Wandering Heart Chapter 4

I really enjoyed writing this chapter. I never had any "the-devil-wears-Prada" kind of person who talk sarcastically degrading his/her employees as my boss. So, creating John Setiawan's character was a really fun challenge. I used a character of a novel as his character's 'template'. But in the end, I could not make him entirely evil. He was still a mentor, in a rude and devilish way. Well, avid readers, can you spot who and from what novel did I use as the template?

Chapter 4 : King of Anything

(Bareilles, 2011; Performed by Sara Bareilles)

I stopped typing the article I was working, to save and send it to Mr. Setiawan, my editor. Somehow, my eyes wandered and stuck on a wooden frame with a picture of Henry and I with a birthday cake. It was my birthday in our first year together, one of our happy moments before he had the idea of me being a “Stepford wife”. Yes, he deserved a responsible and stable adult for a wife, someone who could sit down elegantly, smile demurely and nod sincerely at his speeches. I flipped down the wooden frame with brute force. The glass cracked. Oops. I quickly put the frame back up and examined the desk for any sliver of glass that might endanger my flesh.

“Shoot, Siregar. I know you’re blown away by the joy of your new engagement, but please refrain from blasting office properties.” The devil, Mr. Setiawan, startled me from behind. He was tall, slender and muscular, but somehow managed to walk like a kitten on a soft carpet. He wore a neat khaki long-sleeve shirt with a brown-blue stripes tie and black trousers, never one to wear any other color outside of earthen palette. Some employees assumed that as a sign of color-blindness, but I was opposed of that assumption. His walk was stealthy, his dialog was cryptic and his outfits were unmemorable, he could be a member of secret intelligence service in the World War II who was somehow blasted out of time. Well, he was a Syncretist who believed in reincarnation anyway, so he probably thought that it was exactly his former life’s experience.

I showed him my empty ring-finger. If only there was Oxford’s dictionary of body-language, I should entered that as a gesture of ‘showing you’re not engaged despite what gossip says’. “Really? No engagement last Friday? I can’t believe Augustus retreated from fighting off the Britons.” He replied skeptically.

 “Augustus, really? I always thought of himself as Marc Anthony.”

“Sure, Siregar. Of course you would love to think of yourself as Cleopatra. Okay, I second your opinion just to amuse you so that you would tell me what happened to Marc Anthony. Did he partied himself too hard before the actual war?”

“No, this Marc Anthony is not hedonistic. Quite the contrary, actually. Well, guess his character is actually closer to the more serious Augustus.” He showed me his patented smirk as I admitted my fault, I rolled my eyes. “It’s just that I’d rather keep my Egypt a savage country with freedom in its own right than to be tamed by the delusional peace of the Roman Empire.”

“Wow, it’s very well-worded, Siregar. You could have written that for anti-Mubarak campaign.”

“Fighting dictators of any kind is indeed my personal vendetta, Sir.” I told him lightly.

He was silent for awhile, as if wording his next dialogue as carefully as possible. Then he shrugged, as if he wished to be rid of his intention of continuing the topic. “Are we still on the DPR’s missing money story?”

“Yes we are. I e-mailed you my draft just now.”

“Did the money showed up anywhere?”

“I’m working on that, Sir. Mr. Muchsin, A representative from the Nationalist party’s wife’s foundation set up an overseas account three months ago, and my hunch told me that they laundered the money already. Several sources said different things, but I put my money on art. Because, he just made himself a new patron of Indonesia’s classical visual art.”

“Art? Never thought any member of the DPR had any brain or any taste to take that road. That’s wickedly classy. Nevertheless, I am curious, who are these said sources?”

“Sir, as my grandmamma said, a lady should have many resources but appear to travel light in the eyes of gentlemen. So, it would make my dear grandmamma rolled in her grave shall I ever reveal you those said source before your very gentlemanly eyes.”

“Here I thought I can charm your grandmamma’s knickers off.” Smirked Mr. Setiawan as he walked back to his office. Though he spoke with tone of sarcasm in every word, I knew he was truly impressed of my findings. My advancement can partly be credited to his mentorship, though he probably would rather eat live slug which covered in bacteria than to be called my mentor. As a journalist, he had the intuition and nerve of a winning gambler. He had the ability to read his opponent and often win by bluffing them into senselessly forsaking their four aces at the fear of his random cards. As manipulative as it seemed, it is a trait that set him apart from other journalists around here.  Well, of course, other than the fact that he was also one of the heirs of this publishing company. Nevertheless, nobody would ever dare to assume that he did not earn his title based on his ability and achievements.

To hide something like who my informants are from the supposed-omniscient Mr. Setiawan, was an achievement on my part. It was not because I was afraid that he would disapprove of that, because for him, the end would justify the means.

Suddenly, three faces that I recognized belong to two marketing staffs and the ground floor receptionist appeared above the wall of my cubicle. “Miss Siregar! Is it true?”

“Huh?”

“That you’re not engaged to Henry Hadiningrat!”

I showed that hand gesture again. Gosh, I would have been able to patent this and reap enormous amount of money, had Beyonce not used the same gesture in her music video while taunting men to put a ring on it.

“I can’t believe it!!” Wow, other skeptics. I should make tally of different ways people respond after learning about the faultiness of their previously believed gossip. So far, being skeptical was the winner. However, their tone was a lot cheerful than my mother’s, Melinda’s even Jordan’s. They looked happily giggling with each others now.

“Anyway, how do you know that Henry proposed?” I was curious. Jordan did have a hobby of prying on other people’s relationship while Mr. Setiawan was one omniscient being in this office, every office e-mail should be carbon-copied to him. Marketing department was at the third floor, two floors down, while receptionist, well there are receptionists in every floor. My hypothesis was that Leli, the 5^th floor receptionist was the one who passed the information. She probably inferred from the absence of ring in my finger. But, how did everyone know that Henry would propose?

“On Friday morning, Pak Setiawan gathered the freakish photographer and all the reporting staffs, except for you, at the meeting room at the 1^st floor.” I nodded, remembered that day I was out gathering information and so, was not included in the meeting. “Siska here,” she patted the girl with headband, “was assisting. Pak Setiawan announced the upcoming engagement to everybody there. When Siska told us the news, we were so devastated. However, Leli told us just now, that you have no ring on your finger. Did you break up with him too?”

I didn’t see any reason of why I should entertain these puny-minded girls, but having my hypothesis proven right and seeing their hopeful eyes, I nodded anyway. They screamed gleefully in return and chirped loudly as they went towards the exit, making it clear that I was officially back to the bottom of social pyramid without Marc Anthony on my arm. The real Cleopatra would have preferred suicide by snakes’ bite over being humiliated. A surge of rage coming toward me realizing who had been standing behind the curtain, watching the downfall with a smirk on his face. I hurried myself to the office next to my cubicle and knocked the door with fury.

“Siregar, come in. I said, refrain from blasting office properties. Any expense to repair both the physical and psychological damages your infamous rage caused will be cut straight ahead from your salary.”

“Sir, how could you know about Henry’s proposal? And how could you spread that gossip to everybody in this building?”

“I know it from the man himself. He made it my business to know his plans so that I excused you home earlier on last Friday. Sit down!” He barked at me but I refused to do his demand.  “Ck…You’re too hard-headed and hot-tempered for your own good, Siregar. Spreading gossip! What do you think I am? A low life without many things to do? I only thought we’re going to have a celebration at lunch time today, had you said yes. You should thank whatever god you believe in that you have such a considerate person as your boss. That’s all.”

I narrowed my eyes. Did I see twinkle in his indifferent eyes?

“And what the heck you’re doing here? Don’t you have work to do?”

“It’s done. I sent it to you, remember?”

“My memory never failed me, Siregar. But you just do. Typos and grammar mistakes besiege your article rather viciously, stabbing my eyes whenever I saw any of them. You’re like a trained German Shepherd catching drug-dealers when it comes to investigation, but for heaven’s sake, we paid you as a journalist. Fix that!” His voice was hoarse and loud, but my anger held me not to crumble down in tears at his words.

 “We’re not finished.” I told him before walking out of the door and closed it.

When I was out, I heard his faint chuckles. I wanted to confront him, but decided that I should not let my anger get the better of me. Thanks to him, those little birdies would declare that I was dumped by Henry to all female population of this building. How well, at least Mrs. Sri from the canteen would probably give me a free sympathy pudding at next lunch.

“Oi, Siregar!’ I heard his voice calling me just when I stepped back into my cubicle. It was decisive and sharp, not something about the gossips for sure.

“What? Your memory decided to fail you now?”

He threw me a fancy folded card about A5 size and I caught it in time before it slammed my chest. It was colored a shade darker than gold with the word Invitation swirled at the center of the card and Mr. Setiawan’s name at the bottom. I opened it and discovered that it was an invitation to an engagement party of a couple, whose names I did not recognize, on Saturday next week. The party would be held in a house at the hillside of Bandung.

“I was planning to wait until Monday next week, but guess I’ll just break the news now. You’re my plus one.”

“What? NO!” I quickly retorted. “For somebody who could read Homer’s Illiad in its original language, effortlessly quote Byron, shrewdly convince hard-headed politicians to reveal their dirty secrets, why can’t you properly persuade a woman for a real date?”

He looked at me with threatening eyes “Siregar, there are some things that you should know by now after 4 years of being my subordinate. First, I had never, nor intend to, regard you as a member of the opposite sex who has any worth to be pursued. Second, if I ever, by any chance, acting in a way that will refute the first statement, it must be in the context of undercover mission and my action was just a survival instinct kicking out to save both of us.”

“I know that already. If the context was not an undercover situation, then it’s possible that it is your impostor, trying to get me steal your files. If that happen, I’ll just jab the impostor then.”

“Ha! I appreciate the fact that you are not a dim-witted woman.” He twirled his point finger as a gesture for me to turn the invitation card around and read the inviters’ names. I caught the name of Mr. Muchsin, the Nationalist Party representative that I was investigating, as the father of the bride. A wave of delight washed over me and I beamed at Mr. Setiawan, readying my lips to thank him.

“No, no thank you now. Yes, this ‘plus one’ is entirely professional. I predict you will fail to get proper clue to investigate any further in this case. Mr. Muchsin covered his track very well. So, we will see what we can gain in this party. This invitation is a freaking brilliant coincidence. Okay, now get your eyes back to the inviters list, find the father of the groom’s name.”

I bowed my head down, eyes tracing the golden card, and find the name in haste. Guntur Hasjim was written there. It’s Henry’s boss’ name. Goodness gracious, it means that I would meet him in this party.

“Let me hear your gratitude now. Thank me that you have more time to do all that girly stuff, scrubbing your feet and everything. I gave you permission to borrow a proper outfit from our wardrobe and even borrow our make-up artist to put on some color to your pesky face. Just spare me the embarrassment for having you stand at my side in this party. No politician in the right mind would open their pursed lips to a repulsive looking woman.”

His grin was wide and crooked. He must have thought himself a fairy godfather by telling me this.

 Thank you for reading, please comment and review! Oh yeah, do you spot who's "template"? Hit the comment link below and tell me! :)