A perfect day for promotion

(In memoriam of the great literary legend J.D. Salinger who died at 91 on 29 January 2010)

-‘Milk?’ the vendor with one arm asked.
-‘I take it black’, Edina replied with confidence. ‘Like the deep blue sea’.
-‘No sugar?’ the man enquired, hiding a hopeful smile. He was obviously hitting on her.
-‘Maybe’, she said and turned away to inspect the bananas. Someone had written “NASTY COMPANY” in capital letters on the Chiquita box.

The bananas were not yellow enough to be eaten on the spot, but not green enough to be saved for later. Besides, it was past 11 o’clock, anyway, so she had to rule them out. She had an appointment with the hairdresser (the one with sexy dreadlocks, next to Metro Madou) after work and did not want to suffer from stomach cramps while getting her head shaved.

Today is the day, Edina thought. There was a distant smell of fish in the cafeteria.
-‘Well, how many?’ The one-armed man’s smile stretched from ear to ear, as he proudly held onto her cup. You are like the laughing cow cheese, she thought.
-‘Four’, she said, looking straight into his peanut eyes. ‘Today I need it’.
-‘Yes?’ he replied, inviting her to continue the pleasant conversation. Edina took her coffee with a nod, walked towards the cashier and poured several small coins into the swollen palm of a lemon-faced lady. From the corner of her eye, she saw the man waving his one arm while smiling like a knife. Poor man, she thought, and wondered if he had learnt to masturbate with his left hand. Then she walked off, to locate a seat in the buzzing cafeteria.

There was only one seat available, next to the emergency exit.
Good, she thought. In case he really is as grumpy as they say.

Edina sat down and started producing gurgling sounds, deep down her throat in order to chase away the two other people occupying her table.
-‘Grr’, she said, sounding a bit like you would imagine a pigeon on heat.
The couple looked up from their UN resolution and exchanged a look of surprise. The smell of fish was stronger at this side of the cafeteria. Edina looked at her watch that said 15:33. He was four minutes late. Arrogant bastard, she thought and then she made another ‘grr’ sound – this time in a more opposing manner. The young woman in a pinstriped pant suit looked up at Edina, and then over at her bald colleague.
-‘I have to get back’, the pant suit told her resolution-friend.

They left just in time. Edina closed her eyes and started doing breathing exercises, practising her lines silently.

You are the guiding star of the group. A lighthouse; a rock; a hero! We admire you, man – you; your Glass family; your dialogues, and most of all, your bananafish.

-‘Your must be Edina’, someone said, sharp as an alarm clock.
-‘It’s me’ Edina said and opened her eyes slowly.

There he was, alive and kicking, in a yellow poncho and rain hat. More than three fifths of his face was covered with hair; one long eyebrow connecting with sideburns connecting with moustache and beard. She wondered whether the non-trimmed beard connected with his chest-hair while naked.
-‘I’ve heard about you and your guys’, J.D. Salinger whispered, looking around nervously while pronouncing the last word.
-‘Yes’ she replied, inviting him to sit down. ‘We are the guys’.
-‘Who wrote The Conspiracy’ J.D. Salinger filled in. Water was dripping down his triangular shaped hat. It made Edina think of a simple song from childhood: My hat, it has three corners. Three corners, that’s my hat. And if it lacks three corners, then it is not my hat. She never thought hats could have three corners outside the world of nursery rhymes.
-‘Yes’ Edina said, ‘that’s us!’ She tried hard to hold back a laughter boiling from deep down her stomach. One of those laughs that can make rooms tremble; that warm up frozen hearts of cynical grandfathers. Today is the day, she thought.
-‘Let’s talk about it’, J.D. Salinger said with a nothing-like-a-cow smile. ‘I have an idea’.