Meet Abby Banks VOLUMES: 1-3

by J. A. Cipriano

  “It’s not a date. I’m just going to ask him what his deal is,” I replied.

  “And then you guys are totally going to make out, aren’t you?” Lisa scrunched up her face and made kissy noises as she unlocked her car.

  Without waiting, I threw open the back door of her car and was assaulted by a cloud of warm, stagnant air.

  “Yeah, so, I spilled some grape juice this morning. I sprayed it with deodorizer though, so it should be okay soon,” Lisa murmured, getting into the car without further comment.

  I hesitated for a moment and touched the floor in front of the passenger seat. My finger sank into the damp fabric. I sighed. There was no use in complaining about it. Silently, I got into the car and with an awkward sort of squelch, placed my feet into the swampy mess.

  “So how much juice did you spill?”

  “About half a liter but I sprayed deodorant, so it should fix itself,” Lisa assured me once again.

  “And you aren’t the least bit worried about the horrible damage to your car, or the possibility of bacteria growing down there?” I inquired.

  “I sprayed deodorant,” Lisa replied as though she wanted to end this conversation.

  “Ah… I see. You have a dangerous amount of faith in that stuff,” I said with a smile.

  “A world where deodorant doesn’t fix grape juice spills is a world I don’t want to live in,” Lisa said as she shifted the car into gear as she sped down the road. “It’s not a world anyone wants to live in.”

  My mom was waiting for me at the restaurant. Sometimes I wondered how she had come into possession of the place since she had all the cooking skill of a half-frozen iguana. She burned water once. What kind of person burns water and decides it would be a fantastic idea to open a restaurant?

  My mom.

  Then again, she didn’t cook in the restaurant. Other people did that. She just handled all the business stuff and paid her staff, namely me, nothing to run the place. To say that Esmeralda Banks was a slave driver was being cruel to slave drivers. I’m serious. Last Christmas, Mario, the night cook, had given her a whip as a gag gift. It was now hanging in her office.

  “Hello Pun’kin,” my mom said in her melodic voice that made her seem less like a businesswoman and more like Cinderella. I didn’t know what it was, but nearly every time I heard her voice, I could imagine small woodland creatures coming to her beck and call like they would for one of those Disney princesses.

  “Hi, Mom,” I said as I slipped into the backroom to change into my formless uniform. My voice, unfortunately, could not summon wayward wildlife to my aid. In fact, most everything about us was pretty different. My mom was five-foot two inches with waist length blonde-hair, brilliant green eyes, and huge boobs. I, on the other hand, was five-foot eight inches with almond-colored hair, hazel eyes, and well, let’s just say that I sometimes wondered if the family boobs had decided to skip my generation.

  I was also super-klutzy while my mom could have thrown a string through the head of a needle from fifty feet away. I guess hand and eye coordination skipped me too.

  “How was your day?” my mom asked. I wasn’t sure if she actually wanted an answer. She asked me various questions about my day every day, but I’d put the actual listening to what I said ratio somewhere around twenty-five or thirty percent. Which, if she was a professional baseball player, would be an awesome batting average. For a professional mother? Not so much.

  “It was awesome. Mr. Olson let us play jump-rope with the boa constrictors,” I replied, totally straight-faced.

  “Really? How many jumps can a boa constrictor do before it gets tangled in the ropes?”

  “Forty-two,” I replied with a smile. So she had been listening after all.

  “Well, you’re on your own for dinner, dear. I’m fairly certain you won’t starve. Oh, and I hired another person. He’s starting today. Try and behave yourself.” With that, my mom was out the door. That was probably all the bonding time I was going to get for the day. She’d probably be asleep by the time I got home. Early to bed, early to rise and all that.

  Then it dawned on me. She had hired someone? My mom, the infamous cheapskate, had hired another person? For the night shift? That didn’t seem right. Then again, I’d been begging her to hire someone so I could get some time off. Maybe this was an early Christmas gift? Whatever, I was going to train the new guy and be out of here before Stephen showed up to stalk me.

  I hurried toward my station at the front. Someone was standing at the station next to mine, turned toward a customer so I couldn’t see his face. Still, he looked familiar, which made sense I suppose. He probably went to my school. Chances I knew the person were pretty high… and my mom hadn’t even asked me about it. What if it was someone I didn’t like? Or worse yet, someone I did.

  I took a deep breath and forced myself not to blush or jump to insane conclusions before I had even said hello. One glance at the line told me that I should probably step up and help the new guy. He was probably going slowly because he didn’t know the register. That had to be the reason for the line. We were never this busy at three-thirty on a Wednesday.

  “Hi, welcome to Esmeralda’s. How can I help you?” I asked, stepping up to my station and waving over the first customer in line.

  He was an older gentleman with graying hair and a nice suit. A little too nice to be in a place like this. Now, granted, we got a lot of out of town business because we were the best burger place in town. Another thing that made no sense since my mom had made up all the recipes. But still. This guy’s suit had to have cost more than I made in a month, maybe a year. Why was he buying a six dollar hamburger?

  The man smiled, his white teeth flashing as his hand flew up to point at the menu behind me. So he was one of those people who pointed at the menu as though I’d never seen it before. There was always at least one.

  I keyed in his order, turned to my new man-at-arms and gasped. There, standing next to me helping customers, was Stephen. Even in the stupid uniform that made me look like a sexless, curveless troll, he looked like a movie-star.

  Stephen flashed a million-dollar smile at me and went back to helping guests. I gulped and put my hands numbly on my register as questions raced through my mind. Why was he here? Why had my mother hired him, the crazy stalker, of all people? Did my breath smell okay?

  I shook my head and tried to ignore him and focus on my work. Maybe if I didn’t say anything he would just vanish from sight. Yet, even as I steadily worked my way through the throng of customers, doing my best not to even look at Stephen, I knew he was there. It was just too tempting to look over at him, to want to touch him to see if he was real. I know it sounds a little gross, but trying to ignore him was like trying to stop scratching at a scab. The more I tried to ignore him, the greater my urge to look at him became.

  When the last customer had been helped, I sighed in relief and turned toward Stephen. He was already staring at me with those piercing blue eyes of his. If I could have, I’d have taken a step back. The breath I’d taken whooshed out of me as he took a step toward me and took my hand in his. I wanted to say something to him. Hell, I wanted to pull my hand from his, but his hand was so strong, so warm and comforting, that I just couldn’t bear the thought of pulling mine away.

  I was strangely glad that Lisa had just dropped me off and decided not to follow me inside once she’d caught sight of my mom. If she saw me holding hands with Stephen in the middle of the restaurant I’d never live it down. I’d have to move, change my name to Veronica, and live out in the middle of a forest picking berries and foraging for wild roots… and I really disliked berries and roots.

  “I asked your mom for this job so I could spend some more time with you.” Stephen’s smile seemed to light up the entire room, and the only thing I could do was nod dumbly. Part of me was freaking out. He had gotten the job so he could spend more time with me? Time sanctioned by my mother no less? This guy was good, a little too good…

  The other part of
me could have floated off into the clouds under the power of his smile. I’d never been the dopey girl in one of those movies that gets asked out by the captain of the football team or anything, but right now? Right now, I was pretty sure I knew how that girl felt.

  3

  “I’ve been coming here for a while, I don’t know if you’ve noticed.” Stephen blushed and for a second, uncertainty flashed across his face. “I’ve been trying to keep a low profile.”

  How could I have not noticed the super-hot guy staring at me every day for the past few weeks? Even if I wasn’t boy crazy, I’d have had to have been blind not to notice him. I swallowed once and tried to search for something to say, but as the butterflies fluttered around in my stomach, I couldn’t figure out how to talk. I couldn’t even make sounds, let alone words.

  “Every day I’ve been trying to think of a good way to talk to you and every single day I got too embarrassed. Today, I finally decided I was going to talk to you,” he said, shaking his head as if dismissing an errant thought. “It’s important that I talk to you.”

  He pulled his hand away from mine and wrung it nervously. I think this conversation might have sounded better in his head because it was sounding a little bit creepy to me. I mean, yeah, I was beyond flattered. This was exactly how it happened in those movies and everything, but… in real life, things like this don’t happen, and especially not to me, little miss average. I was neither special enough nor unspecial enough to have things like this happen.

  Then again, he could have been waiting for me to say something. I wasn’t exactly holding up my end of the conversation. To be honest, I’m not sure what I would have said if I could have said something. When I replayed this scene in my head a few minutes from now I was going to come up with tons of awesome things I could have said. Unfortunately, right now my mind was tapping out.

  “I… er… um…” I mumbled, my mouth moving awkwardly like a fish out of water. I was pretty sure I knew other words to say and that the ones I had said weren’t helping the conversation along. I just didn’t know why.

  I put my hand on the counter and smiled dumbly. My hand still tingled from where he’d touched it. His skin was so soft, so smooth. I blushed again and tried to ignore the things that tightened low in my belly, tried to resist the urge to leap on him and kiss him all over. Part of me knew that if I tried, my shaky knees would collapse under me, and I’d topple to the ground, but strangely, I couldn’t think of a good reason not to reach out and run my hands over his well-muscled body.

  I started to say something when Stephen turned back toward the counter, flashing his smile. “Hello, sir. Welcome to Esmeralda’s. How can I help you today?” The man in the nice suit was standing across the counter from him, and for a moment, I couldn’t figure out why.

  Then it hit me. We were still at work. I was still standing here in my mother’s restaurant. That meant everything that happened was real. He had really touched me, really taken this job just to talk to me. It made me feel special. I grinned again, turned to look at the man at the counter, and found myself staring into the barrel of his gun. The world shrank in an instant, distilling down until all I could see was the gun.

  Oh my god, I was going to die. The thought hit me like a wrecking ball, and I don’t know how I managed not to melt into a puddle. There were so many things I never got to do, so many things…

  “Don’t move.” His voice was firm, direct, and said that he was clearly in control of this situation. It didn’t hurt his position that he had one gun pointed at me and another pointed at Stephen. My mouth opened and closed once, and I made a strange squeaking sound.

  “And you,” he said, waving one gun at Stephen. “Keep your hands where I can see them. I don’t want any funny business out of you.” The gun moved another fraction of an inch toward Stephen as though angling for a better shot.

  The weapons seemed so huge in his hands, all black and shiny. They seemed real, seemed dangerous. It was so much different than in the movies. My heart beat so hard in my chest, I was worried it might escape. My eyes had gone as wide as saucers as I stared at the guns. They were so huge and so very, very scary. I swallowed and found my mouth had gone dry. I needed some water and to sit down… and to crawl under the counter and hide.

  “Are you trying to rob us?” I blurted out, but my voice was barely a whisper. “We don’t have very much money.”

  Why had no one noticed that this guy was pointing guns at us? At me? So far, we had not alerted the other guests. I didn’t know if this was good or bad. If people got scared we might be able to escape from this maniac. On the other hand, people might get hurt. I know it was selfish, but I cared very little for their safety at this point. I was ready to be in full flight mode, consequences be damned…

  “No.” His voice was like granite. There was no arguing with him as he shook his head in a gesture that meant I was to be very, very quiet. “I’m here to take you with me, Ms. Banks. You’re very important to some very important people. Unfortunately,” he gestured toward Stephen with his gun again, “I’m going to have to leave your bodyguard behind. I don’t want him following us.”

  So this was a kidnapping then—wait—what? Why was he kidnapping me? Why? Who could possibly want to kidnap me? My family didn’t have any money or anything to ransom. There was virtually no upside to taking me with them unless… I shook my head. Surely, he wouldn’t have gone to all that trouble if he just wanted to do dirty things to me? I gulped once and tried to keep the hysteria from my voice.

  “Um… we don’t have anything of value. I don’t know why you’d want to take me, my mom—”

  “Is one of the most powerful women in the world,” the man finished.

  I laughed then. I couldn’t help it. Maybe it was the stress or something, I don’t know why exactly, but I couldn’t stop myself. I put one hand on the counter to steady myself as hideous guffaws tore from my throat.

  “My mother?” I choked as tears began streaming down my face. “One of the most powerful women in the world? Have you met my mother?” I gestured at the restaurant. “This is all my mother has.”

  “Esmeralda Banks is not your real mother.” He said the words with cold certainty. I tried to catch my breath but it seemed impossible, as impossible as my mom not being my mom. What he said couldn’t be true? Could it?

  “Abby.” Stephen’s voice was cold and strangely calm. Very slowly, he reached over and placed one of his hands over mine. The man’s eyes narrowed, and he waved his gun as if to signify that Stephen ought to move his hand, and fast. “Don’t listen to anything this guy says. He’s a putz,” Stephen said, grinning as he began to walk around the counter.

  The man’s eyes looked as though they’d bug out of his head. I wasn’t sure what the look on Stephen’s face was exactly, but he sure seemed like he knew what he was doing. The guy with the guns on the other hand looked livid. His face scrunched up into rage, his eyes two orbs of seething hate.

  Stephen reached over and poked the man in the chest with one finger. “You, sir, are either very dumb or…” Stephen scratched his cheek and hummed as if thinking. “No, that’s the only explanation. You’re just very dumb.”

  It happened so fast I barely followed it. The only thing I really registered was the aftermath. Stephen stood over the man holding both guns. The man’s blood pooled on the white tile. I shook my head and covered my mouth to keep from screaming or gagging as the metallic smell of blood filled my nostrils.

  The man’s face had been reduced to hamburger. One of his eyes stared absently at the corner of the counter; the eyelid had been torn off. I took a step away from the mess, from Stephen. Already people were starting to move forward, anxious to find out what had happened.

  In a matter of moments, people would start screaming and someone would call the police. The police… I should call the police. I numbly reached into my pocket to fish out my cell phone when Stephen put one hand on my wrist and stopped me. It was like a vice had clamped onto my a
rm. I couldn’t move. A chill sprinted down my spine. I struggled to draw one good breath, but my throat had closed up.

  “We have to get out of here before someone else comes. I don’t know how long I’ll be able to protect you if more of them show up.” Stephen’s voice sounded a bit off. It was more high-pitched than before and almost had some kind of strange accent to it, as though he focused on the wrong syllables in the words he said.

  “M-more of them?” I stammered. “Why would there be more of them? There shouldn’t have been one of them.”

  “I don’t have time to explain,” he said, pulling me toward the exit, one gun pointed at the door. “But I will. That’s a promise.”

  “Gun!” Someone screamed, and we were outside. The light was so bright, I had to squint to see, and if Stephen hadn’t been guiding me, I was sure I’d have tripped and fallen to the ground.

  The staccato crack of a gunshot filled the air, so loud that even as it faded I couldn’t hear anything else. My mind was spinning as Stephen jerked me between a pair of parked cars and pulled me into a crouching position. Were people shooting at us? At me? There’s just no way that was possible. I turned toward Stephen desperate for him to tell me it was all a big gag, but the icy look on his face made my heart leap into my throat.

  “Listen very carefully, Abby. These men want to kidnap you. They want to do all sorts of terrible things to you, and I’m trying to take you somewhere safe. I can’t do that if you don’t let me help you.” He put one hand on my cheek and steered my head so that our eyes met. “Will you let me help you?”

  Another crack split the air. The driver’s mirror in the car behind me shattered. Bits of plastic and glass rained down over me as Stephen pulled me forward, not waiting for my response. His entire presence seemed to have changed as he led me forward, each muscle straining under his clothing like he was some kind of jungle cat.