Mélanie Mercier née Markowitz

Jean Michel Jakobowicz

I spent a horrible night. I was totally unable to sleep! My mind kept turning over trying to think who the potential culprits could be. My boss Hubert de la Seine? He is vicious enough but too stupid. The concierge who’s been looking at me in a very odd way for ages? Too old and too Swiss for such a dirty trick. My ex-husband? No, too… no that’s impossible. I was finally accusing the whole world, including the CIA and the French Intelligence Service.

Around 3 a.m. yet another question occurred to me. How could the sender of the message know that I had forgotten to switch off the oven without coming into my flat? It was totally impossible, unless he had installed some hidden camera. At 4 a.m. I got up and started to search the flat for cameras. Like James Bond I looked everywhere - behind the pictures in the dinning room, under the furniture, even in the microwave and in the freezer. Nothing! Nothing there except me, Mélanie Mercier, née Markowitz, on all fours, wearing a T-shirt and looking totally ridiculous.

Needless to say that at 6 a.m. when the alarm clock went off I was a total wreck. What’s more, nothing was going to plan. My daughter Isabelle was complaining about her left ear, the milk boiled over and last but not least when I plugged in the hair dryer I blew a fuse. When my son Benjamin shouted for the fifth time

“Mom, where are my socks ?” I exploded. It was the last straw. I started shouting as I’d never done before and gave him a mouthful.

The kids made themselves scarce. Benjamin got dressed at lightening speed and Isabelle completely forgot to complain about her ear. Cautiously she approached me and gave me a big hug. — “You know mummy, we’re here. You don’t need to worry ! We really love you”, Isabelle told me. I had tears in my eyes. My kids are really great.

Arriving at the office I managed to avoid my secretary Denise. I had no wish whatsoever to listen to her complaints. She is the most wonderful secretary in the world but she never stops complaining. Nobody and nothing is good enough for her.

I came into my office which smelt musty, so I opened the window. I then sat down in front of my screen but hesitated a few minutes before switching on my computer. I was simply afraid of finding a new message from this friend4231.

Fortunately there was nothing special in my mail. Only a message from my boss, asking me for Alexander’s report. Alexander is one of the eight economists who work for me on the annual economic report of the Organization.

I spent over an hour trying to read the chapter on investment written by Alexander Radronovi. It was so awful that I was on the verge of falling asleep. As always with Alexander’s reports, whenever there is a paragraph which makes sense, I can be sure that he has copied it, without of course quoting his source. And if I happen to criticise him, he gets very offended, takes on his airs and graces and invariably comes out with the same statement : — “In the Institute where I used to work I was at the helm of a team of 50 economists !” - Well, that puts me in my place – a mere assistant director !

As always I went to have lunch with my two colleagues David Garrido and Julia Thornbird. David is a computer controller and Julia is a translator. They are the only two people I really get on with. However that day I really did not feel like listening to their chat.

— “You don’t seem OK today,” Julia said. — “No, I didn’t sleep well.” — “Are you sure it’s just a question of sleep ?” added David. “Isn’t it more a question of love or rather the lack of it ? If that’s the case just call me. I am the one !” I could not avoid a smile ! — “No, I can assure you it’s just that I didn’t sleep well. I’ll be better tomorrow.”

During lunch I kept wondering if I should tell them about my adventure. But somehow I just couldn’t. Maybe because I thought that they could have been responsible for this hoax. It is the sort of thing that David could have got up to. No, he is too sweet and wouldn’t harm a fly.

During the afternoon I couldn’t really work. I just couldn’t concentrate.

The more I thought it over, the more I had to admit that there was noone I felt I could speak to. The police ? I could very well imagine one of these macho types telling me : “Well dearie, count your blessings. Thanks to this message you avoided a fire. You should be looking for the guy to thank him”. He would surely think that I was crazy. Then there’s my mother… I think I would prefer to face friend4231@hotmail.com, than have to tell her any part of my story. I can almost hear her hysteric screams : “Oh sweetie, I told you so ! You should never have left Jerome. Without him you are at the mercy of any sadistic psychopath. My God what did I do to deserve this ?” No, that wasn’t the answer either ! I had to calm down and think things through. First I had to read the message again. I may have missed some important clues.

I took three deep breaths and reopened my mailbox. After five minutes of searching it became clear that the message had disappeared.

This discovery worried me at first, but in a way I felt relieved. Had it ever existed ? Perhaps it had been a pure invention of my overworked mind ? I felt so much better that I was able to finish the corrections of the investment chapters and sent them to my boss, Hubert de la Seine. I took pleasure in adding a note informing him that apart from the two first lines and the four last ones, the chapter was a copy of an IMF report and that it was not worthy of publication. But I knew exactly what his answer would be : “If it is good enough for the IMF it is good enough for us. Dress it up a bit and it will be fine.”

I had almost completely calmed down when I left to get my kids. I had an empty fridge at home yet again, so in spite of all my principles we went off to have a burger at the nearest Mc Donald.

I then slept like a baby, completely unaware that the infernal machine was once again getting up to its tricks.

… to be continued…