The chubby one was called Olive and the thinner one was Shannon. The two were secretaries at the Irish Embassy and, like most of their compatriots, didn’t mind having a drink or two on a Friday evening. The cocktails went down one after the other and the spirits along with the testosterone kept rising higher every minute. Mike felt he was attracted to both and began thinking it didn’t matter what configuration they would venture into the night in.
When they heard that most of the cassettes the bartender played were his, Shannon asked:
“Mike, I’ve got something new, something awesome! You’ll love it, I promise. It just came out last summer. The album’s called Man on the Line,” she reached into her purse and took the cassette out. Mike passed it on to Slava and seconds later an unknown, melodic voice filled the bar. Some guy called Chris de Burgh.
The music was really good. It was late and out of nowhere came Olive’s proposal to take it to her apartment in the diplomatic apartment block on Mira Prospect. She and Shannon lived in the same entrance. Naturally, Mike agreed instantly. He was already imagining himself lying in a huge bed with the two girls, a glass in his hand, listening to the same music he was beginning to like even more. He felt they could read his mind at that moment, because both were staring hungrily at him, with the eyes of a predator, ready to tear apart its prey.
At some point Slava walked out of the bar and, looking around, Mike saw they were the only visitors there. He was just about to get up and invite them out when the next song started, and Olive and Shannon started shrieking:
“Mike, Mike, this is amazing! Listen! The lyrics are great! It’s like he’s singing about us!”
The song really was one of a kind. Mike listened in to the lyrics: