Professional

"Then let's stop the discussion."

I looked at her "If you do not want to discuss this, then this is your decision. I will tell my health insurance next week that have your own income of about 50.000 Euro per year. They will then inform me that you are no longer covered by my health insurance but must organize your own. If Wladi finds a way around that, fine. It is not fine that you trust him more than me, but I learned during the last years that you will only do what you think."

My heard was racing, my blood pressure was on record level, my breath went like a steam engine and my heart felt empty. For the last year I had tried to avoid confrontations, but it only went from bad to worse. I knew that I would somehow be punished, but I was no longer willing to cave in. Was that the price for love? Really?

She looked at me with utter astonishment.

"What did you just say?"

"Did you not listen?"

"But I did all of this just for us."

"What did you do 'just for us'? You signed a contract without looking at the content, you get a job that is paid by the hour and in cash only, you do not disclose where you go, you did not consult me before this decision, and you trust another man more than you trust me."

"Ilona, what did you do for us?"

"I doubled our income."

"Really? How? How much do I earn? How much do I earn per hour?"

"Oh my god, Kurt, did you not listen to me? I provide services for 80.000 Euros per year plus additional 50.000 Euros by working for Davalka PR. That is 130.000 Euros per year. Natascha estimates your income around 80.000 Euros per year. Well, now it will be 82.000 Euros. What is so hard to understand about this? Why can't you accept that I am working more professional than you?"

I only shook my head and looked to the floor.

"Kurt? Look at me and say that you understood me this time!"

I inhaled. I exhaled. And did both again.

"Ilona, I appreciate your work at home. You are not paid for it, but I really appreciate it. Except your remark regarding the kindergarden ward. You told me that you will earn 50.000 Euros per year. If we would not have any holidays anymore, than you would have to earn 1.000 Euros every week in order to reach 50.000 Euros per year. Yesterday you earned 200 Euros. You said that you would only work 1 to 2 days a week. This means that you would have to earn in average 700 Euros per working day. How will you achieve this?"

Ilona brightened up "But this is all only a misunderstanding! I earn much more! Yesterday I earned 500 Euros and when I add additional services than this sum will increase much more!"

I looked at her, wondering what went wrong in our conversation. "You earned 200 Euros yesterday or 500? I only saw 200."

"Of course! Wladi received 300 out of the 500 as commission!"

"Sorry Ilona, the money that he receives does not count as your income."

"Of course it does!"

"How?"

"Wladi, Natasha and Sergej all told me so. Oh, that reminds me, I still need to give Sergej 100."

"But then you only earned 100."

"No. 500."

"But then my income needs to be evaluated around 500.000 Euros per year. At least."

"No, you only earn 82.000 Euros."

"But this is not true. I earn 190.000 plus up to 50 % premium per year. Plus a company car. Plus a pension contribution of 9 % of my income per year. I do not earn 82.000."

"But Natasha said..."

"Whom do you trust more? Natasha or me?"

"I don't know. She knows everything so well. And Wladi and Sergej confirmed it. So, it is 3 to 1. I am sorry. This is how democracy works."

"We talk about truth, not voting majorities."

"I don't care. I am happy to know that I now earn so much more than you do. And I would really appreciate if you would join my happiness!"

The only thing left for me was nod.

"Finally! Now let's do the garden work."

I could agree to this, but my thoughts were somewhere else.

Around five o'clock in the afternoon, Ilona said "Enough is enough. Now we will shower and then I will invite you to a restaurant where we can celebrate my success. Oh well, I mean our successes. And stop sulking. Be happy to have such a professional wife. We are a team and I will pull you along even though I am now more professional than you."

What could I do? You probably guess it. I nodded.

At six o'clock we left the house. Playing the gentleman, I went to the car door, opened it for her and...

"What car is this?"

"My company car."

"Where is the Korean car that you drove last week?"

"I had to give it back. It was a company car as well and they upgraded me."

"That must be an error. Team leaders don't drive Horchs. This car must have cost a fortune."

I nodded "79.500 Euros."

"But we can't afford it. Not even with my income!"

"Yes, we can. I get it from my company in addition to my income."

She shook her head. "They must be quite stupid, you know. So many mistakes. Nothing makes sense. Maybe you should go looking for a better employer. This is not sustainable behavior."

I only shrugged my shoulders and started the car.

We had a nice dinner at our local Italian restaurant. My wife insisted on paying and I only nodded. "Say honey, when did you buy the shoes and the clothes? And how much were they?"

"Oh, Wladi got me a good discount. It only cost 2.000 Euros together with the other outfit. You need to invest when you start becoming professional."

"Oh well, then I need to check our credit card account that is has enough money on it."

"Kurt, I already thought of this. Kurt gave me credit and I will pay it back with my extra services income during the next months."

Suddenly my stomach revolted, but I managed not to throw up. "Extra services? What is an extra service?"

Ilona sensed my anger and put her hand on mine. "It is a bit complicated to explain, but I will try. You see, helping the customers and assuring their total customer satisfaction, you not only need to support the factual things, like supporting their negotiation strategies and tactics or making sure that the event is well organized, for example that there are enough chairs or that the food is ok. You follow me?"

I nodded.

"Hm, then, how do I.... Oh yes, then there is the psychological side of it all. You know. The customers want to feel appreciated, and we need to establish mutual trust and comfort. And if I do this well, then they pay for this. Ok?"

I shrugged my shoulders. "Can you please name a few examples of 'special services'?"

"Hm, let me think. You know that I just started and that I am not so experienced, so I did not provide much of these services yet. Let us talk about it in a few weeks, maybe?"

I nodded. I would not get much more information and closed my eyes.

Apparently, Ilona saw the need to cheer me up a bit. I felt her foot touching my leg.

"What about driving home in the fancy car before your company takes it back and when we get home you will receive some really special treats from me?"

This is what we did.

At home, I was treated quite well although my mind was somehow occupied with other thoughts. My hands slowly wandered from her feet up and I started to push her skirt up and moved further. Suddenly I jerked.

"Honey, what's the matter? What happened?"

"I am confused. Did you shave?"

She slapped my cheek slightly. "Hey, I am not so old that I need to shave!"

I stuttered "No, no, not in the face."

She giggled "But honey, this is not shaving. This is called a Brasilian wax. Do you like it?"

"I don't know yet. Why did you do it?"

"This was Natasha's idea. She said that men like it a lot and that they would pay..."

She paused for a moment, looking concern, then quickly smiled and commenced.

"Men pay more attention to their woman. And it worked. You paid attention."

Somehow this explanation was not really putting me at ease.

The next morning, I woke with Ilona spooning me from behind. "Wanna try my waxing area again?"

Before I could answer she added "Oh, by the way, next weekend I need to attend a seminar. Maybe you will try fishing? You said that you went fishing with your granddad when you were young."

"I thought we could have some time for us then. Can't you postpone your seminar for some days?"

"No, the date is already fixed, and the artist is booked."

"The artist?"

"Yes."

"Which artist?"

"Oh my god, don't you understand? The artist. He is booked."

"But why would you need an artist?"

"I don't know yet, but Wladi said that it would be a surprise."

"No."

"No what?" Ilona looked at me with puckered brows.

"You are not going."

What happened next, came as a complete surprise.

Ilona embraced me and kissed me hard "I love my strong husband!"

And that was it. Looking back, I should have insisted on discussing all details. Well, everyone is a perfect trainer - after the match.

Friday came and we were checking the labelling prototype at work. It was basically a laser cutter with reduced power and increased speed. Some vegetables and fruits were very easy to mark with a data matrix code, but on others the laser burns were hardly visible. That is where we came up with the idea to use a carrier foil with an ink layer which would be heated on the backside simultaneously by several laser beams like a hollow charge which then injected the ink into the upper layers of the fruit or vegetable.

We needed to file the patent fast, so I volunteered to do some testing at home. I only hoped that Ilona would not be angry. I had already planned to let her choose the fruits and to have a surprise dinner at a nice restaurant.

The surprise was on me. Coming home, I read a note on the kitchen table. "You would not listen, so I already went to the seminar. See you Sunday afternoon. Love Ilona."

This time she had gone too far. I felt like a lorry which you drive fast into a bend. Nothing happens. No warning signs. You feel confident that all is going well. And then, a small, tiny movement, and the lorry starts to tip over. Believe me, you cannot stop it. It just tips over and the damage happens.

I had felt like a loaded gun before, but I was able to keep my anger and frustration done. Until the trigger was triggered. My trigger was triggered. The crash was inevitable, and nothing could stop it anymore. Only, there was no explosion. Just some kind of accelerated combustion. No, I did not play Rambo. I had done that before and it still haunts me until today. I had sworn never to touch a weapon again. Unless absolutely necessary.

I am now working in an office, so don't expect me to act on impulse any more. I am no violent guy and my Neandertal ancestry could only be measured in ppb (parts per billion). But homo sapiens has got other tools than bifaces or clubs. You don't need to ask for my opinion about baseball bats, right?

Saturday around lunch time, I heard an eight cylinder engine in our street. Soon thereafter there was a heavy beating on our front door. Reluctantly, I pushed back from our prototype on the broad kitchen table, narrowly avoided throwing the open ravioli can with the spoon inside to the ground (thank god, how could I have explained this to Ilona?) and opened the door.

A broad-shouldered man pushed me rudely inside and grunted "Kurti, I'm Wladi. Where's the bedroom?"

Shocked, I pointed in the direction, when a second man entered, carrying a sleeping Ilona in his arms and pushed me with his back to the side.

"In here!" Wladi yelled.

The second man threw Ilona onto the bed and grunted "Sergej".

Before I could see more, Wladi pushed me into the next chair, put both hands on my shoulders, looked into my eyes and said "Ilona was sniveling, so we had to anesthetize her a bit while the artist did his work. She will be ok by tomorrow. Just remind her: no scratching and no showering. May be an aspirin or some other pain killer. The band-aid needs to stay at least until Monday. Natascha will come by and check her on Monday. Bye."

And as quick as they had appeared, they disappeared.

Did I mention before that my trigger was already triggered? It was probably best that they were already gone in their gas guzzler.

Of course, I went to search for the band-aid. Head and neck were ok, so I checked her arms. Nothing.

Next the legs. That was not difficult as she was only wearing a mini skirt and shoes. Nothing.

Next the blouse with short sleeves. She was breathing but did not react when I opened her blouse and took it off her. Nothing.

The bra was next. Those clasps are definitively something that should be re-engineered.

Against all odds, I finally succeeded in opening them and found - nothing.

Her mini skirt was easy to take off and then, just above her small thong, I saw a bit of a band-aid.

Oh shit!

I took a deep breath and peeled down the thong. The rather large band-aid extended to the tip of her vulva.

I closed my eyes and inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled. I opened my eyes again. I still saw the same situation.

No, I am not nosy. I don't snoop. I don't pry.

But since my early youth I was always fascinated in solving riddles. This probably explains my next move.

I slowly peeled the band-aid off. Why slowly? First, I am a compassionate person and I had learned from experience that ripping a band aid off causes much more pain than slow peeling. And yes, all those nurses who swear differently are liars who secretly enjoy inflicting pain on others. Oh, I did not mention that I was involved in several severe traffic accidents during my youth? I hate those nurses, I....

I digress. Sorry. But I still remember the pain. Where was I? Oh. Yes.

Secondly, I did not want to wake up Ilona prematurely.

I looked at the fresh tattoo that was below the band aid. Just text. Plain, simple text.

"Property of Davalka PR.

Inform lostgoods @ davalka. com immediately.

Reward!"

I closed my eyes and inhaled. Exhaled. Inhaled. Exhaled.

Under stress, people obviously react with pre-learned behavioral patterns.

I inhaled. I exhaled. I inhaled. I exhaled.

I opened my eyes again. I still saw the same situation.

And then I had a bright idea and rushed into the kitchen.

Five hours later, I studied my own work of art. And then I applied another, slightly bigger, band-aid.

Ilona did not even move during this time.

In the middle of the night, I suddenly woke up. I heard a small whimpering.

Walking into the bedroom (yes, I had already moved all my things into our guest room), I sat next to Ilona and spoke to her softly. After a while she started to open her eyes and finally found me.

"What are you doing here?"

"I look after you. Would you like some water or tea?"

She shook her head "No."

"I need to pee."

When she finally stood, ready to go to the bathroom, she hissed "I am naked!"

I suppressed a grin and lied "This is how Wladi brought you here. Plus some clothes which are on the chair."

She started cursing and hushed to the bathroom.

I shouted "And do not forget. No scratching, no showering and the band-aid needs to stay in place. Wladi's orders."

"Wladi's?"

"Yes."

"Ok."

Another blow. Even when being told not in person, she obeys Wladi's orders. And none from her husband. Too late to complain now. All water under the bridge.

When she returned, she asked "Where's the water and the tea?"

I though "not worth a fight now" and got it.

She had hardly drunk all when she fell back and slept. Still naked, except for the band aid.

I pulled a blanket over her.

Sunday, she slept and I documented a few things. I know, as a gentleman I should not have looked into her papers, her phone and her computer, but the dice were thrown, the Rubicon was crossed and now I tried to collect the collateral.

I had taken Monday off work, but still brought the prototype back and all the fruit and vegetable samples as well... The colleagues listened to my improvement ideas and then I went back home.

Around noon, Natasha showed up and went to look after Ilona.

Five minutes later I heard Ilona cry "You stupid cow. That hurts!"

"It is better this way. Every nurse will tell you. And it's easier for me, hihihi. Now let us see how your new..."

The rest was an extended cry, soon joined by a second cry from Ilona. They somehow managed to synchronize their cries. Interesting.

Seconds later, the door burst open, and Natasha flew towards me. Luckily, I had paced myself behind a chair which moderated her impact.

"You bastard! You marked her!"

I played the innocent. "What are you talking about?"

"The tattoo!"

"I know of no tattoo. Wladi brought her here and told me to make sure that the band-aid stayed intact. No scratching, no showering. Ask Ilona."

Ilona had meanwhile appeared in the doorframe, wiped some tears away and nodded "That is what he did."

Natasha rolled her eyes and stared at me "But you did it. "

"I did what?"

"You changed it."

"I changed what? I had an oil change on my old car last week before I gave it back."

"The tattoo!"

"I don't do tattoos! And I did not do the oil change either by myself. This is the work of professionals."

"Yes, you did."

"I can't. Or would you call me a professional for tattoos? Can I have a look at it?"

I stepped towards Ilona. "Shit, what an ugly colour."

Ilona began wailing again.

"And you got AIDS? Oh my god, you gave me AIDS?"

"But...."

Natascha stared at me for a moment, then grunted, turned and dragged the wailing Ilona with her into the bedroom. Moments later I heard Natasha yelling "Yes Wladi. The tattoo. It is, I, No. No. It is destroyed. No, I mean, there is another one. Huh? No, another tattoo. And the colour is really bleaakkkkk, I mean soooo uuuuugly! The poor girl! Who? How should I know? What it looks like? I'll send you a picture. Now let me."

I heard another cry and a slap "Don't play with my private parts!"

"I have to. I need to document the damage for Wladi."

"Fuck you!"

"Now you start complaining about being fucked?"

The discussion then turned into a crying battle, wailing and I heard at least two hard slaps. Being a weak man, I decided not to intervene. Instead I called my attorney again and fiddled a bit with my computer.

Fifteen minutes later there was banging at the door. Natasha came running out of the bedroom and opened it, dragging Wladi behind her into the bedroom.

Moments later, I heard a long list of, probably Russian, swear words and Wladi appeared in the doorframe, waving a pistol. Probably a good thing that I had already started a Teams meeting with my attorney, who recorded it.

"You bastard!"

"I am innocent."

"I will kill you."

"Oh no. That would be murder in front of a camera." And I pointed towards my mobile phone which I had placed on the kitchen table some minutes earlier.

Wladi smiled, aimed and shot at it. Success. I was impressed. Wladi smiled "I practise."

On my computer screen I read a message from my attorney "Police alarmed and on their way."

"Wladi, let's not act impulsively. We are both businessmen and we will find a solution."

"You are not a businessman."

"Of course I am. Why should I not be a businessman?"

"You got no gun."

Well, this was a new argument for me. I had to think about this.

"You bastard ruined my best whore."

"Oh no, she is no whore. Ilona is a businesswoman."

I immediately understood that my argumentation was not flawless and corrected "Even if she has no gun."

Wladi sighed and shook his head "You are just as dumb as these women."

That obviously triggered a flying flower vase from the direction of the bedroom. Wladi shot three times and the vase - a wedding present from my mother-in-law - was pulverised before it could severely hurt him.

Enough is enough. I had planned to negotiate a bit with Wladi, but now I simply pressed the send button on my computer.