How I almost became a two-bit criminal

After my lurid story with Leonard Ellison, I rushed home and had a long hot shower, feeling dirty and sick. I couldn’t sleep a wink that night, just thinking of the politest way to resign from my escort job, before I discreetly disappeared from the scene.

In all honesty, I was not the best candidate to entertain anyone ‘to the fullest extent possible’, as it was written in my employment contract; least of all, would I do that for a bunch of bored business guys looking for free kinky entertainment after their important working meetings. So Demonius High’s VIP clients should have to find themselves another nice girl of easy virtue.

But even though Demonious was a Hell minion and not exactly my favourite person, I didn’t want to betray him or take French leave. So I decided to speak to him, in order to dissolve our association. He answered my phone call very enthusiastically:

- How did it go last night with Leonard, Leni?

The right answer to his question was ‘I couldn’t possibly imagine that your best client would be as revolting as a slimy puddle of dog’s vomit, so I had to give him two sleeping pills to neutralize the effect of the two Viagras he had swallowed to shag me until I’d get sore’. But I didn’t want to sound rude; so instead of answering that, I preferred to keep my mouth firmly shut and just said:

- It was fine, Dem. But let me keep the secret to myself.

And then he said something that shocked me big time:

- Oh, you’re so cute and discreet, Leni! I’m glad to hear that everything went fine, because tonight you’ll have an extra task to perform.

What now? Would I have to shag Leonard’s driver too?

- Well, the truth is… I wanted to speak to you about the job, Dem… -I said-
- Listen, Leni. This is very important: I’m going to leave a small parcel for you at Leonard's hotel's reception desk, containing a micro camera hidden in a wristwatch. You will wear it and take detailed pictures of him while you two have sex when he doesn’t notice. –he said, interrupting me, not even noticing that I was talking-
- Aaah. -I said, in shock- And what’s the purpose of these pics?
- We need them for our files, honey. That’s all you need to know about them. You will receive a very generous tip, of course.

Oh my, now we were having a stolen photo session and I was going to become a two-bit criminal. I was totally sure that Demonious would use the pictures to blackmail Leonard. And what did I care? He was an asshole too.

But I didn’t want to participate in stuff like that. Besides, whatever the generous tip would amount to, I was wondering how could I possibly take a picture of that guy while having sex with him in such a way that he wouldn't notice.

- Leonard phoned me this morning. He has taken a shine to you, Leni. He wants to meet you again tonight at 8pm in his hotel suite, for a private dinner. Don’t forget to pick up the camera at the reception desk before you meet him. –said Demonius before he put the telephone down-.

That was great news: we were having another private party. That meant Leonard hadn’t kicked the bucket yet, in spite of the Viagra and sleeping pill cocktail overdose.

And on top of it, Demonius didn’t even let me speak when I tried to tell him that I intended to quit the job.

It was definitely the end of the deal. I had to speak to Leonard and unveil the truth about the bloody micro camera. Then, I would disappear forever.

This time I was not going to get all dolled up to look like a modern pin-up girl.

At 7pm I put a white blouse, black cardigan, jeans and trainers on, put my hair up in a ponytail, took my backpack and walked to the most luxurious and sophisticated hotel in Grytviken: The Sandwichian Crown. It had been built in the 80s with the finest designs and materials and pricelessly marketed abroad by the King of the South Sandwich Islands himself. That was Leonard’s hotel.

At 8pm I announced to one of the receptionists:

- My name is Leni Qinan. Mr. Leonard Ellison is waiting for me.

As soon as she heard that name, the girl rushed to the phone, dialed a number and whispered a few words. When she came back to the reception desk, she whispered:

- Miss Qinan, this is for you. –she said, handing me a small box-. Mr. Ellison is waiting for you at the Royal Penthouse Suite on the tenth floor.

I opened the box. There was a wristwatch inside and a note from Demonious saying: “Just press the side button to activate the micro camera and take as many snapshots as possible”.

I took the long and cruel road to the slaughterhouse, from the elevator to the tenth floor. I walked along the corridor towards the door to the Royal Penthouse Suite.

I knocked at the door and a maid opened it. The suite looked impressively stylish and comfortable. It had an awesome view of the bay.

- If you’ll please follow me to the parlour, Miss Qinan, Mr Ellison would like a word with you. –said the maid-

I nodded and followed her. Leonard was sitting on a sofa, in a maroon dressing gown, reading a newspaper.

- Good evening Leonard, nice to see you again.
- The pleasure is all mine! –he said-. You’re so hot tonight with that naughty schoolgirl look!

Gosh, this guy was impossible. I did my best to look unattractive and yet he looked at me through rose-tinted spectacles. It was pretty obvious that he didn’t remember anything that happened the night before.

- Leonard, I have something important to tell you. –I said, serious-.
- Uh oh. Tell me what is it, sweety.
- Demonius is betraying you.

He stared at me and laughed loud.

- Why would he do that?
- Maybe to extort money from you?
- I trust him completely.
- Would you put your hand in the fire for him?

He hesitated. I could see the shadow of a doubt there.

- Surely not. But why should I believe you? -he asked-
- You’re right: Why should you believe me if I said to you that Demonious gave me this wristwatch with a hidden micro camera inside and detailed instructions about taking pictures of you while we're having sex? –I said, as I got up and started walking towards the door-.
- Not so fast. –he said, grabbing my arm-. What’s the matter?
- You heard me –I answered-. Would you like to see the evidence of what I just said? There you go –I said, throwing the wristwatch and the note on the table-.

He took it and watched it carefully. He looked puzzled and a bit skeptical.

- You still don’t believe me? Dude, your underdeveloped mosquito brain should be kept in a specimen jar floating into a vitriolic solution, with a label saying: ‘Kick my ass’. See what happens when you’re filthy rich and you hire an unscrupulous lawyer, Leonard?

Then I ran away. I ran outside as fast as I could and didn’t stop until I got home. I was so afraid.

Demonious would soon know that I had unveiled his secrets.

Hellgirl would soon find out that I had betrayed his beloved friend.

And last, but not least, Leonard the Great would soon realise that he had made a deplorable fool of himself by blindly trusting a dodgy lawyer and hiring an opportunistic unemployed woman in disguise, eager to make easy money at his expense. Someday he would even discover that she could have very well led him to join the eternal sleep, poisoning him with her red pills.

I knew they wouldn't let me go just like that.



"Let it be me" (Ray Lamontagne)

Details, whether you like them or not

Do you believe in the magic of anniversaries, bubble baths, pillow fights, foot massages and Valentine’s Day? They say the devil is in the details, but I firmly think that some of these little stuffs may help romance last longer in a healthy relationship.

I was lost in these thoughts last Friday afternoon -Valentine Day’s Eve- as I walked downtown. It was Friday 13th, but that doesn’t affect Sandwichians: we celebrate it by walking underneath a ladder. So I lazily stopped to have a look at Breuninger’s storefront, when I heard these vehement words behind me:

- Shopping for chocolates in the shape of a heart? If my boyfriend ever gave me a present like that, I’d leave him on the spot!

I turned back. I recognised that voice immediately: it was my good friend Hellgirl. She was gorgeous; radiating; dressed in red; wearing her super tight shiny outfit. She had folded her red wings and hidden her long tail, appearing publicly in the shape of an attractive human young woman.

- Do you really have a boyfriend? –I asked her-
- Of course I do. And in my evil opinion, V-Day is a terribly corny human tradition. Are you thinking of buying something for Ed here? Or rather stealing it, like we did in Christmas? I’d love to do that, it was so exciting! –she answered-.
- Oh no, please, don’t fiddle with that. I’ll pay with my credit card.
- But they always cheat you here! It’s no crime to steal from a thief!
- Hellgirl, I’ve come to buy a Valentine’s Day present for Ed, and I’ll pay for it.
- Come on, wake up and smell the coffee, Leni: Valentine’s Day is an invention of the Chamber of Commerce. And I bet your Ed is not exactly crazy about it.

Her last comment made me very upset, but I ignored it, in order to avoid a fight. She could be right, though I knew I would get to him emotionally with a present, and I had the secret hope that he would like it.

- Do you think it’s better not to buy him anything? –I asked-.
- I didn’t mean that, Leni. Now that you’re head over heels in love with him, you have no choice but to follow your heart. And I can help you get him the most amazing present he could ever imagine. But don’t come back to me with your heart torn to pieces if he gives you just a cheap box of candy or even forgets what day it is.

Whether she was implying that Ed was tight fisted or simply careless, I don’t know, but that piece of advice sounded rather strange to me.

Was he a rich stingy man? In all honesty, I didn’t know. But I never complained so far. As for oblivion or absentmindedness… that was simply no excuse. It was impossible not to notice: Valentine’s Day was repetitively on the TV; in the papers; in the shop windows and billboard's advertisings.

- Ok, let’s change the subject of this conversation. First and foremost: Happy New Year. Believe it or not, I’m glad to see you again. And last but not least, is it my imagination or did I hear you have a boyfriend?
- Thanks and Happy New Year to you too, Leni. Yes, I do have a boyfriend. –she smiled, proudly-
- Hey, that’s excellent news, I hope. –I smiled back at her-.
- Yes, indeed.
- Congrats!
- I’m so happy. I want to have a hundred and sixty devil babies with him.
- I didn’t know devil women had devil babies. –I said, quite surprised-
- Just like human women have human babies! –she said, raising an eyebrow-
- And you make them the same way humans do? –I asked-
- Exactly the same –she answered-

Wow, that was new! Hellgirl in love.

- May I ask you if you who’s the lucky guy?
- Mmm… yes, you may. Have you ever heard about Mephist the Great?

I had read about Mephistopheles the Great’s military exploits in Goethe’s Faust legend, where he wagered with God for the soul of Faust. But I’m so naïve that I thought she would come up with some kind of joke, like Hellboy, the movie hero from Hell. Then I realised that she had higher aspirations. And I thought I'd love to hear it from her.

- Tell me, who is he? –I asked-
- He’s a real Prince of Darkness; an angel of hostility and lust; the hottest and most powerful devil in Hell. –she said, very proud of her conquest-

‘So now I really have good contacts with the underworld’ –I thought-.

- It seems he’s a real catch. Are you happy with him?
- Actually, Leni, if I were human I’d say I’m floating on a cotton cloud, but as a devil’s minion all I can say is that I’m burning with hellish passion.
- Congrats! I’m very glad for you!

After a friendly double cheek kiss, we crossed the impressive revolving glass doors of the Breuninger House and entered the shop. They had the most amazing stuff you could ever imagine. The Royal Arms were displayed at the entrance, under the caption ‘By appointment of His Majesty the King of Sandwich’.

The showroom had a magic and mysterious atmosphere. Some little treasures I had already seen during my Christmas visit were still there. But this time I knew exactly what I wanted: I remembered Ed had some paintings of his private art collection hanging from the walls of his office: Braque’s 'La bibliothèque est en feu' and Matisse’s ‘Les oiseaux’ .

I had spotted an amazing object in a showcase that would perfectly fit in that scenery: a delicate paperweight made of glass where several blue fishes and a red one, smaller than the rest, were swimming: the blue ones, in harmony and peace; the red one, hectically and teasing the others all the time. I stopped to have a look at the funny scene when the shop assistant approached me.

To be continued…



'Shh' (Donora) - Video from Postsecret

Silly things you do for love in Christmas (II)

As soon as Hellgirl had cast her spell on the shop assistant, he fell into a state of lethargy and torpor; almost in a deep sleep. She pretended to smack him in the face, but he didn't even blink.

- Good. This one is out for the count. I dated old Breuninger three centuries ago, and he was stingy and bloody tight when he opened this shop, back in 1740. No wonder he amassed this astronomic fortune over the years. Let me introduce you to Crichton, his most promising and talented pupil. –she said, pointing at the shop assistant, who stood still, his eyes rolling back into his head-.

Hellgirl started telling me off, as she had threatened to do some minutes before.

- Listen Leni, I told you a zillion times not to give your heart away like that. If I hadn't stopped you, you would have bought him the million G fountain pen and would have surely gone to jail for insolvency fraud. That sounds terrific, doesn’t it? Well… don’t overdo it! What if he gives you just a pair of socks for Christmas? -asked Hellgirl-

- He won’t do that. -I answered, very annoyed-.
- He might do that, silly. I’ve known him for more than two hundred years and he has done much worse things. You’re missing the point here, giving him everything of yourself. You’ll get hurt. I can smell it.
- And what do you care??? –I shouted, angrily-

She shook her head in disapproval.

- Some time ago I warned you not to fall in love with Ed. He's an old crock with his old funny little ways. You're too young and innocent to understand his changing moods. One day he'll tell you you're the apple of his eyes and the next day he'll rip your little heart off without even blinking. His soul is dead and numb, but yours is full of life and fire. He has a terrible past but yours is clean as a breeze.
- So what? He’s good, decent and steady. He’s clever, tender, thoughtful, has a good sense of humour and he loves me. That’s enough for me.
- It’s pretty obvious that in spite of my calls on your good sense, you’ve fallen in love with him like a fat loves cake. Don’t come back to me next month with your achy breaky heart. -she said, pointing at me with her threatening finger-

She took a short pause and continued with the sermon.

- We don't have the same taste in men, that's pretty obvious. But it's ok, Leni. Do you want to give Ed the magic fountain pen that will make his dreams come true? There you go then. It’s as easy as stealing candy from a baby. –she said, laughing loudly, showing me the fountain pen and withdrawing it immediately-. But first… for your own good: I suggest you impose one condition on him.
- What condition? -I asked very intrigued-
- Ask him to publish your books.
- I don't want to impose any condition on him. That's not fair play!
- No buts, hon. Wanna be a famous writer? Then, don't be silly: you're shagging the editor. Make the most of it and ask him to read and publish your books. Just like Misty McGuire did twenty years ago. He fucked her and she became a best seller. It was just that easy.


Misty McGuire was a sensitive point. Ed’s old lover, who still seemed to feel something for him, had become the most valuable asset of Kynkybooks, his now burnt publishing company. Hellgirl spotted the concern in my face.

- Use both your womanly wiles and your intelligence to get what you want, Leni. My august and sublime mother, Hellwoman The Great, used to say: "Keep a man satisfied, and that will be the end of your romance; keep his heart struggling and he will follow you like a lost child". That's an unquestionable truth.
- That's emotional blackmail. –I protested-
- That's the acid test, Leni. You better wise up, or you'll be a born loser in life. If you fall into his clutches, your little heart will start aching like hell and you'll feel trapped. And this will be all that's left from your honest pure love.
- Oh stop it.
- Ok, but don't say I didn't tell you.

I took the green jade fountain pen, hid it in my pocket and dashed out of the Breuninger House slamming the door and leaving behind me Hellgirl and Crichton, the catatonic shop assistant.

As I walked downstreet towards my car, I couldn’t help thinking of Hellgirl’s words. I had nothing to lose by asking Ed to publish my books. Actually, Hellgirl was right: I had a golden opportunity of becoming a published writer and there is no such thing as a second chance. So sure enough, two minutes later I was calling him.

- Hi Ed.
- Hi sweety.
- Have you already decided what you're gonna do in Christmas?
- Yes. I’m flying to Paris. I have booked the Ritz Imperial Suite. Would you like to join me?
- That would be lovely, but what would you say if I invited you to lunch on Christmas Day at my place? Just you and I.
- What about your family? Your mom and granny will hate me.
- No worries. I’ll speak to them.
- Oh no, I don't think I'd like that.
- I'll make a delicious meal.
- I don't know, Leni... I told you I don't celebrate Christmas.
- It won't be a Christmas celebration.
- We'll see.
- Please.

There was a dead silence. I heard him sigh deep.

- You won't stop insisting until I say yes, right? -he asked-
- Right.
- Ok, then. What's the point of discussing it?
- I don't want to force you.
- Oh go on then, if you twist my arm.
- No, no obligations.
- You're being quite pushy, love. But for once in a lifetime, I'll give in.
- Excellent. Come home at 1PM then.
- I'l be right there.

I smiled, happy as a lark.

The days passed excruciatingly slowly. I had a fight with my mom and granny, just as Ed anticipated. They didn't like to hear I wouldn't be having lunch with them on Christmas Day. But it passed.

On Christmas Eve I bought the best rack of lamb in the butcher's shop and roasted it.
I got my flat perfectly tidied up.
I arranged a beautiful flower centerpiece and laid a wonderful table, where I brought the food piping hot.
I wore my best dress.
I clenched my fingers around the green stolen fountain pen.
I sat on a chair and patiently waited for him to arrive.

At 1PM sharp the belldoor rang. Before I opened it, I looked at the mistletoe hanging over the front door and whispered quietly:

"Merry Christmas to you, my love. Whether you like it or not".



"Christmas Day" (Dido)

Silly things you do for love in Christmas (I)

Have you ever had to buy a gift for someone who is filthy rich, has a little bit of everything, leads a spartan life and prevents himself from indulging in every single whim that crosses his mind? I’ve been through this and believe me, it's hard work.

Except for the impressive mansion he inherited from his ancestors, his black old Bentley and a brand new iPhone, Ed could live on peanut butter and jelly sandwiches and be happy as a clam.

I racked my brains all day trying to think of a Christmas present for him. But the more I thought about it, the more I became convinced that nothing would be good enough. And there I was: lost in Christmas shopping.

In Sandwich the offer is not always as good as it looks. You can only visit three shops and department stores where the Sandwichian natives buy almost everything: Southern Pole Cooperative –the favourite place of the working class-, Villa Fashion –a must for all Sandwichian wannabes-, and Breuninger –where the crème de la crème buy the most exclusive consumer goods in the island-.

For the sake of Christmas spirit, I decided I could very well skip over the two first visits. So I headed to Breuninger, that exclusive shop where I intended to find something unique; something a distinguished guy like him would be fascinated with. I was ready to blow my budget at his Christmas gift even if I had to have tomato soup every day for lunch during the next months.

I crossed the beautiful gates of the Breuninger House, bound and determined to find the most wonderful Christmas gift in the whole wide world. The center of the shop was covered by a beautiful multicolour crystal dome. A large Christmas tree decorated with red ribbons and lights brightened the place.

As I walked in, an attentive shop assistant greeted me.

- Can I help you, madam? -he said, overdoing his smile-.
- Yes, please. I'm looking for a Christmas present, but I haven't decided yet what to buy. -I answered-.
- May I ask if the gift adressee is a man or a woman?
- Yes, you may. It's a man.
- How old is he? ... if you allow me the question.

The question was actually hard to answer. Ed was 295 years old, but his appearance was that of a 45 year old guy.

-He's forty-five.
-Oh what a nice age. Right in the prime of life. May I ask what his profession is? -he asked smiling-

Grr... Mr. Shop Person was asking too much. Was Ed a writer? An editor? A physician? Or the three things at the same time? Whatever he was, I chosed the first option, probably influenced by my inclination to write.

-He’s a writer –I answered finally-.
-Oh, what an interesting profession. So we have a 45-year old intellectual man who writes for a living.
- Hm... yeah, more or less. –I said, reluctant to disclose more information about Ed-.
- Then I think you may like to have a look at our select showroom.

He leaded the way towards a maroon velvet curtain. He pulled it back and turned the lights on.

- Take your time and have a look. I'll be around just in case you needed something -he said-

The small room was filled with delicate treasures that shone and sparkled under the magic light of a Dutch lamp: emerald and blue sapphire tiepins; titanium cuff links; gold pocket sextants; carbon fiber Zeppetzauer letter openers; bottles of Château Lafitte-Rotschild 1978; Cuban Cohiba Behike cigars; soft leather Valextra briefcases… and a long list of expensive items that I simply could not pay.

In all honesty, I couldn't even afford to eat a cookie in that shop. I had never been in this situation before in my whole life and it was very frustrating. I desperately needed a good excuse to get rid of the shop assistant and continue my search for Ed's Christmas present somewhere else... or steal it from the shop.

- Is there anything that you'd like to see?
- Well... all this is very nice, but... I need to give it some thought.

He stared at me and I stared back at him. I bet he thought I was a potential shopping addict who just needed a little push to spend her annual income buying some of the objects in that exclusive showcase. He got closer to me, grabbed hold of my wrist, looked at both sides, as if there would be somebody looking and whispered:

- Would you like to see something really special? Something exceptional that he will never forget?

Man, of course I wanted! How could I possibly resist such a tempting offer? I nodded.

- Please, follow me to the back shop. I'm going to show you something reserved exclusively to a selected few.

I was intriggued and couldn't help accepting. He guided me through a corridor that led to a small room. There was a glass display in the middle, lit up by a strong light. Inside it, there was a small black cushion. An incredibly beautiful fountain pen made of dark green jade was resting on it.

- I know what you're asking yourself. -he said-
- Oh, really?

He lifted the glass, carefully took the pen between his thumb and index finger and started drawing random figures in the air. A rainbow emerged from the nib and a coloured steam started floating in the air, as if by magic.

- This is very nice, but for what's so special about it? -I asked-.

He took a magnifying glass with his left hand and signaled me to come closer.

- You're watching a genuine and unique Occhiobello fountain pen. It was hand made by Master Occhiobello the Old, and beautifully assembled in his atelier of Florence in 1789. The parts are perfect.

He was right. I touched it with my fingers and it was so soft. The shape was ulievably harmonic.

- In 1809, this fountain pen was bought by Aleksandr Korsakoff, the famous writer and he wrote his best novels with it. Inspiration is fully guaranteed -he winked- The peculiarity of this pen is that the owner can paint his dreams and fantasies with it. The best he draws them, the closer to reality. If the picture is failthful to the real appearance... then these dreams and fantasies come true.
- That's excellent. And how much does it cost?
- Oh a very reasonable price, considering it's a very valuable tool for a writer: Only one million G.

I nearly fell on the floor when I heard that. It was extremely expensive. And yet I wanted that fountain pen so badly. It was perfect for Ed. I scratched my chin and shook my brain expecting an idea or answer would be formed. But that could not be possible. I simply could not afford to buy the fountain pen.

Suddenly, the world stopped and a big ball of fire appeared on the showcase. Hellgirl waved hello from the inside. Mr. Shop Person looked surprised at her.

- Merry Christmas, you fucking bastard! This is to show you what happens when you swindle the decent people of Sandwich! -she shouted at him-

She snapped her fingers in his face and whispered:

- Look into my eyes, look into my eyes, look into my eyes, the eyes, the eyes, not around the eyes, don't look around the eyes, look into my eyes. One, two three, you're under! (1)

Then she turned her angry eyes to me and shouted:

- Take the magic fountain pen now that he is hypnotized and come closer, Leni. I want to have a few words with you.




"Valentine heart" (Tanita Tikaram)

(1) Kenny Craig's popular line, in the BBC TV comedy "Little Britain"

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

Tell me lies, I will survive

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

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

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

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

This is how I found out:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

- I suppose you’re not pregnant.

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

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

I didn’t know how to start.

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

He stared at me, dumbfounded.

- Don’t scare me, Len.
- It’s true!

He smiled, gasped and shook his head in amazement.

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

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

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

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

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

He took his time to say:

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

I gasped.

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

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

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

I sighed deeply.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hellgirl opened the door and asked ironically:

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

Then, she vanished. As usual.

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

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

My life as a ghost writer (II)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Hellgirl sighed.

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

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

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

There was no answer.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Incredibly awesome and haunting.

What will you give me?

It was 2:00 AM when Whiteboy left. I hid the boxers into my backpack. I had to get rid of the Orsinian girl at all costs.

I had a wicked plan: my idea was to put Max under their spell. I know what you're thinking: selfish; mean; evil. That's right. But I would be killing two birds with one stone: I needed that bitch out of my way and Max would be very happy with her. She met his requirements perfectly: blonde; heart-stopping curves; fascinating smile.

Only Hellgirl could help me. I had to speak to her again and tell her about my plans. I summoned her by saying “Hey Hellgirl”, as she told me to do when we met. But she wouldn’t appear.

I called her twice, three times. All of a sudden, I felt a soft gust of hot wind on my face and a red light ball flying towards me.

- Greetings, Lady Leni. Hellgirl is now busy attending to affairs of utmost importance relating to the heating system of the so-called Underworld: our thermostat is broken. The temperature is dramatically dropping and one hundred million rebel devils have decided to orbit to the Sahara, which -as you probably know- is the hottest and driest desert in your planet. The rebels have threatened to stay there, living as nomad shepherds instead of doing evil stuff as they should, until the heating issue is solved. Hellgirl will join us as soon as her occupations allow.-said Percival, the tiny demon-.
- Greetings, Percival. I’m sorry about the riot and the temperature issue. I hope Hellgirl can solve that. You sound very formal tonight. –I said-
- I am a Brotanian Archduke. You're supposed to call me “My Lord”, bow before me and all.
- Come off it! I won’t! I already bowed more than I should before my Master when I was a slave in Gor. We’re not medieval roleplaying now.
- Hm. You say that because you’re bigger than me, bully!
- No, Percy. I say that because I think nobody is better than me, and I’m not better than nobody. I promised myself I would neither bow nor kneel down again when I left that world. I have dignity. –I said, very serious-
- Hm… that sounds reasonable. But let's not be that dull. Look at this!

And he made his head spin just like Linda Blair did in "The Exorcist". He even improved the trick by making it spin like a propeller. He gave me the shivers, but it was impressive. I clapped enthusiastically.

- That’s very cool Percy. If you invested your nonsensical thinking time in finding out how to pay your debt to Hellgirl, you would be already doing the garden in your Brotanian summer cottage, instead of being a third-class tiny demon doing cheap tricks like that headspin.

I reckon that was real nasty. I should have never said that. He sent a shot of fire particles to my head at point-blank range that burnt my limp black hair.

- Have a perm, baby! How do you like it? –he chuckled-
- Ooooh give me back my beautiful hair! –I cried, holding my head-

Furious and not yet satisfied with that, he rushed towards me and started jumping on my head. I yelled:

- Hellgirl!!! Help!!!

Hellgirl appeared immediately. She was riding a fire horse, looking glamorously fabulous. Her shiny brown mane reached the middle of her back; kinda Lady Godiva but in a shiny red latex super tight dress, instead of riding naked. She looked stunning. As usual. She was very upset with Percy and me, for interrupting those important matters she was attending to.

- What’s going on here, Percy? Stop jumping on Leni’s head! And Leni, tell me, why is Percy jumping on your head? –she said-

She pointed at him, pronounced some satanic words and froze him into a small ice cube. Then, she threw some magic dust over my head and I recovered my usual hairstyle.

- Percy, promise me you’ll behave or I will put you in Bob’s fridge, with the chicken curry sandwiches and the green apples. –said Hellgirl-

- No way! I'm allergic to apples! -cried Percy-

Percy cried out for help. Hellgirl took the ice cube where he was frozen and made it melt. Poor thing. He was soaked through, shivering with cold.

-I'm sorry, Percy. I didn't mean to be unkind. That headspin was very cool. -I said, holding out my hand-

But he stuck his tongue out at me instead of shaking my hand. He was really pissed off.

- Don't be rude, Percy. You shouldn't turn down a peace offer from a friend. Now sit on the heater. You’ll get warmer. Leni, what is it you want from me now? You already have your man’s heart, right? –she asked-
- I think so.-I answered-
- What do you mean, "I think so"??? –she asked, angrily-.
- I think so, Hellgirl, he still makes me feel insecure!!! I can’t help it! -I babbled-
- Hrm. Is he the kind to tell you how much he loves you only when you’re naked beside him with his paws on your buttocks? I offered my help, but you didn’t accept. I'm sorry to tell you this: you're doomed to be always in fear, Leni. But you asked for it. So there you go, the sooner you accept it, the better for you.
- Hellgirl. Stop. The reason why I have summoned you here tonight is not Bob and me, but these boxers –I said, showing them to her-. They’re hexed. The Orsinian girl has put a spell on them and gave them to Bob. He's been wearing them for months. Any man who does will fall under the spell, which will make him speak with a strong Orsinian accent and fancy Orsinian girls. They must be delivered to Max, in Zantland. He won’t mind putting them on, as long as you give him what he wants: a genuine looking Orsinian girl. And it must be Tigerlilly, Bob's ex. She’s blonde; has big boobs; big butt; and is a real airhead. Maxi is not very demanding. I need your help to make him wear the boxers and draw a plan to seduce her. They must fall in love asap. Once this happens, I would most appreciate your destroying the boxers so that no one wears them again. Least of all Bob.
- You sound a bit desperate, Leni. May I add that your plan is… simply Machiavellian? So you're happy to put aside all your ethical considerations, as long as you keep your ice cold man beside you, right?
- Right. I desperately need to get rid of this thing –I said, showing her the boxers-.
- Leni, to be a friend of the devil’s minions is a privilege reserved exclusively to a selected few, who must carefully observe Hell's rules. And you’re designing a plan for me to direct the destinies of two humble mortals who are... say... disturbing you? It's not nice to have a human playing Supreme Being, Leni. It could break the power balance between those who are UP and the ones who are DOWN –she shook her head in disapproval-.
- I need your help! –I said in despair-
- And I’ll help you, dearie. But what will you give me? -she smirked-.

That was the toughest part. What in the world could I give her?

- What is it you want? My car? My house? These are my most valuable belongings. I'm not a rich girl -I said-

She was dying of laughter.

- Leni, Leni... don't talk to me as if you think I'm dumb. These are not your most valuable belongings. I already have plenty of cars, houses, diamond rings… but you know I’m very short of souls. –she said, smiling a big smile-
- Hellgirl. My soul is not for sale. Ask for anything else. Do you like apple cake? I’ll bake loads of them, just for you. Do you want me to write a novel for you? I will.

Hellgirl cracked up with laughter.

- I’m allergic to apples. But I could be interested in the works of your imagination. What would you say if I asked you to write a novel for me? It should be published under my name, of course.

How strange that everybody would be allergic to apples lately. Almost as strange as having someone so interested in my novels. Percival took a pencil and a notepad, cracked up with laughter and said:

- Bwahahahah! Writing a novel! How funny is this! That’s way too easy! Anyone could do that! Even myself!: -he started writing with lightning speed and reading-

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity, it was the season of Light, it was the season of Darkness, it was the spring of hope, it was the winter of despair, we had everything before us, we had nothing before us, we were all going direct to Heaven, we were all going direct the other way- in short, the period was so far like the present period, that some of its noisiest authorities insisted on its being received, for good or for evil, in the superlative degree of comparison only.”

- Excellent literary work, Percy; what a shame Charles Dickens already wrote that in 1859 in “Tale of two cities”. I got you, clumsy plagiarist! Don’t mistake me for one of your aristocrat friends. You must excuse him, Leni. He’s got a bad brain day today. Where were we... Oh, yes, you were going to write a novel for me. That’s interesting. Let me tell you that I won't accept a shoddy piece of work, so you must rack your brains to write a best seller. How are you supposed to publish it? –asked Hellgirl-
- Hm. I don't know. I don’t have an editor yet. –I answered-
- You mean I have to take care of that too??? Jeez. You're keeping me too busy.

She was serious, thinking at light speed what to do.

- Listen: I have a cage full of editors at home that I'd love to get rid of. I’m particularly thinking of one of them who is a little bit difficult, but I'm sure you'll manage. So the deal is:

Firstly: I help you get rid of Max, the Orsinian girl and the boxers;
Secondly: You have six months to write a novel for me and help me get rid of that editor. When he publishes your work with my name I get the copyright and the royalties. You won’t be able to claim them. Is that okay with you?
- Yes.
- What a silly girl you are! And all this mess is just for love! I hope your man appreciates what you're doing, because no human male deserves this! Give me the boxers before you change your mind. This is what we’ll do. Percy, listen carefully:

Firstly: you will travel to Zantland to make sure Max puts the boxers on. Do not, under any circumstances, wear them. Understood?
Secondly: Then you will orbit Max to Orsinia, to the girl’s ranch. Make sure they meet. Give her this to drink. –she handed him a small test tube with a glowing green liquid inside-. Max must be the first guy she sees after she drinks this, so don’t get on her way or she will fall in love with you on the spot and that’s not what we want. Then, let nature do the rest and come back to me with the boxers, to report. I’ll think how to destroy them. I’ll be watching you in my crystal ball.

- What will you give me if I do that? -he asked-

These two wouldn’t do anything for free! I already heard that before! Hellgirl scratched her chin, rolled her eyes, started thinking and finally said:

- Percy, if you attempt to accomplish this assignment… I will give you back your fantastic Brotanian Archduke appearance. –she said-
- Aww would you do that for me? -he asked-
- I would do that for you. But not before I check everything ends as expected. So I need your word for that. No messing around, ok? Can I count on you, Percy?
- Yes, Hellgirl. You can count on me. - said Percy-

- Can I count on you, Leni? -asked Hellgirl-

- Yes, Hellgirl. -I answered-

- Ok then. Let's meet up again next Monday with the results of our work.

(To be continued)



"Sympathy for the devil" (The Rolling Stones) .

(I heard some editors imprisoned in Hell love this song).