Read Only the Strongest Survive Online

Authors: Ian Fox

Tags: #ian, #only the strongest survive, #ian fox, #the strongest, #fox, #strongest, #only the strongest, #only the, #survive

Only the Strongest Survive (25 page)

After half an
hour she was calmer, but not enough to go to sleep. She kept
tossing and turning until the morning, in the hope of getting at
least an hour or two of sleep.

John, on the other hand, fell asleep like a
baby as soon as his head hit the pillow. His breathing was calm and
he felt no pain in his stomach. His lips wore a gentle smile, all
the tension gone.

 

*

 

In the
morning, Emely was not pleased with her appearance. Dark circles
were clearly visible under her eyes and the lines on her face
indicated lack of sleep. At least
, she
thought so. Quickly she applied some moisturizer and
makeup.

Every time
she thought of
John coming to her, the
speed of her heartbeat doubled.
How dare he come to my room at night!
She decided to tell him off, but at the same time she was
afraid he wouldn’t listen.

He appeared
just after she
’d applied her makeup. He
was smiling and in a good mood, as usual.

When he came in he greeted her in a loud
voice and before she was able to move away, he kissed her on the
right cheek. Then he picked up Kitty and walked upstairs without
saying a word. Emely followed, confused.

 

*

 

She recovered
slightly after their morning coffee and was ready to bring up the
unpleasant subject of his unannounced visit.
Angry, she wanted to say a few harsh words to him. But the
harder she tried to begin, the more problems she encountered in
finding the right words. In the end, she gave up and focused on
Kitty.

“The poor thing needs a brush. Little seeds
are starting to collect in her fur.”

John smiled kindly. “I’ll pop into town this
afternoon and buy one.”

 

*

 

More than a
week had passed since his unpleasant visit. Emely had problems
sleeping, afraid that he
’d again surprise
her in her bed. But John never came close in any way, other than to
take her hand once or twice during a walk. At first she told him
off and withdrew her hand, but later stopped doing this with the
explanation that though she was letting him hold her hand, it
signified no more than friendship. He was happy and looked forward
to the walks that sometimes lasted as long as two hours, during
which he was able to touch her. Like young lovers they walked hand
in hand, chatting about this and that. With time, she got used to
being held and it stopped bothering her.

 

 

 

 

Chapter
13

_______________________

 

 

 

Sally Kirk
was relaxing in a Jacuzzi with her eyes closed, purring like a cat.
Jets of hot water massaged alternate parts of her body.
I’ll pop to the sauna after
this
, she thought.

With her
right hand she searched for the control panel in order to increase
the strength of the jets, when she heard the phone ringing in the
distance.
Damn it, does it
have to ring just now? Who could it be?
She turned the Jacuzzi off and put on a bathrobe.
Maybe it’s Joe,
she thought happily, and ran to the phone.


What? A
journalist from
News
Continental
, did you say? And what do you
want?” She had had enough of journalists. They were all interested
in one thing only—Emely Donnovan. “You’d like to write a story
about Emely’s friends?”
Emely’s friends? Meaning me?
“Of
course you can come. … In an hour. … See you.”
Hmm, he had such a deep, velvety
voice.

She ran to the bathroom like an antelope and
quickly began drying her long, thick, curly hair. At the age of
thirty-seven, she had already had two plastic surgery operations:
the first to enlarge and firm up her breasts, and the second to
remove the first signs of ageing from her face. Many men still
considered her a real beauty.

Sally owned an office block in the center of
Chicago, left to her by her late father. The rent itself allowed
her to live more than luxuriously. She liked the advantages brought
by money and she enjoyed her life to the full.

She put on a
satin dress and let her hair down. As she was applying taupe shadow
over her green eyes, the doorbell rang. After quickly refreshing
her mascara, she was at the door.


My name is
Robert Miles and I work for
News Continental
.” He showed her
his card.


Yes, yes,
come in
.” She pointed to the huge leather
armchairs. “Whiskey, gin, cognac, or perhaps something more
exotic?”


Whiskey,
please.” With admiration he looked around her apartment. Robert
guessed the large room measured over seven hundred square feet.
Floor-to-ceiling windows on all sides offered a great view. The
dark furniture and minimalist decor was his style.

Sally flirtatiously swayed to the glass
cabinet containing over forty different alcoholic drinks.

“You see, Emely didn’t have a great many
friends. In fact, she really only had me,” she said.

Robert pulled
a small recorder out of his pocket and pressed the record button.
He nodded to Sally.


I met her
immediately after she was released from that miserable Catholic
school. Heavens, it seems like a hundred years have passed since.”
She sat in an armchair that was close to the one Robert occupied
and looked admiringly at his large, hairy arms. “Working as a
journalist must be fascinating,” she said politely.


It is, but
often also very tiring. It requires your full attention if you want
to write a strong article.” He smiled at her. “People are tired of
everyday events and want slightly more shocking news.”

“Such as?”

“For example, an article about any sort of
criminal act will attract even the laziest reader, while something
about a newly built school in East Chicago doesn’t get much
attention. Do you see what I’m trying to say?”

Sally nodded calmly. “I get it.”

Robert grabbed his glass and downed its
contents in a single gulp.

Sally jumped
up and brought over the bottle. Then she remembered the silver dish
filled with ice. Before pouring more whiskey in his glass, she
said, “Let me get—”

But Robert
went on as if he hadn’t heard her. “Besides, there’s always the
pressure of deadlines.”

“What do you mean?”

“When something happens, journalists attack
it like hyenas. An article needs to be written in the shortest
possible time. You know the saying: First come, first served. This
means we often have to work until the early hours.”

The ringing
of a phone echoed around the room.

As Sally
walked toward it,
Robert watched,
open-mouthed, amazed at her perfect figure. When she bent over to
pick up the cell phone, his eyes traveled from the deep cleavage to
her firm, pert bottom.
On the
other hand, my work does have some advantages,
he thought.


Joe
… tonight? No, sorry, I can’t make it.” She
stared ahead in a weary manner. “No, Mike, sorry, but no. I’m not
feeling very good. … Bye.” She put the phone down.


I’m sorry.
Please, go on. I’ve always found journalistic work very
attractive,” she said, deliberately flattering him. Once more she
sat next to him, even closer this time. She
refilled his empty glass without asking. “I’m sure that as
a journalist you’ve found yourself in awkward or even dangerous
situations. Tell me more about that. When I get to know you better,
I’ll be able to tell you more about myself and, of course, Emely.
Are you married?” she asked him.

“Not anymore. My wife left me a year
ago.”

She smiled
pleasantly.
“So you have already
encountered a dangerous situation?” she asked.

“I don’t think there’s a journalist who has
not been in danger at least once in his life. Especially when young
and ambitious.”

Sally sat
down, rested her head on her hand, and listened
intently.


Over ten
years ago I was working for another news company. There was a
strong earthquake in Karabuk, Turkey. The whole town was in ruins.
A journalist who dares go to a place like that and report directly
from the disaster scene can reap high rewards.”

“And then while you were there, there was
another earthquake?”


No, the
aftershocks stopped very quickly. But there was total anarchy in
the town. While I was taking pictures of the terrible scenes, four
men were watching me. On the basis of the latest equipment I was
using they probably assumed I had plenty of money. They beat me up
so badly that doctors in the hospital initially thought I was an
earthquake victim.”


Oh dear,”
Sally said, taking a long sip of her drink. “And have you reported
from a war scene?”

“Of course. I was in Croatia when it was
attacked by the Serbs. My life wasn’t in danger, but I certainly
saw plenty of horrific scenes. OK, enough about me, now it’s your
turn.”


I, hmmm ….”
She adjusted her hair.

“Where did you meet Emely?”


I’ve known
her for a long time. Yes, a very long time.” Realizing she’d
divulge her age if she emphasized how long ago she first met Emely,
Sally added, “Well, not that long, really, you know how quickly
time goes. We were nineteen when we met. We were both very poor.”
She grimaced as if seeing something disgusting.

“Emely inherited some money from her mother,
but she barely touched it. What I’m trying to say is that we were
both dependent on a very meager monthly income. I come from a rich
family, but because I didn’t want to do what my father wanted me
to, the bastard left me without a penny for over eight years. Just
imagine living for eight years as poor as a church mouse.” She
spontaneously touched his leg.


But in fact
I’m now very grateful to my father for that terrible period.
I
learned how to survive.” She picked up
a pack of cigarettes and offered him one.


No, thank
you,” he said, and lit hers with her gold-sequined
lighter.

She inhaled
the smoke, looked away, and her mind wandered back twenty years as
she exhaled slowly. “You should have seen her, waiting there at the
employment agency.”

“Who?”


Emely, of
course. She immediately attracted my attention. She was wearing an
old velvet dress, green. Her long straight hair reached down to her
waist. Her cheeks were red and round—the picture of health. We were
exchanging a few friendly words when someone called her name from
inside the office ….”

 

*

 

“Sit down, please.”

“Thank you.”


Your résumé
says you went to St. Nicholas Catholic School. Does that mean you
speak fluent Spanish and French?”

“Yes.”


Perhaps we
have something for you. A stockbroking company is looking for a
secretary. I’m afraid the salary is on the low side.”

“I’ll take it,” Emely said
enthusiastically.

“Good. I’ll arrange an interview for ten
o’clock tomorrow morning.”

“Great.”

The woman
gave Emely the names of the company and its human resources
manager.

“You don’t know how grateful I am,” Emely
said.

“Good luck, Miss Donnovan.”

Emely nearly ran into the tall, slim girl
standing at the door, whose turn was next. “Good luck,” Emely
wished her earnestly.

The girl was Sally Kirk, who was unable to
sit from nervousness and was biting her nails. Emely nodded to her
encouragingly.


I’ll need
luck,” Sally said.

Ten minutes later, Sally was out of the
office.


I got an
interview at a restaurant,” she shouted joyfully, and the others
still waiting cheered.


Why don’t we
celebrate with a cheeseburger and a Coke at McDonald’s?” said
Emely, who sat there as if she had nowhere else to go.


A wonderful
idea,” Sally said.

Emely was
honest, spontaneous, and full of energy. They immediately liked
each other.


I’m
completely new in this town,” Emely said, eating her french
fries.


Me too,”
Sally
said.

“Have you found somewhere to live yet?”

“No, I was just going to start now.”


But that’s
great,” Emely said. “We could look for somewhere to
share.”

“Super, let’s start immediately.”

 

*

 

When they walked into the first apartment,
they were greeted by a short woman with an Italian accent.


You look a
bit young, signorinas,” she said hesitantly. “You haven’t escaped
from some institution for young delinquents, have you?”


No, don’t
worry,” Sally said confidently.

Emely was shocked and horrified at such a
direct question.

“Well, come in then.”

They were
both pleasantly surprised at the apartment. Although the kitchen
was small, it was clean and in good condition. The owner showed
them two reasonably sized rooms, furnished with all the essentials:
a bed, two closets
, and a table. They
approvingly looked at the two rooms and became emotionally attached
to the apartment.

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