He bypassed the coffee line and headed directly for the table. He'd be jack-rabbiting out of here the minute I turned my back.
"Yes, baby doll," he said, sitting down and taking off his white Panama hat. "What can Lenny do you for?"
I placed the shreds of the eviction notice on the table, hoping he'd say Lasio had forged his signature, but he just shook his head.
"Wish it weren't so."
"C'mon, Lenny. You've known me since I was a kid. You're like family. And family doesn't evict family."
"Sorry, sweet-pea, but I've got nothing to work with here. Gloria is one wigged out mamacita when it comes to you. If you were actual blood, I could maybe use that. But since you're not..."
I cursed to myself. How long had Lenny been on a first-name basis with the evil hag? "Mrs. Lasio's just really old world. It's a total over-reaction."
"Honey, we live in a Moral Majority world. Flaunt your religious beliefs and sexual preferences at your own peril. It's something we boys have known for centuries. Done is done."
"Seriously?" I couldn't believe what I was hearing. "Did time turn backwards while I was asleep? Are we going to be fighting over civil rights next? This is the new millennium, isn't it?"
"New, old, who cares? Honey child, read the newspapers. Creationism made a comeback and science is just another theory." He sighed. "You chose to live an alternative lifestyle. I told you to stay under the radar. You got careless."
"She broke into my apartment," I protested.
"Sorry, cookie. That's just the way it crumbles. You'll be fine."
I slumped down, head in my hands.
Lenny reached over and patted me on the shoulder. "Don't stress, sugar. The Lord will provide."
"He fucking will not. You know what they say, Lenny. It's not the earth the meek inherit, it's the dirt." I looked up him. "So, what she said about you is true? You're born again? You found salvation?"
Silence from his end. A jogger outside the window seemed to catch his full attention.
I nudged his leg. "Lenny? Cough it up. And be straight with me."
"Perish the thought."
"If you're going to let her ruin my life and turn me out in the streets, at least give me a crumb. What's really going on?"
His blue eyes were bright in his elfin face, his white goatee and mustache neatly trimmed. Everything about him screamed hot date. Call me crazy, but I had a feeling the effort wasn't made on my behalf.
Lenny forced a smile. "Sorry, lamb chop, but I'm dating her brother and they take their religion very seriously."
"You found Jesus in order to get laid?" I practically choked on the remains of my latte.
Lenny shot me a look and I put up my hands in surrender.
"I'm down with that, really. I'm just trying to figure out why I have to lose my home over it."
He sighed. "This family can eke out drama like a salt-water taffy pull. They're very hot-blooded, close-knit. If she's upset, she calls Manuel and gets him upset and my sex life is for shit, darlin'. And she has been freaked about the devil stuff since the day she met you."
"It's not devil stuff," I snapped. I was getting so tired of being labeled as evil.
"Of course not, sugar. But it doesn't matter. The truth never has. Life is all about dealing with people's perceptions of the truth. Which is a completely different ball of wax. Unfortunately, Gloria's perception means you just got voted off the island."
My emotions were bouncing between disgust, despair and anger. Despair must have won, because Lenny leaned forward and patted my hand.
"I'll give you a good reference. Heck, I'll even give you your full security deposit back, plus last month's rent check. But I need you to pack up and not cause a fuss."
I crushed a napkin in my fist and tried not to cry. "I hope he's worth it."
"Oh, he is, baby doll," Lenny gave a happy sigh. "He's absolutely incredible. He used to be a gymnast and he's still got a body that defies the laws of physics. At our age, that's saying something."
Just then, a well-muscled, older Spanish hunk, in a tank top and sweats, walked in through the door.
Lenny waved his white Panama in the air. "Yoo-hoo, Manuel! I'll be right there, darling." He turned back to me. "Sorry, love. Must run."
"You don't happen to own any other apartment buildings, do you?" I asked, in a last ditch attempt.
"Not yet. But I've always got my eyes open."
A couple of air kisses, a fragile hug and Lenny was off with his Latino dreamboat. I looked down at my empty latte mug, feeling completely disconnected. And then I noticed the time.
Damn it, Gus was going to kill me.
Chapter Four
I threw a prayer up to the traffic Gods that Coldwater Canyon wasn't nightmarishly backed up and jumped into Sally, the cherry-red, vintage Mustang convertible I had inherited from my dad's mid-life crisis. Look out, ninth graders. Witchy-Poo's on her way!
As I floored it over the Canyon, the wind did its best to force-feed me my hair. Well, no one would ever mistake me for being graceful. Or even stylish, really, unless it was a really good day. But at least the car was bitchin'.
While it was a hot summer day back in the Valley, over on this side of the hill, a cool breeze flowed in from the ocean. Now, this would be a great area to live in. Beautiful mansions, gorgeous views, tree-shaded streets, swimming pools that glittered like gemstones. Maybe in my next life.
With a sigh, I stopped daydreaming about things that were out of my reach and focused on Gus's big job. From what I had Googled, Lyra had taken his name from the Italian word for money, lira, when he immigrated to America and it brought him luck ever since.
He quickly married up, using his wife's business contacts to make a small fortune in promotional merchandise. Then he took a big risk and invested in a string of B-grade movies featuring A-list has-beens that paid off in a big way. A couple of surprise hits and a growing cult following later, he was swimming with the celebrity elite.
I turned up a side road and was suddenly at the sprawling, Greco-Roman inspired, Casa de Lyra. The wrought iron gate was open and a marble fountain, featuring naked male cherubs pissing water, held a spot of honor on the front lawn. Given the cancerous quality of L.A. tap water, piss was a pretty apt metaphor.
But what struck me most as I parked my car, was the marble driveway. What would possess anyone to put in a marble driveway? That had to be a bitch during rainy season.
Mr. Lyra had to be rolling in money, if he could afford to have rubber-booted servants carry his family members from their chauffeur-driven car to their ornate front door.
I schlepped my box of occult tchotchkes to the door, where a beefy security guy carefully searched it.
I glanced at my watch. Party guests were due to arrive in thirty minutes. "Can you hurry it up?"
"You were supposed to be here an hour before the party." He said, oblivious to my protest.
"I don't need that much set-up time," I lied.
But just when I thought he was done, he started searching me.
I jumped. "Hey, easy there! This gets any more intimate, I'll expect a ring."
He raised an eyebrow at me and I could have sworn the corner of his mouth twitched, like he was trying not to smile. "You keep squirming, it's going to get a lot more intimate."
"Sorry. I'm ticklish. Isn't there supposed to be a female guard doing this?" I grumbled.
"This ain't the airport, sweetheart," he grunted. "Shoes off."
I slipped out of my Birkenstocks. "If there's a cavity search involved, I'm quadrupling my fee."
He grunted again, gave me my shoes back, and handed me off to a harried maid.
The maid pulled me through the mansion at a brisk trot, past Renoirs, Monets, a Steinway baby grand, antique furniture, brightly-colored balloons, streamers and a Happy 14th Birthday, Kimmy banner.
Within minutes, I was unceremoniously deposited in a closet-sized, harshly-lit room. Good thing I came prepared, because doing readings in t
hat type of environment would suck.
I shook off the resentment I was feeling about the security at the door, quickly touched up my make-up and slipped into a long, flowing, green gown. It was a tight squeeze, but I didn't hear any seams rip. So far, so good. I opened up my box of Gothic kitsch and got to work.
Twenty minutes later, I turned off the lights and looked around, pleased. The play of light and shadow from the candles softened the small space and gave it some much-needed depth. Counters were hidden under Celtic print fabrics and decorated with dragon statuary and some of my more esoteric tarot decks. Flickering tea lights were reflected in the mirrored walls, like hundreds of fireflies. It felt like a magical moment, stolen out of a summer's night. The room positively glowed with an air of mystery and promise.
I kissed the top my crystal skull for luck and put it on the reading table next to a bowl of quarters. Then I twirled in front of one of the mirrors. In the candlelight, I looked pretty damn witchy. With my long hair, goth-style make-up and the bust-friendly cut of the dress, I kind of looked like a young, woodsy, Elvira.
Suddenly, I was hit with a wave of deja vu so strong it made me nauseous. It was as if the world had somehow shifted and I was looking at my reflection through a crack in time.
I stared at the mirror. Frightened eyes stared back at me. I tried to remember what year it was and the answer that came into my head shocked me. Breathe, Mara. Just breathe. It's really not the seventeenth century. And then a smile started, so slow and wicked it made the skin on my spine crawl. My hands shot up to my face. I wasn't smiling. But my reflection was.
I squeezed my eyes shut and tried not to scream. I had to get a grip. I couldn't afford to let these people think I was losing my mind. When I opened my eyes again, my reflection had returned to normal. I turned on the room lights and looked at the mirror again.
It was just an ordinary mirror, showing the reflection of a too-curvy, modern-day girl wearing ren-faire-ware and too much make-up.
I opened a bottle of water with shaky hands and took a swig. What the hell was going on? Was I losing my mind? Was this the curse my dad warned me about? Or was someone from the other side trying to reach me? Could it be a brain tumor? I've heard tumors on the temporal lobe could cause visual and aural hallucinations.
Yeah, in case I didn't mention it earlier, that's the other problem with being a witch. Since we deal so much with the unseen world, it's entirely too easy to step over the line into fantasy and then madness. I'd seen other people go that route. Gus had lost his last lover that way. So I always tried to keep a tight rein on my imagination.
Something I seemed to be failing at lately.
Witches are born with a multitude of ancestors in our heads, so we learn to deal with the voices and visions from an early age. When the door between realms is opened for a normal human, their minds can snap, unable to deal with the sudden chaos in their heads.
However, even witches can cross the line from having a foot in both worlds, to becoming completely non-functional in the mundane reality of this world and consumed with the Unseen.
Unfortunately, the more you access the Otherworld to work your will, the more access it has to you, as well. Something I wish I had known before I crossed the line between living my own life and becoming nothing more than a conduit for an entity that shouldn't exist in our world.
Welcome to the beginning of my journey into hell.
I drank a swig of water and tried to steady my hands. Whatever was going on with me, I didn't have time to deal with it right now. I took a few deep breaths to calm down. I had a job to do. I turned off the room lights, let my eyes re-adjust to the softer candlelight, and threw open the door. The Reading Room was ready for business.
The girls trickled in, slowly at first, but as word of the fortune-telling witch got around, a line formed down the hall. All the girls were obsessed with their careers. Thirteen- and fourteen-year old girls. And these were careers in progress, mind you, not dream careers in the future. Welcome to Hollywood. Girl after girl:
"I'm ready for something sexier. Should I take that Miramax role?"
"My agent sucks. Will I be screwed if I fire him?"
"I think my accountant is ripping me off. Can you take a look?"
"My mom is seriously cramping my style. Bitch thinks she has final say over what jobs I take. Can I sue her? Become one of those kids without parents?"
Yeesh. Too bad I nixed the tip jar. I could have paid my overdue electric bill with their spare change.
And then Kimmy, the party-girl, walked in, hiding behind a tough-girl faade. Her clothes were one size too small, her makeup was two shades too dark and her heels were three inches too tall. I looked at her and I could feel my stomach sink. She was going to be trouble.
Just like the others, there was only one thing on her mind and she wouldn't be swayed from it. "Are you sure? You don't want to know about boyfriends?"
Kimmy popped her gum. "Yeah, like, whatever. It's my party, right? I want to see my career."
"What about school? High school? College?"
"No, dope. Fuck college. My career. Now. Don't you watch TV? Do I get nominated for an Emmy this year or what?" She shuffled the cards, barely able to get her hands around the full-sized deck.
I took them from her and indicated the bowl of quarters. She pulled a quarter from the bowl and tossed it in front of the crystal skull as I laid out the cards...
And then I put the cards back in the deck and had her try again.
And again.
But no matter how many times I had her re-pull the cards, I couldn't get away from porn stardom and drug addiction. Trying to turn that into something I could tell the poor girl was completely nerve-wracking.
"Not this year, but you're definitely going to be nominated for an acting award. And win." And trust me, you don't want to know which one it is.
"Now we're talking. You got any advice to, y'know, maximize my career potential?"
I looked down at the cards and tried to think of how to reach her. "Follow your heart, but don't fall for the easy answers, the easy outs, the easy highs. They'll destroy you."
"That's it?"
"Don't be in such a hurry to grow up."
"Yeah, thanks, mom. You suck."
Okay, so it wasn't exactly what she wanted to hear, but from what the cards were showing me, she was going to have to learn to deal with disappointment. As she stood up, I got sudden flash.
"You're going to have a surprise math quiz this week. Don't cheat. You'll be caught."
"Cool. Now that I can use."
After twenty-four readings, I was thrilled to close the door behind the last future Oscar-winner and call it a day. Damn, but my head hurt.
Readings always gave me a pounding headache, right in the middle of my forehead. My third eye. Or, as the more scientific types called it, my pineal gland. Like any muscle, over-exertion caused pain and twenty-four non-stop readings had to count as torture in anyone's book.
Food. I needed to get something to eat. A thick slab of salty meat. Maybe some lamb chops. With some of that mint sauce that Gus gets from England. That would help ground me out. I wondered if Gus was busy, what he was doing for dinner, and if I could talk him into cooking.
As I pulled off my gown and dropped it in the box, the overhead lights flashed on, momentarily blinding me. I heard a softly accented male voice by the door. "Scuza, signorina. Forgive me for interrupting."
I whirled around. Mr. Lyra was leaning against the door, grinning at me like a hungry wolf. A dangerously handsome, hungry wolf, the bulge in his pants clearly outlining his agenda. And here I was, pretty much naked. Without even a shadow to hide behind.
Shit. This had the potential go really, drastically wrong.
Chapter Five
Well, there was nothing I could do about it now.
"I'm sorry, I thought I locked the door," I said. I quickly rummaged through the box for my street clothes and pulled on a pair of jeans.
"It does not always catch. I must call a locksmith for repairs."
He was still watching me. His eyes slowly traveling over every inch of me. It was unnerving.
"It's refreshing to see a woman who is so easy about her body. So unconcerned about her weight."
I blinked. What an ass. I would never be heroin-chic, but it's not like I was Dumbo. I enjoyed food and I had curves. It's what a woman was supposed to look like.
"That's me. Built for comfort, not for speed."
"But why ruin such a beautiful body with all those markings?"
I could feel the muscles in my face tightening as I looking for my bra. "Tattoos? I happen to like them."
I found my bra and, turning away from him, I quickly shoved the girls in. But my fingers seemed impossibly big and clumsy as I tried to fasten the hooks.
Mr. Lyra came up behind me and brushed my hands away. "No need to worry. I never object to a beautiful woman in my house. Especially one who wears her skin so defiantly."
As he hooked my bra together, I could feel his breath warm on my skin. His fingers lightly brushed the curve of my neck, my shoulder...
I was appalled to find my body tingling to his touch. It had been way too long a dry spell. I quickly stepped away from him and pulled on my shirt, trying to keep the box between us.
He smiled, showing off perfectly enameled teeth.
Caught in the surreal moment, I wondered how much the cosmetic dentistry had cost him and what -- if anything -- his hygienist had worn under her smock.
He laughed. "Such unusual eyes you have."
I bet. Whenever I got angry or embarrassed, they turned an icy cold blue. Although I had to give him props for looking above my neck.
He held up my check, his eyes dark. "You do a little extra service for me? I give you bonus."
My breath caught in my throat. "Sorry. Not part of the deal," I squeaked. I coughed and pretended to clear my throat.
As I reached to take the check from him, he gave me a cold smile and grabbed my wrist.
Somebody Tell Aunt Tillie She's Dead (Toad Witch Series, Book One) Page 3
