Because of Montmartre

The official interpreter took out her elegant pen in crimson red and placed it on the table. She had a black too, but this occasion deserved a real color. She was seated next to her client; the Councilor was opposite of them. In the President’s residency this may be the only office she never visited before - the President’s Special Councilor's office.

Very special, she could say, but she rarely expressed her own thoughts at work. Instead, she took out a notepad and removed her purse behind her back. He could be observing her every move... Impossible, this is a business meeting.

The very special host of the meeting wore a tailor-made suit. He looked just as she remembered him - the same. This evening required everyone to look better, anyway. Above his trimmed brow peaked a new scar. There, just next to the big one. He got those old stitch marks at a football finale; he was the captain of his school team.

He should get a tattoo there, over the fresh one. A tree branch or something, with a bird on it. He likes birds.

They all came separately tonight, with an invitation framed in gold print, as President's guests at the Gala. Each one covered its respective department, not to work – to celebrate. If the President marked that on the invitation, he could have saved his Councilor.

He represented his City, she represented the other gentleman. Her client represented his international organization as an Excellency, a title for men and women of high-ranking position.

The three of them respected the dress code, the men wore pristine white shirts with cufflinks on their sleeves. The Councilor had framed his neck with a dark blue silk papillon. That bowtie was a gift, from her. 

Her role for the night was merely a visitor, like they were. But that changed as soon as she stepped in this room. She has an assignment: interpret their spoken thoughts.

Holding the pen, she steadies herself, using the silence before the official start.

Buffered noises reached behind the closed doors. It all started there, in the reception area. She was raising her second margarita to the National Day of her country, with the carefully selected crowd.

The official photographer of the President approached her from behind, said hi asked if she is up for a quick translation. She knew him, said sure, thinking that he would take her to finally meet the Sheik, he did his promo photos. A real Sheik, resident for five months now.

She used to translate for his predecessor.

It was the General Secretary that sent out for her, not the Sheik. But she was close: same officer -different title. She shook hands with him, they smoked on the balcony. The gentleman expressed his interest in hiring her tonight, hoping she was free for a short meeting.

“The costs will be covered accordingly, madam.”

She clenched her eyelids painted in blue and confirmed.

“Of course, Excellency.”

She could not refuse an official, she worked for them.

The foreign diplomat explained her how he arrived early today. That meant on time, the celebration ceremony started late. While waiting he drank shots at the Bar with the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs. The Deputy brought a friend from the President’s office who then invited the GS for a late short meeting. He already had an appointment with him pending, so he apologized; said he prefers a translator at his meetings. The President's officer looked around the hall and pointed at her, although he did not insist.

There was nothing unusual about that, anyone here could have recommended her, she worked with most of them.

A Councilor, her eyes opened wide at the table, he used to be a Mayor.  

This meeting entails repeating in French his every word. He spoke only in English, for now. She was not paid for third language. Their host says he is glad to have them in his office, he is thanking the “dude here” for accepting his ad hoc invitation.

“I was planning to do this for some time now…” He added and continued. “No! Not to abduct him…”, the Councilor laughed, his teeth shined at her.

He sure heard himself – “abduct” is a very strong word for his formal mouth. She could smell the wine from the Gala dissipate from his blood. But, that smile, the one where he shows his strong, healthy teeth, that was his forte. Genetics, not that he brushed them before he went to bed, he did not even floss.

“He was planning to abduct you for a long time”, she interpreted. 

Her client bought it as a pleasantry and joined his laugh. The funny Mayor, pardon, President’s Councilor for the State Municipalities, had his name and title printed on a plate at his desk. There, in the corner. He loves name tags.

She looked around - his old office was cuter. Here he had a mural of a sad angel, looking down at her, not judging.

If anyone should be judged, a thought sprinted her head, that should be him, the name-tag bird boy.

He was everywhere. In the city, his face stared at her from the animal shelter posters. Glued on every red bus, he stood happy and still, talking with a parrot on his shoulder. In his free time, he was an animal rights pro-bono spokesman. A real Brigitte Bardot, but local edition. And forty years younger than Brigitte; his sign - Leo. He will die alone.

She was a Libra, born on the same day as Madame Bardot.

Leo asked if it’s ok to take photos, turned on his phone camera and past it to her. She stood up. Her navy dress was also tailor-made, the slit opened in line on the side, lightly uncovering her knees. She took the camera, their fingers touched. First time in seven years.

She snapped two images and sent them to herself. While typing her number, the Contact List suggested her name, saved with a “.” at the end. Marked with a dot, she wanted to roll her eyes at him. Instead, she sat back calmly, looking at him with a purpose.

He addressed her client again.

“I am familiar, dear friend, with all the hard work your organization does to support our country…”

The Secretary General, resident Director of the Balkan office, nodded and thanked in the name of his international institution. The Councilor did not address him with a title. Not an Excellency, not a Secretary General, not even a Director, nor Sir.

He boldly assumes they are equal. It was his thing.

“My office already sent a letter on my behalf, asking for an appointment with you…”

“Excuse me, could you not speak in English, please?” She interrupted and made the Councilor stop talking. He pulled a question mark from his collar. He even raised his scar brow at her, just a little bit, just as she likes it.

So far, she did only one unprofessional thing; she did not ask her client who they are meeting with. Well… She also misinterpreted the introduction, but that doesn't count. It was important to let the Councilor know that she is not here for him. No matter how far back they go, they are not in this together.

Yes, they both got drunk celebrating her PhD in Contemporary English, and stole the beer glasses as a souvenir, but they were not displayed here, he probably left them in his former office. Here, nothing evoked memories.

No strings attached them anymore. At random encounters, such as this one, they both avoided contact. She got a tattoo on her leg wrist, a discreet doodle of a cute ghost. It was a symbol that he is forever gone.

 A sudden beep from his phone filled the space. It gave her extra time, to think. He takes short breaths with his nose - ski accident, Chamonix, visible deviation. He quit smoking after that, it was ten years ago.

“Very well, no English then.” He typed three words and turned the screen off. 

She is ready, she can take him down.

“My dear friend, I deeply apologize for interrupting our joyful celebration.”

[My dear buddy, I interrupted your “joyful” celebration, I apologize. Or not.]

“I will not keep you long, you and your interpreter will return to the party soon. I hope you enjoy our national drinks and cuisine.”

[You and your interpreter are not captives; you will return to the party soon. I hope you drown in our national drinks.]

There was a knock at the door.

“Ah! The water is here.” The Councilor says and waves his hand.

His assistant entered the room, brought some glasses and three glass bottles: two bubbly and one regular.

“No sparkling for me, if possible. Thank you.” The Secretary General made his choice.

She also prefers regular, the bubbles affect her articulation, they irritate her glands. He knows that. He asked his assistant to take a photo. Her hands trembled, while pouring water for her client. 

She was shaking, she was unaware.

His assistant was observing them from many angles, as if he was about to shoot their trio for a magazine cover. He took a selfie first, checked the result and then asked his boss to fill his glass too.

“Come-on, it would look better on screen if all glasses were full”, assistant explained.

Karaoke on Tuesday?

Come-one, all is confidential.

I will buy you litter, 5 or 3 kilos?

The familiar voice dipped in her past. They used to be friends, but she did not miss him. People lose touch all the time. On his way out he sent her a wink.

She wanted to reciprocate, but she was at work.

Over his shoulder the former mayor said, “Thank you Pims” to his former chief of cabinet. She felt the floor crack beneath her feet. It happened before, each time he would drop his formal tone. He also addressed his employee using the nickname she made-up for him… There was a bonus: a crisp, submissive “Thank you”, that wakes her up at night.

Steady now, she is a professional.

           “Our people suffer. You know that even better than me, my friend. You implemented many projects in our country...” The Councilor led the meeting. 

“The President's staff has the latest numbers; they also provided the info to your team, as an attachment with my request to schedule appointment with you. While waiting for proposed dates from your kind office, my agenda changed and maybe I will not be able to see you in foreseeable future.

My friend, I am positive that you are au courant with...”

“No French please”, she interrupted him again. “I understand your background and servility, Councilor, however we would demand to keep to your native language.”

           “We?” He breached the space unapologetically. “But, you are addressing me in English, Miss.”

            “This is the unofficial part, Sir.” She answered in the same manner.

           “Everything is official.” He almost whispered. “You know that - don’t you, Miss?”

           “Very well, please continue, Councilor, I apologize for interrupting.”

“Then translate my last phrase. Please.”

[Everything is official.]

“No, not that one.”

She paused.

Her client put his hands on the polished wood. They are wasting his precious overtime. She should translate.

[Our people are struggling. My staff sent you all the information with the request for a meeting, I am positive your cabinet is capable of at least transferring e-mails to your address, it is easier than scheduling an appointment. I waited, and waited, but now my agenda is full.

The elections are starting, I am positive you can do a lot for our future.]

She took a sip from the glass after his statement, he continued.

“Dear Director, we found one cooperation programme, we are eligible to apply, but we need a strong international partner. 

You are aware of our non-used aid funds, we do not have the capacity to manage and implement them all, but organizations such as yours can do that. You have experts that can build on the former projects and reinforce them, follow through…

We were thinking of waste management supply project. This is a small country; we do not need a lot. Couple of trucks and some solution for the biohazardous and medical waste, we would need to put that in too. I am aware it is expensive.

Trust me, it would be of substantial use for the citizens in rural municipalities, too. They struggle the most with the landfills. The do not have more than two trucks.”

The waste disposal situation is very alarming. Every bag count, my friend.”

He took a sip from his glass too. 

[We would like you to make us a programme of cooperation, Director. We need you as our partner.

You are aware of our non-used aid funds, we would like to spend them, but we cannot just take them. Your organization has the capacity to “implement” that for us. You have experts that can make old projects look new.

We were thinking of waste management supply project. This is a small country; we do not know what to do with a lot. Two new trucks. Best solution is to play on biohazardous and medical waste equipment, more expensive, you know...

We can take them to rural municipalities. Paint them and offer them each time as new. They struggle with landfills, they will not suspect anything.

The waste disposal situation is already alarming. No one counts bags, my friend.]

Her client nodded his head, his face blank. He did not touch his water.

He is in shock, she can read that, even with the poor body language vocabulary.

“What exactly do you need from us Councilor? Be specific, please.”  The Secretary asked in English. “Trucks?”

The Secretary can speak in English, he is a client.

“Yes, my dear friend, and we need your services to provide them.” The Councilor replied. "We could use your capacity for our funds there. We can provide you with a basic budget, gather the best offers, we can build on that…” He was counting on his hands.

[Yes, my dear man, we know you can provide such services.

Use our funds at full capacity… We will provide you with a budget, you can build your price on that. Give us your best offer.]

“I do not understand,” said the Secretary General.

“I am sorry”, the Councilor looked at her, than lowered eyes.

“Please tell him I haven’t read all the guidelines.” He added.

“We will sign a memorandum of cooperation, annex all the costs, including your services… You will check that with our finance department, I am no expert in that field.”

[I am sorry, but we must give you guidelines to follow.

We’ll play nice, sign a memorandum of cooperation, annex the costs of your services. Our finance department will see that it checks out. I am an expert in that field.]

The Secretary General stroke his bald chin, thinking with his elbows on the table.

 “How do you propose we do that, Councilor?”, her client asked in French. She translated it for the Councilor, piercing him with her nostrils turned outside. 

She was not sorry.

“The Minister of Health is my friend; he already assembled biohazard and medical waste division. The Minister of Environment is also ready to cooperate. All the purchase of the equipment must be verified, monitored, and allocated by your team; we will get a third-party auditor through a public bidding. We play by the book here, Sir.”

[The Minister of Health is my friend; former Head of Biohazard and Medical waste Division. That is our cover-up. The Minister of Environment is also ready to cooperate. All purchase of the equipment will be verified, monitored, and allocated by him; his auditor will win the public bidding. We make the rules here, Sir.]

           Her mouth was dry, she had to drink, bubbles or not. It’s a pause. She made the only movements in the silent space.

           “Why are you doing this, Councilor?”

“Oh, that’s easy. For my country, dear Sir, for my people. I do it for my children… For a better quality of life.”

[Oh, that’s easy. Not for my country, dear Sir, not for my people. I do it for my children… For their better quality of life.]

The Counselor bowed and pointed to a photo on his desk.

A family portrait of his wife and kids, in Paris. She is in it too, there, hidden in the hotel in the background. There, at the window, just a pale “dot” in Hyatt robe. She waits for him to finish his stroll, eat crepes with his wife and watch the kids play in the park with his entourage…

He didn’t show up, he did not even send his chief of cabinet.

She never met with him after that, not a phone call, not a message, not even a nod. Except for that one time, at his assistant's wedding, he brushed his shoulder against hers. Just once, in seven years.

"Councilor, our legal department will contact you, enjoy the rest of your evening". Her client stood up and left.

"Oh, I hope they will, Secretary General, Sir. Thank you for your understanding."

*

She got back home late and fed her cat. She didn’t feel anything. She took an almost empty bottle of white wine from the fridge and smashed it in the sink. She did the same with the beer, the champagne, the two bottles of whisky, and the vinegar from the kitchen table for one.

A message biped her phone. It showed photos of three people at a meeting, and one selfie.

U look good, this hair color suits u. Tomorrow I can squeeze lunch at 11:30. We can catch-up. I will send Pims to get u. It will be like old times.

Hey, I owe you one for tonight. As always, you were amazing, babe.