Interlude of Life

M. steps up

Yesterday, not much after I started to compile the new entry from the blog of Peter, the "Crisis Manager" and from the secret diary of my first love, Sophie, my phone rang.
- It's M. speaking! – a female voice greeted me.
- Who? – I asked back.
- M., the editor-in-chief, you may know me from Peter's blog. At least it looks a lot like me of whom he shaped the editor-in-chief.
Suddenly all I could say was that I was charmed to meet her. She said she wasn't so much. She had no problems with my person, she has even more with Peter's blog. In her opinion he showed the events very one-sided. I grabbed the chance to hear another point of view of the story of the starting channel and the "hostage taking". I asked her to tell me everything in detail, but M. (let her just keep this name from now on) wasn't willing to tell it over the phone, she explicitly wanted to meet me in person. We agreed to meet this morning, but she called me early on to call it off. She said she got fresh informations about Peter that she wants to cross-check before she gives them to me. I tried to persuade her to at least tell this whole hostage story over the phone so I can publish the end, but M. said I'd better wait because she has new things of that one too. She promised to reveal everything by Monday.
I decided to listen to her first and publish the second part of A Little Hungarian Comedy of Hostages afterwards, so I can add comments if necessary.

Public Service Announcement

Dear Readers,

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The new story will be coming in weekly installments, keeping up with the pace of the original novel on Hűségcsapda - at this moment, the story is one installment behind the original series.

Due to the nature of the story, Nuptials of Death contains adult language, graphic violence, graphic sexuality, blood and gore, hence I added an adult content warning upon entering, and I heavily advise reader discretion!!!

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- Nusy

A Little Hungarian Comedy of Hostages

The scariest part is that he doesn't even realize what he just did.

„Crisis Manager”:
Finally I stood up for myself. Since I decided to take things to a breaking point, I was only waiting for the opportune moment to arise. And it came this morning. B. arrived late and told his secretary not to connect anyone in to him, even left his cell phone with her, then he marched to his office. No more was needed, I marched after him. The secretary tried to stop me, but I just raised my brows and said that the producer has a meeting with me, it's super important so don't let anyone in, no matter what happens.
I rushed in on B. without so much as knocking. He rose his head in confuse, and told me to come back later.
- No delays possible – I said and tossed myself into one of the leather armchairs without him ever offering me a seat. I shot the question at him, what's up with my contract. He asked for some more patience, but I yelled that it ran out already. Tell me right here, right now, how much do I work for.
- Listen, I would be the happiest if we could deal with it already, but the budget...
- I don't care the very least about the budget – I interrupted. - I want to see my contract now, immediately.
So I could give some pressure to it, I started to kick the glass coffee table.
His head turned red, his lips were shaking. He was scared for the sheet glass. He rose from his table and leaned over me:
- Your contract is in the works, I will let you know as soon as it's done. And now please go back, let me do my work. You too would have some this and that to correct on your shows...
I stood up too and pulled myself out. I'm about a foot taller than him.
- And now I won't go anywhere until you sign my contract – I rose my voice.
He got frightened, I could see it. He tried to feed me more of the BS about him trying to get it done faster and he tried to sneak sideways towards the door. With a quick move I moved by him, locked the door and took the key.
- Now you went too far! - he hissed. - You open that door, right now.
- No – I said, and I added that I won't leave until he paid my work so far.
- This will have some grave consequences – he threatened me, and ran to his desk. He picked up the phone, but by then I was there too and I pushed the button. So he said he will scream. I started laughing, and reminded him that I'm a complete nervous wreck from being broke, and I may not be held accountable for all my reactions. If he screams, I may panic and attack him.
- Are you... threatening me? - he asked me in a tiny voice.
- No, I'm just reminding you of the fact that I'm not completely in control of my deeds. I may even just jump out of this window here or I knock myself out.
I even asked him if he has seen Fight Club. He hasn't, but he panicked totally.
- You're not normal – he kept saying.
I answered what wasn't normal was to work here without a contract, for free, 24/7.
- Nobody will ever even talk to you from the business, I'll kill your reputation! - he spattered.
(I think I heard Sophie come home, I'll tell her the big news. I'll continue later.)

Sophie only added a short and shaken entry to her diary about this:

I'm starting to be seriously scared of this man. Christ. What happens if B. sues him? Will he get in jail? And then what will happen to us? To the kids? The scariest part is that he doesn't even realize what he just did. How proud he was to announce it... And the consequences? He says there won't be any, B. will keep his trap shut. And what if he won't?

Laws of Wolves

Life is nothing short of a treasure trove of unforeseen dues

Since the last meeting, air thinned up around me. I fight my hampered respiration and I find it harder and harder to make myself go in to work. My only comfort is that at home the situation improved a lot: Sophie is nowhere near as fiendish to me as she was. The big fights are gone, there's no yelling, and even though the old coziness didn't quite build back up yet, at least there are no lightnings anymore, and the beneficial effects are already visible on the kids. Even though our finances are not just not better but getting worse and worse. I still haven't gotten a cent from the TV. Sophie's check runs out around the twentieth of any given month. But bills and payment notices are coming constantly. Every weekend we put up a priority list. First is school, lunch, extracurricular classes. Then come the bills that if we don't pay, we get something turned off: electricity, gas, phone service. Then pay the mortgage. If we still have some money left, we go grocery shopping, if not, we eat whatever is in the freezer. Any other dues are postponed to unknown date. I now have a great experience in asking for late payment. When I was writing the first of these letters, I was sweating over it for hours, re- and re-wording it until I felt it to be appealing enough, but not too self-humiliating. Now I can toss one together in a few minutes. I don't have to twist my brains for too long until I can find an excuse, life is nothing short of a treasure trove of unforeseen dues. Brake pads into the car, parking violation, late fees, dentist, kids' shoes, repairing the washer.
No matter for the strict budget, at the end of the month we always have to touch the savings that are running out quickly. Maybe we have two months left... then bankruptcy. I promised Sophie that if we really need to, I will borrow from my parents. But I really don't want to see that moment, it would be so humiliating. Pumping the elders when you're an adult man, nothing but admitting you made nothing out of yourself. I made nothing out of myself? I don't want to ask myself the question. Not now. Because then I would have to take the final consequence: a nice little life insurance and a well-staged accident at the right moment... Christ, did I really get here? Before I get all teary-eyed (I imagine myself laying on the road as Sophie runs to me weeping just to be able to whisper in my ear that she has always loved me), the Kuruc blood screams loud in me (the channel is under Austrian ownership) and I decide to get myself into B.'s office and not come out until he signs my contract and transfers the money to my account.

Peter signed the previous entries as Complaints From An Unemployed. The following ones were signed as "Crisis Manager", like this, in quotation marks. He did what he promised to do and went in to the producer, but of that, some later. That's when Sophie called me again. She was very upset. No matter how I asked her, she said it's not a topic to be discussed over the phone. I tried to joke and ask if she seriously thinks that anyone cares what we are talking about, just the two of us, but she shut me up that it's bloody important now, it's about lives on stake. As a crime story writer, I obviously jumped on the topic, but it was a letdown. And not because Sophie was telling long tales with the lives on stake. So much not, that she never even wrote it to her diary, what she told me...

Execution Á La Television

Behind the executioner there's always someone who has power. Or stupid, and he doesn't know yet what the bets are.

Review meeting about the first show meant to go on air. Present: the programming director of the channel; B., the producer; M., the editor-in-chief; Miss Sylvie, "show host"; Mark, the other editor; myself and also the secretary and a bunch of interns. We re-edited the show three times (I was sitting in the mounting chamber until morning), you can't make gold of mud. As an old mentor of mine said, it's "crap as it is", hence you can't make it any better. Sylvie is catastrophic, endlessly mannerly, like a veterinary student's horse that suffers from every possible illness as she makes every single mistake an amateur can make - and in mistaking she's on a higher than amateur level. And to top if off, from every single word she utters, stupidness just shines. I finally wrote her questions word by word, and to no avail: she went in to B., came back and told me off for forcing my wrong(!) concept on her, she will just go and think up what she is curious about. (In parenthesis: she's not curious about anything else than herself, and even that just barely...)
So there we are, watching the show, I'm trying to sink and disappear I'm so ashamed to be linked to this horror. Even though the problem is not with the editing, but I absolutely know that in this field, if the show is good, it's all because of the host, but if the show is bad, it's all the editor's fault. (My respect to all the exceptions, because there do exist a few hosts who may be in the limelight of success and don't forget that it had to be the common effort of many many people that he can shine - but those are becoming few and far between.)
The cast list rolls, then silence. I would love to see into the others' brains, but I will have to content myself with what they say. And that is a catastrophe in my regards. But I know it's not true that they don't know what's wrong!
The programming director speaks first, he thanks us for the work, then passes the word on to the producer and adds that he will comment very last. B. speaks really long and really murky, the gist after all is that we "need something bigger, something bigger of a bang". I can feel the noose tightening around my neck. M. is up next. She tries to be objective, and to bring up professional arguments. She criticizes Sylvie very carefully, and says a few good notices about the edition. She won't attack me, she knows exactly that if she did so at this forum she would weaken herself too. If the show is badly edited, that's her fault too: why didn't she get the mistakes corrected.
Then comes Mark and starts to smack the show down. He even made notes. He's the neato-on-duty coworker who takes the whole review seriously. He passes by Miss Sylvie in a few words: try to be even more(!) natural. Here I almost already interrupted that "even more" supposes that she is already natural, at least a tiny little bit. But Sylvie is such a mannequin as she is, she's mannerism personified.
B. nods in agreement, the others' faces are unreadable, I'm remaining silent. And Mark moves on to the detailed analysis, smacking the editing ti death. He's not right, or maybe only in a few bits here and there, thing of which he knows exactly that Sylvie forced them into the final version, with the effective support from B.'s side. But he doesn't care the littlest about this, and B. with his excited nodding just pours more oil over the fire. My brain just explodes, and I interrupt, but then the programming director shoos me back, that my version will be heard afterwards. Mark, that sweetheart closes his rants with the phrase that we need something of a bigger bang.
I could kill him. At first I thought we could be friends, and now he attacks me slyly, I can see it's not because of stupidity, he knows what the bids are, he wants to knock me out.
Miss Sylvie also smacks me, but from her I expected nothing else. But I still do groan when she says I didn't prepare her well enough. That's too much even for M., she stands up on my side.
B. closes the debate and hammers in the last few nails into my coffin. He criticizes even those bits that he himself allowed in because of Sylvie's nagging. When I mention this to him, with the greatest peace of mind he just says that the idea is good, just not the context in which it was realized.
It's my turn. I take Sylvie apart, then I mention a few ideas how to make the show better. That reached the spot with the programming director, he ended the meeting with saying we should do what I suggested.
I burst out of the office first. If I could've gotten Mark into my hands, I would've strangled him.

I always hated review meetings. I saw a modern realization of "divide and conquer" in them, all in a profession where there are no objective grades. What makes a show good? Number of viewers? Then is really Oprah, Judge Alex or a daytime soap opera the peak of television? Nope, and tv personnel now that. (And I have gotten bad and worse for a show that broke all kinds of viewing records...) A good show is the one that is called so by those who have the saying. Just these don't happen to be the critiques, but those with power. So the review meeting is also all about power: you can publicly execute whoever doesn't have anyone behind their backs. The really disgusting part is that the executioner is no one else but your colleague with whom you are supposed to form a team. But it's only supposed, because he has Someone behind him, Somebody who has the saying. Or he's just stupid enough not to realize what it's all about. According to my own experiences, the first type is the majority...

After the initial shock, the atmosphere at the company seem to slowly calm back down. A few people quit voluntarily, two people retired and the language education department broke out into their own company and work for us in outsourcing now. So those who stay only had to let go of a few benefits. The lethargy (mainly because of John) has slowly changed into optimism: together we can win over the recession, we will stop, what's more, turn back on the slope. And miracles, as we become stronger in our minds, new, promising discussions start with new partners about new orders. Seems as if it is really all decided in our head. It's a pity I can't say so about my private life.
But I decided to do everything to save our marriage. Because the girls need a father, and I need a husband. We can't throw away everything, ten years, all the memories together because of a few worse months in our lives. Peter and I paid a huge initial price for our relationship. If we give it up now, we will retroactively make all those things unforgivable. Then we thought that fate meant us to be together, even if this causes pain to others...
Yesterday, after weeks we finally talked again, just like in the old days. We listened to each other and we really wanted to solve the problems. Peter told me all about the new host, M., B., the review meeting. I can see how he suffers. He knows all about making shows, but nothing about stirring shit, shining himself or telling long tales. And even though now I wouldn't feel so bad if he was just a bit less scrupulous, I try to remind myself that usually that's why I liked him, that he's not like that.
Maybe I should send John's connections against the company? I never mentioned that to Peter, I know exactly that John is a "persona non grata" for him, not even mentioning how humiliating he would find it if it was exactly my boss acting in his favor. (And it would be.)
I did mention though,what if Peter just quit (in the meantime, I tried not to think of the dangerously quickly emptying checking account). Now he wasn't all against it. He said he would correct the show so they won't think he ran away from the challenge, then give them one more week, and if there's still no contract or money, he's quitting.
I also asked him all about M. If there was any sort of a harmony between them, it was over. He can't appreciate her anymore because she's too weak and calculates everywhere. Peter finally realized that M. is only granting him so much attention, she's only being so nice because she needs her against B. Or to knock Sylvie out of the saddle so she can conquer B.'s bed on her own... And for that she wants to pay Peter with a few mean-it-as-you-will gestures instead of getting him a contract and standing up for him.
We also mentioned our finances. Since he touched our money, I keep the keys to the treasury and only give him money for the most necessary things. So he didn't even know how bad we are. I could see he was interested in where all the savings went, but he didn't ask. Instead, he tried to calm me by saying that if we do go down, he will borrow from his parents. But I know that if he had the choice, he would rather rob a bank than borrow from his parents. His parents kept nagging him that if he joined them in the family business, he would be a rich man now.
At night he moved back in next to me from the study that he converted into a gym, where he has been sleeping in the last few weeks. His sheets smelled like a high school locker room. But that's not why nothing has happened (there is such a degree in missing sex when such a detail doesn't matter anymore). I think he's afraid of failure. I didn't force him, we talked until morning and that was a lot more than what I got from him in the last few hopeless months.

Losers and Machos in the TV

I can feel the cold sweat dripping. I think of our house, foreclosed by the bank.

This week started like any other would, too. A meeting here, a presentation there, and then a group mail on Tuesday: non-scheduled meeting at one, compulsory for all. The corridor gossip started immediately, we were also caught with the recession, the management is not satisfied with the results, tightenings are on, and lay-offs are coming. I was just trying to comfort the others that there won't be anything bad, I know from John that the data are not that tragic, they calculated for the drops already.
Still, the meeting had a mood of gloom over it, the big boss was crunching his joints, writing long columns of data on the board, then he finally said that rationalization is necessary, we have to get rid of unnecessary parallel positions, we need to let some people go, else the company won't be able to stay afloat. Or: we can all agree to take a pay cut. He leaves this decision up to us, we need to tell our supervisor how we chose.
My immediate boss, John didn't leave me any time to think. He called me in immediately after the meeting. I couldn't even call Peter to tell him to finally get somewhere with B. about his contract. At least if I knew how much he will make, I could negotiate from a better position.
John tries to smile, but I can immediately see that there's some deep trouble. He tells me too how grave consequences the recession has.
I can feel the cold sweat dripping. I think of our house, foreclosed by the bank. The kids, who don't understand why they have to pack up their toys, why they have to move to a tiny apartment, so small they don't have enough space...
- Speaking of which, does Peter work already? - John pulls me back from the nightmare.
- Yes - I answer quickly. - Or well, not quite - I try to clarify. I'm fighting back tears as I explain that he still doesn't have a contract, we don't know how much he will make.
- Well that sure sounds bad - he says even gloomier. He's silent for a bit, and I'm contemplating running out of the office so he won't see me cry.
- Do you want me to put a few knives over his company's throat through my connections? It's just not cool that he works for weeks, but he not only doesn't get a contract, but not even a puny verbal agreement!
He shows that my husband is the loser with whom this can be done. And he's the big guy whose hand reaches everywhere. I hate these conceited machos, but I can't help it but see Peter more and more pitiful. As I hate weakness.
- Just let me know if I should fire up the connections! - John offers once again as I'm just silent. - And about the situation here, well, a few people mentioned why do we need a head of communications when we don't even get any orders...
I can't hold my tears back any longer.
- Oh, oh, no need to despair whilst I'm here! - he says and walks around his desk. He puts his hand on my shoulder as he continues: - Naturally, I would never agree to let you go. After all, we do make a fine team, the two of us.
He takes out a tissue and hands it to me.
- And about the pay cut, I persuaded the others, that your contract is a recession contract already, not from the good old days when our picket fence was made of salami still. We can't take any off of it, so we will reduce your optional perks a bit so they can't say that we make an exception of you.
At first I feel relief. That's it? But when he grabs my shoulder firmer, I frighten. I'm afraid he will hand me the bill right now. I raise my head almost pouting. I decided. If he blackmails me, I quit right now, I won't let myself be used...
But John sits back to his place.
- And in that other case just let me know and I will help immediately. Please send in the next one!
I can't go back to the office. I run out to the bathroom, I lock myself in a stall, and pushing my back against the wall I start to weep.
If Peter was there at that time, I think I would've scratched his eyes out.

I have read these times several times, but at that time I couldn't ask my questions to Sophie anymore. They slowly and quietly cooled away from each other with Peter, I think that's the best description for those times. They were rowing their own separate boats, and barely met. Peter put all his efforts into the new channel. True, it wasn't all the work, more the self-defense. And more and more it seemed to be useless:

The recordings have started. M. has officially asked me to train Sylvie. She was telling it to me as happily as if he was getting a root canal. The night before they went somewhere with B. The next day there was no word of her quitting if Miss Sylvie will be a host. So she became one. What could've happened that night, I couldn't extort from M. If I tried to mention it, she got serious and moved to another topic. Since then she has been avoiding Sylvie. She even calls me on the phone to ask me to pass her a message, even though we all sit in the same office space. We are still on good terms, but our relationship is nowhere near as close as it was.
I'm trying to prepare Miss Sylvie. Not a great experience. She's factory defective about show hosting talent. The interviewees don't interest her, nor does the topic. Maybe if an A-class celebrity bumps into her microphone. Then she tries to do her best, but even this is not enough of a motivation for her to actually prepare for it.

Maybe after the second trial interview, she started to edit too. When I explained to her why the conversation was worse than words can describe, she lunged at me that it was the interviewee's fault. I very gently tried to calm her down and put her back into work mode when she ran to B. A few hours later B. took a peek into the next conversation, grunted and hummed a few times and then he announced that for the real shootings we should prepare new topics and new guests. "We need a bigger boom here" - that's what he kept saying. What he meant by it, he never explained. "You know that well! You didn't start this business yesterday." Well, true, I did not. But Miss Sylvie did. Still, she over-edited the first show completely. If I didn't let her do something, she just ran straight to B. And after a while B. didn't even make the effort to come over and tell me the changes. He just simply sent a message via Sylvie. The bitch soon got the scheme and quickly she just started saying B. wants it so, B. wants it different. Well I didn't come off the shore today either. I knew it exactly that she referred to B. even when she has never talked to him about it. When she wanted me to do things I could not take up with my reputation, I turned to M. She listened to me, and then with a discreet face she only asked me to hang in there, the game is not over yet. I would love to enter against the dark side so I can speed things up a bit, after all it is ridiculous that with my years of experience I have to get a cramp in my stomach every time I have to sit down and prepare a completely talent-less, beginner show host. If I could, I would just throw the desk at her head... And then at B.'s.

Push-me-out

I remember the happy years together and I get ashamed.

M. is starting to get on my nerves. She got totally settled in Peter's thoughts. I can't talk with my husband for two minutes without him mentioning her: M. wants it so, M. said that, M. gave a hint on this... No, I don't think she's his mistress, at least not yet. I would feel that, men are horrible liars. But it still bothers me awfully that my husband is adoring another woman so undisguised, even if she's his boss.
Now I ask for the contract every single day. It would be just great to know for how much do I have to bear him coming home at night, keeping in touch with the kids via the message board on the fridge, and if we even talk a little bit every now and then, I have to argue with M. and her thoughts.
Finally I got him to sit down and talk about this with the owner, ask him when he will pay, and how much. B. shook him off however, saying that as long as they don't have a final budget, he can't say anything. He doesn't want to be a letdown if they will have to cut some of his salary too. Because they will need to reduce costs even further, that's sure. I don't know why would someone start a channel if they don't have the money for it...
Peter pulled in all ears and tails and didn't slam on B.'s desk, asking him to say at least a minimum money with what he can calculate. I asked him to talk to B. again, but he shut me up with saying that M. also promised that if he's not being impatient, she will help him get the best price for his bargain. I let a sarcastic sentence slip about how M.'s job should not just be to pile workloads onto him and keep him by her side day and night, but also to stand up for him when it's about his salary. Peter then said that it's only jealousy talking from me, and once again he took the old record off the shelf that I, on the other hand, was only promoted by John because he wants to bed me. I didn't let myself, I asked him, doesn't he think that M.'s sudden interest is based in her wanting to get screwed by him. He called me silly. M. needs his professional knowledge, nothing else. We went to bed angry again - and alone again.
In addition, our money is running out fast. For the news that Peter is starting to work again, we loosened the tightest strings a bit. I can't go to work in worn-down, old-fashioned stuff, and the kids have been tormenting me for a few new things for months. I don't even dare to think what happens if Peter's job doesn't start to pay soon...

I even started to think that we should maybe sell the house. Me and the kids can come out of my salary, and Peter can solve his life as he can. And then I remember the happy years together and I get ashamed. Not because of John. Even though, looking back now that night at the hotel was really nice. I finally felt like a woman again. And I didn't do anything I should be feeling bad about.

We didn't talk of all this when I met Sophie again. We went to the cafe, soon becoming our regular spot at Liszt Ferenc Square. She called me and asked me what do I know of M. Not much, and I told all that to her on the phone.
It was almost like having a date with her. We revived the past, we remained silent of the present, and even less we mentioned the future. She wanted to go, but finally she talked her children into sleeping over at their grandparents. We drank a bottle of wine, and we could even laugh at our old memories together.
I was thinking, maybe if we behaved a bit more mature back then, we would be happy now, both of us. But we didn't say a word of that either. We stayed until late at night, I took her home by cab. Peter wasn't at home yet. The "shoulder devil" was jumping up and down on me to say it, ask her to leave everything behind and run away, just me and her, but then I remained silent. We didn't arrange another meeting.

I'm trying to teach Miss Sylvie, to not much avail. We sit down aside every single day, but her cell phone keeps ringing, no matter how I ask her to turn it off, she always answers this one is super duper important, and chitchats for half hours as if I wasn't even there. After three calls or so, B. usually calls him, and they disappear for hours. M. notices the thing too, she asks me to go out and have dinner with her. She asks me straight away, why am I dealing so much with Sylvie lately. I fold out my cards, I tell her what we agreed in with B. She gets upset. I suddenly get it. M. is endlessly jealous of the gal. I'm just not quite sure whether it's because of B. or me.
After dinner, Sylvie turns to me with a sudden rush of interest. She tries to find out from me what M. wanted from me. I guess it's to report to B. Obviously, I won't betray M. I use her sudden rush of interest and I ask her if she has a contract yet. After long persuasion she admits she does. Putting all my chastity aside, I even ask her for how much. She tells me. My jaw drops. First I get upset, then I calm myself down, that if she can get so much as an intern, me, a seasoned editor will definitely make more.
Half an hour later I'm at B.'s office, asking him how can Sylvie have a contract already. First he tries to duck the question, and then he admits: first they agree with the show hosts. Sylvie? A show host? I'm flabbergasted. He says he sees great potential in her, he shoots some murky hints towards my contract in preparation, and asks me not to tell anyone yet that they mean Sylvie to be a host. That including M. Of course, my first trip goes to her. She gets really upset just now. She hisses that if Sylvie is going to be a show host, she's leaving. But first she will have a little talk with the other owners who promised her she can set up the final crew herself if the channel can kick off. But until then she has to cooperate with B. I feel like throwing up from this whole BS. quite frankly I would love to quit right today. But I can't do it, I can't be without a job. So I stay and hold my peace. I don't even say anything to Sophie. I don't want to hear her I-told-you-so's.