One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1)

by J Gordon Smith

  “It’s pretty easy, but sure.” he reached into his bag for his computer and notebook. Setting them on the table he said, “I hope you don’t mind I stared at you from across the room, you’re pretty with your hair like that, and you smell of strawberries.”

  “Ah, thanks.” While I thoroughly enjoyed them, I wasn’t good at compliments. I bit the inside of my lip, “I don’t mind, it’s nice getting noticed sometimes.” And what is in that shampoo of mine that lingers across the room, in a coffee shop no less? “What type of work do you do?”

  His computer made that different boot up sound again, this flash drive thing will probably do that with mine, “I work at a hedge fund slash private equity investment group. I’m an analyst there.”

  “And what does an analyst typically do?” I asked as I snapped the battery back in my computer.

  He laughed, “A lot of presentation decks.” He flipped open his notebook and fiddled with his pen, “I’m the guy that collects the data about a company and puts its story together. I analyze their competition and the market dynamics. Then I present the possible financial scenarios if following any of several investment paths.” he paused. “I didn’t lose you with that did I?”

  “No. We get corporate oriented classes on Mergers & Acquisitions.”

  He grinned, again with that precise and beautiful smile, “Then we either invest in the company, or not. I do the business case work. The partners actually make the decision. I can recommend, or tell them where I expect holes are in my analysis that increase risk, and advise with my own opinions, but they ultimately make the decision.”

  “Can you tell me what company you’re looking at now? Or is that a big secret?”

  “Well, that’s a big secret. But it is in the fashionable, and possibly trendy, electric vehicle market.”

  “That’s what I’m working on, too!” I’ve forgotten my broken computer pieces by now. “I work at a patent attorney’s office. I’m going to law school focusing on patent law, and this is my work-study job. More work than study, now that school is done for the summer… sort of. I’m still taking one class over the summer.”

  “That must be fun. I have to read patents too, now and then, sometimes the company we are evaluating really is about their patent. Otherwise there would be no value in the company. Strange how the work and hopes and dreams of an entire company of people come down to that document.”

  “Thomas Jefferson championed the patent system,” why did I say that? “Nice he thought of our future jobs.”

  “He was smart. It allows companies to hold value… But my eyes glaze over and I get sleepy reading those patent documents. You’re probably working on ‘A plethora of attachment features’ or something, with a paragraph of description of what those attachment claims include. Why not say ‘it’s bolted on’?”

  “I get sleepy too,” I giggled. Great. Now I’m involuntarily giggling. “Some of that is so boring I can’t stand it either. The patent I’m working on is for an electric motor bracket. Prior art in brackets are huge. Wading through that patent alone could be my whole summer.”

  “That’s funny!” He lurched and leaned back in his chair so he could jamb his hand in his pocket to retrieve his phone. He pressed a button answering, “Ok. Hold on a minute.” He took his coat and turned to me, “Can you watch my stuff? I need to take this outside.”

  “– Outside? Sure.”

  He put on his rain coat, flopping the hood forward while reaching into a breast pocket retrieving his phone’s blue-tooth ear-piece. He winked at me as he put the device in his ear and went out the coffee shop door. I could see him in the rain, animated in his conversation. He talked a lot with his hands. One moment it looked like he twisted open a pickle jar and the next painting a Rembrandt. For some reason I liked that passion.

  I decided I should try this flash drive of his. I plugged it in and finished replacing the computer battery and power cord. Then turned it on. The screen flickered and gave me an option to boot the flash drive or the host system hard disk drive. I selected the flash drive. It puts up a splash screen with a little circle and dot icon, then presents the desktop with that same African drum sound I heard his computer start with. I look over at him and he’s still there, keeping his back to the wind and driving rain, and talking.

  I open the web browser. The Internet is there and I can do work! I find the spreadsheet program and navigate to my data flash drive to find my research notes. They are there! I even found a time-keeping program, but have to install it. A couple of clicks and it is installed. This is kind of cool.

  I’d do work but I can’t really concentrate. I brush my hand near my face out of habit, and smell his cologne fleetingly fading but it still smells nice. I close my eyes and dwell on that scent until I think I must look curious to the others in the Cafe. I looked at his things. Classic tailored dark leather with tightly puckered stitching. His computer screen left tilted toward me. I could make out notes on the top of the open document: “Research Report Findings for Partners of the Bank of Draydon”

  “Target Co is short of cash … Burn rate will keep them operational for another six months … Mezzanine financing will be required to maintain operations … IPO unlikely for three years … Recommending these three –” And the screen saver faded to black!

  I sat back in my chair, I shouldn’t peer anyway. I picked up my coffee for a little sip; noting a hint of blackberries floating among the mix of other dark flavors. Garin still stood in the rain but he checked his heavy stainless steel watch. He pressed his fingers to the side of his blue-tooth headset and turned to come inside.

  The gust of wind that came in with him this time sprayed rain against the prepackaged coffee bags on the impulse shelving near the door. Garin firmly pushed the door closed. He flipped his hood back and strode smoothly over to our tables.

  “Sorry to drip and run,” he scooped up his stuff and jammed them into his bag, “I have a crazy meeting to attend now.”

  “Oh, that’s ok.” I wiggled in my chair, “You said you’re usually here on Tuesdays? So I can give this back to you?”

  “Usually. I like the coffee here and when the weather is nice,” he turned his head and looked longingly out the blustery window, “it’s good to look at the bustling street. I have a thing for people watching.”

  “Sometimes I do that too.”

  He smiled, “See you again, I hope?” he walked backward to the door.

  “Sure.” And when halfway to the exit, he slung his bag over his shoulder and flipped up his hood. He paused after opening the door and looked at me one more time.

  “Bye” I said mostly with my lips while fumbling a little hand wave.

  “Take Care.”

  And he disappeared into the rain, vanishing in the maelstrom.

  Would I see him again?

  -:- Three -:-

  I stayed at the coffee shop. I cannot believe a week has gone by already, busy on bracket patents! Interspersed with bursts of activity helping a client draft a response to a second company. They received a stop shipping demand letter on a part claimed to have a patent on it. They want to avoid court time. By Marilyn’s experience, she told me we needed to draft a good counter letter, based on the template in her office network database, and reference the client’s development history. So I’m switching between those two searches in the patent office database and creating the rough draft response. I’m slow at the draft because this is my first one, even with the template. Marilyn probably fits hers in the one hundred and forty characters of a Twitter tweet.

  The time spirals around at the pace I idly stirred more cream in my coffee mug with that little wooden paddle. I kept watching the propped open door letting the street noises mingle with the music from across the street. It’s nice. But every time someone walks through the entry I look up. Hoping.

  I push my hair back. The day has bled into the late afternoon and that into early evening. The regular nine-to-fives and their bustling street sounds sulked a
nd faded away with them. The guitar outside is clearer.

  I rolled my stuff into my bag and went to the rest room. I’d been waiting far too long on a couple of coffees. On the way I tossed my empty coffee in the trash, glimpsing how the smudge of my lipstick stained the top.

  After washing and drying my hands I stood in front of the mirror. The tear-drop pendant hanging from my small beaded necklace seemed crooked so I straightened it. I removed the barrettes that held my hair back and let my hair out. I ran my fingers through it, teasing the locks into a fuller display after being tied up for the day’s business. I should return. Getting a little hungry too.

  “Hey Brett, what’s good for a snack?” I said, looking through the curvy glass display counter. Exquisitely tasty cheesecakes lined up in a dozen different flavors all yielding at least a thousand calories each. A high school boyfriend of mine on the wrestling team told me the only way to purge that many calories involved digging trenches deep enough to stand in with a hand shovel for an hour or run, not jog, practically the whole day. Then the croissants looked great with their flaky texture but why did they never seem to deliver on taste? Croissants always seemed soul-less, if food could have a soul and a meaning. This streamed through my head before Brett started talking.

  “The carrot cake is good. I like those cookies … hard to stare at them all day. I could warm one up for you – based on experience – that’s the best! Or are you looking more for a sandwich?”

  “Yeah, I’ve got some more work to do, a sandwich … How about soup?”

  “I’d recommend the chicken taco soup. We have that here a couple times a month and it’s really good. I’ve tried making it at home but the owner has some secret recipe and I can’t get the details right.”

  “Sure,” I said as I saw the two big pots on the flame at the back counter. “And half a sandwich.”

  “If you’re not afraid of salt … the Reuben is good.”

  Oooh salt and butter … weakness, “I’ll have that.” I gave him some money and soon Brett filled the tray. I returned to my usual little table and found it taken by a swooning couple. Their heads practically clinking over their coffees. My other favorite table seemed occupied as well so I took one of the leather lounge chairs by the windows, always awkward to eat at. And soup added more challenge. I balanced my tray on the little side table and scooped up my soup with several layers of napkins between my hand and the bottom of the hot bowl. Part of me is wondering why I grabbed soup as I’m not usually a soup-in-a-restaurant person.

  I can smell the cumin and chili pepper, the strips of tortilla float crisply on top. I take a tentative sip. Amazing! I look back at Brett and see he’s been watching me. The spice burn sliced across my lips with the perfect level of heat without being excessive.

  “The soup’s good, right?” He says from the other side of the room, putting his thumb up to me like Caesar, though raising his eyebrows in question.

  I grin, “Yes!” and the Reuben turned out as salty as promised. My big cup of water went well with that. Then getting the Reuben butter off my fingers required expert napkin skills. I pulled out my computer and leaned back in the chair. I looked around the shop at the other people as the little machine booted up. I still wasn’t used to the speed the soft African drum sounds made telling me the system had prepared itself for my work. I logged in and started my web browser. I opened the instant messenger program and saw my friend Bethany on line, “Hi. I’m over at the coffee shop and had some amazing soup!”

  A moment and Bethany sent back, “I’m waiting for my Dad to get home from work then we’re going to dinner.”

  “Any special reason?”

  “Idk. Maybe a promotion. He is researching new material effects while mixing biochemicals in process piping. It’d be nice to know more but hard when he’s doing military projects. I’d like to understand the details because I’m thinking of pursuing my Masters in Engineering. But then I’m looking at adhesives. Nice talking shop though. Did Garin show up?”

  “… No. Definitely not.”

  “got a book ??????”

  “yes”

  “read for a while and then don’t worry about it, maybe next week.”

  “maybe … Maybe I said something stupid”

  “what? No you Probably were fine!”

  “i had trouble with my computer … and did a blond talk”

  “Ohhh. You’ll be ok!:)”

  “why do I think this?”

  “that’s what we do”

  “ok”

  “... hey, I see the lights of his BMW ... he asked that we are ready by the door ... Good Luck <3”

  “thx”

  I closed my computer, bit my lip and looked out the window. I loved how the sun stayed out late in the summer. This chair sat in a great spot near the windows to enjoy the light outside.

  I swapped the computer for my Kindle and wiggled my feet out of my flats and spun sideways in the big chair. I read this story about a medieval girl that grew up homeless on the streets and then gets chased by assassins. So she hides in a monastery. And while hiding there she learned of her Destiny to help save the world with her magical gemstone, The Black Jewel, second of a series by a new author I found on Amazon from its “customers who bought this item also bought” list. It’s pretty good so far, the Swords and Sorcery genre has always been a secret indulgence of mine. Stories of elves and knights and princesses.

  So I read as the ebb and flow of people continued through the coffee shop.

  Later, I looked out the window. The warm air eventually convinced me I should go and not waste the sunlight. Michigan has so few clear days, it seemed. I even looked it up once. Something like this corner of Michigan is second or third behind Seattle for the number of cloudy days a year.

  He’s not showing up. I put my shoes on and flipped out my sunglasses.

  I dumped my tray, grabbed my bag, and walked out to the street.

  -:- -:- -:-

  The next Tuesday duplicated my prior session waiting in the coffee shop most of the day. Bethany had gone out. I talked briefly with my Mom while she remained present as the work crew redoing her kitchen floor tore it up. I did change and order Thin Chai’s, the cinnamon and cardamom are strong … and so very good.

  Brett came over, “I’m taking a break, mind if I sit down and ask you a question?”

  “Go ahead,” I motioned to the chair and moved some of my stuff. “What’s the question?”

  “I’ve been working up my nerve to interest you in going out to dinner or seeing a movie, sometime?”

  Startled, I didn’t have anything but my standby, “Ah sorry. I’ll have to decline. As you can see,” I pointed to my stuff spread on the table, “I’m pretty filled up with work and my summer class projects.”

  “I realized you’re busy. Many here,” he leaned forward so he didn’t offend anyone, “play games on their computers or crosswords in the paper or talk with a friend about nothing. You seem focused on your career and your work. I like that.” He stood, his hand on the chair, “Let me know if you get freed up sometime, is all.”

  “Sure.” I couldn’t tell him that half my time I thought about this Mr. Mysterious who continued eluding me.

  -:- -:- -:-

  Work lulled down after those other projects over the week since Brett tried asking me out. I found six defensible claims on the bracket. Expired prior art invalidated most of their remaining assertions. After drafting the notes for Marilyn I finished up the day with miscellaneous paperwork. But free of that looming workload, I drifted. I thought about rummaging through my purse and cleaning it out of the crap that seemed to find its way in there, but I’d wait and do that at home. Not. Sure. What. I might discover in there. I worried about finding a gooey candy drop sticking a dozen things together. I am being crazy. Why am I so sad? I only met this guy once. And now I’m stalking him. Sort of, since I would likely be here anyway. Not for so long at a time though. I’m anxious for some reason, obsession? I don’t know.
I grab the big leather chair and pull out my Kindle and get back to my story. This girl is fierce, unafraid, and not questioning herself. I’ve gotten Bethany reading it now too. She’s a little farther than me because I keep getting distracted by work, but not now.

  I hadn’t noticed the sun set hours ago leaving a deep darkness. The coffee shop had emptied except for me and Brett and some big guy with an unkempt frizzy-curly beard at a table near the counter. I noticed he read The Detroit Journal as I straightened my legs. I looked at my Kindle, bookmarking my position, and then skimmed back. I’d read a lot and hadn’t noticed the time nor the amount of the book I’d gone through. Brett must have brought me another Chai while I read, I sort of remembered paying for it. Two empty mugs sat together on my little side table. I should drag myself back home to bed.

  The warm night kept me comfortable in my sleeveless top. My jacket lay in the car anyway. Sparse traffic and people wandering on the sidewalks this late on a Tuesday in a working town. Street lamps dotted the darkness along my way to the public parking garage. A vague uneasiness settled around my shoulders. I knew the public garage seemed mostly safe but mostly might be too subjective. I liked to park in this particular garage even though others provided more convenience because it had better lighting. The closer lots always seemed to be lurking with perpetual shadows in them that became absolutely freakish at night.

  A car passed me on the other side of the street. It slowed as it rolled as far as the coffee shop. I heard the clicking of a shifting transmission, the whine of reverse and then a turn as it roared closer. The bright lights obscured everything else. I wish I paid attention when it drove the other way. Now my nerves vibrated with a creeping desperation being so exposed on this open sidewalk. My steps hastened.

  The car whined down and halted a few lengths ahead of me. A newer black Camaro with black-crimson tribal tattoo pin striping nearly impossible to see against the black base coat. But the car stopped under the flood of a street light and the driver got out.