with terror.

I cried of fear. ‘Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck’

The plane was right about halfway over the ocean. And jeez, I didn’t want to feed the fish yet! There was a strong bump, followed by more bumps. I kept a firm grip on the ring, scared as hell. I was shivering and sweating. My teeth chattered. I sent a desperate message from my lips to Ed’s ears, whispering a quiet promise:

‘If I survive this flight, I’ll marry you’

But I didn’t trust my telepathic abilities, and my words were all lost in the deafening clatter of the plane’s engines.

Time appeared to not move forward. But after some minutes of horror that seemed to last forever, turbulence became less frequent and the plane recovered stability. I looked around. None of the passengers were reading anymore or working on their laptops. Everybody was still getting over the fright.

I was exhausted from the tension and fell asleep again, still overdosed on tranquilizers. When I woke up, Moebius Hax was sitting beside me.

- How long have I been sleeping? –I asked him-
- Half an hour. You’ve missed the turbulence. It has been the best roller-coaster I’ve ever been on.

This is what I call to look on the bright side of life, in the most typical Monty Python’s fashion.

I immediately looked at my ring, to make sure it hadn’t been a dream. But no! It was still there, around my finger! I smiled, reassured and fascinated. How was so much beauty possible?

- Could I have a look? –he asked, pointing at my hand-

In spite of his unwelcome intrusion upon my private moment, I handed him the ring.

- I’m a jeweler. Hence, my interest.–he explained-

He took the ring carefully with his thumb and index finger and stared at it closely.

- What do you think of my awesome diamond ring? –I asked, enthusiastically-
- I’m afraid it’s not an awesome diamond, but a beautiful zircon, Leni. And the rest is not even gold. It’s fake jewelry. Sorry to disappoint you, but as a professional jeweler, it’s my duty to tell you the truth.
- Thanks for your assessment, Moe, but I didn’t really need it.
- Well, I’m sorry. Diamond jewelry is most often given in love. So if you expected a real diamond…
- I’m not greedy for diamonds, furs or expensive cars, so I’m not disappointed. To be honest, I don’t really care whether it's real or not. It's the sentiment behind it that should matter most. And I feel treated like a queen just to guess what that sentiment means.

Moebius smirked and played with his cell phone suspiciously. There’s always near a pedantic know-all who lets you know how stupid you are. I can’t deny that I was upset about it.

- Can I have my ring back now, please? –I asked-
- Sure. There you go.

He gave me back the ring and I put it on my left middle finger. I still couldn’t stop looking at it. To me, it was the purest and most exclusive diamond ring. I rubbed it with my fingers and took it to my cheek. Fake or true, that really didn’t matter to me. I felt an immense love and a huge amount of energy flowing through me.

"Ladies and gentlemen, in ten minutes we will land in Mawi-Mawi. Sorry for the bumpy ride." –said the pilot-

Before we landed, I thought it would be a good idea to resume old habbits and ordered a double whisky, which gave me huge satisfaction and incredible peace of mind. Nevertheless, I was not exactly sure what I was celebrating. That ring, whether it was true or false, needed further explanation.





"Lucy in the sky with diamonds" (The Beatles)
Renaming this wonderful song: Leni in the sky with diamonds ;)

My great escape

I packed my trolley to explosive capacity and took a taxi to the airport. I was going to fly the first plane to Mawi-Mawi and spend there a couple of relaxing weeks, during which I would disappear from the mad world where I belonged. I desperately needed to get far from professional cheaters, supernatural editors and underworld people for a while.

My initiatic journey through brilliant absence excuses -like fake chicken pox, stolen holidays and the supposed solitude I was longing for- had just started. And boy, it was a breath of fresh air. But only ten minutes had passed since I regained freedom, when a strange carnival started.

I was still notorious for having been caught kissing passionately Ed Davies at the Sandwich Arena a few months ago. A clever photographer immortalised that moment with a picture that all the newspapers in Sandwich had published, and it wasn’t strange to see some reporters swarming around me every now and then. The Sandwichian gossips wouldn’t forget that scene so easily.

And this is exactly what happened that day: two guys –one of them holding a camera and the other one grabbing a huge microphone- followed me through the airport labyrinths, as I barely managed to drag my heavy trolley up the escalators.

- Leni, why is your relationship with Ed Davis going downhill? –asked the mic guy-

I would have gladly smacked that filthy grin off his face, but I had learned from Ed that silence and indifference should be my only answer in these situations, no matter how rude the question was.

- Leni, for the Sandwichian Gossip News, would you eventually marry Ed after you make peace? –he asked-
- Wow. Did you go to college four years just to end up asking intelligent questions like that one? –I answered-

Normally I try to avoid hitting back, but frankly, this time I couldn’t help it: they were harassing me. I walked faster towards the Mawi-Mawian Airlines check-in counter, where I stopped. Of course, the reporters followed me around like a plague, asking again and again if Ed and I were dating and/or getting married.

The gospel truth is I still ignore the answer to such mysteries. Yes, I had got a really bad crush on him, rather than being infatuated or suffering from puppy love. But I didn’t know exactly whether we were just friends -with or without benefits- or fuckbuddies with marriage prospects. I just knew that the explosion of neurochemicals and endorphin cocktail in my brain triggered a wonderful butterfly feeling in my stomach every time he was around. And that feeling kept me thinking about him all the time.

I handed over my passport to the guy behind the counter and he gave me my boarding pass. As I loaded my luggage on the conveyor belt, he stared at me. Then he typed something on his keyboard and picked up the phone.

- Anybody could come fetch Ms Qinan? She’s already here. –he said to the person at the other end-

Really, I’m not a celebrity; but since I’ve met Hellgirl, all kinds of weird things have started happening to me. So my capacity to be astonished is actually bomb proof.

- Why fetch me? Who’s coming to fetch me? I’m flying in one hour! –I asked-
- Oh don’t worry. The plane won’t take off without you. It will take you just a couple of minutes; we just need you to answer a few questions. –he said-

I was very intrigued and so were the reporters, who were shooting and registering everything.

As all this was happening, a big security guy appeared driving one of those small vehicles used for travelling from the terminal to the aircraft, and whispered in my ear:

- Ms Qinan, would you please be kind enough to join me?
- Where?
- To the VIP lounge.
- Why?
- Mr. Davies would like to meet you before you take your flight.

I nodded and sighed. I was craving to meet him too, but I had to pretend I didn’t want to, or my pride would be reduced to a little heap of ashes on the floor. So apparently, I was going to be kidnapped for the second time in my life. But I decided not to put any resistance and jumped into the car.

We left the two reporters behind. They protested weakly, waving their arms about. After a couple of minutes driving, the security man dropped me at the VIP lounge’s door, where Ed’s pandimensional hyper-intelligent secretary was waiting for me.

- Good morning Ms Qinan. Please follow me to Mr. Davies’ private room.

She walked fast. I followed her and entered the room. She opened the door and announced me. Ed was sitting on a sofa, in the dark. He took a long drink before he held his iPhone in his left hand to show me the SMS I had sent him the day before. In spite of his usual seemingly phlegmatic appearance, his eyes briefly glowed from red to blue, which was an unmistakable sign of deep annoyance.

- Come in, Leni. –he said, trying to hold back his upsetness-
- How on Earth did you find out that I was here? –I asked-
- And what the fuck do you mean with ‘Don’t bother to get in touch with me. Gonna be very busy and emotionally unavailable for a while’? –he asked, slowly reading the message in a low bad angry voice-
- McGillicuddy has been cheating you. –I said, deliberately ignoring his question-
- I sacked him. –he answered on the spot-
- Good for you.
- I know you refused his offer.
- Good for you too.

There was silence for some seconds and then he sweetened up his voice.

- And I love you for that, Leni. –he whispered-.

I stopped the false cokiness. As soon as I heard him say my name, my knees started shivering.

- How can you possibly think that I am ignoring you, silly? –he asked, as he stroke my hair-
- Because I feel you’re cooling down, Ed. But I’m afraid we will have to continue this conversation next week. I’m flying to Mawi-Mawi in a few minutes.

He sighed deep and smirked.

- I assure you we will continue this conversation. But wait. I need to give you something before you go.

He dug a small jewelry box out of his pocket and gave it to me.

- Don’t open it here; do it in the plane.
- What is it? –I asked-

The box looked like… well, it looked like it contained an engagement ring. To be honest, if I ever dreamed of a marriage proposal, it would be a classic solemn scene -you know, on bended knee and all- rather than me opening the gift box in a plane, surrounded by some three hundred strangers. I tried to regain control during that initial moment of panic and said:

- I’m afraid I can’t accept it, whatever it is.
- You don’t know what it contains. So please, take it. Do it for me. And leave now, sweety. Or you’ll miss your flight.

He kissed me deep and then vanished into thin air, leaving me nervous and aching with longing for him.

I left the VIP lounge clutching the small red box tightly in my right hand. I was a nervous wreck. My heart was beating fast.

As I queued at the passport control and asked myself what the mystery inside the box was, someone bumped into me from behind.


(To be continued)





‘Give me one reason’ (Tracy Chapman)

Little betrayals

Have you ever been betrayed by someone you trusted? Just a few days ago, I was a witness to a terrible betrayal of confidence, which left me unhinged and unable to think with any kind of clarity.

It all started when I got a mysterious e-mail from John McGillicuddy, the copyreader who had been entrusted by Ed with the task of reading my books, in order to ascertain whether my stories were good enough to be published, or I’d better take up knitting.

The message said:

“Dear Leni,
I need to talk to you about your works. I wonder if you would agree to meet at my private office this coming Friday at 5pm. Please, bring a copy of your novels and a compilation of your short stories.
Best regards,

John McGillicuddy”

‘Dear Leni’? What happened to the good old formal ‘Ms Qinan’? And his private office… what was the reason for that sudden casualness and such a veil of secrecy? I had the feeling that something fishy was going on.

At first he showed a great deal of interest in my works, but then there followed a long period of silence. I thought that he had lost momentum or was simply putting me off. I was so used to publishers taking a French leave, that I really wouldn’t be surprised if I had never heard from him again.

The truth is I always wanted to become a writer and leave my ridiculously busy job at Dumbass Industries. But while I have a mortgage and too many bills to pay, the writing will have to wait.

On the other hand, I’m not exactly the kind of person to leave a consolidated career to pursue a dream. So you won’t see me making unpredictable moves or acting hastily. A small group of rationalistic cells in my brain drives my decisions and there’s no room for bohemian adventures.

In a word, I was very surprised that McGillicuddy would be resuming contact with me. I made a copy of everything I had written in my whole life and on Friday afternoon I rushed to McGillicudy’s private office, carrying a heavy pile of books.

- Good afternoon –I said, with a smile in my face-
- Good afternoon, Leni. Thanks for coming. Let me help you with the books. –he said-. I’ve called you because I've got something important to tell you.
- I’m all ears.
- Maybe you don’t know that your best chances of getting published are not exactly at Kynkybooks.
- What do you mean?
- Listen to this interesting conversation I had two days ago with Ed about you.

He took his cell phone and pressed the Play key.

- Did you read Leni’s story yet? –asked Ed-
- I did, and I asked her to send me more. –answered McGillicuddy-
- Sounded good to you? –asked Ed again- - Sounded publisheable to me, in fact. It’s powerful and emotional. It needs more work, though, but it’s good raw material. The only thing is… she sounds too Sandwichian.
- That will be probably one of her charms as a writer. Ask her to bring you one of her novels and read them thoroughly. Ask her to write something on demand; teach her the secrets of deadline writing. But if she’s not good enough, then forget about it.
- Ok.
- I want you to be hard on her; to start from a tougher line when you read her next story; to be stricter than with any other writer ever published by Kynkybooks. And please, e-mail me everything.

McGillicuddy stopped the recording. That conversation left me stone cold. I didn’t know what to say. It took me some seconds to react. I got up and said:

- Look John, I think I’m not interested in getting published anymore. –I said, looking down-
- Come on. I hope you’re not serious about it.
- Why would I want to be pressurized like a balloon filled to the max? And why whould I want to be judged by stricter criteria than the rest of the writers?
- That’s exactly what was asking myself. Just because you have a relationship with Ed, you shouldn’t be at a disadvantage. –he said-
- I don’t have a relationship with Ed. Stop sticking your nose in my business.
- You don’t ? Everybody thinks you do.
- Then everybody is wrong.
- Good for you. I’m going to offer you a deal you can’t refuse.

Why would he quote Marlon Brando in ‘The godfather’? I was intrigued about that deal which was supposed to be so beneficial for me. Since I had met the supernaturals, I never thought my life would ever be filled with so much bargaining and negotiating. I felt like I was the goddess of chaos, causing all kinds of havoc all over.

- Go on. –I said-
- Ed is not going to publish your books. He’s just beating around the bush. He proved it by lollygagging and giving you the run-around.

I stared at him with a scornful look.

- And what do you suggest? –I asked-
- It’s time to get your rear in gear, Leni. Join me and you’ll get published, but not at Kynkybooks. I have good contacts at an important Orsinian publisher that would love to sell your books. Faster and easier than Ed.

I sighed. It was pretty obvious that McGillicuddy was stealing new writers from Ed’s publishing business and offering them to those good contacts he mentioned, upon payment of a reasonable fee. And he was trying to tempt me.

I hate the smell of betrayal, and it was cutting through me like a lance. My sense of loyalty towards Ed prevented me from taking part in something that appeared to be shockingly unethical and disloyal; even when his lack of faith and harshness had really disheartened me.

- Forget it. As I said before, I’m not interested in getting published anymore. Least of all with your Orsinian publisher. I know my chances are remote and Ed doesn’t believe in me, but it’s Kynkybooks or nothing. I’m not playing along with you.
- How unfortunate, Leni. Dream on, then.

McGillicuddy’s general attitude, but more than anything his last words, really annoyed me. I took my books and left his office slamming the door with the gut-wrenching feeling of a deep disappointment.

As for myself… it was my fault as well, for having started mixing feelings and ambitions. But in all honesty, I didn’t understand why I had to be judged differently than the rest of writers and stand such an amount of unfairness, just because Ed wanted to be more royalist than the king.

By the way… did I say before that I was a rationalistic square-headed chick, with a steady logical mind, who would never leave everything behind to pursue her dreams?

This time I decided to give myself a treat. As soon as I got home, I packed my suitcase; bought online a plane ticket to Mawi-Mawi, a remote beautiful country which I had always wanted to visit, but never could; I booked a room at a charming small hotel and rented a car.

I texted my mom:
“I’m taking 3 weeks holidays. Will be in Mawi-Mawi, reachable on the cell phone. Smooch!”

I texted Big Cheese:
“I've got a bad case of extremely contagious chicken pox: horrible rash, spots, bumps, blisters and crusts; doc says I’ll be sick at least for 3 weeks. Will keep you abreast of things”.

And I texted Ed:
“McGillicuddy is betraying you. Don’t bother to get in touch with me. Gonna be very busy and emotionally unavailable for a while”.

"The first cut is the deepest" (Sheryl Crow)