who<\/em> I mean!\u2019<\/p>\n <\/p>\n
\u2018 Who, Pamela?\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 Yeah, that slut Pamela Anderson, who else!\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018God, what a pair of breasts on \u2026 a real woman!\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 But you, you sucker, have you seen David\u2019s pecs?\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 David who?\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 You know very well that I can\u2019t pronounce that strange name\u2026 But you know George, that doesn\u2019t change my opinion\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Pissed off, the man went out onto the balcony, which was on the ninth floor, to smoke a cigarette. In the difficult time when they were looking for a place to rent, George had had to choose between an apartment on the ground floor and one on the ninth floor. He opted for the latter, hoping he would\u00a0 get to the \u201cseventh heaven\u201d that way. That was when Maria had enjoyed the most romantic moments of their married life. But it turned out to be iron rations: the sky in the real world was such a letdown: it seemed that out of the thousands of stars emblazoned on the heavens, the heaviest had fallen to earth.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
While wistfully gazing at the special effects created by the whorls of cigarette smoke, George suddenly noticed Maria come out of the building. The tiny, delicate hand of his wife (lawfully wedded at the altar of the little cathedral in town) carried their only suitcase, blue and worn at the edges, which they had paid for with the money that was left after their wedding twelve years before. George threw the unfinished cigarette directly at the head of a neighbor (who was hurrying towards the main entrance, basket in hand), and headed straight to the door of their apartment. The symbolic, untouched fruit and the cold, unopened champagne stood on the table, like funeral monuments. But a tiny note, with torn edges, caught his attention. The scrawled letters were uneven, but suited the message they were meant to convey: \u2018 Goodbye, Geo. I am off to my mother\u2019s. This time it\u2019s for good. Please, don\u2019t come looking for me. Maria.\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Thoughtfully, he scratched his forehead, then the back of his neck. Then he did the same thing with his legs. First one thigh, then the other. Suddenly, he thought he heard the repetitive, barely perceptible noise of running water. Perplexed, he noticed it came from the bathroom to the side of the corridor. At first he wanted to call Maria\u2019s name. But realizing he had just seen her walk away from the building, he cursed under his breath. A few moments later, he was laughing softly. Then, embarrassed, he blamed this overwhelming surge of feelings and dim presentiments on not being used to being alone, without Maria\u2019s tangible presence.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
But the noise in the bathroom was becoming too unbearable to look for logical explanations.\u00a0 George silently drew nearer, and placed his ear to the door. Then he went to the kitchen, and returned slightly less determined, but carrying a bread knife behind his hunched back.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Determined to end the mystery, he pushed the door handle down firmly. But, since the door proved to be open already, he was not able to stop himself falling forward until a sharp pain in his leg told him he had fallen against the uneven rim of the bath tub.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Not even the intense misery of breaking up with Maria could diminish the shock which paralyzed him for several minutes: their conjugal tub, tiny and used by many tenants over the years, was where the American actress Pamela Anderson herself was soaping her divine (though surgically enhanced) breasts.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 What are you staring at, silly?\u2019, the movie diva asked him with asperity, \u2018 do my breasts seem like exotic fruit to you?\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 Well\u2026 I thought\u2026\u2019 trying to hide the knife behind his back, her ardent admirer tried to find an excuse: \u2018I just wanted to\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n
\u2018\u2026 it\u2019s ok. What did you say your name was?\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 George, or Geo. Whichever you prefer, Ma\u2019am.\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 Of course, Geo, what else\u2026 Listen, Geo, it really is me, Pamela. Pa-me-la An-der-son the actress!!! And unfreeze now. Bring that champagne now\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
On auto pilot, George headed to the apartment door. But Pamela was looking at him : \u2018Hey, where are you going?\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 I thought you said something about champagne\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018\u2026 the cold champagne on the table, Geo.\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
After unequivocally gesturing with her bare arm, inviting him to the foamy bath tub, the woman in front of him continued in an irresistibly seductive way:<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018 One more thing, Geo\u2026\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Instinctively, he drew nearer to the bath tub. Without a word, Pamela Anderson intimated that he should lean his head towards her. When George raised his head his ear suddenly felt very heavy: his entire auditory space was filled with the inflexions of her sultry voice, like a celestial symphony:resonating in a cathedral dome,<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u2018\u2026 join me while the water is still warm!\u2019<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
by Igor Ursenco Translation from Romanian by AC Clarke and Laura-Cristina Badea, MTTLC student pentru versiunea rom\u00e2n\u0103 click aici After watching one of the usual fun episodes of the American TV series, starring the remarkable Pamela Anderson and David Hasselhoff in their wannabe-cinema stars youth, George and Maria, arm in arm, but for different […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":4,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"jetpack_post_was_ever_published":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_access":"","_jetpack_dont_email_post_to_subs":false,"_jetpack_newsletter_tier_id":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paywalled_content":false,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[731,22],"tags":[665,1152,1123,359,661,403,1116,312],"class_list":["post-6955","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-egophobia-31","category-short-story","tag-a-c-clarke","tag-egophobia-31","tag-english","tag-igor-ursenco","tag-laura-cristina-badea","tag-mttlc","tag-short-story","tag-translation"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"jetpack_shortlink":"https:\/\/wp.me\/p6DakB-1Ob","_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6955","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/users\/4"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcomments&post=6955"}],"version-history":[{"count":15,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6955\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":7265,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=\/wp\/v2\/posts\/6955\/revisions\/7265"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fmedia&parent=6955"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Fcategories&post=6955"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/egophobia.ro\/index.php?rest_route=%2Fwp%2Fv2%2Ftags&post=6955"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}