12 Chapter 12
“You talk nonsense, man!” Michael answered him. “We're damn good, why would they let go of us?
"For insubordination, for anything!" Any reason could be good, wondered Adam. “Do you know how many unemployed journalists there are on the labor market?”
Only silence answered him.
“Would you like to look for a new job?” Adam turned to Michael with this question. But he didn't wait for an answer:
“I don’t! I am quite well here. I have barely bought the apartment, I am going to dive the coral reefs on vacation, and I am paying off the loan. I have enough for me to pay the installments and for a decent life. I don't need anything more to be happy.” He paused for a moment to look at his friend. He could see the confusion painted on their faces.
“Only a few of us can get a better job. Don't cheat yourself, gentlemen. I don't want to rot here until retirement, but I have no reason to complain.”
“Fuck you, man!” Michael said. At that moment, he came to the conclusion that in the worst case scenario, he would go to a colleague's public relations agency or he will open one himself.
"And even… if… then screw it! Gentlemen, I have a proposal. Let's go for a beer!” Without waiting for approval, he started toward the stairs.
Michael had reasons to be furious. For a future raise, and at the cost of his savings, he had bought a luxury car which would perfectly be fit for his future position, which he did not receive ultimately.
He had barely paid a colossal insurance policy and had already gotten several parking tickets in a forbidden place. Due to the large size of the car, he had already begun having problems with it. Most often, there was only enough space on the sidewalk, lawn and flower beds. So he parked his car there.
Everyone thought he would be the new chief editor, and most of all, he thought so himself. Convinced that it would be so, he miscalculated. A lot. In the end, his chair was taken by Alice unexpectedly.
Ever since his wife left him, he believed that the most appropriate place for a woman was at home, and that her vocation was to take care of her husband and children, and to take care of the backyard garden. And those who didn't think so, should learn a lesson so that they don't destroy the lives of decent guys.
He often displayed contempt for the opposite sex, and his voiced beliefs coincided with his actions, as witnessed by his colleagues who considered him a terrible womanizer who, with sadistic delight, conquered the hearts of women, made them fall in love with him, and triumphantly abandoned them after some time.
Michaels’ friend knew the reasons for his ruthless behavior, even the objective treatment of women, in his personal experiences and the unsuccessful marriage.
They knew he had a wife, supposedly even attractive, who had left him after a few turbulent years spent tougher, but they didn’t know the real reason for their separation. They supposed that she couldn’t survive living in the shadow of a famous, sought-after, excellent columnist, and also handsome, with excessive inclinations towards the fair sex.
When talking about him, they sometimes laughed that friend was jumping from flower to flower for as long as they remembered him. Romance after romance.
Although he was not as handsome as he used to be and not as charming as years ago, when he started his journalistic career, yet in the opinion of interested women, regardless of age, they were crazy about him.
They did not know what the Johnson phenomenon was all about. In their opinion? They all knew his true roots, but the women he was dating had no idea of it.
In the opinion of the famous magazine writer? He was an indecently rich bastard who won't let even any attractive grandmother pass by without making a pass at her.
Or did his all ‘charm’ lay in being interpreted as a mockery of "being" abandoned, rejected, and an ‘unhappy in love’ lost man needing a woman's hand?
After a short while, as one, they followed him. Michael was an unquestionable authority for them, a good friend who would never refuse help to somebody in need.
It was too early for a beer, but they could go for a good, strong coffee. Anyway, all venues serving alcohol, including their favorite Tavern, would only be open in a few hours.
They went to the milk bar. From its windows, they could see the entrance to the building where the editorial office was located. They found that the situation was under control.
Michael bought a few bottles of high-proof alcohol in a supermarket nearby, where they usually did their supplies. They left some of the liquor for the afternoon, the other they drank in coffee cups, eating pancakes with cheese and whipped cream, the only ‘edible’ dish at the place.
Exceptionally, no one complained about the fancy menu or protested that it was too early for alcohol. Almost everyone treated their previous night hangover.
They returned to the editorial office during lunch. At the front door, they were greeted by the new chief editor in denims and a paper cap on her head.
“Good morning, gentlemen!” With a smile on her face, she opened the door wide. “I am very pleased that you decided to honor me with your presence.”
They froze. Like one froze motionless. They didn't know whether to trust what they saw or whether they saw what was not there.
Had they been drinking too much? Are they hallucinating? Impossible! They drank a lot more and didn’t daydream, so what they saw was reality.
‘What is the chief editor up to?’ They wondered.
Only Michael got so drunk that he didn’t even notice her new image.
“The witch is so happy! What is this for?” He muttered under his breath.
Then their eyes saw a nightmarish sight. There was foil stuck on the floor, several ladders standing in place of their collegial, or rather poker table, along with brushes, rollers, and paints.
“The current number has been closed!” Alice joyfully announced. “We have time off, so gentlemen go to work. The painters said it would take them a week to paint the entire editorial office, which we cannot afford. If we get to work right now, we'll be over by five o'clock.”
