“You obviously haven’t seen a good pair of Wranglers,” I countered.
Sera laughed. She had the best laugh, a breathy sort of high-pitched giggle. She was another writer for Cloak and Dagger, my production company, producers of such cinematic feats as the Beast of Briar Lake, Fear the Dawn, and Snake Mountain. Quality film making. She connected me to the life I had left behind (read: ran away from).
“I don’t know why I like it here, but I do,” I tried to explain to her again. “And when the writers are happy . . .”
“The scripts are juicy,” Sera finished. “I know.”
“Besides, I don’t want to fall into the ocean. I mean, what could happen to me here besides hitting an armadillo on the way home?”
Sera laughed again, but I didn’t. I scratched my shoulder against the back of my chair and sighed. Finally giving up on the chair, I got up to scratch my back against the door frame.
“Fine. You’re off the hook this time but we really need you in LA for the summer schedule meeting. Drew’s not happy with the video conference call things. He’s convinced someone’s going to hack the feed.”
“Lovely Drew. How is he?”
“Good. For Drew. I’m sending you the next project he’s green-lighted. Kyle tried to draw up a plot but it’s terrible.”
I tried to keep from clenching my jaw so tight at the mention of his name so I wouldn’t break teeth. “What’s the general pitch?”
“Some werewolf thing,” Sera said casually.
I choked on the air itself as she went on. Damn Kyle. Even in my hours of despair, he could push my buttons from across the country. And since we were together for two years, he unfortunately always knew exactly which buttons to push to turn me into a quaking mass of patheticness.
“Something about a newly turned werewolf trying to figure out if he’s a good guy or a bad guy. You know, the moving of dark armies, seductive psychics, and such. Right up your alley.”
I stopped breathing and my skin began to burn. Flashes of everything in the past four days, stories from my childhood, moments from old horror movies raced around my head. My knees went weak, and I fell to the floor. The phone slipped from my hand and I could feel the rip of the claw down my shoulder like it was happening again, like I was still in the darkness of my alley alone.
Sera’s voice echoed out through my moment of insanity. “Violet? Are you okay?”
My eyes snapped open and I was on the plush carpet of my office. I scrambled for the phone. “Fine,” I forced out, after gasping in a few breaths. “I have to go but I’ll have something to you by the end of the day.”
“Great. We need something ASAP. Call you at 5:00 your time.”
I turned off the phone and dropped the handset to my side. I sat limp on the floor, staring wide eyed at my lavender wall.
The phone rang at one o’clock. It was Jessa. Could tell by the ring. This was the time of day she called to tell which fancy man took her to which fancy restaurant. Which made my usual lunch of green tasteless things seem even more tasteless.
“What’s wrong?” Jessa asked midsentence about her morning.
“Nothing. How are you?” I asked trying not to sound too distracted, as I pushed peanut butter around in the jar with a celery stick and balanced my cell on my shoulder.
“The guy from CyberTalk just took me to lunch. He’s really excited about the Silver Ball idea for his launch.”
“That’s great.”
“So I thought drinks on Friday to celebrate.”
It was always drinks on Friday to celebrate. But some weeks, if it wasn’t for her celebrating, I wouldn’t get out of the house. In the instant the phone rang, I had decided not to tell Jessa about what happened. Not even a modified version where there wasn’t a werewolf in the back alley. Rehashing it wasn’t going to do me any good right now and Jessa would only freak out and demand that I move in with her. And that was so not a good idea.
“Sure,” I said with a shrug that I was sure she could hear in my monotone voice.
“What’s your problem?”
“I’m in weird mood.”
“It’s because all you do is write. You need to get out, rub some elbows. Meet someone new, an actual person.”
She meant I needed to meet a man. Jessa’s big deal was that I lived in my head and not in the real world. She complained I made the men in my head better than any man I could meet in real life. If only she knew what had brought a new man into my life. If only she knew why I was in a weird mood.
“Did I mention Ben started calling again?”
“Uh-oh,” I said and I knew she could also hear my rolled eyes.
“Nope. Not this time. I was strong and told him exactly what you told me to say.”
This was a change. I perked up and listened carefully, putting the peanut butter down.
“I told him I didn’t need his run-around anymore, and if he wanted me back, he was going to have to prove he was worth getting back with.”
“Really? Wow, go Jessa. What did he say?”
“He said he understood and he would spend every day proving he was the one. So right now I’m looking at two tickets to Carmen and two dozen roses.”
I would die if a man gave me tickets to Carmen. They sold out before I even knew they were on sale, not that I had anyone to go with.
“So you have a date for Saturday?” I asked.
“Where in The Rules does it say I have to take him to the opera?”
I shook my head. “I think that was the point, Jessa. For him and you to go together.”
“But I don’t know if I want to date Ben again. It was fun and all, but I’m glad he ended it.”
I wanted to pound my head against my countertop; this was the same girl who nearly drowned herself in tequila shots when he broke up with her. I had to spend a whole day on the floor of her bathroom with her to make sure she didn’t do anything stupid, like call him.
“So what are you going to do with the tickets?”
“I dunno. You want them?”
I choked on my celery stick. “Serious?”
“Sure. Meet me for lunch tomorrow and they’re yours.”
I wanted to jump at the chance but something held me back, something in the lilt of her voice. “Meet you where for lunch?” I asked suspiciously.
“Cafe Brazil?”
Seemed innocent enough. Cafe Brazil was our place. I’d been there a million times and the coffee was amazing. But then again, I’d been into my garage alley a million times as well. Maybe I was being paranoid. Can’t think of a single reason I might be paranoid about leaving my house for the rest of my life.
“And maybe afterwards we can get manicures,” she added in quickly.
I looked down at my toes. It wasn’t like anyone besides me was going to see them and I really didn’t have the cash for the places that she liked to go. But it got me out of the house and that was the one thing I knew I had to do. Get out, keep going. Worked before. Why wouldn’t it work now?
Chapter Four
Once I finally talked myself out of the house for the first time, lunch at Cafe Brazil was normal for a lunch with Jessa. She talked, I listened. I got the whole sordid story behind Ben’s midnight visit on Sunday. Her narration was as good as the real thing. It took her twenty minutes to rehash the whole ordeal but at the end of it, then she slid the tickets to the opera across the table.
“Who are you going to take?” she asked with a devilish look, no doubt hoping for some gossip in my answer.
“Well, if you really don’t want to go?” I offered one last time.
She made a sour face and shook her head. She unfolded her napkin and laid it daintily in her lap.
“I thought I’d ask Devin,” I shrugged.
“That dweeb from your book club?”
I sighed, “He’s a doctor. Doesn’t that earn him any points with you?”
“He’s a dweeb, plus I think he’s gay,” she whispered the last part before taking a bite of her chicken salad.
“He’s the only person in my life right now who will appreciate these tickets,” I said as I safely tucked them into my bag.
“Well, while you are at the opera, I’ll be at a charity event downtown. Some international children’s organization is hosting a fashion show. Lots of big wigs to rub elbows with.”
And by rub elbows with, Jessa meant flirt. Her father consorted with presidents and kings and now, his daughter flirted with them. She had met the president, two princes, and every eligible bachelor on the eastern seaboard before she joined me halfway across the country. Now the princes had spurs.
“Sounds like a lot of fun,” I said with fake enthusiasm.
“So I need to go shopping tonight to find something suitable.”
“Of course.”
Jessa never really needed to find something suitable to wear. The girl had more clothes in her house than St. Mark’s Square had pigeons. And more mirrors than Versailles. The entire second floor of my townhouse would fit in her closet. She’d probably faint if she saw the two racks of clothes sustaining my wardrobe.
My phone began to vibrate but I didn’t recognize the number. The local area code danced across my screen but I couldn’t remember any appointments or interviews I had made. But I had been slightly distracted the past few days.
“Hold on a sec?” I asked Jessa and I turned away from her to answer the call. “Hello?”
“Violet? It’s Garrett.”
I nearly dropped the phone. “How did you get this number?” I asked in a harsh whisper.
“I find people. It’s what I do.”
“Right. Well, what do you want?” I asked as I looked around, half expecting him to be lurking behind a fichus somewhere. I always felt like someone was watching me, pointing fingers, and whispering about the poor little girl who got attacked by a dog because of her own drunken stupidity.
“Where are you?” he asked.
“I’m at lunch. I am allowed to eat, right?”
He was silent for a moment. “How ya doing?”
“Peachy.”
“No unusual symptoms? Unusual hungers?” he probed.
“Sorry to disappoint.”
“You sure?” he asked again.
I paused. “Come to think of it. I do have the strange sensation of someone sticking his nose way too deep into my business. Oh wait, that’s you.”
He sighed into the phone. “That’s not a nice thing to say to the person who saved your life.”
Right. Stalker or not, he was the reason I wasn’t a midnight snack. “I’m fine. I’m eating and sleeping and all healed up.”
“That’s better,” he said, his voice sounding pleased.
“Can I go now, officer?”
“Goodbye, Violet.”
I snapped my phone closed, half hoping Jessa had been listening in. Might be nice to have someone to talk to about being attacked in the back alley of my house, about being kidnapped for three days.
But as I turned back to her and saw her innocent eyes watching me, I still knew that someone couldn’t be her. I just couldn’t burden her with this.
Besides, I was fine. I was out, and making plans. She hadn’t asked why I hadn’t answered my cell in three days and I simply wasn’t ready to say the words out loud yet.
“So Friday at the Ghostbar? Meet at my place?” she asked as she took another stab at her salad.
“Sounds great.”
Devin, white coat and all, walked around the main desk of his office to give me a small kiss on the cheek. He smiled down at me and I heard a few of the mothers in the waiting room sigh. He was a catch at 6’3” with chestnut brown hair (always perfectly combed) and shiny brown shoes.
“Sorry to bother you at work, but it’s important,” I started as he guided me around the desk with his arm around my waist and back into his office.
“No worries. What can I do for you?” he smiled.
It had struck me after my lunch with Jessa that Devin was a doctor, wore a white coat and a stethoscope and everything. He could examine me to see if anything was wrong, if anything about me had changed. Answer some of these questions still racing around in their vicious game of duck-duck-goose.
“I need a physical,” I said bluntly.
“I’m a pediatrician, Violet,” he said confused.
“So, you’re still a doctor. I just need a quick listen to my heart, take my temperature, just a quick once-over. There’s opera tickets in it for you,” I flashed the tickets from inside my purse, like a guy with hot watches in his coat.
“No,” he said wide-eyed. “You got tickets for Carmen!” he said reaching for them.
I snatched my purse away from his fingers and smiled. “In a roundabout way, yeah and I’m inviting you.”
He just looked at me with a raised eyebrow but I knew he couldn’t resist free tickets to the opera. “So a physical? Is it for work?”
“No, I’m just a hypochondriac and I need proof I’m not going to wither up and die before I’m 30.”
Devin laughed and I chuckled with him. It was a good lie. Something a normal girl in my situation might worry about: late twenties and no prospects. Plus I love to make Devin laugh. When he smiled, the whole room lit up and you seemed to forget all your problems because he had enough joy for two and would gladly share.
“I’ve about ten minutes between appointments. Shouldn’t be a problem.”
Devin guided me into a little exam room with little pink elephants on the walls and pink paper over the examination table. He patted the table and I sat down on the crinkly tissue. He went to wash his hands as I dangled my feet off the edge of the table.
“Have you been having any symptoms?” he asked as he rolled the stool over to me as I unbuttoned the top two buttons on my shirt.
“Not really.”
Devin put the stethoscope in his ears and made sure to warm the metal medallion before putting it on my chest. That’s why I loved Devin, so considerate.
He closed his eyes as he listened for a moment. “That’s a strong ticker you’ve got there. Like an athlete’s.”
“That’s weird,” I said as he moved the stethoscope to my back and he listened to my lungs. I flinched as he ran the medallion over the shadowy marks. I don’t know if the tingle they still had to the touch was physical or mental. “Because the only time I run is to catch the ice cream man.”
Devin laughed as he put the scope back around his neck.
“So are you really here for a checkup?” he asked as he felt my neck with his warm hands.
“Actually, I just wanted a man to touch me before I die.”
Devin stopped what he was doing to recover from laughter as he stood and gestured for me to lay back on the pink paper.
“I thought the same thing until last week.”
“What happened last week?” I asked as he thumped around on my stomach.
“Peter.”
“Peter?” I leaned up on my elbows to look at him with a raise eyebrow.
“I met someone,” he said little boy excitement in his voice. “His name is Peter and he’s a lawyer.”
“Wow, congrats.”
“We’ve only been out a couple of times, but Violet, the man is perfect.”
Uh-oh. The P word again. It was haunting me. I lay back down and stared at the Care Bear poster pinned up on the ceiling. Devin thumped around a few more times on my abdomen.
“I hope everything works out,” I said, trying to mask the sadness in my voice. Devin had been my fellow lonely hopeless romantic. Who was I supposed to commiserate with now?
Devin offered a hand and pulled me to a sitting position. With the triangular hammer, he began hitting around on my knees.
“Any news on the man front for you?” he asked as he made my legs flinch and kick.
“Nothing worth noting.”
“Don’t worry, luv. Someday someone will come and rescue you.”
I had to force myself not to laugh so he could finish the exam. “And that’s why I love you, Devin. Always the optimist.”
“Glad I could be of service,” he said, slightly confused at my response. “Well, I think you’re fine. Seem to be in good health, but there is one concern.”
“What?” I asked, growing very concerned very fast.
“You’ve got a fever,” he said rolling over to get the thermometer.
He quickly stuck the plastic-wrapped stick under my tongue. We both waited for the gray probe to beep. When he removed it from under my tongue, the furrow in his brow only got deeper.
“What?” I asked trying to get the plastic taste out of my mouth.
“100. Perfect Score,” he said showing me the read out.
I read it and my eye brows jumped. “Go me.”
“Mild grade fevers can come with allergies, general tiredness, but you say you haven’t had any symptoms?” he asked as he put everything back in its place.
“Not yet.” I shrugged. It wasn’t a lie.
“It’s right here, Miss Jordan.” Stan’s voice cracked as he pointed to the lowest shelf in the aisle. “Here’s the supernatural section.”
“It’s a bit small,” I said disappointed in the public library’s book selection.
“Oh, well,” he said licking his lips and wringing his hands. “If you search the catalog and you find a book, we can always do an interlibrary loan to get anything you want, Miss Jordan.”
I smiled down at the teenage kid. “Thanks, Stan. I’ll start here.”
He scurried away and left me with a shelf of books.
This portion of the library was just the place to do a little old-fashioned research about werewolves. Not for me, of course. For the script that jerk of an ex-boyfriend couldn’t construct to save his flat ass.
I’d spent half the night locked up in my office looking on the Internet. It had some wicked stuff about werewolves, scary wicked stuff about demon worship, and satanic possession, and then there was the entire Furries community, which was slightly scarier than anything previously mentioned.
Diaries of an Urban Panther Page 4