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)

Stealing for nothing

I took the paperweight in my hands and the shop assistant said:

- It’s pure glass from space made art, madam. It was hidden in the inside of a meteorite that fell into the Sea of Japan five hundred years ago. –he said-

There he went again with his cock and bull stories. That big fibber could have very well thrown away the ‘Made in South Sandwich’ sticker just a minute before. His marketing skills were beyond question.

- Indeed, it’s very beautiful. And the origins are amazing. –I said, overdoing and pretending to believe all that load of baloney-
- Are you looking for a gift, perhaps? –he asked-
- Yes, tomorrow is Valentine’s Day.
- May I ask whether 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.

No doubt the shop assistant had learned several taylor made speeches by heart, so that he could give them systematically to his different customers, depending on their age, sex or social status. And I had heard these same words before. Obviously, he didn’t remember me.

- He's forty-five. –I answered-
- 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 giving me the third degree again, using identical words.

- No, you may not. And I’d like that damned paperweight perfectly gift wrapped. –I said, very annoyed-
- It’s an excellent choice, madam. And it’s not expensive at all. –he said, paying no notice to my extremely rude remark-
- How much does it cost? –I asked, a bit concerned-
- Considering the material quality, the beautiful handicraft made by an anonymous Italian painter of the sixteenth century, and the unique lively exotic movement of the fishes… it’s a real bargain, madam: Only one million G.

Jeez, everything costed one million G at Breuninger’s! How could it possibly happen? I simply couldn’t afford that! I was pissed off. I looked at Hellgirl from the corner of my eye. She got my desperate message and started casting the old mesmerising spell on the shop assistant, as she snapped her fingers in his face.

- Oh shut your trap, will you? Now look into my eyes: when I snap my fingers you will be sound asleep. When I touch your shoulder you will wake up and not remember anything. One, two, three... you're under! –she said, as he stared into her beautiful glowing red eyes-.

The shop assistant fell into a profound lethargic trance.

- You heard it, big twat: Missy wants to have her gift nicely wrapped as a Valentine Day’s gift, so move yer ass. NOW. –said Hellgirl-

He shuffled along like a zombie towards the back shop, grabbing the paperweight with both hands. He polished it, wrapped it and put it in a beautiful bag. Then, he walked towards me, and whispered submissively: ‘Your purchase, madam’. I took the bag. Hellgirl touched his shoulder to wake him up; he scratched his head and looked confused; then she pulled my arm and we quickly walked outside, pretending nothing had happened.

- Hellgirl, I don’t feel good doing this. Poor guy. It’s the second time we rob him. –I said-
- Fuck him! He was going to steal your money, just like when we first came here! The end justifies the means, Leni.
- Not always, Hellgirl.
- Most times.
- Ok, sometimes.

I sighed. When I was little, I was told that stealing is wrong. But I must admit that I often practice that Machiavellic maxim: The end justifies the means. The results were that I had been a decent person until I started a kleptomaniac partnership with a devil woman and we were striking once again, after our successful Christmas robbery.

- Well, thanks anyway. –I said to her-
- That sounds a lot better, Leni. I hope Ed likes it!

And just as sudden as she arrived, she left with a snap of her fingers.

I went back home with the stolen paperweigh. I couldn’t sleep a wink that night. I was happy and excited as a child on Christmas Eve. The morning after I phoned Ed.

- Hi Ed, and happy Valentine’s Day! -I said-

There was silence.

- Same to you, sweety, though I think it’s… overdone, maybe sickly sweet and kind of cheesy, don’t you think?
- Ehm… -I grimaced, as I started to think I had screwed up-.
- No?
- No.

There was a bigger silence.

- Oh, don’t tell me you had bought me a gift.
- … -I sighed with embarrasment-
- Oh my god, you did. What can I say… I’m sorry for what I've said, Leni. I didn’t mean to be unkind, but I hadn’t bought you anything. I never celebrate V-Day. It’s so commercialised. I’m again in Orsinia, on a business trip, but I’m flying back to Sandwich tomorrow and I’ll send you the biggest bunch of red roses I can find.
- It’s ok, Ed. I didn’t expect anything, so no worries.

I put the cell phone down, uncomplaining and sighed. What a huge bucket of cold water thrown on my face. I was a bit disappointed, but I didn’t want to focus my rage on him. He was busy, after all.

I had to find a way to stop my enthusiasm; cool down; slow down before I went haywire; do my best to stop being so childishly eager and vulnerable; perhaps grow up; but more than anything, as Hellgirl always recommended, I had to learn to expect nothing and live with all these little things that were killing me.

So I tried to blank my mind without much success; I put my nightie on and summoned Hellgirl. It could be fun to meet her again. She appeared on the spot, hanging from my living room ceiling lamp, swinging back and forth like a trapeze artist.

- Did you get your V-Day gift? –I asked her-
- Yeah. Look. –she said, showing me a huge pink dildo-
- Oh, how nice. Just in case you missed him.
- Eek. I didn’t want any gift, so I kicked his ass. What about you? Did you get anything from Ed?
- Nah. I got nothing. He forgot. Actually, he doesn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. And I couldn’t even kick his ass, 'cause he is in Orsinia. –I said-

Hellgirl softly landed on the ground, put the dildo on the table and sat beside me on the sofa.

- So you see, Hellgirl, life is so unfair; I would have loved so much to be in your shoes tonight; but the rich get rich and the poor get poorer. –I said, sadly-

- My dear Leni, listen: Here you have the living proof that Princes Charming and Knights on White Chargers do not exist. Believe me: when they are sure you are theirs, they turn into ordinary men who scratch their private parts in public, wear spaghetti-strap tank top, pick their nose, fart, burp and snore all night. But don't let it bring you down. It happens all the time. Love is such a beautiful thing, isn’t it?

I laughed loud.

- It’s true! Remember what my mom 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. Take careful note of that.

She almost convinced me, but I was reluctant to accept such a cruel best case scenario.

- Do you want me to send him a bad diarrhea? Endless nights coughing? Itchy armpits? Lice? – she asked-
- Come on, no! He just forgot, I'm not claiming for revenge, he really doesn’t deserve that!
- How unfortunate! You’re a bit of a softy, Leni. Ed should get his comeuppance someday. What are you gonna do with the paperweight, hon?
- Hurl it against the wall.
- Don’t. You may regret it: you told him you had something for him.

After a short silence, I had this idea:

- Listen Hellgirl, let’s forget about this day. I’m gonna make you an offer you can’t refuse: What about having a snack while we see the last episode of ‘Lost’ on the TV? I think Sawyer will be running half naked all over the island, showing off his hairless chest. He has muscles all over.
- Sounds cool. It will be funny to see a gorgeous ape man for a change. I’m fed up with Satanic movies about vampires, zombies, werewolves, ghosts, witches and other freaks. Really, we’re more normal in the underworld than humans think.

We laid down on the sofa; put our feet on the table; laughed our heads off; ate compulsively all kinds of crappy snacks and candy; drank some red wine; cheered and applauded Sawyer the cutie pie every time he made appearance on the TV.

And this is how Hellgirl and I, dissapointed for opposite reasons, celebrated this year’s Valentine’s Day. I could let some steam off, unburdened myself and got it off my chest.

When she left, I took a marker and crossed out the 14th February from the calendar in a fit of rage, until that date could not be seen. I promised myself not to drop a single tear and to stop stealing for nothing.

I wished I could make a stone of my heart, but it couldn't be possible.

I still believe firmly in the magic of anniversaries, bubble baths, pillow fights, foot massages and other little stuffs that may help romance last longer in a healthy relationship.

Or perhaps am I sickly sweet?

This is what I listen to lately when I feel blue; this song will revive anyone.