Adduné (The Vampire's Game)

by Wendy Potocki

  “Oh, Jake, I’m truly sorry I cast aspersions upon the vestal virgin. I meant you and not Priscilla.” She placed her hand on his forehead expecting to feel a high temperature. He felt the opposite – he was icy cold. “Jake, is the light hurting your eyes? Is that why the drapes are closed?”

  Jake let his head loll back on his headrest.

  “Yeah, my head is killing me. No joke, Mandy. You think it was the food?”

  “Have you been throwing up?”

  “No, just tired.”

  “I don’t see how it could be then. I ate it and I’m fine. Was Theresa deluged with calls from wealthy patrons dropping in their tracks?”

  “No,” he squeaked, his voice breaking.

  His voice must be really hurting him. Miranda felt terrible that he was suffering – even if he was a dirty cad.

  “Oh, my poor sick baby,” Miranda said as she stood and leaned over. She kissed the top of his head. “Did that make you feel any better?”

  He shook his head from side-to-side.

  “You’re direct anyway.” Miranda reached into her purse and held out his watch. “I came to give you this. Found it last night and thought you might like to have it back. Wouldn’t want that detective sicced on my trail.”

  “I wouldn’t do that to my worst enemy. Thanks.”

  He pushed his head up and leaned forward attempting to put the watch on his wrist. It slid off his wrist and hit the desktop instead. He’d lost his coordination and strength overnight, but he couldn’t be that weak. It seemed he was because he couldn’t manage so simple a task on the second or third try either. He thwarted Miranda’s attempt at helping him and placed the watch in his pocket rather than attempting a fourth.

  “Look, there was another reason I came by.”

  “Which is?”

  “To have a look at the red egg in the collection. The forgery. Might I have a peek?”

  “Why not? It’s yours. I’ll buzz downstairs and make sure they give you carte blanche, baby.”

  “Thanks, Jake.”

  “Yeah, right.”

  “I’ll be in touch.”

  “Do that,” he said easing back into his chair and closing his eyes. He looked as if he were sliding into a much needed sleep. His hand reached for the phone.

  “Jake, seriously, I’d go home if I were you. And if you haven’t called a doctor, think about it. You really do not look well. I’m not saying this to be mean or to hurt your feelings, I’m really concerned. I do care about you, Jake.”

  Jake opened his eyes after much effort. He looked at her through the tiny slits.

  “Thanks, Miranda. Did you know you have a lot of class?”

  She saw Jake struggling to smile. She drew her lips back slightly. She didn’t feel like doing more than that since the occasion did not call for a huge, loopy grin. She kept her tentative smile and shook her head no in response to his question.

  “No, but you certainly do. And as for seeing a doctor, please think about it at least. I’m sure there must be one in Fairfield.”

  Miranda took one more look at him before she left. She really didn’t like the rapid deterioration in his appearance, but realized that some illnesses come on quickly. There was a stomach virus she’d caught – she’d looked much like Jake did. She might have felt like she wanted to die, but she hadn’t.

  Miranda left Jake to take stock of his own condition. She went downstairs where she examined the egg – in the daylight this time. She took out her cell phone and snapped a few pictures of the mark. The delicate piece looked even better in this light than in that cellar dungeon. She felt Reginald and her father were both wrong. She was familiar with Fabergé’s mark and it seemed identical.

  She left and got into her rental. Buckling up, she hoped that Jake would go home and get some sleep. He’d be no good to anyone in the condition he was in. She checked her watch. She needed to hurry to catch her flight. She revved the engine and hit the gas. New York and her best friend were waiting for her and Miranda did not want to be late.

  CHAPTER 23

  Miranda’s cab driver expertly negotiated the tangle of trucks, cars, and other taxis as he raced down Madison Avenue. He made record time in getting her to her small, Park Avenue, two-bedroom condo in one piece. Miranda received a warm greeting from the doorman, Jimmy Grieves. He’d been on the job for two years and had been on the receiving end of Miranda’s year-end holiday tips. He was a young, smart kid who knew which side his bread was buttered. He remembered and reciprocated the people that looked out for his welfare by looking out for theirs.

  With Jimmy’s help, she made it upstairs. She saw that the trusty maid service she’d hired to come in once a week and freshen-up was doing their job and was grateful. She loathed descending upon a filthy apartment that was covered in dust and New York debris. Instead of grime, her nose was treated to the lemony smell of cleanser, and her eyes to the reflective shine of her own image in the immaculate hardwood foyer. It had been recently polished.

  She made tea and unpacked, feeling a new sense of relief and relaxation in her comfy digs. She loved looking out on Central Park. She stepped out onto her small Juliet balcony and admired the cluster of trees and greenery. It resembled the south of France. She showered and changed and then drank down her Earl Gray tea. She wasn’t at all tired and was looking for a way to burn-off some pent-up energy by getting into trouble with her BFF.

  She jumped into the cab that Jimmy hailed for her. She gave the ritzy Park Avenue West address and pulled out her cell phone. She waited until she spotted Tiffany’s building and made the call.

  “Miranda! I was wondering how long it would take for you come up for air?”

  “Yes, well at least there’s fresh air in Fairfield.”

  “Fresh air is overrated. How’s Ohio and Jake treating you?”

  “Ohio – fine. Jake – not so much.”

  “What? What is that cornhusker doing now? Surely he must realize he’s got the best thing going by being with you!”

  “Well, that’s your opinion and not his because …”

  Miranda continued to talk into the phone as she paid the cab driver. She launched into a long monologue that didn’t make much sense all to buy time and make it up the elevator. A quick wink and finger to her mouth was enough to silence Phil the doorman. Phil took security very seriously, but he was well-acquainted with Miranda. He let her go straight up without tipping off Tiffany. Miranda gave him a salute and tucked a twenty dollar bill in his hand for his trouble and cooperation. She wasn’t above buying someone’s compliance – especially when a practical joke was afoot.

  Once in the elevator, she used her penthouse key to get upstairs. She continued to talk explaining the momentary cut-off in communication as passing through a tunnel. For security reasons, Tiffany had a hallway built instead of having the elevator open in her apartment. Tiffany was all about security, the deadbolt lock on the door giving her a bit more of it. Miranda had no problem circumventing it.

  She stood before Tiffany’s penthouse door. She banged forcefully on the door. She immediately heard Tiffany’s voice cutting into her long-winded, one-sided conversation.

  “Miranda, wait. Someone’s at the door, but it’s weird because Phil didn’t call or anything … Who is it?”

  Miranda giggled as she heard Tiffany’s voice through the door. She ducked down and to the side to make sure she wasn’t spotted through the peephole.

  “Oh, Christ! Someone must be playing games because I don’t see anyone out there! Maybe I should check the security cam.”

  Miranda snaked her arm around and rang her doorbell several times.

  “Uh-oh! Someone is in for a major beat down. They are playing games with the wrong person because I am in no mood for …”

  The door swung open as Miranda sprang forward in front of the astonished friend.

  “Miranda! Oh, my god! You come here and let me give you some love, chickie!”

  The two friends hugged warmly. Miranda
felt tears welling up in her eyes. It felt so good to be with Tiffany again. She felt Tiffany’s grip loosen as Tiffany stepped back.

  “Let me look at you, honey!” Tiff cried enthusiastically as she savored the sight of her very best bud in the world. “You look so beautiful, Miranda. You always do!”

  “Yeah, well, it’s a shame not everyone feels that way.”

  “What? Somebody dissed you? Tell me who and I’ll kick their ass!”

  “Forget it. I’m being a stupid idiot. A hungry stupid idiot at that.”

  “You? Stupid? Hardly! I’m the one that used to cheat off your papers and I got straight A’s! I can only wonder what they gave you!”

  “Shhhh, don’t say that too loudly. They may revoke both of our degrees!”

  Her remark prompted a boisterous round of Tiffany’s exuberant, full-bodied laughter. It had been too long since she’d last heard it.

  “And if they rescind our degrees,” Miranda continued, “then we’d be forced to repeat those college years and the whole thing sounds like a very bad movie. As if father dying wasn’t bad enough,” she added.

  Tiffany grabbed Miranda and hugged her tightly. She rocked her softly as she whispered, “I know. I know.”

  Miranda fought back tears and caught her breath. She was determined not to turn this happy occasion into a maudlin revisiting of her father’s death. She could have kicked herself for mentioning his untimely departure.

  She pulled away running her forefinger under each eye to catch any tears that might be spilling.

  “I’m sorry. I don’t know what got into me.”

  “It’s alright. If you can’t talk to me about whatever is on your mind, then what is a best friend for?”

  Miranda smiled as Tiffany grabbed her by the arm and led her deeper into her newly-decorated apartment. She locked the door behind them as Miranda looked around. She hadn’t seen it since it had been turned into a Zen retreat. She moved to the fireplace which now had a working built-in waterfall above it.

  “Fire and water? This is great! However did they do that?”

  “Don’t know, but the combo of the two is crazy good.”

  “It’s really beautiful, Tiffany. I mean everything.”

  “By the way, how’d you know I’d be home? Last time we talked ….”

  “Yeah, you had that ... what was it called?”

  Miranda snapped her fingers as she dramatically played the part of a person desperately trying to remember a word.

  “Job?” Tiffany answered stifling a laugh.

  “Oh, that’s right! Knew that wouldn’t last long – not even if it’s working for your father who is probably the only one in the world that can handle your very difficult, scandalous ass.”

  “Thanks, for the assessment. I actually left so I can work for you and Perry Antiques.”

  “Wouldn’t that be fun? I mean, I know you’re kidding, but I would love to have you around. I’d page you 24/7 and interrupt your herbal massages …”

  “… and yoga classes. I need to meditate, chickie. It calms my nerves.”

  “If anyone has nerve, it’s you!”

  “I’ll take that as a compliment. Now, can I get you something? Of course, you know I have nothing on hand since I wasn’t expecting company this early, but then what can I expect from a little sneaky chickie, like you? Honestly, you caught me unprepared. Spontaneity is not even on your long list.”

  “I’m changing my stripes. From now on, I am Miranda, the keeper of spur of the moment decisions.”

  Miranda sat on the long sectional gray-green sofa. It was sleek and modern and way more comfortable than she’d thought from first glance.

  “Hey, wake me in the morning!”

  “You know you can stay there as long as you like. Mi casa, su casa. Actually, why don’t you stay here with me like I asked? There’s plenty of room and I haven’t had a roommate since … ”

  “…since the last time we were roommates!”

  “And obviously, you have that set of keys I gave you,” she said feigning immense irritation.

  Miranda got up and kissed her on the cheek. She pulled her down on the cushion next to her. Miranda was about to dismiss the notion, but the dream from last night came rushing back to her.

  “I’ll think it over. After all, there were perks with that roomie thing – we being the same size and all and raiding each other’s closets …”

  “We still could.”

  “Thanks to a rigorous exercise classes and personal trainers that charge me six figures – yes, we undoubtedly can!” Miranda settled back into the couch’s luxurious padding. “You know, that particular college memory stands out more than the whole education thing. Especially that horrid philosophy class. What was that pompous asshole teacher’s name?

  “Satan.”

  Miranda immediately burst into hysterical laughter. The name suited him to a T.

  “Tiffany, you are too funny, my dear girl.”

  “It’s because I go there and yes, I did again. That man got on my last nerve.”

  “Mine also. The only thing he understood was hubris so I always tried to pretend to have even more of it than he did. It took a lot of energy, but the charade is why I kept my 4.0.”

  “And that’s why I was right behind you and copied what you did. He loved it when I held my nose up in the air like I was smelling something putrid.”

  Miranda reached and grabbed a small round pillow. She placed it in the small of her back.

  “That’s better.”

  “Need something to drink?”

  “I thought you said you were out of everything?”

  “Uh, a beverage I think I can handle, chickie,” Tiffany intoned sarcastically.

  “Then a glass of anything you have would be lovely. If there could be ice added to the glass it would be glorious.”

  “Done,” Tiffany said rising.

  “Then how about you getting dressed and us having some dinner. I am quite famished and could do with some bangers and chips.”

  Tiffany rolled her eyes in a comical fashion.

  “Yes, let’s roam the streets of New York until we find a quaint pub for you to play darts.”

  “Thought a little local flavor would tick you off!”

  “You do love to tweak me in my bubble butt. I always knew you were a little minx. In spite of your outward sophistication, you have the heart of a little London gutter snipe.”

  “What can I say? I’m straight out of Dickens. And I can’t disagree with your astute observation. Now get that little booty in gear before I waste away on your extremely, absolutely fabulously comfy couch.”

  Miranda lay back down and stretched out while Tiffany walked into her kitchen. She looked out through Tiffany’s glass doors to the patio.

  “I suppose if I have to die, this will be a good place to do it. Sort of like being buried in a field of daisies. Has to be better than being thrown on a garbage pile.”

  Tiffany handed Miranda a glass of sparkling water with a twist. Miranda sat erect and took it.

  “Such happy, bright thoughts you’re dispensing today. Dinner should be fab. Not!” Tiffany called over her shoulder before she made her way into her room to change.

  “Love, love, love what you’ve done to this place! It’s modern, and comfy, and just perfect!”

  “Thanks!” came Tiffany’s offscreen voice. “I hired this fantastic designer, Emilio Santiago is his name. He had this vision and I told him to go with it. I wasn’t all that sure as I wanted something a little livelier, but it turns out that he was right. It works!”

  “What the heck is this?” Miranda said picking up a soft-covered book. It looks like a crossword only with numbers.”

  “Yeah, it’s Sudoku and I’m hooked.”

  Miranda tossed it to the side.

  “You always were a little obsessed with those game things. Let’s see crosswords in college and then cryptograms and anagrams.”

  “Love word games and solving puzzles.
Say chickie, how you feeling?”

  “Young and rambunctious. Why?” Miranda asked as she pulled her phone out of her purse. She checked her messages. There was an email from Cheryl. She’d attached a pdf of the appraisal and overnighted the original. That woman was on the ball. She complemented Reginald perfectly. She replaced her phone in her bag.

  “Cause I thought if you weren’t wiped out, we could head out to this new club. It’s called The Paparazzi,” Tiffany yelled out. Her voice was becoming muffled. Miranda walked into the hallway so she could hear her.