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After returning home from his ill-fated journey, Baker, of course, went straight to court as promised. Having gathered support around him from the passengers who had suffered from Thompson's negligence and agreed to support the prosecution, he held his notebook of evidence firmly in his hands and within two hours was banging on the doors of the city courthouse. He demanded satisfaction for him and all the other plaintiffs, smirking at Thompson, who huddled in the defendant's seat as if trying to be invisible. But Baker couldn't let him get away with it, especially since all the evidence of his crimes had been carefully gathered and written down in a notebook, which Baker, as evidence and to intimidate the defendant, had proudly placed right in the centre of his desk.Of course, the city judge would not hear the case without lawyers, but Baker had no doubt that even with the best defense attorney, Thompson would not win the case. And so it was. After months of costly litigation. Baker was happy to give any amount, for he was able to win in the end. Thompson was found guilty, his agency went bankrupt and all his money was awarded to the victims as compensation for moral and material damages.Thompson was poor and humiliated. And that was why Baker was extremely surprised when he met him cheerful and blooming in the street, on his way to visit the de Gramonte and the de Sorgue couple, who, having become related after the wedding, sometimes had dinners together where they invited all their new friends from the trip. Thompson didn't seem to notice him, and Baker was in too much of a hurry to get to the bottom of things.They went their separate ways and never crossed paths again, but still, the incident had kept Baker busy ever since. He should have been happy after winning the case, for that was exactly what he had wished for since that fateful day when Thompson's company had upset his plans to arrange the trip. However, Baker couldn't settle down while Thompson, for some inexplicable reason, was still satisfied.The quill creaked across the paper, leaving strange streaks, but Baker, clutching his head, did not notice them. It was hard to write a letter to an enemy, especially when it was supposed to be mocking, but it was as if Thompson himself was a mockery of everything Baker had done or was just planning.A few times he even tried to peek through the windows of the former Thompson Agency, not knowing where its old owner lived. And looked, naturally, God knows what while doing so.Perhaps it was Mistress Fortune, or maybe Baker was just mistaken, for it was hard to call it luck, but eventually he was confronted again by a radiant Thompson, who stopped opposite him, leaning myopically against the wall and reading some kind of advertisement. The worst part was that Thompson did not seem to recognise him, and Baker, one step away from him, felt an incredible rage and indignation.Not knowing how to put himself so as not to lose his dignity, he leaned his hand on the wall as if it were his property and coughed loudly and meaningfully."Ahem ahem!", he made the most attention-grabbing noise he had ever made. Strangely enough, Thompson did not move, continued to stare at the wall with his lips curled as if he had not heard anything.Baker huffed and said his "Ahem, ahem!" again, but this time in a much more meaningful way, in case his former rival hadn't noticed the first time."What's the matter, Mr. Baker, do you have a cold?" Thompson inquired innocently, but did not interrupt his work or straighten his torso, as if there was nothing more interesting in the world than this very wall, on which a variety of advertisements and brochures were brightly colored.Baker felt his anger only grow hotter as Thompson tossed his halves of indifference at him."Dear Sir," he muttered, barely holding back, "I didn't think you noticed me, though you've been staring at my wall for several minutes now. What's on it, your pretty face?"Thompson finally straightened up and stared back at him with glistening eyes. He was no longer smiling, but he was hurt."Why is this wall yours, anyway? Did you buy it?" He answered the rebuke so sharply that Baker had not expected it from him, the always courteous and somewhat cowardly former head of Thompson & Co."Yes, I did!" Baker replied a little dazed, and as confirmation of his words, tapped his finger on it, "here's my ad, please don't block it from potential clients!"Thompson no longer turned to the wall and continued to stare at Baker, which made him uncomfortable."And yes, I don't notice you on purpose, Dear Sir," Thompson mocked Baker in his last words, "because I thought you were my friend, but I don't like you now, you bankrupt me, if you remember."He jabbed a finger painfully at Baker's chest, so that the latter recoiled, letting Thompson pass, who passed him by, wishing him a pleasant parting with his precious wall. Baker, on the other hand, remained standing, astonished and slightly offended by this turn of events.And why was it that every time they met, he, Baker, was the one to be defeated?
***
And so he wrote the ill-fated letters again, hoping in equal measure that they would and would not reach him. He wanted so badly to express all that he felt, how it really pissed him off, how Thompson pissed him off, his nonchalant face, his mannerisms, his bored tone, every time he addressed him, his sudden outburst of insolence. And what did it mean: "I don't notice you on purpose"?! Baker threw the quill so hard into the inkwell that it wobbled and a small puddle of ink spilled over the paper, flooding all the carefully written lines of hatred.Looking at the ruined dresser, which had also taken a beating from the inkpot, Baker realized that he needed to get a walk. He was often invited to various meetings and receptions of high society, and he, Baker was just one of them. His company was a smashing success, and the money from the case he had won against Thompson was still weighing on his pocket.He didn't usually accept such invitations, but on reflection, Baker decided it would be a good idea to go now. He might even be able to advertise his tourist business to patrons, leading to his inevitable enrichment.He was not modest and chose the most luxurious suit of all to emphasise his importance. He would have liked to wear it to court, but unfortunately he was in too much of a hurry, so he headed straight off the ship. Or maybe he would have won more if he had looked more expensive, who knows?At the reception were of course the noblest of the rich, many Baker already knew, and many he wished to meet. People's conversations filled the hall, but they were all just the ringing of coins, and everyone understood that. Baker was wading through the stream of money, hoping to catch the goldest fish of all, when suddenly he heard someone's preternaturally familiar coquettish laughter, accompanied by a few more gentle jingles of coins.Thompson, a pain in his wallet, stood in the midst of several wealthy patronage widows who were almost pinching his round cheeks, offering him their entire fortune just for a fraction of his attention, like a sweet child. Of course, perhaps it was only a nauseating picture, and not at all, but he couldn't stand the evening any longer if his enemy was among the guests.He had already turned to leave, regretting having betrayed his habits for one single evening, when Thompson immediately rose in his face, walking under the arm of one of the widows, as if deliberately taunting Baker with his success."How did you even get here, I bankrupt you, you said so yourself!" he exclaimed as soon as he had an opportunity to meet him face to face.Thompson nonchalantly endured the outburst, and a slight sneer lay on his full lips."Yes, I am, Mr Baker," he replied, "and I am indeed poor, or rather, I have not a cent of my own money. However, I have friends who are always ready to help me out. But I doubt if you can understand me. Please excuse me," with these words he bowed to another lady as he led her past his enemy, as if at the same time trying to teach him a lesson and prevent this rich and generous woman from spending at least one million on Baker's agency.The evening was definitely ruined from the start, but Baker, paradoxically, decided to stay nonetheless. Thompson had the will to go wherever he wanted, however, that shouldn't stop Baker from developing his position in society, right?Of course, Baker was in his own way and couldn't relax, all the time feeling the unfazed, annoyed stare of Thompson, who - what a horror! - really looking at him, which made Baker gradually lose his composure, his ability to communicate adequately with people of high society, and his patience in general. Finally, he was determined to just go home, take a hot bath and forget all the shame he had experienced today, when he suddenly encountered Thompson once more, the eyes of an innocent angel and the smile of Mephistopheles himself looking up at him from below."I hear you," Baker whispered, holding himself together with the last of his strength."I would like to apologize," Thompson said frankly."What for?" Baker himself suddenly felt the urge to apologize, as if reciprocity were all that built any relationship between them."I was rude to you, though you were quite right. I've been a terrible leader from the start, and I shouldn't have taken away your opportunity to make that journey.""Jesus, Thompson," Baker whispered, looking around as this scene was beginning to take on a ridiculous hue. "What's the matter with you, are you drunk?""I just want to apologize, Baker, that's all. I was being a jerk.""You're right about that," Baker replied without hesitation, feeling the satisfaction rising in his chest, though it was still not enough to leave him at the reception. Thompson looked at him reproachfully, and Baker gave up, "I, too, was behaving inappropriately as a gentleman."Thompson smiled wryly, but thankfully made no comment."And yet you are drunk, and I still hate you, so let me take you away from these fine ladies, and take you home."With these words, Baker took his rival by the elbow and led him out of the hall and into the street, where the autumn wind immediately rushed into his face.Really, he just wanted to get out of the noisy crowd into the darkness and silence and get home as soon as possible. He did not know what exactly the Widows had said to Thompson if he had lost all his sarcasm and charm in a flash, but he suspected something that even he would not have wished on his enemy. Especially the apology they made to each other sounded truly sincere, and though it didn't melt Baker's stony heart, he had to admit to himself, it touched him.Holding an elbow as squeamishly as one holds a wet rag, Baker led the stumbling Thompson down the night street. Electric lights darted around his eyes, blinding him slightly, but soon they reached residential streets and Baker realized belatedly that he didn't know where Thompson lived. He never had time to ask him, however.Thompson would have been stretched out on the pavement if Baker hadn't mechanically picked up his falling body. Thompson certainly wasn't that drunk.
***
The terrible epidemic of Influenza, past in the last century but still recent enough to still be frightening, made Baker remember it with a shudder.He didn't want to drag his only serious enemy back to his house when he collapsed in the middle of the street at night, put him in his own bed, for lack of a guest bedroom, and call in a physician only to have him cross himself and prescribe medicine and quarantine them both.Baker silently scolded, pounding the air in his office with his hands and throwing pillows against the wall, still making a mess and some powerless noise with them, and then cried defeatedly as he realised the damage this would do to his agency. Thompson just had to win. Always. Out of resentment and frustration, Baker lay on the sofa, staring at the ceiling, hoping they would die from the contagion Thompson had brought into his house. And then, when he heard a muffled cough from the room, he'd go to feed his enemy the medicine, closing in at the bend of his elbow and squinting as if he were trying to wade through a swarm of noxious gnats.After a few days Thompson seemed to recover, though the coughing got worse. Baker couldn't sleep because of the coughing and also because of the moans coming from his own bedroom. He thought he was the one who was sick in there, and he could hear himself."I wished you could choke," he muttered angrily this morning, pouring the potion into Thompson's weathered lips as he grinned helplessly at him."I know I read about it," he replied, and when Baker asked where he'd read it, he replied with a smirk. "In your letters, Romeo."Baker cast a weary glance, threw another blanket over the shivering Thompson, and went out. "How is it that I'm always in trouble because of you?" Baker asked one day when Thompson was feeling better and the healer wasn't even afraid to come in to examine him.Thompson shrugged."It's not easy for me with you either," he replied, staring aloof out the window."Hey, I was actually treating you, in my house, where you brought the contagion," he complained."You brought me here yourself," Thompson shrugged. "And thank you.""You're welcome," Baker muttered, slamming the door and settling back on the couch.The quarantine should have been over soon, but it was already, if not completely, then partially ruined. Every time Baker took a step, Thompson took not two - no. He grabbed him by the sleeve and pulled him along with him until he brought him closer to his level. He always lost to him, always. And even if it seemed that he himself could not stop bumping into Thompson and linking all his decisions with him and therefore causing himself problems, it was of course Thompson who was to blame. And there was only one acceptable solution that would change their roles once and for all in this mad dance, breaking his string of failures.Baker swung open his bedroom door, where Thompson was sitting on the bed, munching contentedly on his first full breakfast since he had begun to recover, and, without waiting for him to swallow his coffee, declared.:Thompson, we just have to get married!"
***
"I didn't think I'd ever wear that suit again," Baker said as Thompson adjusted his tie and the ornate rose in his breast pocket."It suits you," Thompson answered honestly, and Baker squinted incredulously, to which Thompson only laughed, confusing him even more."Before we go in there," Thompson said seriously, chuckling, "I'd like to know something. What's your name?""What?" Baker almost choked on his breath, hoping it was another joke. "You don't know my name?""Do you know mine?" Thompson retorted, not the least bit embarrassed, though his cheeks turned a little pink."Fair enough," Baker surrendered. "Alexander.""Tom.""Tom Thompson?" Baker wondered, but Thompson was already out the door, closing it coquettishly behind him. "This had better not be a joke," Baker blushed, checking himself in front of the mirror and once again adjusting a slanted flower. The ceremony was simple and rather quick, or was Baker just imagining it? One minute he was in the room with the mirror correcting his appearance, and already he was standing across from Thompson, looking into his glistening eyes and repeating that magical "I agree" after him. Kissing him was strange, but he was still, for decency's sake, quick to peck at Thompson's soft, fragrant lips, which he had smeared with something fruity that made Baker think he was marrying a jar of traditional English marmalade.When they left the church, he was finally able to turn to Thompson, feeling a rush of triumph rather than embarrassment as the priest looked on, and proclaimed:"Now, my dear, we are finally even!"Thompson stared at him, playing incomprehension, then smiled, reaching into his pocket."Speaking of which," he said cryptically, "as a husband I can now give you this, here you are." And with these words he thrust a small book into Baker's hands."What is it?" he asked, his gut feeling a catch before he even opened it."My debts," he said simply, and Baker groaned helplessly.