Trifecta

by Pam Richter

  She started organizing the messages for each of the buildings she managed, calling repair crews and maintenance men before she even started returning messages from irate tenants. A whole sewer system had backed up. A palm tree fell, breaking several windows in another building. That was odd because although their root systems were not deep, there hadn't been any abnormal wind phenomena, and they seldom fell over. Sprinkler systems seemed to be off timer in another building and had flooded a garage. And the lights in another building were blinking, indicating a malfunctioning electrical system.

  When an elevator in her own building quit there was nothing to panic about. Elevators and air conditioners were the bane of her existence. Mechanical failures happened all the time. But a woman trapped in the elevator did panic, and when she was finally freed she was unconscious, having fainted. The engineer who pried the elevator door open took one look and thought she was dead. Paramedics were called. Michelle spent an hour with the woman, apologizing on the management's behalf, in the hope that Heroshi wouldn't be sued.

  A few minutes later there was an emergency call from another building. A lawyer had stripped all the wall paper off in his entire hallway. Michelle hurried to her car and drove over to the building on Kalakowa. Drywall plaster shards and sheets of wallpaper debris littered an entire hallway, causing ugly chaos and hazard to anyone walking through.

  Tenants in the hallway besieged her, outraged by the mess. The lawyer who had caused the mess, sauntered over languidly and said the decorators she had arranged to renovate the building were too slow. He wanted compensation for his own wallpaper, a hideous orange with brown flecks, which would clash terribly with the interior design of the entire remodeling. Michelle clenched her teeth. The lawyer made her feel like squeaking obscenities and running away. Instead, she smiled at the shyster and spent a half hour trying to rectify the situation, pointing out that the hallway was a building 'common area' and he had no right to change it. Of course he had to know that, as a lawyer. What was his problem? she wondered. Temporary insanity?

  Later, back in her own office, Julio, her maintenance manager ran into her office. He was soaked, dripping water from his hair and all his clothing.

  "My God, what happened," Michelle asked, startled to see him dripping all over the carpet.

  "Broken water main. You come."

  Michelle trotted after him to the elevator and they watched the flashing floor numbers until they reached the 22nd floor. She just had time to pull off her shoes as water gushed inside when the doors parted. They waded in. The burst water main came from the Men's Room. It had rapidly turned into a flood that ran like a tidal wave down the hall of offices, ruining the carpeting in the hallway and several offices on that floor.

  As they hurried toward the Men's Room, there was a sudden piercing, undulating shrieking sound.

  They both stopped. "That's the fire alarm," Julio shouted over the noisy assault.

  "Damn," Michelle said, after a moment. She realized the water had proceeded down through the ceiling, and into the smoke alarms, setting them off. Tenants started sloshing past them to evacuate into the streets.

  Several tenants greeted her, and Michelle had to tell them that since the fire alarm was sounding, they'd have to take the stairs. All the elevators automatically went to the ground floor level and locked when the fire alarms sounded. She yelled at them to be careful, to hold on to the railing. The metal stairs would be slippery if they were wet.

  This was turning into a nightmare. She couldn't tell the tenants not to evacuate until Julio was absolutely certain there wasn't a fire somewhere in the building.

  "Go shut off the main water valve," Michelle told Julio.

  "Gonna cause a stink. Toilets won't flush, start backing up," Julio warned as they went into the Men's bathroom.

  Michelle could see why Julio had been soaked earlier. The main water supply pipe for the entire building was situated underneath the sink, behind the wall. It had broken, torn a hole in the wall, and a geyser of water gushed out sideways. "Gotta do it. It's causing too much damage to the whole building."

  "Hokay Boss," Julio said. He flashed a smile and they both exited the bathroom. Michelle watched him run for the fire stairs, and yelled after him, "And turn off that fire alarm."

  The valve to shut off the building water supply was in the lower garage. It would be a while before Julio could get to it and stop the flood.

  Michelle went into one of the deserted offices off the hallway and went across to a wall of windows. She looked out at the beautiful volcanic mountains in the distance. The sky was a wonderful blue with puff clouds scudding. Down in the street, the fire department, with blaring sirens, showed up in remarkably short order.

  Michelle ears rang with the sudden silence when the fire alarm stopped ringing. She hurried over to the elevators, which were now working.

  Before Michelle left the lobby to go outside and face all the employees of the highrise building, she noticed that she had a shoe in each hand as she reached for the front door. She scrubbed her wet feet on the carpet, put her shoes back on, took a deep breath and went outside.

  She stood in front of the crowd, waving her arms and shouting above ill-tempered murmurs, to the tenants standing impatiently in the street, and to the firemen in their helmets and yellow fireproof suits, that the building had a major flood, not a fire.

  There were days when she hated the job she loved.

  On top of everything else, a contract arrived almost at the end of the day, with surreptitiously changed terms in the lease. It was sent directly to her boss for his signature. Luckily, he had her look it over before signing. The mysterious 'mistakes' would have cost her company, Heroshi, hundreds of thousands of dollars.

  Knowing that the real estate agents were trying to pull some sneaky underhanded tricks, she called and politely informed them that there were typographical errors in the contract.

  In cutthroat big business, everyone was polite.

  The thing that scared Michelle was that her boss would sign anything she personally put in front of his nose. His trust was awesome and frightening. He would also fire her if she ever made a mistake.

  It took until nine that night for her to personally change the terms of the leasing contract on her computer. There had been meetings with the accounting and construction departments of the large multi-national company she worked for. The owners of the conglomerate were Japanese. They had poured money into Hawaii, buying up commercial real estate at a fantastic rate. She had started with one small building and was now managing six, with no end in sight. If she didn't goof up.

  When she looked at her watch and saw it was 10:00 p.m. she finally gave up and started cleaning her desk. The bi-yearly financial projections that were due at the home office in Tokyo tonight, Japan's morning, would have to wait. She had been too busy to get her work done. She was also scared of making the corporate controller in Japan, Nakamura, angry. She decided to work on her computer at home and have the financial projections ready to fax by morning. If she had a job, she thought wearily.

  Never, as a property management, had she ever had a day like today. It seemed like a strange scheme to bewitch all the buildings at the same time with multiple disasters. A conspiracy to wreck her job and ruin her career.

  Before leaving the building, Michelle checked her pager and got a new battery from the guard stationed at the front of the building. She was on twenty-four hour call in case there were any emergencies.

  * * *

  "Michelle!"

  She was opening her mailbox in the lobby of her condominium. She almost dropped her briefcase.

  It was the gorgeous dark man.

  "Long day?" He was moving toward her. "Perhaps you'd like to go out for a quick drink?"

  He had on an actual cape. It reminded her of the old Dracula movies. As he went to his own mailbox she could see that he was older than she had originally supposed. His face was almost gaunt and he had fine wrinkles radiating from his eyes
. The black hair was beautifully glazed with silver, almost as though it had been done in a salon for a movie part: Older vampire with perfect hair.

  "Yes. I'd like to," Michelle said without thinking and stopped abruptly. "I mean, no. I don't drink. But I would like to go with you."

  Michelle stopped talking, deciding she was blathering like an idiot. But he looked so incredibly handsome, and the cape was so theatrical, she felt like she was momentarily living in a romance novel, where the handsome haughty male takes the breath away from the innocent simpering female and causes her heart to pitty-pat.

  "You're radiant when you smile," he said in a matter of fact way, smiling at her. He had perfect white teeth.

  Oh, great, Michelle thought. He talked like the hero in one of the historical novels she had been thinking about. Michelle decided not to comment about her dubious radiance, but there was no awkward pause.

  "I just moved into the building," he said. "Wanted to meet some of my neighbors."

  There had been intense gossip and speculation about the person who had bought out six tenants on the top floor and made it into one gigantic penthouse. It had a private elevator and a helicopter pad on the roof. It must be this man, Michelle thought. The only thing missing was the European accent. He would have been a dead ringer for some count from a previous century. Or an Italian prince, with his dark coloring.

  His hand reached to shake hers, "My name is Omar."

  Michelle was thinking, perfect! with a kind of ironical glee. Omar was the perfect name for the man out of the Arabian nights, or the vampire. Then she glanced at his hand, as her own automatically reached out to grasp his. She felt herself pause unconsciously, then forced herself to take the hand. The fingers were so long they looked pathological. Spider fingers. And freezing at that.

  "You seem to know mine already, but my friends call me Shelly," she said. She tried not to wince. He had given her a tiny electrical shock, the kind you get by scuffing over carpet and then touching a doorknob.

  They walked a few blocks to the Ilikai Hotel, and rode to the top floor in a glass elevator. As they went up, the bright lights of the Waikiki area widened, revealing a panorama of glistening waves on the beach lit up by a full moon.

  Michelle had seen this sight often, so she studied Omar as he gazed at the beautiful view that even the rampant and greedy construction in this area could not destroy.

  She guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties. Michelle didn't mind at all. Older men were safer. In side view his profile showed the thin nose to be slightly hooked. He seemed to be quite powerful physically, with broad shoulders, and he was very tall. Michelle guessed he was about 6'5 or maybe even taller, and for that reason the cape didn't seem silly, as it would have been on a smaller man. She thought he must have been to some formal occasion earlier. Capes were so unusual in Hawaii, with its tropical weather.

  On the walk over Omar had asked her mainly about herself and Michelle had not learned much about him except that his condominium in her building was to be a summer place for him. He had the type of old world gentlemanly air drenched into the wealthy at a very young age. He opened doors, walked on the outside and took her arm at street corners. The mannerisms seemed ingrained, as though he had grown up in another age. Chivalry was not totally dead when you ran into older men sometimes. Michelle thought it was nice and felt safe. Except when she glanced into his eyes. They still seemed darkly strange.

  When she looked at him she felt as if he knew exactly what she was thinking, and probably hiding an amused and bored smile, so she found herself a little embarrassed and talked too rapidly, about her job, the condominium that he had bought into, and even the evening weather, which was beautiful. The clouds of the daytime had blown away and the air was thick and moist and moved warmly with the tropical breeze. It made her feel like taking her hair out of its staid bun and shaking it free around her shoulders.

  The bar was not crowded and the host seated them at a small table away from the dance floor. The band was on break and many people were leaving. Even so, the cocktail waitress didn't seem to notice them. Finally Omar said he would go to the bar and get their order. Michelle told him she wanted a Bloody Mary without the vodka.

  When Omar left the table Michelle reminded herself that she was a powerful executive in a large corporation with hundreds of people working for her. She hated herself when she got fearful as she found herself in his presence. But she was always uncomfortable with men. She wondered if she would ever get over it and have a normal relationship. She wondered if one horrible incident would flaw her personality forever and make it impossible for her to even have normal male friends. Many times, alone with a man on a date, she would find herself trembling uncontrollably. She would have to make an excuse that she was sick so the guy would take her home.

  Omar returned, serving the drinks with a flourish that made Michelle smile. She pulled the celery out of her drink and started nibbling. Omar was making things easy, by talking himself. She learned that he traveled extensively and had just returned from France, where his permanent residence was located. He described where he lived and about his favorite walks through the city, the museums and art galleries, and the Opera, which he evidently frequented often, while Michelle memorized his unusual face.

  Then she took a sip of her drink.

  Immediately she knew it was alcoholic. She closed her eyes for a moment, loving the taste, the wonderful burn in her throat. It was not a 'slip,' imbibing in alcohol when you have been abstinent for some time and intend to resume the abstinence. She had not consciously drunk a beverage knowing it contained alcohol, and something dark and careless in her mind whispered, You didn't mean to do it, so go ahead. Get out of your head and enjoy. Go on and have a ball!

  Another part of Michelle was outraged. She jumped up so quickly that she bumped into the small table, knocking it over. Both drinks spilled into Omar's lap.

  In that moment, Michelle was not sorry the drinks splashed on his perfect suit. She had told him she did not drink, had made it absolutely clear in fact, and he had gone and got her a drink with vodka in it. It was outrageous and unbelievable.

  "That drink has alcohol in it," Michelle said angrily, trying to control herself, not yell in a public place. She turned on her heel and started to walk away.

  Suddenly her wrist felt like it was in a vice, stopping her before she had taken a second step. Omar held her arm so tightly it was impossible to move. She didn't want to struggle with him and felt herself starting to panic, as she always did with men. She was trembling, but stayed still. She had no choice.

  "I thought I got exactly what you wanted," Omar's voice said caressingly.

  And had he ever! But did he know it? She searched his face, oblivious to the people in the room who had turned to see what the commotion was about.

  He was studying her, Michelle decided. His eyes were contemplating her reactions like they were feeding off her. She thought she saw triumph in the eyes. She thought she saw lust. And she thought she saw surprise.

  "I'm sorry," Omar murmured softly, eyelids now lowered, almost covering his eyes, hiding intent. "I'll get a replacement. The bartender misunderstood. Please forgive me." He looked so contrite Michelle decided her first impression had been wrong. He let go and her wrist felt numb.

  Michelle suddenly felt guilty for ruining his suit and making a spectacle with a man so polite he probably viewed the whole scene as humiliating. He was being nice, had made a mistake, and she was acting like a child.

  Two waitresses hurried over and a man at the next table was picking their table up. Omar started wiping his pants with tiny cocktail napkins.

  "I'm sorry too," Michelle said. "I get sick when I drink alcohol."

  As the drinks were replaced, Michelle thought that he couldn't have known or understood what drinking had been to her; that simply saying that alcohol made her sick was a gigantic understatement. How she had passionately loved it and had also been its slave. She could blame it o
n that black time after she had been hurt, but Michelle knew better.

  She remembered the debilitating hangovers, throwing up, the headaches and the trembling that she could not stop. She remembered the times when she would have done anything for a drink. Even drive drunk to get it. But the blackouts were the worse thing, having no recollection of what she had done or said; trying to piece together a time of total blankness, which she knew was brain damage. She had told herself fiercely that she had her reasons, but there was no reason good enough for being that self destructive.

  Omar was patting her arm. "There's no problem. A little dry cleaning...everything will be fine as new."

  He was letting her know that it didn't matter that his suit was ruined. Each pat caused one of those funny electrical shocks.

  CHAPTER 2

  Professor Vincent Middelton turned to his pretty female student companion, Suzanne. He looked at her sideways for a moment, and said over the droning rumble of the airplane, "Would you like to become a witch, my dear?"

  The girl looked at him incredulously for a moment, and then she laughed.

  "You aren't a virgin, are you dear? A virgin can't be a witch."

  She knew that, too, and was laughing again.

  As the plane descended to the runway into the Honolulu airport, he knew Suzanne was wondering who the inductee would be; if it would in fact be him. And he knew what her answer would be if he said he would make her a witch himself.

  He was on hiatus for the summer, so had the time to indulge in his hobby of studying witches who practiced black magic. The man Vincent hunted was known on several continents and seemed to be moving in a westerly direction. The last time Vincent had caught scent of him was in Las Vegas. The guy was usually the leader of a coven of witches, mostly women of course, because everyone knew that to become a witch, sexual intercourse was a necessary part of the ritual. And this man was reputed to be extremely charismatic, handsome beyond belief, and was alleged to have seduced many women into countless covens.