A b o u t t h e M o s t I n s p i r i n g P e o p l e
A LEAP into the WORLD of WORDS
Issued on Saturday 25 March 2017
A Busy Woman : One Goal.
By Emanuela Clari
I will never forget that crazy experience. It had its prologue two weeks ago. On the 25 February 2017, such a cold wind obliged me to find refuge just next to a wall. At 7:15 every morning the habit had been, always, the same : find refuge. The city station was one of the windiest place of that city by the sea. I was so punctual on my schedule, sometimes it got on my nerves. I wanted to be the blonde perfect tiny lady all perfumed and made-up who appeared always 2 minutes, or even one minute before the train puffed in. Or the old lord with his straw hat from winter to summer; not taking care of anybody and anything. That was life. I knew all the 7:25-passengers, I knew all their habits.
My profession required me to know habits, whys and becauses very well. For a professional super skilled Marketing Director and happy owner of the most important Advertising Agency in Boston, people's mysteries were the every day.
I had been going to my office regularly at the same time 11.30. Never giving to my employees the right to guess or the joy to experience something unusual. Only the creations I sold for gold had been irregular, out of the ordinary thoughts, shocking sometimes. My job was my escape, my essence was my cage.
While waiting my 10 minutes all wrapped in my light beige faux fur and big fluffy white woolen shapka and gloves and holding tight my red business tote-bag, I counted all my train-waiters-fellows and realized one was missing, actually three.
I didn't know my fellows' names; I had never spoken to one of them so I just said to my self: mom and twins are missing. I had never been in the mood to talk to strangers. They were my thoughts' fellows but true strangers to me.
Why was the middle-aged woman with two twins missing? She had been one presence never lost in mornings' routine and my come-backs. I needed her that morning. I was writing some ads for a big chocolate-selling children's friendly company and I wanted to sit next to the 5 year-old girls and listen to their chatting. I needed her, well them, for inspiration.
Having started thinking of about 5 reasons for their absence I got lost in my thoughts for few seconds and then went back to my work. My commitment came first to anything. Nobody could distract me more than 2 seconds. That was a habit too. I had to thank my self for that. Nobody had helped me, and nobody had created me. I had always been so proud of my personal skill as a builder of souls. All of a sudden the nose of the train poked battling against the freezing wind that, that fatal morning, was our nightmare.
The snow was late to surprise us. Maybe she had a meeting somewhere else for skiing-lovers and for us Brunswickers by the sea, she thought to be superfluous.
Once heeled on the train and already sat on my usual seat by the window on the right, I saw a fast figure in distance running to catch the long caterpillar with me. The thought to the mom and twins had popped up but reality disappointed me. "Who was that fast figure? I knew everybody." Something was not under my control. I couldn't accept it. Years and Years of what I considered healthy routine had been destroyed by a fast figure. Tall. It was tall. I had a trace to start with.
"It was a man." Second thought.
"It looked like a man. Maybe is a new member of the train crew. Or could that be a thoughts' fellow to add at my list?"
But I didn't need news.
I wanted to be in my routine.
"Why should a fast figure be so interesting? Let me put that aside and go back to my work."
Grabbed my computer as usual. Set all my colored pens, always three, blue, red and black, my notebook, agenda, cellular and my mints.
I loved strong mints accompanied by a super hot cup of tea. The hot cup was waiting for me, on my wooden desk by the huge window in my two floors agency at 11.30. It was so nice to have certain things, reassuring somehow.
My mind set as professional. Switched on the production and started writing the children's spot ideas I wanted my employees to develop in about 2 hours. I never gave to anyone more than two hours to develop a big advertising packaging. If they didn't come out with the best project, it meant they weren't working properly. Many of my creators had been knocked off, without any discomfort on my side, for less than that.
I had one goal in life: to be the Best in Advertising. One Goal nobody could distract me from or limit. I wasn't born to be praised and neither to praise anyone. That was my main tool to achieve my targets.
In the mean time, around me, people accomplished their rituals too. The blond girl always found a spot not far from me. I gave her that secure shelter among women on a train full of men, except the driver and the fragile mom of twins. The former was out of the games and the latter couldn't be counted , she was too fragile. It showed. The straw-man made his attempt to sit in front of me, as usual; noticed the icy glance from dark green eyes as usual; and sat just two rows far from me but never too far, as usual.
It relieved me that our stop was the first of that journey, the idea of being first, gave me always a thrill, as a reminder of being the Best; and those who are the Best are meticulously the First in Life. There we were, I was, every morning and afternoon, rewarded of an empty train only for me to choose where to embrace my throne.
The other passengers disappeared somewhere else and had never been on my journey.
The coach number one, of course, was mine and I gave the right to share some air to the Blonde Girl, who had been the inspiration of many of my most popular ads and might have been again.
And of course I gave some space to the Straw-Man, who was extremely quiet, I couldn't even notice him, and didn't disturb my work at all.
Then why not admitting at my presence the absent of the day, Mom of twins, who never decided to sit very close, thinking of causing damage to my work with her two little girls. What a right thought! That was good of her.
The moment I concentrated on my "creations" nobody could interfere, other passengers arrival of that three-hours-thirty minutes trip were completely transparent to me.
Waiting for departure a big blue bird captured my attention. Just where I found refuge, I saw an enormous smiling bird painted on a brand new billboard. The wall I used for protection had been "re-decorated". How did I miss it? I never skipped an advertisement in my life! I stared at it and followed it while the train had punctually departed.
The Obvious Corporation's Team must have been dreaming to enlarge the already popular Social media. Incredible! Twitter needed more followers! Did I like that spot? In two seconds I reviewed the impact that the new ad would have caused in the "watchers".
A long quote said "Tweets, no games! Your dreams are Tweeting Now. Tweeters are reliable. We are reliable. Be reliable and Follow Your dreams. " It was looking for trust and trustful people. Wonderland had melted the Obvious Corporation Team's minds.
At the end of the two seconds, got my results: It would have been a "flop". Something that goes up, up and up but the gravity recalls at the house of Failures, that was that advertising.
I had no extra time to dedicate to that blue bird, so went back to my computer and my successful sweetie children's campaign. Few flashing questions arose in my thoughts: "Who was the fast figure?" "What was the Mom and twins doing? Why weren't they going to Boston that day?"
The sliding door behind me made a mysterious noise. The fast figure appeared. Where was the Uniform? Why wasn't he, asking for my ticket? That tall He was entering My coach!? How dared Him. Only from other stations people were allowed to step in as ghosts. This one wasn't a ghost.
"May I ?"
Thought : "May I what?". Continued taping and producing. Life was short I couldn't waste my time.
"Excuse me, may I ? Is this free?"
Thought: " Free what?! Who are You?!"
No reason to sit opposite me, I was busy to achieve my Goal, to Be the Best, and the coach had so many free seats.
He adjusted his briefcase, smiled at me, got his book half read, looked at the watch and fell in a deep silence reading attentively for the whole journey.
Getting off the caterpillar I realized I hadn't worked at all. And my three-hours-thirty minutes routine didn't give birth to any butterfly that morning.
He had disturbed me. His presence had given me a subtle absence of productive skills.
He got off at the same stop but he flew away without leaving any trace. Where did He go? Who was the fast man? Would I have met him again? Maybe on my way back home.
The train driver had got off the train too, that day, her face was devastated. She was talking to some of her colleagues loudly.
"It was suicide." one voice emerged.
"Oh poor girls, Who will take care of them?"
"No, the car is in the lake with all of them. It was suicide. That woman was so fragile."
Two seconds for the Fast man and two seconds for the Mom and twins. 11:30. Punctual. My good morning hot cup of tea and strong mints waited for me.
"I am a Busy Woman and my One Goal counts more than anything else" I told myself.
Thought: "On the way back I must check if the Fast Man's on the train. Did he notice the Twitter ad? Is he a "Be reliable" follower? Why should I care too much?" Who cared about him. I was a very, very busy Woman.
A LEAP into the WORLD of WORDS
The Falling Skin : The Discover.
Issued on Saturday 15 APRIL 2017
By Emanuela clari
"You can't be happy without also being honest. And honestly that was a Great Deal. The chocolate is so good if melted with a successful telephone call." Waiting, as usual, for the train to Boston, my thoughts were like bubbles of champagne in my head. "What a joyful morning", I couldn't have any distorted passages in my entire brain, left or right , both sides were tasting the power of a target struck: a new advertising campaign sold for gold.
The battle against my competitors had been a triumph. It was enough to spread on my face a trace of a smile mixed with pure satisfaction.
Accomplished my sun-up routine and safe with the number of attendees at the platform, I looked at my precious watch and back again at the billboard.
Thought: "The hungry bird, searching for reliable followers, must have suffered yesterday's tremendous no stop freezing gale." The hard sell on paper was falling like a facial masque does when dried and ready to reveal the cleaner skin. That was the premonition I had had, that promo would have been a flop. Neither the wall wanted to be part of the failure.
Unconsciously I was even happier because of that.
"What? Who's patting on my shoulder? Who is touching me?" vibrated my body.
The fast man all of a sudden appeared. He had patted my shoulder!
"Why didn't I meet him on my back-home-trip?" I asked my self with genuine concern.
"Excuse me, are these yours? I have found them at the parking area." said the tall man smiling with a white and shining show of well-bred-teeth, light blue eyes and a pair of glasses in his confident hands.
"No, they aren't." I answered with a cold annoyed tone, facing the train arrival as if being late on my schedule and abruptly flying, far from him, to catch my beloved Throne.
Coach number one, so not to disappoint my daily Ego's feeding, sat and comfortably lodged with my ritual three different colored pens, projects and my lap-top by the same window-train.
In less than two seconds I was already in my productive mood.
The Blonde Girl and the Straw man were at the right distance and the twins and mom's silence was echoing in the coach. Their loss was going to be noticed by my spirit and that was disturbing me.
I avoided the contact with my insight and went back to my climbing up the the mountain called "Success".
"Hello may I?"
Thought: "not again!!"
Sitting just opposite me "You know I have found the owner of those glasses!"
Thought: "Who cares" and I smiled formally with emotionless eyes straight into his.
I looked outside of the window and saw a funny billboard-man peeling off the wall's masque.
"What a freezing day again? Isn't it?" the tall He.
"Yes, it is" formal again and astonished.
I have never received so many questions and so much attention by an utter intruder person in years. I only had to talk and smirk at competitors, deal-makers, companies directors in need of popular ads and sometimes at my relatives. I had never had time for "chatting".
I just started. With that man's tone of voice and his perfect smile I, suddenly, felt at "home".
In three hours and thirty minutes I collapsed at his charm. We shared our lives with curiosity.
"Katie, my name is Katie Anderson" . I was shocked how fluent my talking could become about my past, present and opinions.
Victor O'Connery born by the sea. A man of knowledge, a former teacher at the Columbia University in New York, who didn't trust himself in the role, neither his students, and let the burden go few months before our meeting.
"Teaching is a mission and I discovered it wasn't for me." he admitted.
"To become a writer, that's my dream..." Victor revealed me, and doing so made him closer to me.
"...The best Writer in the World of Words" continued and made him even closer to me.
Boston 11.30, hot cup of tea and the first mint dropped gently over my re-colored-red-smooth-lips.
My alert antenna had the good sense not to leave Mr O'Connery my precious personal telephone number. I felt secure and after few sips of tea got back to the mints tiny crystal bowl and tasted my Utopia again.
With a sort of military mood started reading my appointments on the company's big agenda and avoided, that day, the newspapers and some other magazines prepared by my secretary. John was the most devoted helper naturally born to become a top-manager-assistant. I secretly admired him and never showed it.
The office was so busy and full of working "chatters" and international ring-tones. The inner part of my existence had been, on the contrary, emptied by a simple conversation and surprised by a falling skin.
"Katie Anderson had lost her skin made of years of solitude, built with concentration on running the race of a successful life. " I talked silently to myself pretending to be engaged on the phone with someone.
Thoughts started living their own life: "I will turn 45 in July. Victor will turn 50 in few days. My life is beautiful. Single women never need second chances. I am safe. No number no troubles. My responsibility is to keep the falling skin secret to the others. I just slipped. I will never again. Nobody can get into my den. I am a tiger free to be wild. OK, that's it. Nothing more can be discovered if I don't give my permission. And I will not. Why should I?"
Boston had been left in the late afternoon after hours of brainstorming, advice, admonishments, commands, formal telephone calls and original pictures to sell.
By the platform at Brunswick, the first thing I noticed was the falling twitter badly pasted promotion that had been substituted by nothing but the mere wall. I felt just like it. The same empty space.
My personal judgement was always of paramount importance but that day I discovered a new Katie. A woman made of dreams, dreams to share with a stranger. I barely knew what to think of it. My personal judgement had been knocked off.
I walked at a certain speed towards my car ready to go back to my warm villa, my true safe "home" on a green hill, and stepped on something. A cracking noise grabbed my attention to the ground under my shiny black leather boots. Bent and found out I had just broken a pair of glasses.
The discover wasn't revealing more to me. I whispered "Victor".
A LEAP into the WORLD of WORDS
Her Eyes on Him : The Mirror.
Issued on Saturday 24 june 2017
By Emanuela clari
My hot cup of tea was just in front of me, the smooth white china was extremely burning. Just the way I liked it. Few drops of mint were there for me to enjoy.
"John, please would you send a Thank You Card to Christopher".
"Of course, no problem. As already done."
Chris loved receiving mail and he adored to be surprised, but to me it was just a cold Thank You Card due. He would have never imagined it was me sending that card. It made me stronger being ahead somebody else's thoughts. It was part of my success. Sir Christopher Burk, an English survivor in America, what a lovely man to work with. Nothing left to luck only professional decisions and detailed plans were his everyday. My advertising for the Hilton Hotels had doubled his personal income too. A very good reason to be always so kind to me. I have never liked being praised, but Chris with his formal English Style it made the entire plot a Council Board decision.
"John, please, can you open the curtains and all the windows?"
To myself : "I'm not a big fan of the air conditioner. I read it is the cause of so many diseases. So I could live longer without".
It was always better not to share intimate thoughts, likes and dislikes with employees so I kept the advice locked behind my lips.
John happily: "No problem at all".
Jonathan Craig always answered with those reassuring words "no problem" adding to them a smiling face. It made me feel so secure and rewarded by his warm smile and self confidence.
The show had begun.
Slowly, the satin and merely transparent white curtains moved by an electric device, were letting appear a fantastic light blue sky competing with an even lighter blue calm sea. No clouds were upon me. And no buildings were opposite me. The Office was a distant memory. And the bad, freezing wind at the train station was a nightmare put aside till Monday.
Every time I was at Nassau, the rain went somewhere else, the usual breeze stopped blowing and the beloved sun lit my brown hair, making it breathe new life. My hair was such a precise detector of my mood. The reason why I had to go more often to the hairdresser. A woman like me could not show too much her stressful days. My hair was my first enemy.
Nothing had stopped me when Sir Christopher had sent me an invitation to spend few days at the Nassau Pacific Hilton Hotel. It was part of my tasks. If I wanted to win future advertising companies I had to win relationships-long-term-mantainance. Especially if concerning the Hilton brand. There were so many vultures around that golden mine, that I had to be always wearing a super armor. And Chris was my well polished armor.
Nine thirty a.m.
Already in my light beige suit, white golden jewels to sparkle in the sun, nails and hair done and a puff of my favorite perfume. Dared to stay barefoot. I was in the parlor of my suite which I decided to transform into my temporary new office. The Sun is the sun. The pleasure is pleasure. But work is work. And to me it came always first.
I took my cup of tea and paced out onto the balcony just two steps from my desk. The balcony was even wider than my bedroom and it was full of dark pink flowers, smelling of such a relaxing essence, and very green plants were everywhere.
Admiring the spectacular view of that morning portrait I had been given some refreshing and restoring strength to my dried soul.
I had arrived the previous day and I felt as if many days had already been spent in luxury, but instead it was only Friday. Of course Chris would have not be part of the invitation. The gift was for me and for my trustful John.
I spent some time just observing from the balcony the not so far crowded sand beach.
Rumination: "It's only nine thirty and the beach looks like an open-air market at its peak hour. It reveals that an increasingly large number of younger people seek the 'perfect holiday' with those who are chronologically older".
I couldn't realize why, but I was feeling older. Then all of a sudden looking at the slim John in his blue shorts and white polo, working hard and no stop at my office papers so effortlessly, I felt even much more aged. I had my career that would have assured me the youth.
A concept I wasn't too sure about.
Turned towards the flowers, tore one and as if I had lost twenty years I put it gently in my hair. I smiled at my cheerful mood looking back proudly at the unaware social-reviewed-people tramping on the sandy beach.
A knock at the suite door.
John on the phone with headquarter in Boston.
It was raining that morning and I mocked all my employees with a grin.
"Please John do you mind having a look? somebody knocked".
The sun was so sharp, so alive that had decided to sizzle my skin and bones.
I went back to the soft white armchair by the desk and in the shade. Sipped my tea gently, chuckled the china back onto the wooden desk and caressed my hair to take off the pink blossom. It fell and I left it on the floor. It showed such a beauty there on the floor I could have shot an ad framing that close-up.
From distance, I heard John politeness being part of a pretty long conversation. I didn't bother too much.
My Agenda and my red pen were being part of a creative function. Unfortunately not for the success of my company but the mere entertainment of my illogical process.
Was it possible to think without thoughts? I was thinking but couldn't recognize about what or who.
John interrupted my blank-leisure-time.
A survey conducted in Vancouver revealed that many homo and mulier sapiens choose to spend their time drawing, often on their agenda, 89% while on the phone and always with a clueless mood.
But I wasn't on the phone. Does that count in the survey?
A dark brown tanned hand with so well cured nails passed me a letter. It was John's hand. That was the long-conversation- result. I put my self at ease not showing any alarm. I was alarmed. Why? I really didn't comprehend.
"A letter has been left at the reception for you Mrs Anderson and a maid has been sent to you. She insisted a little bit in giving the letter personally to you but I knew you would have not admitted her to your presence and not allowed her to disturb you".
Oh dear John he was old at his young age, what an old fashion style to talk! And why was he still calling me Mrs Anderson knowing I had never been married.
But most of all why haven't I interrupted his bad habits yet?
John was John. Charming Professional John.
"A letter? From who? Open it for me. Thanks"
"No problem Mrs Anderson"
Few seconds and I grabbed the light blue sheet in my hand.
"Was everything supposed to be light blue at Bahamas?" What a stupid judgement.
I decided to send John to have his break and have all my emotions shown on my face in private.
Could it be Chris that had the same idea of a Thank You Card? Why would he be more thankful to me?
Unfolded the letter I discovered it was from the train tall man! Victor? Victor O'Connery?!
Reading as fast as I could I stood up from the too fluffy armchair.
He's here. Is he here? What a funny thing to think.
The letter stated in ten lines:
"Dear Katie, I'm sure you're having a great time over there in the sun. I phoned your office to share with you my news. Your secretary thought I was an important client ( honestly I pretended to be) so they told me you had left for some days. And I let them reveal you were staying at the Nassau Pacific Hilton Hotel. I really couldn't wait no longer for the scoop! I have just become a journalist of the 'The Boston's Mirror'. Don't ask me why, but you are the first person i wanted to be part of my success. See you soon, yours Victor."
Hasty reaction talking to my ego: "Oh dear Victor, what a surprise! My employees will receive a very strict scolding in few minutes. But where's his telephone number?"
I turned the letter up side down but no numbers were falling into my eyes.
What was the answer?
I went back to my daily program and threw the letter in the paper basket.
I'd never had the pleasure of keeping something superfluous since I was ten years old. The happy birthday cards, the little poetry received or any too sweet or personal lines were destroyed after having scanned them once.
It was a waste of time and space to keep mementos.
Back to my life. John came back. I worked attentively till noon. The sea could have waited till late afternoon. The sunset was perfect for my one-hour-meditation and to dive into a warmer water. "Did I get the light blue bikini?"
It would have been the closure of a circle made of light blue circumstances. I laughed. I had a quick shower, got dressed in a silky short white dress, flat sandals, few drops of the perfume I usually wore only at lunch time and a quick brushed at my shoulder length wavy hair. The dress had those very light long sleeves that were floating easily at any of my gentle movements. I didn't want to get any bag. It was not comfortable though, so I decided to take a very little shoulder bag just to feel more complete.
"I'm starving John, I'm going to have lunch, see you in an hour. Have yours later so you can finish that important project for the StampToPrint. It's due for tomorrow."
He agreed as usual, and smiled at me caring for my things as if they were his.
My undertakings were his own priorities and happiness. I couldn't ask for more.
Impressions occurred without any warning while reaching the restaurant at the first floor on a luxurious elevator : "The marble stairs were so clean. Must have been Italian marble. Victor should have add his telephone number. He got a post at the Mirror. Congratulations. There's always a mirror in elevators. That's a nice idea. My hair looks fine. Not too bad. He really must be an excellent writer if accepted by Margaret. She is such a demanding editorial director. I must call her. The message wasn't so well written though. The flower idea for the BeOne t-shirt spot could hit the nail on the head." The elevator doors opened and I found my self exactly in the restaurant area.
I said whispering to my self " I'll go for a lobster today."
Thoughts: "The eye is bothering me. There must be something in it."
I started chasing in my little shoulder bag for a handkerchief or my tiny mirror.
The sun on the balcony had confused me. Honestly the light blue letter by Victor, become the Mirror man, had confused me. I sought for and found my balance. Emotions could not interfere.
Not finding mine, I had to look around for a mirror, my eye was still hurting.
I had a glance at the walls, and spotted a nice huge golden framed mirror just hanging on a wall between two enormous doors facing the pool.
My soul at that point and at that distance from the mirror was believing to have a very young outlook and it was feeling ready to face the future as a wild horse. My real me, so visible now being closer to the precious mirror, had a shock gazing at the wrinkly outlook who wasn't matching with my spirit.
I silently shouted at myself : "Stop it!! I'm only 45!!"
My hurting eye won the battle of a life time and postponed it.
Youth, what was it for? For making mistakes and trying to remember them in order to avoid making them again. But mistakes, at any time and at any age, had been at my side without even knowing they would have been called failures one day. I had always been a winner in life. That wasn't my business.
A nice waitress full of colorful drinks on a shimmering silver tray , looking at me so close to the mirror, searching for an unknown presence into my eye evolved to red, offered his pitiful smile and vanished to the glamorous people by the pool. I wasn't in danger and it wasn't needed any emergency call.
Just something in the eye.
There I was, trying to understand if the new mascara had decided to dry into pieces into my goggle-box instead of strengthening and beautifying my eye-lashes.
My eye. The mirror. My finger as a miner, looking for a treasure. The sun I had shining towards me to rescue my research, during this maneuver had suddenly disappear.
I had to move from my position and get closer to the perfectly polished mirror so to finally end that agony.
An irritated eye and an embarrassed woman together were fighting for freedom. The sun came back again. I could not see clouds in the sky but suddenly I had found out the reason of such pain in my delicate green eye. Some pollen, from that beautiful pink flower.
Few creamy yellow traces gave me that assurance. Just pollen. I wasn't allergic.
Ready to go to have my dreamed lobster I gave the last glance at my face, in its whole.
In the mirror, unexpectedly and two seconds afterwards vibrating to the bones, I put my eyes on him.
Smiling white, behind me and standing still was a familiar face.
"May I help You? is everything OK?" a warm voice said.
Speechless I headed for a table, sheltered by a light-green gazebo moved by elegant lighter than silk white curtains and of course set by the glamorous pool. I always deserved the best.
"Is everything OK, Katie?" the warm voice continued behind me.
As a result of some originality in approach I found myself sitting at the best table, ordering the best lobster, drinking chilly white wine from the best cellars and holding one hand as known for years.
Holding tightly my only-computer-friendly hand, the Mirror man exposed himself further by saying more than one word: .
"You know Katie, honestly, what I love most of your beautiful person is the Powerful Woman you are."
I was speechless and looking fixedly at his mouth moving.
I suddenly found the eager woman I was, repeating his phrases as a canyon would echo: "The Powerful Woman you are. The Powerful Woman you are. The powerful Woman you are".
Victor: "Every inches of your attitude demonstrates you are with all rights such a Powerful Woman."
I was echoing: " Such a Powerful Woman. Such a Powerful Woman. Such a Powerful Woman".
Victor, loudly and staring at my eyes: " The most important change has taken place underneath my skin from the very first moment I met you at the station."
My redundant thoughts: " The very first moment I met you. The Powerful Woman you are. From the very first moment. Underneath my skin"
Victor: "You're tough".
My thoughts: "I am tough".
With Such a Youthful Outlook.
With Such a Youthful Outlook.
I turned my attention, only for few instants to the still light blue water into the swimming pool and then to the not distant calm light blue sea. Many chatting tanned travelers were lunching around us. Went back to his eyes and mouth, since he had never stopped talking.
Victor's voice echoed in my mind: " You are a beautiful woman with such a youthful outlook, and such a highly qualified expert in your field. And I believe not only. You must be the Best in anything you give your attention to".
The Power you own is not suitable for all.
The Power you own is not suitable for all.
"There is no earthly reason for me to limit my increasing admiration and, love for the Person you are. My exposure doesn't scare me. I am never frightened in front of a Powerful Woman. Never. From the little I have discovered and imagined of you, Katie, Miss Anderson, it has been possible to piece together the distinguished woman you are. I love the way you face the social prestige to a position above the ordinary."
My intentions are serious.
My intentions are serious.
Without a reasonable clue, I leapt into that comforting world of words.
Victor as one of the best Spanish torero gave his final lines the right to kill any fable reaction created by cold reason and good sense; of which no trace had been left.
Victor added, whispering and tightening my sub-missed mind: "There is no way of avoiding the feeling that you, only you arouse into my soul. My everything. You are my final achievement for life."
My viewpoint: "Did John write his speech? Another old fashion style speaker".
As if that resemblance could, somehow, reassure me about the person Victor was, I smiled.
The lady-bull had been killed.
The Mirror Man had kept that Spanish attitude till dawn. It worked.
John had been wounded with colorful banderillas and sent to Boston alone.
A LEAP into the WORLD of WORDS
The Leap : Keeping Her Breath
Issued on Saturday 30 Sept 2017
By Emanuela clari
"Happy birthday to you...Happy birthday to you...Haaaapppy birthday dear Victor...happy birthday to youuu".
Not Marilyn of course but my singing lessons at the age of 16 helped me pass the flamed candles and cocoa scent from my hands adorned with jewels to his wet ones by the swimming pool.
Nassau had hosted us with its charm for two weeks instead of few days.
The plot was easy to be entitled: "A bride with no veil to be lifted and a bridegroom with no ring to be shown discovering their simplicity".
Bare feet and red cheeks were my companions to surprise "my Victor".
I didn't know the date of his birth and didn't want to ask for confirmation, not to spoil the treat.
I remembered him saying, on our second journey on the train to Boston, something about it, "in few days it's my birthday, 50 what a number...".
I was behind but I was going to win the Oscar of unexpected effects. The best day was the last day. Planned it so well. I felt so proud of myself.
Taking advantage of an intimacy gained rapidly, that couldn't be denied, I found myself so easily generous towards his person.
The Mirror Man was my Man and I felt partially responsible for his new beautiful life.
His dripping hands were helping me put the original crafted cake on a tiny rounded table.
While smiling at each other, following codified expectations of society, my eyes flew like a kite hanging on straight dark brown hair matched with a very light green silky blouse and white shorts.
She appeared to be very close to my age but with all her muscles at their best. She was there, sitting two tables far from ours, drinking a blue drink and staring at "my Victor" behind a pair of sunglasses.
I could feel her eyes on him, even if hidden. I caressed his hair and sent to hell the neighborhood.
All of a sudden three of the five candles, each candle counted 10 long years, had been blown out by a gust of warm wind. 30 Years disappeared. I felt younger with a younger fellow. I was lucky to be there.
The cake was just the second present for him to enjoy. The first had been tied up with golden ribbons in a very big box and contained my precious time, all the crazy changes I had realized for him and my new mood.
The studio in my hotel room had been transformed in our parlor. We spent hours sitting by the moonlight chatting and laughing. I had no refrains, no negative thoughts, no thoughts at all. I was on the wave of unconsciousness.
John phoned me many times and I regularly postponed his impelling need to share up-to-dated company's news.
My lap-top ended in my luggage in advance. My documents had expired.
My three precious pens had been gifted to a waitress.
The productive businesswoman had become a lazy woman wearing most of the day a bikini, sunglasses and few very expensive pieces of jewellery to toast with excellent food and drinks.
And to complete the portrait my regular meditation hour in the late afternoons and mornings had disappeared easily like sand does into the ocean.
"Wait!! Let me light those candles again!" looking around for a blond waiter.
A very light blond waiter had been my birthday party planner. Precise and not intrusive. He should have stayed there.
Victor's intense who's-afraid-of-the-big-bad-wolf's puff eliminated the remaining two sparkling candles without hesitation. The Party was over.
Twenty years flew away with the thirty, met in the air and summed up again the 50 awareness. I was 45 though, and feeling good only at the thought of being younger than him.
The Waiter arrived few seconds later with a professional smile stamped on his face and ready with a shining silver cake knife to cut the creamy and soft birthday present.
"You are delicious Katie!" and Victor with a piece of devotion in his hand was tasting the flavor of submission.
Thoughts: "Why didn't he pass me the first slice? a gentleman would have done that".
Acquiescence passed again and postponed my person to his, my priorities to his, my triumph to his. My intimate self consideration died to his captivating voice and utterances.
"So Mirror man, happy birthday and congratulations for your goal achieved" I said with a sincere affection.
Victor replied: " I will never achieve any degree of success without you by my side. You are my only desire and for me you come first to anything else and to anybody else. You come first..." and kissed me briefly.
Thoughts: "Words: come first, come first. Facts: he ate the cake and didn't cut a slice for me, not even a crumb from his fingers to lick."
Victor, gave another bite to his romantic gateau and laughing very loudly dived into the summery heavens. Many people around us were not bothering at all. Bahamas was accustomed to that and to more than that. We were banal.
It must have been very comforting to the blonde waiter who helped me organize the surprise by the hotel pool. He would have not been the witness of embarrassing stuff.
"I am going to have a shower upstairs." said a bright white smile.
"Enjoy the cake and the sun some more, tomorrow is the saddest day of our life. Back to Boston." continued the complete bright white smile.
"Uhm..Back to Boston..it's the ideal title for my first article. Don't you think it's just perfection. I will be very soon Chief Editor. You can bet... see you later. Don't get burned." tanned shoulders ended the news rapidly and turned without asking my opinion or permission.
Thoughts: "A shower?! and me? and the cake? and the thank-you-it-was-a-great-suprise? and the fun? and the enjoyable moments to share? and the Big Bad Wolf? Back to Boston... well the cake...he got emotional. He's so charming. The Mirror Man is mine and the Chief Editor will soon be mine too. Never married, no sisters to fight with, no parents too close... Florida, never been to Florida. No children to raise. I think it's just my cup of tea."
Loudly to his tall figure already gone inside the hotel : "You read my thoughts!!!. some more sun and some cake...I might go to the beach for..." my voice faded.
Only the hotel guests were paying attention to what I was saying.
Thoughts: "Where had the sportive woman gone? Why wasn't she paying attention to my final speech?" So concluded the sentence to myself "I might go ....to the beach for a vigorous bath.".
The sea wasn't calm at all. Waves were giving the water a hard time. Never stopping their ups and downs and never giving a break to bathers.
I was the next to disturb. But the ocean had always been my friend, so its turbulence didn't bother me at all. Its mighty deep in all circumstances had helped me grow.
In Miami during my University courses and in Los Angeles for a five-year devastating relationship and annoying profession, the Wise Ocean had on all occasions rescued me. Its voiceless way of talking had invariably given me the right advice.
I immersed myself perfectly crashing into a white and soft curl. Nothing better to digest the cake and to inhale some of that cocoon-like environment.
Victor actually talked too much for my taste. Words, words, and more words. He was rain or shine on the mood for saying something. Something nice of course. Something nice about himself, here and there, and something very nice about my special being, most of the time.
Nobody would have stopped bathing in that marvelous ocean of words but I was feeling too wet by the compliments. That bath alone, that day, helped me unplug his voice and switch on the silent ocean's one.
Once dived I spent some minutes gently moving inside the wavy sea without breathing. It was the result of strict rehearsals into my indoor swimming pool every early morning before going to work.
Once my face emerged from water, Victor's radio station started his program again. He wasn't there, but his sound was so present, so redundant, so sticky. Victor's phrases looked like written on colorful sticky post-it notes that glued , once pronounced, onto my body and soul.
I had been completely covered by his "sticky-notes" that i looked like a bulletin board of a busy office.
I touched my shoulder as if i wanted to clean away the notes by using refreshing salt water.
Dived again. The noisy radio switched off again. Emerged and his "You are delicious Katie, such a powerful woman, you're tough, I love the way you face the social prestige to a position above the ordinary.You are my only desire, you come first.." bubbled again.
All of a sudden I realized that my precious golden chain was missing from my neck.
I should have been more cautious. But, instead of regretting it, I decided to dive again sure to be able to find it.
Sort of being optimist in front of the impossible. Nervous Ocean and stormy sand. What would have been helpful? My optimism? I believed so. And I dived again. It was like a leap into faith.
I kept my breath as much as I could.
While keeping my air, my body was floating among few pieces of seaweeds, my eyes were wide opened searching for the impossible and my skin felt embraced by the warm humidity.
I hadn't gone far; so the spot where I lost my chain was not too deep.
Still keeping safely in the wet atmosphere with floating octopus-shaped hair , using both hands I poked into the fine grains with extreme attention.
Finished the air at my disposal I burst out the surface. The sunset had started its best show of the week. Fairly obvious, it was its farewell for me and my Victor.
While staring at the romantic sunset bright red light my thoughts unsaid my criticism: "Maybe too talkative but he's neat, attractive, professional, ahead of the game. Where did his secret lie?"
I went back to reality. Waving back and forth my feet followed the mood of the water and moved onto the sand without finding peace. It was so difficult to stand still.
Ready to dive again for my treasure my right foot sole met a strange piece of rock.
Optimism had answered as usual. And my golden wet chain was there stuck among my toes.
A silent flash brought me back to the broken glasses cracking under my leather boots at the train station. The flash faded into one second.
Talking friendly to my chain: "I knew it. Here you are. Time to go for a shower now. Victor is surely waiting for us."
Beside the difficulty in walking out of the unsteady sea I put my chin proudly up thanks to the rewarding fish caught.
Unconscious of the sticky notes, not yet washed away by the many purifying immersions, I smiled at the sunset and went back to the hotel.
"Knock, knock, room service. Is anybody in?" I tried to surprise Victor once arrived at our den.
I was completely wet in my bikini, eagerly wearing my precious survived necklace and wearing a very soaked towel around my waist.
"You are delicious Katie" kissed me.
"You are late" kissed me again.
" It's dinner time. I have just booked at the Penthouse." and kissed me more profoundly.
During the previous night I had a nightmare. I woke up trying to remember what disturbed me so much. Nothing appeared to enlighten the anxiety left in my bones. At that profound kiss my bones shouted their discomfort again.
I abandoned the towel on my once studio desk, grabbed two mints and answered peacefully and cheerfully: "You are! delicious.. and you are right , I am a bit late"
I didn't want to share my adventure in the Ocean and went on talking happily:
"So nicely perfumed my darling Victor! The Penthouse??!! What a great choice. ." kissing him back.
"My credit card had been clicked, scanned, polished, grabbed and shown a lot during these prolonged unexpected holidays.
I always felt that Victor's hidden credit card should have been saved as second course.
I had to demonstrate I was the most independent woman on Earth.
It was his birthday, so...why not being generous?
The Penthouse was one of the best restaurant in town and he had picked it so lightly.
Maybe He has chosen it to be the cherry on the cake.
It is his turn to give back, the chef is ready for a second course surrounded by colorful fireworks. Great choice The Penthouse for a Woman like me.
Perfect choice to be even in sharing.
And, ideal to forget rudeness and to substitute the 'independent-woman's-day', (well, days) with "let-me-be your-princess-for-good".
Victor kept on getting ready for the luxurious dinner smiling at himself close to the toilet mirror wearing a bright red shirt and elegant black trousers.
He was flossing his teeth, just in front of me , as if the charming prince had taken off not only his summery mask but especially his 24h irreprehensible matador's attitude.
After realizing he had left the toilet door opened, and the show wasn't broadening, he shook himself recovering a vigorous, productive, youthful approach throwing the floss thread instantly into a pale pink paper basket by the sink and sent his white smile towards his luggage to complete his dressing tasks.
Showered. Packed. Beautifully dressed. Perfumed Paco Rabanne. Tanned body heeled.
Zipping some of my dreams for the very early flight the following morning : "Oh this zip..i can't close this luggage would you..." I made my debut into his attention while busy dealing with his last call booking a taxi for the night.
He smiled and kept his attention on the phone.
I solved the zip problem and added a thumb up. Victor answered giving his back to my thumb. End of the luggage story.
"How rude again!".
With an established identity most of my floating thoughts could have taken place and settled on the "island of no-worries". But the cake, the worn credit card, the floss, the broken glasses, the rudeness and my nightmare had started acting like protagonists of my "affair" and my brain had been hired as the new director of a precarious plot.
Finally at the Penthouse's roof garden.
Sipping some chilly white wine.
All of a sudden I asked Victor: "Ah Victor, I always forgot to ask you about that pair of glasses, remember the first time we met? you were looking for the owner. Well, have you found it?"
Victor with tranquil voice and tasting a magnificent oyster: "Oh those glasses were mine, just an excuse to talk to you." and then went back to his pearl in the shell he was eagerly eating.
Thoughts: "The answer makes sense." eating as well from my shell hoping not to find a choking pearl I smiled at Victor.
"More wine?" I said.
"Yes, please." He answered.
" Should have I been rewarded of that question instead?" my mind roared clearly.
The second course had never been served and my bank account had won the first place, again.
Victor closing a second-hand magazine and yawning without covering his mouth stretched his arms and legs : "Not very comfortable these seats, don't you think so?"
Put his left hand into his jacket pocket and took out a pair of glasses :"There they are my darling, I thought you would have never mentioned them, I had been waiting for all these days. I wanted to surprise you! Here they are yours now. Have them. It was a nice idea to use them to know a special woman like you." and started laughing again loudly as he did at the swimming pool.
But this time the laughter had been not so well accepted by the other passengers on our flight back to Boston, and neither by my ears.
Frozen thoughts: "What about the crumbs of glasses on the cement by the car park at the station?".
My soul was feeling the bad smell of lies with no firefighters around.
My brain was trying to decode the data.
My spirit was feeling itchy.
My body was surrounded by his borrowed Spanish perfume.
"Oh it's freezing" I exclaimed once off the aeroplane.
"Oh yes it is" he agreed with his sparkling blue eyes already moved onto the first taxi spotted.
"OK I'll call you tomorrow" he exclaimed once into his taxi from the half opened car window.
"OK , bye" I agreed freezing and standing by his taxi speechless for the forgot attempt to offer me that taxi first.
"Had a great time" I exclaimed once into my taxi behind his from a wide opened car window.
"Had a great time too" he agreed while closing the other half of the car window and giving priority to the taxi driver's muttering.
Started my way home and I was already on the phone: "Hi Margaret, how are you? Just came back from Bahamas, yes it was amazing. I had a great time. Spent more time than I would have never thought. and what about you? is it everything OK at the Boston's Mirror? Have you fired that crazy journalist, what was his name, Sean...ah Sean Beaverly...? I bet you did otherwise you would have never spent more money to hire a new one...Mr Victor O'Connery...your diamond of the editorial, isn't it?"
"Diamond? Editorial? Katie, what are you talking about?? Who's Victor O'Connery?"
The pair of glasses I received broke, and cut my right hand, by the strong pressure of anger. Firefighters were needed.
I kept my breath tight at my heart.
A leap with a flawed parachute had choked my free flight.