I-THE IDIOT !
“You idiot!”
This sentence, spoken by a woman, was uttered in a muffled manner. It was as if it came from the depths of an ancient cavern.
“You idiot!”
No reaction.
It was a late morning in the end of April. The day was beautiful, a radiant sun bathed New York in light. Thomas Jefferson Avenue, located in an upscale commercial district, was particularly deserted. In this bright light, a few meters from a towering building, four people were about to cross the busy road. One of them was Victor Ferguson, 30 years old, always impeccably dressed: a three-piece suit, a bowler hat, a precious cane in his right hand, and dark glasses. He dressed this way to reflect his wealth. He was a billionaire; the building behind him belonged to him. It bore his name: Ferguson and Co. Victor was a vain, self-assured man; his sole ambition was to make his company prosper. The only site that pleased him was an Excel spreadsheet with a rising graph signifying substantial profits.
Beside him stood his younger brother, Clarence Ferguson, aged 27. Unlike his older brother, he dressed casually and didn’t take his position as assistant in the family business seriously. He was a very handsome, charming man. However, a discerning observer would notice a perpetual veil of sadness in his eyes. It was as if he were searching for something he would never find: a woman unlike any he had ever known.
Near them were their assistants. A woman dressed in a strict dark blue suit, her hair held back by a barrette; a man of her age, dressed with the same severity in a dark gray suit.
“You idiot!”
Still no reaction. The words came from a woman riding a beat-up Vespa. She must have been about 27, slightly plump, and not very tall. She was wearing jeans, a flannel plaid blouse, and a helmet. Because of this accessory, which she had forgotten to remove before speaking to the group, her voice sounded muffled. With a determined step, she got off her scooter, planted herself in front of Victor, and jabbed her finger into his stomach:
“You’re the idiot. I’m talking to you. Besides, only idiots dress like clowns.”
Taken aback by this direct attack, Victor the billionaire was speechless. His brother couldn’t contain his laughter, reflecting the surreal nature of the scene.
“Miss, whoever you are, you are disrespecting me.”
– Where did you get that information?
– You just compared me to a clown, then you say I’m an idiot.
“I’m glad to see that you understood what I meant.”
Clarence, once again, couldn’t stop laughing. He was in awe of this peculiar woman who was mocking his brother, the very picture of perfect seriousness. The two colleagues were outraged.
The young woman removed her helmet; her long, silky hair cascaded endlessly over her shoulders. She addressed Victor’s younger brother:
“You, handsome guy, hold my mask while I settle the score with this idiot.”
While Victor was outraged, Clarence was amused.
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