“Really? This is a first for me.” I took a healthy bite of my apple.
“Tied down, huh?” Her toffee eyes smiled into mine. She sat back, looking dreamily up at the ceiling, her patrician features as perfectly made up as usual. You can see why I thought she was a total bitch at first. Effortless. And she always says the right things too. “I don’t think I’ve ever been tied down. My ex was not an adventurous kind of guy. You know. He was a geologist. Bloodless. So how was it?”
“I can’t even tell you how amazing it was. It was like I was so awake and aware through the whole thing! But I wasn’t...”
“You’ve been working too much and not relaxing enough. You really need to cut back on your hours at the club.”
“I wish I could. I need the money. Maybe after I get my next raise I’ll quit. Besides, it’s just on Fridays and Saturdays.”
“Which tells me that you aren’t getting any time to be social. You are this beautiful, healthy young woman, and it’s part of our genetic drive to seek a mate.”
“Ha! You sound like Wild Kingdom or something. Say it again with a British accent.”
“I’m not kidding. Look at you! You have these gorgeous, big blue eyes that half the chicks working here hate you for and a killer body that most of the guys here love you for.”
“And a pixielike face, I know. You’re making me blush.” I grinned, having heard all this before. She’d been on a campaign to hook me up with someone since she’d known me.
Cynthia was the polar opposite of me, being a tall glass of lemonade. While I barely topped five feet three inches, Cynthia was willowy, wearing clothes the way models on the runway made them look. Lucky duck. We all have pluses and minuses, right?
“No, seriously.” Cynthia warmed to her topic. “Since I’ve known you, you haven’t had a serious guy in your life, and I’ve known you more than a year. You have never talked about anyone that mattered to you, past or present. I’ve also never seen you go out on dates or even show an interest. I would think you were going lesbian, except you don’t show an interest in women, either. It’s no wonder you’re starting to have side effects.”
“I can’t help it if no one around me is interesting enough to get my attention.”
“I think you’re just hiding out. I think you experienced betrayal from your mother, your grandmother, your aunt, and now you don’t take chances.”
I had a moment of pause. First as I tried to absorb the pow feeling to my gut without showing how it hurt, and second trying to remember when I’d discussed my childhood with Cynthia. I didn’t mind that she knew, but I hadn’t been bodily prepared for the emotional hit. I mean, of course I must have told her, but I didn’t want to think of how my mom took off in a drug haze and left me with Cruella, my sociopathic aunt who could barely take care of herself, in a rundown trailer park in Pomona, California.
Fighting back the burn in my eyes, because for some reason her evaluation really stung, I replied, “I’m trying to pay the bills, Dr. Ruth. If I don’t succeed, I have no one, and I choose those words deliberately, no one to fall back on. I don’t have the lovely family that you were blessed with, and I’m not trying to start a fight here by saying that. You do have a lovely family that cares about what happens to you. Just let me share this with you without getting all analytical on me.”
Cynthia’s eyes narrowed, and her pink, heart-shaped lips pursed slightly. Finally she smiled. “Okay. So what did he look like?”
Back on track. I gave a smile of relief. “I was blindfolded! I couldn’t see, but he definitely had amazing fingers.”
“Blindfolded and tied down while a guy gives you an orgasm. I wouldn’t mind having a dream like that one.”
“Well, if you’re hoping for the real thing soon, I know a certain guy playing at the club tonight.”
“Really? Who?”
“Shep’s band is starting at ten.”
“Shep.” Cynthia closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “He’s scruffy, dirty, unkempt and broke most of the time, but there’s something about him. Isn’t there? It’s in the eyes. They’re soulful. It’s a shame he got evicted from our apartment complex. I enjoyed knowing he was an apartment away.”
“I thought it would happen sooner, truthfully.” I tossed my apple core into her wastepaper basket. “That guy was always getting fired from jobs and driving his roommates nuts.”
“Who were his roommates again? I don’t think I ever noticed who they were.”
“Nondescript. One guy was average height, had gut protrusion and seemed to work at the video store that just shut down.”
“Talk about an anachronism.”
“Yeah, well, that’s probably why it shut down. Anyway, the other guy was a waiter trying to be an actor or something. Annoying, weasely pretty boy who was too good for mere mortals.”
“Oh, yeah. I remember him. He asked me out.”
“You guys would have been a beautiful Barbie and Ken set.”
“Thanks.” Her tone was dry. “I didn’t realize he’d been in that apartment. I tried not to notice where he was coming from so he wouldn’t think I was interested. Anyway, I mention the apartment because I saw movers there last night and wondered who our neighbor was going to be.”
“Did you see?” I was just making conversation with this question. Dating an apartment neighbor was probably about as smart as dating a coworker.
“No. Can’t tell you if they’re male or female.”
“I guess we’ll find out soon enough. So how’s the day going for you? Are you putting in overtime tonight?”
“Not on a Friday, hon. I’ll catch you at home before you go off to work. How’s old Reggie doing today?”
“Same old. I need to get back and clear my list of things to do while I still have a moment of peace.”
Reggie was late coming back from lunch, making it in to the office at four, which was totally novel. Stranger still was his mood. It was not only much improved from before, but there was a smile on his face and high color on his cheeks. I suspected I knew what he’d been up to—going home to Frank for some nookie, maybe—but didn’t want to dwell on it. Reggie getting hot with anyone was not an image I wanted haunting my brain. I decided to stick to business.
“Call log’s on your desk. Letter for Jerry Whitmore is ready for you to look at, and I finished reading the scripts you gave me yesterday.”
“Any good?”
“One is great. I left notes in two of them. They’re also on your desk.”
“Excellent.” He continued to smile down at me in what was becoming an uncomfortable moment.
“Are you okay?” I asked hesitantly, not sure of what was going on. I’d never seen Reggie act so strangely. He was actually being nice. It was creeping me out.
“Taylor, I don’t think I’ve ever told you this, but you do good work.”
“Thank you...Reggie.”
“Keep this up and at your next evaluation, you’ll get a big surprise.”
“Great.” Was he on something? His eyes were clear. He didn’t look flushed or feverish. “Did you have a good meeting with Simon?” Did he slip something into your drink?
“It went as expected. You know how Simon is. He’s needy. Needs me to tell him everything’s okay, needs me to tell him that it’s normal for studios to make you wait. You know. He needs me to hold his hand some. Hey, listen. Why don’t you take off early? It’s Friday. No one’s going to call at this time, at least no one important.” He threw back his head, laughing at his own joke.
“Really?”
“Yeah. Just do me a favor. Frank loves chocolate, and he asked me to send some over. He wanted to meet you, actually. He said you’ve been very kind to him on the phone, which I appreciate, by the way. Will you go by that new bakery on Sunset, Cacao, and pick up a half-dozen chocolate
croissants and take them over to my place? The chocolate that woman uses is just to die for. It’s dark and rich, like me.” He chuckled again.
“Okay. Sure.” I looked at the clock. It was only four-thirty, and I was leaving work. I would normally be here until at least seven. What the hell was I going to do with my free time?
“Here’s a fifty.” Reggie handed me a bill from his wallet. “Keep the change.”
“Are you sure?”
“Get going! I’ll see you on Monday.”
Okay. So, Frank was living with him now. This was the first that I’d heard this bit of news, not that I was Reggie’s confidante or anything. I was just required to make regular trips, completely thankless errands, for Reggie that involved either dropping off or picking up some object or other from his home. I couldn’t help but know more of his personal business than I really wanted to know. Maybe with Frank living in, Reggie would get his rocks off more regularly and be kinder in general.
I could hope.
The streets through town were already congested with traffic, making the one-mile drive down Sunset Boulevard take two or three times as long as it needed to. The line at the bakery was nearly out the door, attesting to the popularity of the place, and I played with my smartphone while I stood in line, wishing the people in front of me away. I noticed a guy checking me out from across the room and immediately turned away, pretending to be texting, so he’d be less likely to approach.
That’s when I realized how right Cynthia was. I do hide. It was something I needed to consider if I wanted a real sex partner and not just my very real fantasies. Though after last night, I really couldn’t complain. The thought made me giggle.
By the time I pulled up in front of Reggie’s elegant home in the hills above Hollywood, my irritability had skyrocketed because nearly forty-five minutes had gone by, and I figured I might as well have remained at work. At least then I could have enjoyed the air-conditioning, something my old clunker had trouble producing, on this bitch of a hot summer day, and I could have avoided the stress of nasty traffic.
At the front door I rang the bell, but I got no response. There was no sound for several minutes. I knocked, thinking maybe the doorbell wasn’t working properly, but still, nothing. Now what? I knew where the key was hidden because I’d had to enter the residence a number of times, but now Reggie had a live-in guest. I didn’t want to scare him, if he was in the middle of a shower or a bathroom run, but the darn chocolates were going to melt in this summer heat, and dammit, I was ready to get home and rest for once before having to get my clothes on for my second job.
“He’s just going to have to deal with it,” I muttered as I got the key from the potted plant by the door, thinking of this faceless Frank guy who was maybe home and maybe not. For all I knew, he could have been out at the gym or getting an espresso somewhere.
A blast of cold air hit me when I stepped through the front door, and a sigh of pure pleasure purred from between my lips. Yes. The A/C was on full blast. I recovered quickly enough to glance around. No one was in the foyer. I didn’t want to startle anyone, so I called out, but I only heard my voice echo off the white marble flooring.
The living room was straight ahead and showcased an amazing view of the hillside homes through an enormous window that stretched from ceiling to floor and wall to wall. On a good day, you could see celebrities frolicking in several modes of undress. Being on the hillside, with a huge picture window, allowed you to see any number of naughty behaviors going on, but I wasn’t interested just now.
Bypassing the view, I made my way through to the kitchen and figured the house was being kept at arctic temperatures, so the chocolate would likely be okay if I just left it on the counter. Deciding to leave a note, I grabbed a sheet of paper from the magnetized notepad on the side of the fridge. The pen was missing from its holder, which wasn’t unusual, so I dove into the junk drawer, shoving the random items out of the way.
That’s when I encountered the piece of metal that curled around my fingers upon being touched. I gasped, jerking my hand out of the drawer, but it clung.
It was cool looking. Shiny. It was as if the metal had turned to liquid and dripped around my fingertips. Then it conformed and stuck to me. Without thinking about it, I picked it off to get a closer look, and much to my surprise, it seemed to be warm. It conformed to my hand no matter how I touched it, making an immediate imprint of my fingers, which was weird and amazing at the same time. It left me wondering what kind of metal could do this.
But I was here for a reason. I had to remember that.
“Find the pen,” I told myself, and I absently slid the drawer shut with my hip as I meandered back through the living room. I went to see if the pen was next to the notepad by the phone in there, still playing with the piece of metal, pleased to see it form a ring as I pushed my finger through the middle of it. It was almost like the blue play putty I got to play with as a kid in elementary school when we studied solids, liquids and gases, only this substance was in the form of metal.
I spotted a man down by the pool through the living room window.
Was this Frank?
He had an amazing mane of long, pure silver hair, which stood out because of the deeply bronzed skin he had. Dressed in light-colored linen trousers and a silk shirt, he looked coolly composed, sitting comfortably in a deck chair under the umbrella.
What he was doing mesmerized me.
A strange device created a small projection of a person in his hand, sort of popping off the screen in 3-D with absolute clarity, which blew my mind.
Was this some kind of new technology? It was totally Star Trek—or Star Wars—level stuff. To be able to project your image across a network and have a conversation with someone seemed otherworldly. I broke out in goose bumps at the thought. It would mean having to look good at all times. Damn. Just thinking about that was stressful.
As though sensing he was being watched, the man looked up, and I saw he wasn’t as old as I had first perceived him to be. He was prematurely silver, was likely in his early fifties at most.
I caught sight of his eyes and stiffened with surprise. They looked angry, like I’d caught him at something he wasn’t supposed to be doing. They blazed up at me, and I swear his lips seemed to curl into a snarl.
My smile died on my lips, and my hand froze midwave.
He cut off the projection by fisting his hand around the device and surged out of his chair, starting for the house with a determined look on his face.
Damn the spirits, she’s early. Where’s the gun?
The words stabbed through my mind with sharp ripples of promised violence. Dark, sinister feelings of pleasure, the image of fear reflected in someone’s eyes, the beauty of deliverance blanketed my mind.
What was that?
My heart jackhammered against my chest. I jerked my head, negating the feelings. They weren’t mine.
What was this?
The hair on the back of my neck rose with alarm. A cold sweat popped out around my neck, and the familiar voice in my head cried RUN! which was more than enough for me to spin around and go from zero to sixty.
I sprinted across the floor, my heels clicking sharply on the marble while I sought purchase on the slippery surface, and threw myself out the front door. The scorching heat of the afternoon slapped at me, but I hardly felt it. My ears picked up the heavy pounding of footsteps that would bring Frank into the living room, fueling the spike of adrenaline that raced through my bloodstream.
I slammed into my car, fingers shaking as I tried to pick out the right key on my key chain and stab it into the ignition. Praying that the car wouldn’t take this opportunity to protest being overworked, I whispered, “Please, please, please,” as I turned the key.
It started, if a little roughly.
The car was in gear when I saw the front door ba
ng open, showing the full, muscular size of the angry man, and I was already disappearing around the bend in the road when he hurled himself out onto the street with the agility of a professional athlete. He still only caught sight of my tailpipe disappearing down the hill, from what I could tell, watching in the rearview mirror.
“Ohmygod,” I whispered shakily. Breathing rapidly, I took the winding curves much too quickly, almost losing control on one of the hairpin turns, and eased off the gas. Suffering through another minute of anxious driving, my eyes searched the mirrors to make sure I wasn’t being followed.
“Shit, shit, shit!” I smacked the steering wheel, punctuating each word, and still felt my heart racing madly against my chest. At the light on Sunset, I stopped and rested my head on the wheel, wondering what the hell had just happened and trying to calm my fluttering heart. Why the hell had I run out of the house?
It had seemed like my boss’s boyfriend wanted to kill me. But how did I know that? Voice in my head? No. Yeah? Totally crazy. And what was the proper response in this situation? Call Reggie? Call the police? Call Cynthia and ask her what she thought I should do?
A car honked behind me. Heart in my throat once again, I scanned the rearview mirror but only saw an annoyed driver in a low-slung red sports car. The light had turned green. Easing off the brake, I made my turn.
But what would I tell Reggie? Or the cops? I was standing there in the house. The silver-haired guy was coming in with a mad look, and he was going to kill me. How do I know this? I don’t know. I can’t tell you. Intuition? I heard a voice? Yeah, that would go over really well.
A more absurd thought, considering I was sure my life had been in jeopardy, was would I still have a job on Monday? Maybe Reggie would even call me over the weekend to tell me not to bother showing up. But what the hell? What else was I supposed to do? The guy had looked like he was about to kill me!
The lights seemed to be working in my favor. I made my way back to the shadier side of town feeling my anxiety lessen. Familiar stores, junk-food restaurants spewing the smell of grilled onions, and familiar street people lying under newspaper blankets seemed to bring back normality. I could breathe easier.
Quicksilver Dreams (Dreamwalkers) Page 2
