SNAP: The World Unfolds

by Michele Drier

  I was tired. We were somewhere over Kansas and I was running out of steam.

  “Go in and get some sleep,” he told me. “I have work I need to do before we land.”

  I hadn’t fully acclimated to day and night changes in New York and knew that once we landed, Jean-Louis would send me home and then spend the rest of the night working.

  “I’d rather stay here and curl up on the couch near you. I don’t know how much I’ll be able to see of you when we hit L.A.”

  “Maybe not a lot.” He looked at me but I couldn’t read him. “I’m only going to be there for three days, then back to the Castle. I have some research to do on starting another SNAP branch. I’ll be asking you for some help, so we will have time together.”

  I had to be satisfied with that, so I kicked off my shoes, curled into the corner of the couch closest to his desk and closed my eyes. His voice on a call with Stefan was a soothing background and I drifted until shrieks, howls, snorts and beating wings woke me with a jolt.

  Jean-Louis was coming toward me. “What were you hearing? Where were you?”

  “The forest, I think,” my voice quavered. “There was a lot of noise—shrieks and howls mostly—and shapes coming at me. Flying things. I felt threatened, but I knew I was safe. It was like looking at a scary movie.”

  Jean-Louis nodded. “I think you’re beginning to get the sight.” He took me in his arms and held me the rest of the way to L.A.

  . CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

  It was good to be home. Surrounded by familiar things, I put off unpacking and climbed into bed. The castle was luxurious, the New York apartment was decorated and comfortable, but sinking into my sheets, my down pillows, was like being hugged by my mother. They say we react to smells we don’t even identify, and these subtle scents were mine.

  The sun woke me. I hadn’t been waked like this for more than a week. I’d chosen a white gauzy fabric that let in sun all day long for my drapes.

  It was just after 8 a.m. I started coffee and flipped on the morning TV news shows. Nothing spectacular had happened over night. Still unrest in the Middle East, troops still in Iraq and Afghanistan, still squabbles in Congress.

  I’d stayed in touch while in New York so didn’t expect much when I opened my email and was rewarded with an announcement that Jean-Louis would attend this afternoon’s content meeting. That had caused quite a stir, with several people chiming in to say they’d be there, too.

  OK, I decided, I’d better get myself back in SNAP mode. Back in the bedroom, I dumped my luggage. Separated things for the cleaners, things for the wash, put away soaps, lotions, cosmetics.

  After a long shower that loosened all the travel kinks, I pulled out a pencil-slim skirt, an oversized thin-knit silk and cotton sweater, a wide belt and stiletto heels. My work uniform was ready, with the addition of a chunky necklace, a hobo bag and my briefcase. Comin’ into Los Angeles, like the song said.

  It was a slightly different homecoming when I opened my front door. There was Carlos. He reached out to take my briefcase. “What are you doing here?” I could feel my voice raising and I tamped it back down.

  “I’m going to be your driver and bodyguard now,” he almost smiled. “The Baron and Jean-Louis arranged it. I’ll be with you 24/7, even in the office. Well, not right in your office, but I have a cubicle.”

  Hmmm, I should have expected this. After the guy accosting me in the hallway in New York, they weren’t taking any chances. And truth to tell, I did feel safer when the demons were around.

  So, Carlos and I headed off to work.

  He parked on the second floor of the garage, escorted me to the staff elevator, rode up with me, escorted me to my office, nodding to people along the way, and left me to go to a cubicle about 20 feet away.

  Jazz came in with a sheaf of papers and messages, her eyes like saucers.

  “What happened to you,” she was stymied because she usually had an in with the office changes and gossip. I wasn’t sure how much she knew and how much to tell her.

  “I had a good night’s sleep.” I shrugged. “Why?”

  Her mouth opened, closed, made a fish face. “You look different...I don’t know, fancier, thinner, happier? You’re sort of glowing.

  “And what’s with the bodyguard? He looks like the kind that trails around and protects the Baron and his crowd. And all the town car drivers we use.”

  “What do you know about the bodyguards?” If she didn’t know they were demons, I’d have to talk to Jean-Louis. I sure didn’t want to blurt out something beyond her need to know.

  “I know we get them from some agency,” Jazz wrinkled her nose in thought. “I can’t remember the name, ordering cars isn’t usually my job. I think the Ice Princesses do that for the company. They’re always big—buffed—and dress in black. I’ve always thought they were European, maybe Eastern European, I don’t know why.”

  “You’re right, I think they’re from Eastern Europe, too. They were all over the place at the Baron’s and drove us back and forth to the airport.”

  “OK, the Baron’s. What happened? Is it as fabulous as I’ve heard? How did your clothes measure up?”

  “You get gold stars for hooking me up with the personal shoppers, Jazz. Most of the other women were dressed as though they’d shopped in Paris or New York, but I was turning a few heads, too. I met a couple of producers from here, Bruce Johanssen and Rick Almdale. They seemed like nice guys, A-list and important if the Baron invited them for a house party. We need to get all their contact info and keep tabs on them.

  “As for the rest, it’s amazing. It’s really a castle in the Hungarian woods. The food was wonderful, we watched the French and German SNAP episodes, the grounds are manicured and I had a personal maid who laid my clothes out and helped me dress.”

  Jazz was frowning. “Oh, I don’t know if I’d like that. It’s a little more personal than I’m used to.” Her voice got dreamy, “I’d like to experience it once, though. And how was Jean-Louis?”

  Now we were where she really wanted to be. Jazz wasn’t a SNAP employee for nothing—she could smell an item from miles away.

  “He was fine. We had some good, long talks.” Remembering his glimmer as he leaned over me made my knees weak and I sat.

  “Now, what’s on tap for today? I saw the email that Jean-Louis will be at the content meeting this afternoon.”

  Like flipping a switch, Jazz was back to her professional mode. “Yes. Chaz, Carola and Mina are back, too, so there’ll be a full complement for the meeting. One of the items will be going over possible newbies. The hunting crews have five girls they’ve followed and put together portfolios on.”

  “Will they have them ready for the meeting?”

  “The money is yes. One of the IT guys has been working editing and packaging clips. Rumor is that’s why Jean-Louis is here. You know his ‘top and bottom’ routine.”

  I couldn’t completely suppress my grin. “I do know it. And he’ll make quick work of any he decides are the bottom.”

  Jazz smiled back and whirled out of my office saying, “I’ll get the contacts for Bruce Johannsen and Rick Almdale and put them in all your contact files. And welcome home.”

  I sank back in my chair and closed my eyes. My desk was clear thanks to Jazz, and the agenda for the content meeting was set, so I had time to make some calls and chat with Carola. This might be awkward. I’d shown angst and vulnerability during our last meeting and now we were back in the supervisor/employee roles...at least on the surface. Could I face her and carry out my role knowing that she was really part of the family that owned SNAP? And that, in reality, I worked for her?

  CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

  I didn’t see Jean-Louis until he came into the conference room for the meeting. He was in his SoCal clothes; jeans, t-shirt, open dress shirt and stubble, the ubiquitous sunglasses pushed up. He nodded at Chaz, said “Sorry, I was previewing the clips,” and took a seat at the end of the table, away from me.

  W
as he avoiding me? I felt heat rising along with my temper then realized I was being watched. I slid a look down the table. Most people were focused on Jean-Louis, but Carola’s eyes were burning into me. When she caught my eye she raised an eyebrow and gave her head a single shake, as though to toss her hair back.

  Damn those vampires and their uncanny body-reading abilities. This was a good warning. Even here, even home, I’d have to keep the lessons from Hungary in my consciousness. It would be too easy to slip into the usual snit; I knew I had a short fuse when I sensed I was being dismissed or not taken seriously. And I expected people around me to be quick and smart, not traits that everyone had. Part of my testiness could be laid to the pace of life I’d led over the past decade or so. It was a modern version of the quick or the dead; the new media reality required instant decision-making and I was good at it.

  A few days at the castle were a different world. Beyond the language, manners, sumptuous surroundings, topsy-turvy time, there was the stately pace that centuries of life developed in the vampires.

  I wasn’t going to be able to rush Jean-Louis. Jealousy, drama, fits of pique had no place if there was to be any relationship. I had to sit back and let things move at a speed that was out if my control. On the other hand, the threats of the Huszars required immediate reaction. I needed to take a page from police; hours of boredom interrupted by flashes of terror.

  The overhead lights snapping off brought me back. Jean-Louis was running the clips with narration. The five girls were arresting. Three Southern California blonds had been shot at Santa Monica and La Jolla beaches, shopping on Rodeo Drive, jogging through Brentwood and out at clubs. They were model-pretty with clear skin, wide smiles and, on two of them, plastic surgery breasts.

  Chaz and Carola were both shaking their heads when they realized the girls had “augmentation.” Jean-Louis wasn’t interested, either.

  “Those two will probably make some splash in TV ‘reality’ shows, and we’ll give them minimal coverage then. But they’re not right for SNAP.”

  He added, “Unless it’s as an Ice Princess,” getting a low laugh from the room.

  The third blond had broken out of the mold. She was slim and sleek and moved with poise. “She reminds me of a young Grace Kelly,”’ someone said and Mina nodded.

  “I agree,” Jean-Louis was jotting notes on his laptop. “I want to follow up on her. Who has her contact information?”

  Chaz’ assistant waved his hand. “I’ve sent it to you.”

  “Good, let’s get together after the meeting.”

  The other two girls were stunningly different. Both mixed-race, they were dark-haired, black-eyed and honey-colored. Neither was tall enough for a runway model but both moved with feline grace.

  “I want to see more of these two, also,” Jean-Louis said and turned to Chaz’ assistant. “Give me their contacts, too.”

  SNAP covered the same celebrities that other entertainment and gossip media did, but one thing that set us apart was “finding” the undiscovered and this was the first time I was in on the ground floor. It was interesting and exciting. I doubt there wasn’t a young woman in the Western world who would say no to being featured in SNAP and these three might be given a chance.

  The meeting broke up after a run-through of tonight’s television line-up. I collected my stuff and sidled over to Carola. “Thank you for the warning,” I lowered my voice.

  She looked startled. “I wasn’t warning you.”

  “Why were you staring at me, then?”

  “I read your frustration and anger,” she snatched her laptop off the table and turned toward me. “It was a reminder that if I can read your body language, others can, too. Chaz, Mina and the others weren’t watching you, but Jean-Louis was. And I think you want to be concerned about him.”

  She was right. Not only did I have to think through what I said to him, I had to re-school my body language. I couldn’t let an instant flush of impatience or anger show. I had to slow down. I thought maybe I’d have to ask the Ice Princesses for lessons in glacial coolness.

  “Thank you, Carola. I need to watch how you respond to things. You have such composure.”

  She nodded at me and went out, leaving me to face Jean-Louis. He and I were the only people left. He came up to me and quietly said, “Thank you for not reacting to me. The regulars don’t know about me and we need to keep anything personal out of our business relationship for now. Are you adjusting?”

  I smiled at him, keeping my resolution to myself. “I am. I want to talk to you about Jazz at some point. Later tonight?”

  “There are some Skype calls I have to make, but I’ll try to reach you. I see that Carlos has been with you. Is he being careful?”

  “I guess so. I haven’t been approached by anyone I don’t know, but then I’ve been in the office since this morning He was at my front door when I opened it to come to work. Where is he sleeping?”

  “We rented the unit next to you. He and Paco are sharing it. What I meant, though, has Carlos been careful about giving you enough space? I know it bothers you to feel closely watched.”

  That stunned me. I’d gone along bitching and grousing about being baby-sat, complaining that I was losing my freedom, thinking that Jean-Louis and the other were ignoring my wishes and only looking out for the family, and he’d heard me. He’d given the demons orders to stay with me, to watch me, but to remain discreet and out of sight.

  I felt such a rush of love and gratitude that my knees gave out and I leaned against the conference table for support.

  “Thank you,” I whispered.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE

  My phone rang just after midnight. I’d been reading—pleasure, not work—and was dozing off. The sudden noise startled me enough that I dropped the book on my nose so my “Hello?” was rushed.

  “What’s the matter?” Concern came through with Jean-Louis’ voice. “You sound upset.”

  “No, I just dropped a book on my nose,” I said without thinking.

  “You dropped a book on your nose? What in hell were you doing? Standing on your head?” I could hear irritation as well as an undercurrent of amusement.

  Testily, I said, “I was reading in bed. I’d snuggled down a little and must have gone to sleep for a minute. When I reached for the phone I dropped the book. Are you still at the office?”

  “Yes, I just wrapped up the conference calls. The time difference makes for a limited window. I try and catch Stefan just before dawn.”

  “Is everything alright there”

  “So far, the Huszars are quiet tonight. Not sure what today brings. You wanted to talk about Jazz?”

  What I wanted to talk to him about was touchy. I had a couple of false starts before he spoke. “Just tell me. You’re stumbling around and that’s not like you.”

  “Does she know about you and SNAP?” I managed to get out.

  “Know what about me and SNAP?”

  “Does she know you’re a vampire? Does she know that SNAP is a vampire company?”

  Jean-Louis was quiet.

  “Well?” I prodded. “One time I found blood in a bathroom, like one of you dropped a cup. When I went to get Jazz, she seemed surprised. It had been cleaned up when we got back the bathroom and she looked at me as though I was half a sandwich short of a picnic.”

  Laughter rang in my ear.

  “It’s not funny. If my assistant thinks I’m nuts, it makes for an iffy work place.”

  “I’m not laughing at you; I’m laughing at your idiom. My English is excellent, but more formal than yours. Your sayings are odd.”

  Sometimes I did slip into weird slang and jargon without realizing it. Well, tough. This is one thing that Jean-Louis would have to live with. Or not. I wasn’t going to watch every word.

  “Whatever, my question was, ‘What does Jazz know?’”

  “As far as I know, she’s not an employee who knows about us,” he answered slowly. “Why?”

  “She’s naturally curio
us about the trip, about the Baron—Stefan—about what I did there. I don’t want to say anything that she’ll question. She’s plugged in to the circuit and ...”

  “How plugged in do you think she is?” His question stopped me.

  “I’m not sure. When you first came she’d heard your real name was Johnnie Lew, that you came from another glossy, maybe Southern Life, that you may be gay and that someone ‘up there’ had your back.”

  “Well plugged in. I’m glad it worked.”

  “What worked?” Jean-Louis and I weren’t having the same conversation.

  “Disinformation. We dropped a few pieces about a week before I actually showed up at the offices, counting on SNAP’s garden of gossip to grease my arrival. It seems like every seed took.”

  Now it was my turn to laugh. I got out “You guys,” before I had to catch my breath. “I’m astounded at you people. Even when I can’t see a plan, there’re threads and webs tangled in the background. Boy, I’d hate to be on your ‘disinformation’ distribution list. Oohh...”

  Was I jumping off the cliff of assumption?

  “Am I part of your disinformation? Are you feeding me lies, thinking I’ll pass them along?”

  Watch it, I told myself. Take your time.

  “No. you’re not. But part of the plan evolved because of you.”

  “Me? Why me?”

  Jean-Louis’ voice softened. “I told you we’d been watching you. Stefan was interested in your background. You’d worked for Hello! which meant you had an understanding of the aristo coverage in Europe. You were fearless but careful and knew how far you could push the envelope. You’d never had to retract a story and never had a fact disputed. We want to stay way away from libel suits—even threats of one—not only for the money but because of the publicity it would bring to SNAP Holdings. We’re privately held and intend to keep it that way.