Back To The Viper

by Antara Mann

  “No, it’s okay, go ahead.”

  “Well, there was a friend of yours looking for you a while ago; he said he was called Harry Neil. Do you know him?”

  “Oh, Harry? Yes.” Ashley remembered he didn’t know she had quit her job. That was why he’d been looking for her at her old workplace.

  “I told him you’d left and that he could try calling you on your cell phone.” Peggy paused and asked in a subdued voice, “Is it true that he’s invented a way for the consciousness to travel back and forth in time?”

  “Oh no!” Ashley almost cried, attracting the attention of the men around her. “Why the hell did he tell you about his discovery? What else did he say?”

  “So it’s true?”

  “Peggy, listen to me carefully: I advise you not to ask about that discovery anymore! You’ll avoid quite a lot of headaches.”

  There was silence for a while and Ashley was wondering if Peggy was still on the phone.

  “Ash, he offered me to test his invention and told me he’d updated it and…”

  Ashley took a deep breath.

  “Peggy, why don’t you come to Gordon Biersch, we’re all here – you know, my band mates from The Jackal, my former music band? We would like to discuss that issue with you.”

  Peggy hesitated.

  “It’s late…”

  “I demand that you come over here! We’ve all tested Harry’s discovery, and we want to tell you about our experiences.”

  The line went dead. “Will she come?” Ashley wondered aloud.

  “What’s up, darling? Who was it?” Chad asked her.

  “Peggy, do you remember? The florist?” she replied testily. “Harry told her about his discovery and she wants to try it. I want you all to tell her our story – will you?”

  They nodded as Ashley dialed Harry’s number.

  “Harry? For Christ’s sake, what the hell made you tell Peggy about your discovery?” She paused while listening to his explanation. “You’ve upgraded it? And what does that mean?”

  Excerpt from The Wishing Coin

  Prologue

  I sat back on my chair and closed my eyes. The words of the vendor were echoing in my mind. “Ma’am, I could sell you this coin but I won’t take responsibility for the consequences. Remember that what now looks like a gift might very soon turn into a curse.”

  Several months before, while I had been walking down West 54th Street after work, I had seen a stranger selling wishing coins. It had been the first time I had seen such a thing. At first I had thought he was some mad person, and yet I had bought one of his coins. According to him, it was able to make all wishes come true, no matter what they were. I reached for my wallet and took it out. A small coin tarnished by the time – on one of its sides there was a depiction of a deity and on the other, some geometrical figures. Who could imagine, watching this miserable little thing, that it was so powerful it could fulfill all their wishes? Thanks to this coin I got my own show, made up with my ex, drove the despicable Jennifer away from New York and even transformed Lewis’s mother, which was as funny as it was incredible. However, my wishes had begun to cross the reasonable line. With limitless power came huge responsibilities. The street vendor’s warning was beginning to come true. I stared through my office window. I felt overcome by strange excitement. How could I possibly live with the thought of having changed Jackie or intentionally made three teenagers disappear? No, it was too much. I couldn’t even remember anymore why I had made these wishes in first place. I had to talk to the vendor.

  I quickly went out of AEC’s office and aimed for West 54th Street. On the way I remembered how it had all begun.

  Chapter 1

  “Are you ready?”

  I nodded at the cameraman and began:

  “Good afternoon from Broadway 317; we’re at the headquarters of New Software Solutions, more commonly known as NSS. Today I am honored to be talking with its founder and CEO Mike Greenberg. Hello, Mike.”

  “Hello, everyone.” Greenberg waved warmly at the video camera lens.

  “A year ago you launched the free software app Synthesis and soon after followed its premium version. The companies using the application have already surpassed two million and even Microsoft has revealed its intention to buy its rights. Do you think you’re living the American Dream?”

  Mike laughed.

  “I don’t know what you mean by ‘the American Dream’ but I’d like to tell everyone who’s watching that I believe in hard work. If one has any goals and dreams, they must pursue them tirelessly, even if the whole world’s against them. That’s exactly what Damien, my partner and co-founder of NSS, and I’ve just been discussing. If anyone thinks Damien and I have had some privilege then they can’t be further from the truth. In the beginning we were just a couple of poor young students who relied solely on New York University’s scholarships.”

  “Mike, could you tell our viewers how your idea was conceived and how Damien and you founded New Software Solutions? What was your goal?”

  After some fifteen minutes there was hardly a viewer who had failed to learn in detail the life story of Mike Greenberg and Damien Nash.

  “Thank you, Mike.” I turned back to him. “It was a delight to be able to talk with you about your business startup and your future plans. I am Julia Preston and you watched Good Morning USA’s feature Miracle – How I Did It.”

  “Cut! Well done!” The cameraman took the camera off his shoulder.

  I was preparing to leave when Mike asked me:

  “Are you free for lunch? There’s an Italian restaurant not far from here, if you don’t mind, of course. The owner is a friend of mine. He makes delicious Neapolitan pizza.”

  “Is that a date?” I asked innocently and he blushed. He was acting freely and his energy appealed to me. I would’ve loved to have lunch with him. Suddenly I remembered that at two o’clock I had to talk to AEC’s program director at the company’s corporate office and I had to be there on time. I glanced at my watch – it was past 12.30.

  “Okay, but let’s hurry. I have a very important meeting at two o’clock.”

  ***

  “So how did you come up with the idea behind Miracle – How I Did It?” Mike asked casually, voraciously swallowing the pesto pasta he’d ordered.

  We were already at Mario’s – a cozy Italian restaurant cuddled up in one of Tribeca’s backstreets. Over the pizzeria’s entrance there was a big sign saying “Delicious Neapolitan pizza”.

  “Well, it happened somewhat spontaneously. I was in my final year at the University of Florida when a friend of mine read in the student paper about a California man who had earned ten thousand dollars for a children’s center by selling paintings on the street for a year.”

  “You mean he was an artist?”

  “No, painting had been just a hobby for him; he’d never done it professionally and that’s what’s interesting about the story. They said he’d been surprised people bought his paintings himself.”

  “Perhaps he really painted well?” Mike suggested, chewing intently.

  “I’ve no idea. Never mind; the article intrigued me and I went to talk to him. He turned out to be quite a down-to-earth guy, with a warm and nice personality. He thinks that each of us has some potential that can do wonders, but only if it’s aimed at benefiting others around us. In that moment I felt my mission was to bring similar cases into the open and show them to society.”

  “A very generous goal.” Mike took a sip of wine. “I’ve always thought that one’s intentions are good until they become rich and successful. Once we get a touch of money in excess, however, it begins to ruin us. That’s the reason why I explained to Damien that right after we’ve negotiated the sale of Synthesis to Microsoft, I’m out of the game. At the time Damien and I developed the application the only money I got was my scholarship, which barely covered my rent, and we would often have dinner for free here at Mario’s restaurant, developing and maintaining his website in return.”r />
  “Is that why you said you didn’t really get the idea of the American Dream? That’s interesting, because I think you actually made it come true.”

  “I did? Just because NSS has earned one million dollars this past year and Microsoft is ready to pay three more to buy it? Is that why you think I made the American Dream come true?”

  “I don’t see anything wrong with that; what’s bothering you?”

  “Look, Julia, let me tell this to you as a friend – there’s no such thing as the American Dream. In fact, I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but the myth of this famed American Dream originates from a 60s mortgage commercial…”

  “Buongiorno, signora!” The owner of the restaurant came to our table and interrupted Mike. “You are charming! A tender flower in the garden of GMU. Is Steve annoying you with his theories?” He poked Mike in the ribs. “If he’s bothering you, just let me know. I’ll serve him some sauce that’s so spicy it will zip his mouth.” Mario patted Mike warmly and we all burst out laughing. “I really like your stories, senorita. I’m a big fan of yours.”

  “Yes, my mom is your fan, too,” Mike added. “She follows your features. I even think you’re the reason she watches Good Morning USA.”

  “Is that so? I didn’t know I had such true fans.”

  “I’m honored to have stars dining at my restaurant!”

  “I wouldn’t call myself a star…” I objected, but the owner’s powerful baritone interrupted me mid-sentence.

  “Senorita, it’s on the house! You’re always welcome here. Now excuse me, I’ll be back in a second.” Mario went to the adjacent table to take the orders of the newly arrived customers who had their eyes fixed on us.

  Mike and Mario’s praise made me think. It was already my fifth year of working for AEC’s news bulletins and the third of being part of Good Morning USA. My television glory was narrowed down to some fifteen-twenty minutes of airtime – that’s how long my weekly feature for the talk show took. I wasn’t really complaining, since GMU was one of the most viewed morning TV shows, but I was always in the shadow of the real stars – the hosts. For almost a year I’d been in talks for my own show with Carter Phillips, the Program Director. I’d have liked to host The Screw because there I would’ve gone on with my feature. Carter could’ve also made me a Jimmy Kimmel Live’s reporter, but only if I changed my stories. I’d been waiting a year for an opportunity to come and there, The Screw’s host Diana McCarthy’s contract was expiring and the show’s producers were planning changes. I was praying for Carter to be generous to me and give me a chance to make my dream come true.

  “Is anything wrong, Julia?” Mike leaned toward me with a slightly worried expression. “You’ve been thinking about something. Did I say anything wrong?”

  I shook my head and smiled at him.

  “Could you go back to explaining to me where the phrase ‘the American Dream’ comes from?”

  Chapter 2

  “Yes, that’s what I’ve been telling Jerod – a great story, and look how many people have shared and liked the tweet!”

  When I opened the door of the Program Director’s office, I saw him absorbed in discussion with Raymond Harris, the Executive Producer, Advertising.

  “Oh, Julia, hi, come in,” Carter invited me, seeing me at the door. “How’s it going?” He took the rubber ball that had been standing on his desk and started playing with it. I took a chair facing him.

  “Well, my interview with Mike Greenberg from NSS just finished and…”

  “Mike Greenberg? Wasn’t he the guy who developed that app…” Carter forced his memory.

  “Synthesis?” I helped him.

  “Ray, have you used this app?” Carter suddenly hurled the ball at Ray who was visibly startled.

  “I personally haven’t but two friends of mine have. I’ve heard contrasting opinions…”

  “Entrepreneurship, new technology, money, fame…” Carter had turned his face to the window and was gazing at the office building across the street. “I like it.” He turned back to me. “That’s what the average Joe wants to watch. It’s no accident that your most commented and liked stories are the one about the 90-year-old man from Kansas who became a YouTube star and the other – about the teenage author who sold over million copies of her sci-fi series.” Carter was staring at me thoughtfully. “We show what the viewer wants to see. The viewer is king and their desire is the law AEC abides.”

  “Yes, that’s why my stories are always based on readers’ emails and letters I’ve received. The last one I got was from a woman from Milwaukee who’d written to me about a priest who had helped…”

  “Julia, do you know which story has been most viewed for the past month? A Talk to a Star by Jennifer Bailey. Her last interview with the up-and-coming rapper Chris Levine has over 230 retweets on Twitter and 400 shares on Facebook. It’s been added to favorites by more than 500 people and our mail is swarming with messages. That’s what Raymond and I were discussing before you came in. Ray, show her the figures!” Raymond, who was sitting next to me leaned forward and showed me the stats displayed on a tablet.

  Jennifer Bailey was a young 20-something reporter fresh out of Columbia University who usually interviewed celebrities in Los Angeles for Jimmy Kimmel Live.

  “I know we had agreed that you would be host of The Screw but Jennifer will fit much better with the whole concept behind the show. I am sorry to say that to you but for now it’s not possible for you to have your own show.”

  I shuddered for a moment. I couldn’t believe that one little girl who’d been working at AEC for less than a year had stolen my primetime!

  “Don’t be sad, Julia. Stephan Georgepolous likes you; he’s a big fan of yours. If you push him a little bit, you might get your own show.”

  “Are you kidding me? Yes, at my birthday party in GMU’s office he did say he was my fan but that was just a joke.”

  “Well, it’s better than nothing, isn’t it?”

  Raymond chuckled.

  I pressed my lips together nervously and aimed for the door when Carter’s words stopped me:

  “Julia, I appreciate your diligence and hard work. I promise you that next season I’ll talk to Barbara Harris and try to make you Jennifer’s deputy on The Screw.”

  Raymond smiled pityingly and tossed the rubber ball at me.

  ***

  “And how did you feel?” Susan, the Investigative Reporter, asked me.

  “Furious, of course. I felt like aiming Carter’s goddamned rubber ball right at his face!”

  Emily, the Workplace Contributor, laughed. Every day after work my colleagues and I met up at the Dead Poet. Ted Collins, the weather anchor, always spent his birthday there because of the bar’s policy of offering free drinks to customers who were born on the same date as some eminent literary figure. It had turned out Ted was born on the same day as Hemingway, and that day he had talked the bar’s manager into selling drinks at half price to all people from GMU’s team.

  “I’ve noticed that when things start working well professionally for somebody, soon enough they succeed in personal life, as well,” Susan added thoughtfully. “Take Jenny, for example. Not only will she become The Screw’s new host but she’s also going out with Lewis.”

  Emily poked Susan to make her shut up. “I told you not to mention Lewis!”

  “What? I thought Julia had already gotten over him. After all, it’s been more than half a year since they broke up.”

  “Good evening, ladies,” Scott, the Financial Contributor, greeted us and came closer to our table. “How’s it going? Em, is that a new haircut?”

  “Not really. I only colored my highlights. It looks like your hair might need some coloring, too, though. I can see that the financial turmoil on Wall Street has given you quite a lot of grey hairs.”

  Scott laughed.

  “Being on Wall Street isn’t that stressful when you don’t have capital; I’m not complaining. Julia, and how are you? You look a litt
le bit pale.” He turned to me.

  “Yes, Scott, you’re right. I don’t feel very well and I think I should go home.” I took my jacket, paid for the beer hastily, and aimed for the door despite Susan's and Emily’s loud protests.

  Before I went out, I heard Emily scolding Susan. “Is it so hard to be at least a little bit more considerate?”

  The cool wind outside quickly dispelled my thoughts. I aimed for Central Park. I had often taken this way in the past. Once I entered the park, I felt much calmer. The green foliage, the cool weather and the stillness relaxed me. There were a lot of people, though it was a workday. There were couples in love, and mothers with kids or ordinary walkers passing me. While I was striding home intently, I started asking myself why I was putting so much effort into my work. I had come to New York eight years before, right after I had graduated from The University of Florida. What was the point, I thought, of trying so hard when in the end Jennifer or another ambitious fledgling would effortlessly get to the top? I was slogging away for twelve hours a day, five and sometimes even six days a week and to what end? To top it all, Jennifer was now going out with Lewis. Damn it! I interviewed people in a feature I’d named Miracle – How I Did It and yet the miracle was slipping away from me. I felt as if I was in a self-imposed prison. Suddenly I noticed I had my feet on Strawberry Field. I felt something peculiar.

  “John, buddy, imagine… Imagine what it would be if I got what I wanted at least once in my life…” While I was muttering these words, I suddenly remembered the lyrics of “Imagine” and started singing about everything I wanted coming to me, about being a dreamer, and how I wasn’t the only one. While I was humming, a couple in love passed by. The woman looked at me curiously. I sighed and went my way further down the alley. It was shaping up to be another lonely evening at my small apartment in Midtown Manhattan. I was going to buy a bottle of white wine, some rice with vegetables, and a packet of chips from the nearest store. But suddenly something unusual happened. Something that completely changed my monotonous daily routine. As I was walking down West 54th Street in the darkening day, a stranger grabbed my attention. He had a little table in front of him with a sign saying “Wishing coins for sale.”