Mousse de champignons aux truffes, roasted turkey, gratin Spanish artichokes and for dessert, a chocolate cake and homemade vanilla cream. ‘Delicious menu!’ He thought.
She should be thrilled. Like him, she could discuss with undisguised enthusiasm and a real passion about the richness of Mediterranean flavors and the smell of freshly chopped basil, green parsley, coriander or tarragon...
‘I must have gone overboard with the truffles!’ He thought as he looked at the mushroom mousse garnished with thin slices of the truffles; in fact there were even more truffles hidden in the thick mousse. He loved the taste of it; she too, and he knew it perfectly well.
He hurried into the living room, which was filled with the airy scent of sandalwood incense and lavender. Once again, he arranged the colourful anemones, her favourite flowers, in a vase. Looking at them, he decided that he had taken the very easy way.
He should have involved a bit of more fantasy and bought some original, exotic flowers or his favorite but not very romantic anthurium; possibly irises or tea roses… ‘Too common!’ He glanced at the clock on the dresser; it was nearly eight-thirty in the evening. It didn't matter now. All florists in the vicinity were now closed.
He changed the music a few times. He hesitated between classic and her favorite progressive rock. He looked through all the Pink Floyd CDs, Genesis, Camel and Wishbone Ash looking for something that would better suit this occasion. Finally, he turned on her favorite Hans Zimmer film scores. He didn't like it that much, but what would you do to impress a woman?
Michael was sure that the dinner he had prepared would make a stunning impression on her, as would do his new image. He no longer looked like an old playboy - bruised, puffy, always hungover, tired of night life with endless parties, which usually overflowed with a sea of strong drinks. He looked mature now!
Looking at the mirror above the fireplace, he found that he looked even better than the idol of millions of women in the world, better than George Clooney himself.
He had been working on it for three months, full of sacrifices, numerous renunciation and very hard work. He and his dear friend Alex went to the gym and swimming pool every day.
At his instigation, he also went to the spa and hairdresser, whom he allowed to mess with his hair, without hesitation. Michael also got a few bright highlights done, similar to those that Alex had had from the beginning of his work in the editorial office.
There was only one slight difference: Alex was twenty-eight years old and his unruly hairstyle didn’t arouse emotions among his editorial colleagues.
On the other hand, the carefully styled disorder on Michael's head caused some controversial discussions, both among colleagues from work and friends from outside the journalistic circle, who began to laugh that he had become a ‘poor imitation of Alex’ or a ‘lame fake Ken’.
He had to admit that such comments didn’t irritate him, on the contrary they flattered him. He assumed that no matter what people said, as long as they talked about him, it was a good thing. It meant he was still alive, they remembered him, so he was counted in the industry. Especially recently they had so much to talk about. He was well aware of this, looking proudly in the mirror.
Everyone around him wanted to know the secret of his exquisite appearance. The kind ones were glad that he finally got a grip on him and that he was finished with his addictions. The mischievous ones saw some unbelievable stories behind his metamorphosis to which he reacted with mockery and unrestrained laughter. They even suspected that he handed his body to a great plastic surgeon.
The truth was banal. Michael just gave up on his favourite pastimes. Finally, he took ‘a divorce’ from all-night parties, countless women, excess of alcohol and tobacco… It took him a lot of effort, but it paid off in the end.
He looked younger by at least ten years. ‘But is it enough?’ He wondered. He was giving himself a quick look at the mirror. ‘Yes. Yes... I look better than Clooney himself! No woman can resist me!’ He repeated in his mind, adjusting the tie perfectly matching his blue shirt.
Before that, he'd had a hard time looking for the right one. He searched the drawers for a long time before finally finding one that suited both; the outfit and the unique situation - a navy blue with tasteful dark pink zig zags. He knew that it was a gift, but he couldn't remember from whom.
He was under the delusion that a forty-seven-year-old damaged man, who pretended to be a zealous youth, would impress the new chief editor. She came to the editorial office just a few months ago, and it took its toll on everyone, including him, that they were heartily fed up with her.
Michael didn’t understand why she had accepted his invitation to dinner, which was also sent by email, since they had not seen each other in person recently. Until now, she had successfully rejected all such invites, ignoring all signs of any adoration and worship.
He supposed she liked him, the way all the women he knew did, especially now, after his magnificent metamorphosis. But he was not hundred percent sure about it. He carefully analyzed her gestures, facial expressions and all other channels of non-verbal communication, but he found nothing that led him to believe that she was interested in him. In fact, he found absolutely nothing to indicate that any of his editorial colleagues were her type.
With his buddies, they began to wonder about her sexual orientation. After careful observation, they decided that attractive women also did not make any impression on her, just like men.
What made the boss accept his invitation to dinner then? This question troubled him.
By the way, he hadn’t yet understood why she had been entrusted with such a responsible position in a typically male magazine.
She was the only woman in the editorial office, apart from the assistant of the chief editor Nicolas Williams and two advertising specialists, who had something to say. Definitely too much. It was she who decided everything that happened in the magazine. How did it come about? It troubled him more and more. After all, it was him who deserved a well-deserved promotion and all financial rewards related to it.
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 bu
The beauty wasn’t very talkative. She was also not shy. The boys admired the otherworldly phenomenon, continuing to play bridge. They decided that she was definitely not a journalist, because ‘she is definitely too pretty to have efficient grey cells’.Someone had pitched in that she would be the new assistant of the chief editor, but they were having serious problems figuring out her responsibilities. In their only male controversial vocabulary, interspersed with spicy comparisons, they said that she would bring him coffee if, of course, she managed to cover the route from the editorial kitchen to his office in ‘meter’ high heels.With the eyes of the soul, they saw her scope of duties, including the most important one: creating an effective background during business meetings in order to effectively distract from the main topics of conversations and business discussions.Michael, fascinated by the stranger's extraordinary beauty,
“Today Alice will be in my office. Have a nice day, ladies and gentlemen!” Nicolas informed everyone mockingly and escorted Alice towards his office.Michael's eyes darkened. He could feel the blood rushing to his head and turning red with anger as he clenched his fists. He abruptly got up from his chair and walked fast towards Nicolas office. Then he felt a kick again on the same ankle and he crouched down in pain. He surreptitiously began massaging his ankle, before properly tying his shoelaces.At this moment, it dawned on him that he was acting quite hasty in his actions. He didn’t really have anything, a leverage of sorts, to present himself with in front of Nicolas. If he had entered his office and tried to fight for the promotion, which he had already decided was his, he might have turned out to be on the losing end.How is that? After all, it was he who was to become the deputy in chief! He had even adapted to his new office. Taking int
Finally, Thomas Evans, writing about technological and automotive news, charmed by the extraordinary beauty of the new chief editor, got the courage to go to Nicolas’ office and discuss his just finished text about the latest model of the jaguar entering the market.Thomas, upon entering the office, flashed his snow white teeth at the rest of them.The editorial ‘technologist’ was aware of his high ‘market value’ as they used to say in the male society. A large list of material goods, quite a good position in the social elite and a sensational appearance despite the approaching forties made Thomas feel like a chosen one.He was one hundred percent sure that he would be the one who would be given a public appearance at some top venue in the company of an attractive new chief editor. Anyway, the bets have already been placed on it.He entered Nicolas’ office in a great mood. Alice was beaming behind the editor's computer.
The answer surprised an already confused Michael. He knew that his friend was of the type ‘Obligatory until it matters’. He thought, however, that while he was sitting for hours in his newsroom, he must have been surfing on cyberspace, playing stupid games on the Internet and constantly chatting with friends, and that he worked at the last moment, just before the issue of the new number of the magazine was closed.More than once, Michael had seen him chatting with friends; playing online or browsing various websites, watching movies, listening to music… It was only now that he realized that he had never seen him working.“I have just finished!” Proudly announced Simon, their photo editor and journalist in one person, also editorial mocker and court jester. "This is... I mean... I finished this morning!" He added after a moment, seeing the fury on Michael's face.The others started muttering under their breaths that if they sat down
‘Stupid, mean witch!’ Michael repeated in his mind, absolutely enraged. ‘Arrogant, saucy witch! How can I know the topics of my next three columns when I don't even have good stuff for the next one. How the hell do I know what's going to happen tomorrow? How can you even know the subject of your column before it is written?’ He wondered.‘Where did they teach her the principles of journalism? Probably nowhere! She ran over the nape of some well set guy, landed in his bed, and accidentally became chief editor, and now pretends to be highly educated in the field. Witch!’ He was sure she just pretended to be very knowledgeable.‘She has no idea about their hard work, about writing good texts, and she dare to put up yet! And she called herself wise! ‘Will we see if Nicolas will let her write the leading article?’Outraged by the chief editor's tone, he left slamming the door, which upset Alice even more.A
They waited with bated breath for the further development of events. The chauffeur walked slowly around the car, before he courteously opened the back door. Then their new boss appeared before him.They couldn't believe their eyes. An uncomfortable silence descended in the crowded room. None of them was able to comment on this. They thought that it was just their hallucination, the result of an overdose of percentages and a hangover from the last day’s party.How can the new boss afford a jaguar and a chauffeur? What was up? So many questions were stuck in their heads.They suspected that it was Nicolas' trick, who was unable to grasp the mess that had prevailed in the editorial office since the chief assistant had left the competition. They knew that he wanted to teach them a lesson but who was Alice? In addition, this luxury Jaguar haunted them.The next day, Alice was the first to come to the editorial office. It would not be surprising, if not f
“Thank you, gentlemen, for honouring me with your presence! We're starting!” She paused for a moment to give them time to think and analyze the meaning of the words she had spoken.There was no sign of reflection on the tired, sleepy faces. Thomas was yawning incessantly, every now and then covering his mouth with his hand.Michael, with almost navy blue horseshoes under his eyes and mournfully tousled hair, stretched all his muscles, disregarding everyone, especially the limits of decency, as if he had just woken up.Jack was sitting in a rumpled shirt, propping his head with his hands as if it weighed a ton. He tried his best to stay awake, but he kept closing his eyes every now and then, then shaking his head, straightening himself up and trying to keep his posture attentive again.Simon’s eyes were so red and swollen almost halfway down his cheeks that he looked like a panda or as if he had a boxing match the previous night with a he