"I'm not ready, guys."
The very long days (and some nights, as well) of planning, studying and strategizing, were a preparation for the real thing, as just a few steps were separating Rita from her first court date.
Michael could feel her tension rubbing off on himself, as well, as if he wasn't pretty nervous already.
Oh well, at least she hadn't noticed the journalists approaching the court!
"Are those... Journalists? What are they doing here?"
Shit...
"You know," Foster tried to help his client, "usually adoptions don't get this lot of attention. This is quite different, cause it's linked to a case of armed robbery. But don't worry, they can't get inside!"
The lawyer did his best, but she was still frowning, unimpressed by his words.
"I don't wanna give you any pressure, but the longer we stay outside, the more likely we're getting preyed on by them."
Quite rough, but Clark was right: if that particular moment was portrayed by National Geographic, the reporters would have been the lions, and they would have absolutely been the zebras.
"They would come after us when this will be over, in any case," Michael answered to his friend, trying to keep it cool, "so I'd rather not be worried, already. Or they'll get worse."
Rita scrolled her head, giving up to the whole situation: "You guys definitely know how to deal with a scared woman."
"And you still haven't been graced by our finest punchlines and dad jokes!"
A genuine smile showed on her face and Michael felt relieved.
He was also feeling other things towards her, but they were unappropriated, so he just ignored them, as every adult does, when they don't want to deal with something they don't like.
Foster took the lead: "We should go inside. It's time."
-------------------------
The sun was at its highest, so was a freezing wind, announcing the arrival of winter in the whole continent.
Rita came out of the court, immediately escorted by Foster, Clark, and Michael, before being stormed by photographers and reporters waiting for the woman, outside the building.
"Did this first process go how you were expecting?"
"Are you in possession of extra details about the robbery?"
"Is the adoption part of a bigger picture?"
"What's the link between you and the LGBTs?"
An infinite and painful flood of questions, speculations, and utter bullshit but luckily, Rita was previously prepared by Michael.
"Not a statement, not a word, not a sound."
"Don't let their words echoing in your head, don't let them even reach your ears."
"Journalists are not bad, but those who are here, are not here to help."
"Their questions aren't meant to find out more from your side of the story, they can't care any less about your side of the story."
"They won't even listen to what you have to say, it's all about turning your statements into whatever fits their demented narrative and keeps the functional illiterates who read/watch them, happy."
Questions and speculations bounced off, like arrows against shields. The woman followed the instructions given by her press office and ignored every single word, as the four managed to leave everyone behind and reach their cars.
But just like in a videogame, apparently they had a sort of "final boss" waiting for them, next to Foster's car. "Is... Is he...?"
Rita gave a puzzled look at that silver-haired man clearly pretending he hadn't seen them, yet.
Instinctively, Michael girded her shoulders with his arm: "Why don't we just turn around and reach your car? You've mentioned to us by text, that you parked further than here."
The gay activist could feel his colleagues' eyes on him as if he did something unusual over an excess of confidence: "I mean..." He immediately removed his arm from her, managing to maintain the proper composure. "We do not know if Craig Guss has any recorder devices hidden, somewhere."
His client had something else in mind, though: "Actually, I would be more than happy to tell what I think of him, directly to his face. Do you guys mind?"
Foster tried to answer what was gonna be just a rhetorical question, Rita walked with reborn confidence towards the journalist, and Michael saw the woman who he met just a week earlier, the woman who lighted those inner dramas up, again.
"She's looking so fierce, so beautiful"
The bear made sure he was saying those words only in his head, but he also had to reckon, it was the first time he didn't try to reprime that attraction.
Craig Guss was "one of the boys", one like Clark, Foster, and especially Michael: gay journalist, grown as an LGBTQ+ rights activist in the very same city, very committed to the cause. But he was also very eager for attention, craving for that personal fame, that recognition.
Nothing wrong with being ambitious, of course, but when you want to take advantage of activism, and then you acknowledge that won't make you famous, well, that's exactly why some people, just like him, decide to crawl for fame by embracing that internalized discriminating attitude.
People like Craig Guss are the ones who love being the subject people talk about: love me or hate me, do talk about me. And he's a master in making people talk about him, rant about him, scandalize, just like when he said he suddenly got "woken from wokeness".
Instantly, he became the hero of Aussie conservatives, a gay man telling "the truth" about those horrible pro-LGBT rights politicians and collectives, breaking the chains of "censorship".
Boo fucking hoo.
The reasons why he was there, were unknown, but one thing was clear: nothing good was gonna come.
"Excuse me? Craig Guss?"
Rita called the man who was turning her away and slowly turned to face her, serving the fakest of the smiles: "Hello... How can I help you?"
"I'm sure you can." The woman tried to hide her visible anger behind a shield of determination. "My name is Rita Bonelli, and I'm helping my neighbor and friend Lucy, who you may know by the name Lucinda Alvarez, currently in prison for something that she didn't do. And before you say anything," the woman abruptly interrupted the journalist who tried to answer, "let me just tell how your discriminating articles and opinions have hurt a lot of Australian immigrants, including my friend, a Latin woman, and myself, an Italian-Australian."
"Now this is interesting, you know?"
Guss was definitely having his fun, there: cause obviously, when someone expresses their malaise, decent people laugh at it.
"It would be helpful if you actually brought some examples of me discriminating people, ma'am. You see, accusing someone of something they didn't do, isn't much appropriate."
---------------
The three were a bit far, but Michael could still see a smirk on Craig's face: that damn smirk, it was like a trademark. He always found it was annoying, but right at that moment, his hands wanted to meet that smirk, so badly... Where all that wild pulsion was coming from? Did he... Did he want to protect Rita? And what about the boner popping out and pressing behind his briefs?
---------------
"Examples, right. I'm sure your article regarding the arrest of my friend Lucy would make a very good example. Where your whole point was not only to say she was guilty as much as him but also, to condemn every Latin who lives here, every immigrant who lives here!"
"Your words are deeply offensive towards my reputation, Miss Bonelli."
The derogatory smile left in a bolt of lightning, as a gloomy sight appeared on his face. Rita felt her confidence faltering.
"Don't tell me you really expected I wasn't aware who you are. I know everything. A regular, random woman in her forties, with a regular, random job in a factory: a failed marriage behind her back, and a not so much florid financial situation... I'm pretty sure a slice of notoriety cake would be helpful."
The woman was livid, but couldn't say anything; if that was still National Geographic, now she would have been the antelope trapped in a boa constrictor's vice.
"I'm not doing this for myself. Right now, an innocent woman and her innocent son are paying the highest price. How can you be that insensitive?"
"How compassionate... Of course, we should all believe you, we should all trust your words, Miss Bonelli. Why? Because... Alvarez told you so? Pretty naive, from a woman of your age. But I'm sure you're not really that stubborn... What don't we just lay our cards on the table? You're a young woman, but maybe too old for a risk-free pregnancy. You want Alvarez's son by yourself, am I right?"
Rita listened to those words, horrified: "That's not true!"
"Don't act that scandalized, please. Your goal is so crystal clear, and I'm not even blaming you, for that. You know what? I could help you!"
A grin showed up again, in the journalist's face: he had her on his palm...
---------------
"Whatever's going on, I don't like it."
Michael was really nervous: "We should go there, guys. I don't trust any situation involving Craig."
"We go there, then what? He sees us coming, and will make up a story of how we harassed him, four on one."
Foster put a hand on his shoulder. "Bitch is smart, but we can outsmart him. I say we keep waiting, the very second he shows he was recording the conversation, well..."
Both Clark and Michael waited for their friend to explain his plan: "Well, we're gonna have some fun."
---------------
"Let's make a deal: you give me a detailed explanation of why you would make a better mother, in an interview, and I give you a better platform than what those three hopeless individuals could ever give you, to express yourself, your ideas, your free speech. Also, the judge would be more likely to accept your request, if some... Influent public opinion gets behind you. It's a win-win situation."
The woman answered with a sob, "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"
She was quite disgusted, her face was showing it.
"Turning the weak people against other weak people, minorities against other minorities. Poor people fighting each other, for your entertainment."
Guss was visibly surprised: "My entertainment? Who do you think I am? Did you forget that I'm gay?"
"And? It's not like that stopped you from turning your back on your own community. Just like you wanted me to turn my back on those guys who listened when I asked for help and supported me, 'cause they believe in justice, just like I believe in justice."
"In all honesty," the journalist scrolled his head, quite unimpressed, "you're desperately trying to target me as the enemy, but all I've been trying to do was to understand your reasons and to communicate with you. Unfortunately, you've been so aggressive towards me, since the beginning," he sobbed with a sad face, then proceeded to extract a micro recorder from a pocket of his jacket, "it's such a lucky coincidence I had this on, right?"
The woman was livid at his mischievous grin; she should have had listened to Michael when he tried to warn her.
What about now?
Was that sneaky man gonna ruin all their hard work?
"You're not scaring me, Mr. Guss."
"Who's getting scared?"
Rita's eyes shined for an infinite second on the reflection of Michael's eyes, who blushed a little but kept his cool: "Oh, right! Craig, those shoes are actually terrifying. No wonder our client got frightened! Foster, don't you think our old friend has actually lost his style since he became a conservative?"
"I actually hoped you'd ask me," Foster faked a worried expression in the meantime, "what happened to the Craig who knew how to dress?"
"Halloween 1998, you guys!" Clark broke in the conversation, giggling: "He was also the best at lipsyncing Believe by Cher, don't you guys forget! What happened then? I mean, apart from selling out to the enemy."
The mockery didn't seem to affect the journalist, apparently, as he smiled at every word from the three of them: "Really nice of you, bringing back the old times. But since we're living in 2021, I suggest you keep your clients very close to you, or they will attack other people, like myself. And don't expect me to slow down on this! Bonelli here accused me of racism and manipulation, this is extremely disrespectful towards me. So much for the so-called tolerance."
"So what you're gonna do about it? Transcribe every word, every single word of our conversation, casually recorded by you? And are you gonna include the part where you tried to corrupt me?"
Michael shook his head, laughing; this wasn't sounding exactly a surprise.
"Let me guess, the same old story of the platform, and the public opinion, and the rest of the bullshit he usually serves?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about. Do you have any evidence to prove what you're accusing me of? I'm sure you don't!" Craig served a triumphant grin, in mockery. "Now, if you'd excuse me, I have an editorial to work on."
"Don't tell me you're leaving already!" Michael had the tone of someone with a swerve ready to deliver.
He looked at the rear window of Foster's car. "Come here and say hi to our new camera!"
Guss felt like falling from a ten feet height. "What are you talking about?"
"Surprised? I bought this toy last week and for a pure coincidence, Michael convinced me to test it today, and it looks like he was right." Foster would have not admitted that, but he was enjoying that moment, so much!
"I see your dirty game, here. I see what you guys are trying to do, but your bluff is not gonna work. This lovely chat will be reported and everyone will know about Bonelli harassing a journalist and a respectable citizen."
There was a lot of tension in his voice, and Michael noticed it, as Foster kept talking: "We're not trying to do anything. Go on, write your article and proceed to throw mud shots at our client and us, as well. But we're gonna share the recording from this car, which will show how you were approaching our car on purpose, earlier, cause you wanted to meet, corrupt, and finally threaten our client."
A long silence preceded an enigmatic grin showing up on Craig's face: "You're enjoying this, I can tell you are. Bravo. Believe it or not, though, I must inform you that we just got started. And sooner than you could expect, you're gonna realize I was two steps forward, as always."
The activists, as well as Rita, kept staring at their interlocutor, as he proceeded to leave: that was intimidation and they wouldn't have let him get inside their minds.
"Oh, come on!" Michael went further with the mocking: "You can't leave us again! Spice Girls can't survive with only four members! Come back, Geri!"
But the journalist didn't answer to that provocation and kept walking away, lengthening the distance.
It was war, apparently.
--------------------------------
Infinite seconds later, everyone seemed like recovering from a spell: "Do you think he has given up on publishing our conversation?"
Rita was looking at Foster for reassurances.
"He didn't delete the recording, that's for sure. But we also know, he doesn't contemplate doubt. Which means..."
"Which means," Michael joined Foster, "as long as there's even half a chance of a move backfiring him, he will not make it. And we've been good enough to make him wonder about it. Know your enemy, right Clark?"
The psychologist nodded positively. "A part of him knows we bluffed, let's say his rational side. But even cold-hearted snakes like him are made of both mind and instinct. Fear, in this particular case. And the fear of actually being publicly denied by us and consequently, buried by the public opinion, is strong enough to block him."
"Hold on," the woman stopped smiling, "so you never recorded anything? It was really a bluff!?"
Michael got closer to the woman, trying to comfort her. "As much as I hate to say this, we had nothing concrete in our hands. Yet, we managed to keep Guss away from you, for now at least."
