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.
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
Around one in the afternoon, the atmosphere turned hot again. Thomas returned to the editorial office with a flushed face and cloudy eyes. As if in a hypnotic trance, he took off his jacket, tossed it casually on the back of his chair, sat down at the computer and began typing.He didn’t take his eyes off the monitor. He looked like a mad scientist making a discovery of life that would revolutionize the views of all mankind.His friends tried to ask him about his impressions of the ride, but to no avail. He didn't answer. He didn’t even react to the taunts. The outside world did not exist for him. He was in another dimension, in a creative trance.After an hour, unusually beaming and still flushed, he got up from his desk and went to Nicolas' office. He only managed to close the door behind him, and Michael immediately appeared in front of them. Ignoring anyone, he tried to eavesdrop, but from what he heard, he understood very little.Concepts