Stressed!

by Deborah Martin

  His office was on the south side of downtown, in an older area that up-and-comers probably considered ‘quaint’. It was a mixed neighborhood with residences, small shops, and small offices. Everything was well-kept, fairly quiet if you discounted the fact that it was on a main thoroughfare, and there didn’t appear to be any riff-raff on the streets. I liked it. His office was on the second floor of one of those buildings, with a deli downstairs and another, currently-unoccupied office on the floor above.

  The place was tiny compared to the large corporate offices I was used to. Ev greeted me at the door and gave me the nickel tour. There was a reception area with a desk, a couple of comfortable chairs sized for larger people, and a coffee table replete with the latest Hollywood gossip magazines. Beyond that were two offices: one obviously used and the other empty except for what looked like cast-off home furnishings. The rest of the space contained a half-bath, a small kitchen and a storage room with file cabinets and a copier. He pulled Cokes out of the fridge for both of us and we sat in the reception area to talk.

  Although I’d heard of ogres and seen a photo or two of them in the newspaper, I wasn’t prepared for how large they really are. Especially compared to me. I stand 5’4” in my bare feet and weigh about 110. Most humans are bigger than me and Ev is considerably larger than most of them. I felt a little like a bug that could be squashed if I wasn’t careful to keep out of his way.

  His body odor was another thing I wasn’t expecting. You’d think in today’s age of television commercials for everything smelling sweet, he’d have picked up a hint or two. But he had a separate office from where I’d be sitting so I thought I could handle it, as long as I had a lot of scented candles burning the whole while.

  I asked what happened to whoever it was I would be replacing. Surprise, surprise. I wasn’t replacing anyone. Ev had been trying to do it all himself for the last two years and had been a miserable failure at it. He needed someone to keep the office straight while he dealt with the clients. That made sense. (I found out several months later that I had been the only applicant for the job. Apparently I was the only one who didn’t mind non-humans.)

  Obviously, the in-person interview went well or I wouldn’t be here today. But what sealed the deal from my end was the salary offer. It was four times what I was making back home. (Little did I know the excess was ‘hazardous duty pay’.) Although cost of living was a little higher in Minneapolis than Waterloo, I would still be sitting pretty. We shook on it (well, he enveloped my hand in his and pumped my arm up and down a few times) and agreed I would start work a month later. That would give me enough time to give my notice at the old job and the old apartment and make the move. Ev said he’d been going it alone so long now that another month wouldn’t matter. I hoped so but based on the piles of paper lying around, I knew I would have my work cut out for me when I finally dug in.

  I had dinner in the hotel restaurant that night and grabbed the early-edition Sunday paper from the rack. The news wouldn’t be quite current but the ads would be. I curled up on the bed with a glass of wine (a freebie courtesy of the cute bartender) and started looking for a place to live. My phone rang. It was Ev.

  “I think I may have found you an apartment. The building is owned by an acquaintance of mine and is close to the office. I can give you the phone number of the super if you’re interested.” I didn’t have anything to lose so took the number. Nothing in the paper looked truly promising, anyways.

  The next morning after breakfast I called the super and he was amenable to me coming right over. It was only a mile walk and the spring weather was gorgeous, so I left the car in the hotel’s garage and hoofed it.

  I fell in love with the place, even before I heard the rent and ‘bonus’. Like the rest of the neighborhood, the building was older but well-kept. It was a basement apartment, but rather than being only the width of half the building to either side of the interior staircase and extending to the back, it spanned the entire width of the building and more than half the depth, making it larger than the other apartments and almost twice the size of the place I was currently in. Also because it was on the lower level, it had its own entrance from the street, with a second one into the back hallway. The laundry room was right across the hall. No hauling stuff up and down stairs! The boiler room was also across that back hall but the super assured me the tenants were the quiet type and everything was well soundproofed, so I wouldn’t hear anything. Large windows let in a lot of light.

  The bath was in the process of being retiled and would be getting all new fixtures. The same would be done to the eat-in kitchen, new appliances brought in and then they’d put down new carpeting in the bedroom and living room. Although anyone passing by could look in the windows, it was on a side street without a lot of foot traffic. Sheer curtains would hide me during the day and heavier ones over those would hide me at night and block out the morning sun. It was perfect.

  Then he told me how much rent was: $100 more a month than I was currently paying. With my hefty increase in salary, I thought I could manage. Then came the surprise. “Mr. Owens, who owns the building, is a wizard. He doesn’t like anyone messing with any of his belongings and also takes an interest in his tenants’ well-being because it’s good for business. This building has been heavily shielded against unwanted attention. If you decide to take it, you’ll have to give Mr. Owens a strand of your hair. That way he can key the wards to you, too.”

  I opened my mouth to protest. I’d heard what witches and wizards could do with someone’s hair, nail parings, skin, anything of a very personal nature. “I know what you’re about to say,” the super pre-empted my objection. “Mr. Owens will do what he does in front of you and destroy your hair right there and then. It just takes something with your DNA to key the wards.” I decided I could live with that.

  I signed the lease and wrote a check for both the security deposit and the first month’s rent. I was assured all the renovations would be completed by the time I was ready to move in. We exchanged phone numbers and I walked back to the hotel. I don’t think my feet touched the ground the entire time. I’d found a job that paid an insane amount of money and a really cool apartment in less than a 24-hour time span. Things were looking up!

  I wanted everything to happen immediately but unfortunately, life doesn’t work like that. I drove home, already mentally packing up my apartment. My boss wasn’t too surprised when I gave my notice the next morning. “I knew you were unhappy. It was just a matter of time before you tried greener pastures,” he said. I gave him three weeks instead of the usual two. He was a nice guy and I didn’t have to be back to Minneapolis for a month, anyways. That would give me a week to pack and move. It wouldn’t even take that long.

  So I hired a moving company, made the move, met Mr. Owens (quickie spell and my hair went poof!), got settled in the apartment and my new job. Within a month I realized I didn’t need a car at all so sold it and invested most of the money. I splurged a little on a good bicycle and some things I wanted for the apartment.

  My neighbors had to be some of the best in the world. The four apartments above me were occupied by retirees … two witches in one, a dwarf in another, and two mundane men who, like me, had something to do with the paranormal in their working lives. Edward, the super, was one of the mundanes. I was greeted with mounds of food the day I moved in and offers to help me unpack. They were all very friendly and as I was so young (in their view), they vowed to keep an eye out for me. Over the years, I became the daughter none of them had ever had and they, in many ways, were my surrogate parents. I could talk to any of them about anything and loved them for it.

  It didn’t take long for Ev and me to form a comfortable working relationship. As he’d admitted, he was an abject failure when it came to the paperwork end of business. At this, I excelled. Within a month, the piles of paper had vanished and within six months, I had the Internal Revenue Service off his back by ensuring all the taxes were deposited on a timely basis. His account
ant was profoundly grateful for my presence and even sent flowers after the first quarter passed without a nasty notice from the revenuers.

  Ev, on the other hand, reveled in the people end of things. Given his temper tantrums, I was always surprised when he was able to sign another client. I’d never been in on any negotiations but whatever he did, it worked. Over the years I learned how to smile and be polite, even to some of the grossest people I’d ever met. Ev said having me around to ‘charm’ folks was a bonus. If that’s what it took for my steady rises in pay, I’d smile at the devil himself, who was probably least among the … interesting … people I met.

  First and foremost, there was Ev: an ogre with a fairly sweet disposition – at least towards me. Sure, we butted heads but all I had to do was remind him why he’d hired me in the first place and he usually calmed down. He threw a temper tantrum at least once a day but he got over it and things got back to normal quickly. He was single but then again, still fairly young – only a hundred and fifty-four. The business appeared to be successful – he lived out in the ‘burbs, had a limo with driver and enjoyed partying at some of the more exclusive clubs in town. I couldn’t find anything wrong with the books (once I set them up, that is) so I don’t think he was skimming. Just paying himself a nice salary – and me, too.

  Then there were the various bodyguards. They were all ex-military or ex-law enforcement so on the outside, they were all toughs. However, there were a few ogres who, despite their size and training, were pussy cats – as long as they or their charge weren’t threatened. All the guards were associated in some way with the paranormal. If they weren’t non-human, they wielded magic as well as a sidearm. Ev’s was the only paranormal security firm in the country, which made him quite popular in some circles. Most of the security was provided on a contract basis. Clients didn’t want to take on the exorbitant expense of the workers’ compensation insurance. Too, there were always times personalities didn’t mesh; it’s easier to switch contractors than fire an employee. On occasion, the guard/client relationship became permanent. In this case, Ev took a finder’s fee of one year’s salary. Let me tell you, personal bodyguards make a lot of money.

  We usually had about 20 contracts out at a time, so it wasn’t too difficult to juggle schedules. Most of the clients were actors or at least someone really famous but once in awhile, we got a rich nobody who was just a Nervous Nellie. Ev didn’t discriminate when it came to taking people’s money.

  Because you had to have money to have a bodyguard, Ev ran in some pretty stratified circles. That meant parties hosted and attended by the glitterati. At first, I was thrilled when Ev asked me to accompany him or play hostess at one he threw at his house. I was in my mid-twenties, just an administrative assistant, and I got to rub shoulders with the rich and famous. After a time the glitz of the parties wore off and I decided I’d rather stay home. I didn’t attend every party to which Ev was invited but one or two a month, if the situation warranted for some reason or another.

  Not to mention that Ev gave me some money so I could buy appropriate evening wear. The only fancy thing I had in my closet up to that point was my wedding dress in its plastic cover. Being the thrifty person that I am, the money he gave me went a long way. I found all sorts of nice outfits at thrift stores, consignment shops and on sale racks. All I had to do was shorten them, something I had to do with a lot of clothing, not just the glam wear.

  When I first started working with him, Ev gave me a rundown on the most prevalent non-humans I was likely to meet and how to deal with them. Ogres I already knew and was getting used to. Dwarves, too. Witches and wizards were pretty much like other humans. They were just able to wield magic and lived longer than mundanes.

  Vampires were really everything I’d ever read: pale, fangs (if they chose to show them or got pissed or lusty); couldn’t handle direct sunlight, fire, silver, crosses, holy water, or stakes through the heart. The thing books got wrong, though, was vamps could be out during the day as long as it was overcast or they had heavily-tinted car windows; and they could see their reflection in a mirror. (Good thing. Most of the ones I met were so vain they probably would have staked themselves if they couldn’t see what they looked like.)

  Weres looked and acted normal unless it was around a full moon but there was something of a predator in both their appearance and mannerisms. I probably wouldn’t meet any elves since they didn’t often mix with anyone outside their race but if I did, I’d know one. They looked like humans but perfect in every way, with the Spock ears. They were also haughty and would look down their nose at me. I shouldn’t take it personally – they were like that with all non-elves. There were others, of course, but none I’d likely run across in my normal dealings, like various forms of fae, pixies, brownies, dryads … the list went on.

  With information arming me and my normal attitude towards people, I thought I could handle just about anything. I had my great-grandmother’s cross added to a charm bracelet I purchased, and made sure I stayed off the streets around the full moon.

  Chapter 4

  I’ve already mentioned the first party I attended at John Minton’s house and the ensuing confrontation. Countless parties later, Ev introduced me to a current client’s agent and immediately after the introduction, left us with a wink. Ev was trying to fix me up but it didn’t look like his taste in men was too bad. Tony Wellington was the first person I’d met at one of those parties who wasn’t entirely full of himself. Instead of yammering on about his current client roster and who wanted to hire him, he could talk about literature; enjoyed going to museums and the theater; and a plus: he looked like Hugh Jackman’s ‘Wolverine’ but without the muttonchop sideburns. I managed to contain the drool in my mouth and didn’t even hear those little warning bells in the back of my head. Or if I did, they sounded like wedding bells. Or something. At least screwing bells.

  Tony was in town for a few days seeing to some things for his clients. He asked me out and I accepted. Two days later, he took me to a wonderful restaurant on the top floor of one of the downtown buildings where there was a lovely view of the skyline. Even with my newfound ‘wealth’, I couldn’t have afforded to dine there on my own. My clue? It was one of those places where the lady’s menu didn’t have any prices on it. I didn’t think restaurants like that existed anymore. I mean, what if I was picking up the tab, not him? Women are liberated, now!

  Anyways, dinner was fabulous, the wine excellent and conversation scintillating. We even saw eye-to-eye on most political issues. Between the dining, wining and conversation, I was more than ready to hop into the sack with him, which happened in his hotel room a few hours later. It was fun and I hoped to repeat the experience many, many times but maybe with a little more advance planning on my part: I had to crawl out of a very comfortable bed, shared with a very attractive man and go back to my lonely apartment to feed the damned cat.

  Tony left town but called every day and sent flowers several times. Ev was snickering and calling me “Lovey”. I thought it was nice to be romanced so ignored the remarks.

  Less than a month later, Tony arranged to return to the Twin Cities for an overnight, just to be with me. I was thrilled and flattered and made sure Ev knew I wouldn’t be available even if the world came to an end. On the night in question, I remembered to put down food for Fudge before leaving and on the off chance that evening went as well as the first, carried some overnight necessities in a larger-than-normal purse.

  Tony sent a limo to pick me up and we went to another fancy restaurant. More good food, wine and conversation and naturally, we ended up back in his hotel suite. Our night was just as much fun as the first one and coffee-cum-breakfast the next morning was delightful. I was sorry when he left for the airport, dropping me off at my apartment on the way.

  The romance continued for several months. I received a lovely bouquet of flowers at least once a week and long phone calls were a twice-a-week occurrence. Tony would arrange to come to town for a weekend or even just
overnight. When time permitted, we’d go to a Broadway show at the State Theater, a play at the Guthrie or an opening of an exhibit at one of the museums. Even if it was the wrong time of the month for me, we enjoyed cuddling with each other late into the night. I was beginning to think that I’d met Mr. Right.

  Our last date wasn’t quite as fun. We were getting cozy on the couch in his hotel suite with a glass of bubbly when the clouds parted and the moon shined directly through the sitting room window and straight into our faces. Any other night, I would have said it was gorgeous. It happened to be a full moon. Right in front of me, Tony’s face elongated into a snout (with “the better to eat you’’ teeth), his fingers became claws and as his clothing ripped, I could see all sorts of hair starting to sprout where it shouldn’t on a man. Before his face completely turned, he managed to growl out, “Shit, I am going to kill that wizard. His potion didn’t work!”

  Needless to say, I made a beeline out the door. Thankfully, we hadn’t gotten to any point of undress so all I had to grab were my purse and shoes. I didn’t want to wait for an elevator so I virtually flew down fifteen flights of stairs to the lobby, out the door and didn’t stop until I was several blocks away and too out of breath to run any farther. Not to mention that my bare feet hurt. I hailed a cab and got inside my apartment behind Mr. Owens’ wards before I took any sort of normal breath.

  A full bottle of wine later I calmed down enough to go to bed. Although I knew I was safe in my apartment, I really didn’t sleep much that night. The scene of Tony changing and imaginings of those teeth taking a chunk out of me kept running through my brain. If the timing had been any different, he would have given new meaning to eating a girl. “Let that be a lesson to you,” I told myself. “No more dating anyone you meet at Ev’s fancy parties.”

  My phone starting ringing about noon on Saturday. Caller ID told me who it was and I had no interest in talking to him. I turned it off after the fourth call in ten minutes. I also didn’t answer the knock at the door mid-afternoon. When I finally ventured to open it maybe an hour later, two dozen red roses in a Lalique crystal vase stood on my doorstep with a note that simply said, “I’m sorry.” I gave the roses to the two witches who lived in my building – they’d enjoy them. I packed the vase away to use as a gift for someone at a later date.