Chapter 2

Michael was sure that he would soon be in charge of the editorial office. He got used to making all the important decisions for the magazine. He worked in it from the beginning of its existence and he knew about every stage of creating individual columns from the inside out.

The bitter irony of fate!

The most important fact was that he was a respected journalist, but she wasn’t one. He was ‘the best of the best’. And he lost to a woman.

In addition, he died in a fight with a woman from nowhere. Nobody in the industry had ever heard of her, nobody knew where she had worked before. That was a typical information black hole.

He had to admit in spirit that she had enormous knowledge and experience. Where and when she got them, neither he nor any of his friends knew, except for Nicolas, who swallowed the bitter pill and reluctantly entered into discussions about her. He only mysteriously said that she was ‘the best of the best in the business’ and ‘knows what she is doing’. This just turned out to be true. Everyone in the editorial office found out about it quickly...

He would have come to terms with defeat more easily if he competed with a man. Failure to fight for a promotion with a woman, and a very young woman at that, was a stain on his excellent journalistic curriculum vitae. His male dignity and pride were badly offended.

Michael even thought about changing his job. He spread the word in the industry that he wanted to change jobs. His financial requirements, however, were too high, considering the crisis and numerous redundancies in editorial offices.

Whether he wanted to or not, he had to grit his teeth, bow his head down and accept the so-called reality.

He wondered why he had actually invited her. Yes, he liked her, like all his friends, not only in the editorial office, but she was as cold as a block of arctic ice, or rather a large glacier: conceited, haughty, proud and extremely cunning. She unscrupulously used her knowledge and ‘mastered to perfection’ discursive techniques to convince everyone of her 'not always right' views and, consequently, achieve her goals.

Besides, he couldn’t accept her innovative working methods and attitude towards her subordinates. Tonight, he had no desire to find out which amongst the two of them was the master of effective rhetorical persuasion. There is no proper discussion without an audience. He counted on a quiet, friendly conversation without any spectacular eristic displays.

He wondered if anyone would want to live with her? Yes, she was a worthy, tough and ruthless opponent in editorial disputes, but life under one roof? Was it possible?

The prospect of constant, full intellectual readiness: that was how he imagined his relationship with her - seemed to be a real nightmare to him. Maybe a few nights together, breakfast, but nothing longer than that. Probably like everyone else, she had some weaknesses, but he didn’t know them.

He clearly remembered her first day at work in the editorial office, almost minute by minute. He remembered every move, every gesture, every word she said.

She came to the office at lunchtime.

Almost everyone - journalists, photojournalists, the editors, that is, the male part of the team - played bridge at their huge table, at which editorial meetings were held from time to time.

Kate, an assistant to the chief editor of Williams; also Rose and Blanca, the advertising specialists, sat in the corner of the room, completely absorbed in their daily ‘editorial’ activities, i.e. painting nails, correcting makeup and, of course, gossiping.

The gentlemen at the collegiate table had a great time playing cards, until she came in. The Beatles' Revolution was pouring out from the radio. They were soon to find out how significant this ‘musical signpost’ was. However, it wasn't long before the male team gasped in amazement.

An ideal woman stood before them. About one hundred and eighty centimeters tall, of which over a meter fell on the phenomenal, shapely legs. Slightly curly blonde hair, shoulder-length, with a fringe casually falling over the forehead and at times covering her huge blue eyes. And finally, her silky skin with a delicate suntan which seemed to be devoid of any blemish.

In a word, she was what you could say: strength, grace and beauty, all rolled into one. The qualities of her body and beauty were emphasized by an impeccably selected outfit.

She was dressed in a black tight-fitting jacket, fastened with only one button, and a pair of narrow black trousers hugging her legs. All the ‘destruction’ of male desires and new-born cravings was complemented by dark red shoes on a thin heel of at least ten centimeters. She had a bag of the same shade slung casually over her shoulder.

There was an absolute silence in the office. Even the hands that were throwing the cards in the bridge hand froze just above the table. The embarrassing silence would have lasted like Heidegger's dream about time and horizon forever, if not for her brief enquiry about the chief editor, Nicolas Williams.

Someone stammered out in embarrassment that their boss had gone somewhere. In return, she replied that she would wait for him. Without asking for permission, she sat down in the armchair closest to Nicolas' office.

She took out a magazine from her bag and began to read it. Jack Smith, who was sitting closest to her, tried to involve her in a discussion but in vain.

Finally, Michael Johnson, the secretary of the editorial office, asked if he could help her with something as a part of his duty. However, she replied firmly:

“I have to wait for your chief editor.”

The word ‘your’ took on a somewhat grotesque meaning in her mouth.

When she immersed her blue sea eyes back into reading her magazine, the journalistic take regained vigor. Speaking in whispers, they agreed that she looks much better than a long-legged idol with unnaturally large breasts from their favorite computer game.

Everyone was captivated by her voice. Resonant, silky but firm. Unfortunately, they did not know where the editor-in-chief had set off to or whether he would be graciously returning at all. Nobody really paid any attention to it.

But on the other hand, what would they be concerned with? A primate is a primate and that's it. Since he doesn’t account for the effective working time, they retaliated with the same. Nobody knows anything and it's okay. However, they were blessed by the boss's absence, because there was an unprecedented opportunity to admire the unique phenomenon.