The Meridian Gamble Read online

  So I peruse the aisles for a bit, regretting that I didn’t go to the cheaper chain market down the street. The prices here are outrageous, but I figure I deserve a treat with all I’ve been through. So I get crackers and organic chicken, bottles of Kombucha tea and tamales from the deli section. I grab some plump grapes and a bag of those yummy red and yellow cherries, as a woman in a light blue lululemon outfit picks out produce near me.

  I know her gear cost hundreds of dollars, and I wonder how people in this city can even survive. I live paycheck to paycheck, and if I spend any more on my credit cards, I’ll risk hitting the point where I’ll never be able to pay off my debt. And I think about the tanks. One month of your life for a small fortune, one that would pay for a lot of credit card spending sprees. And a lot of lululemon. I look around, wondering how many people in the market have struck such a bargain to afford their overpriced groceries.

  I go back to the prepared food bar, and finally push my way past the two old women to fill a few tins with my lunch and possible dinner. They gasp at me in shock, acting offended, and I think to myself that I should feed them to Adam. Would the vampires really be so bad if they drank up the lives these two hags cling to so desperately?

  I take my tins of food and bags of groceries home, and spend most of my time gorging myself and watching TV. And as the weekend progresses, my fear of the vampires dissipates. And my mind keeps drifting back to Adam.

  I should push him from my thoughts. He’s lethal, and I’m never going to see him again, anyway. But I can’t get the taste of his lips, those luscious black curls out my mind. And when I close my eyes, I feel like his beautiful, unusual green eyes are staring back at me.

  I wish I could be a robot and turn off my needs. As cold as I can be, there’s still something human about the inescapable hunger for touch. And I have to admit that his touch more than satisfied me.

  It’s been so long since I’ve been intimate with a man. And as handsome as Trevor was, big and masculine in a way that I love, our tumble between the sheets was a disappointment. After a short round of awkward sex during which he grunted over me a few times and then left, he never called me again. Or returned my calls. And I felt like I had done something wrong. It seems stupid to be so preoccupied with the sexual act. Thinking about it makes me feel like an animal at times. It’s not like I want to have kids, though I have ample time to change my mind. But nonetheless, I want to feel that connection with a man again that makes me feel like we’re one. And when I’m alone like this, I find myself wishing even more strongly for a bit of companionship, that a stranger will magically appear to fulfill my needs.

  The way Adam had done, on the rooftop.

  He didn’t seem like something from a horror movie. He actually seemed sweet, in an odd way, sincere when he said he didn’t want to hurt me. But what else would a vampire say if he wanted to lure me to my doom? Yet, if he did want to hurt me, wouldn’t he have just done it? Adam clearly had some sort of powers, super-strength or … something from the way he flew off the rooftop. And despite his encouragement, I hardly put up a strong defense.

  Perhaps the strangest thing of all is that I realize he reminds me of someone. It feels like a name that’s on the tip of my tongue. And I think of the way he changed, looking as though he came from ancient times. And then I remember the second story that I’m writing, the one set in Egypt, the tale of a young girl named Saga sent to spy on the royal family in the temple of Pharaoh. And I realize that Adam reminds me of a prince in the story, one who visits from a foreign land and steals the heroine’s heart.

  So is that it? Did he change for me because he reminds me of one of my characters, the way Staci has? Or if Staci is Marjorie from a past life … could Adam be the prince I’ve tried writing about, since he’s lived forever? I shake my head, as it all becomes too confusing for me.

  And by the time Sunday night rolls around, I can’t take being confined in the house any longer. I put on some tight jeans and a nice T-shirt, and go up to the roof again with the excuse of facing my fears. When I get there, two or three people are up top, having a little dinner party on the wicker furniture, and their presence helps ease my mind, even though the yuppie couple had been useless. And I tentatively creep out to the same spot where I had met Adam before.

  Maybe he’s still watching me, or can sense me with his vampire powers. I half-expect him to show up again, but nothing happens.

  I can’t stand being on the roof very long, I’m too nervous. But I finally work up my courage, and do what I really want to do. I look out over the ledge of the building, and whisper.

  “Adam, if you can hear me, I was wrong. I do want to see you again.”

  And once more, I scurry back to the stairwell. I run back to my apartment, locking myself in.

  On Monday, I go to work feeling exhausted. It seems like I haven’t been off for so much as a day. But for once, I’m almost happy to be here, to face the drudgery of my tasks. Maybe it’s the frustration of having been cooped up at home, or maybe it’s comforting to have other people around, the safety in numbers factor, because there’s no way a vampire will attack me in the hallways of Creative Quorum.

  I get to my office a bit earlier than usual and throw my things down on the dumpy little chair meant for the guests who never visit, and set my latte down on the plain brown desk. I immediately see the horrifying blinking red light on my phone, and any contentment I felt over being here dissipates. Voicemail is my natural enemy, a far worse predator than any vampire could be, because the light indicates that I have messages, and potential problems to solve. And it’s the most depressing way possible to start my day.

  To my surprise, I only have one message, and the good news is that it isn’t one of the mail boys, which means none of them have called out sick. It means I won’t have to juggle the mail runs to figure out who can cover which floor. But the bad news is, the voice I hear on the line belongs to a woman, Val Cornelius, one of the worst uber-bitches in the Creative Division.

  “Meridian, the garbage disposal in the 18th floor kitchen isn’t working properly,” Val hisses from somewhere in the limbo of telephone space, a recorded blip on some chip buried in a phone closet. “This is unacceptable. I come here on a Saturday to try to do some work, and I can smell the decaying food from all the way down the hallway. At my desk! The sink isn’t grinding the garbage properly and I’m sure I’m not the only executive bothered by this. And just a suggestion, but you should really have a cell phone on your outgoing message so we can contact you over the weekend in case of emergencies. Please call me as soon as you get in on Monday. In the A.M.”

  Val is insane, telling me to put my cell number on my outgoing message. Bitch, please. Like I really want her calling me up on my off hours. If that’s going to happen, then the company will have to start paying my mobile bill. And give me a raise.

  Val really isn’t even an executive. She’s a junior one, like Staci, trying to wield her lofty power from a cubicle, not an office. But unfortunately, she is blonde and pretty, if a bit on the bony side, and Val does hold a certain level of respect in the upper ranks. She’s just attractive enough that the men on the 18th floor consider her a hottie, and she’s smart enough to kiss the ass of anyone and everyone important above her, just as ferociously as she belittles the peons beneath her. And I can’t ignore her complaints, because I don’t want to hear her voice any more than is necessary.

  So I take the elevator upstairs to look at garbage disposals.

  When I get to the kitchen, I find a rotting banana in the refrigerator, and I throw it down the sink to test the machine. I quickly see that the unit is working perfectly, and I don’t smell a thing, but I pick up the phone and call the maintenance guy anyway. Better to be safe than sorry when it comes to the possibility of incurring Val’s wrath.

  After I leave a message on the building maintenance line, I curse my stupidity. I’ve left my Starbucks back on my desk. But I need a quick caffeine infusion. Even though the
office coffee is disgusting, it is strong, and some eager beaver has made a fresh pot. So I pour myself a cup.

  As I drop extra cream and sugar into the cheap paper cup to make the gross swill palatable, Staci walks through the door. She’s wearing a black blazer and black slacks, her signature outfit. Her blonde hair has been curled to perfection, and her M.A.C. make-up has been applied flawlessly, in a thick layer.

  Her face lights up in surprise when she sees me.

  “Oh my gosh, Meri! What are you doing up here?”

  “The garbage disposal. Val thinks it’s broken again,” I groan.

  “She always thinks it’s broken, just because her nose is hyper-sensitive. She doesn’t realize it’s probably something in the building pipes.”

  “I know. I think she wants me to get on my hands and knees to scrub it all out myself. Which I just might do to shut her up.”

  “You know she screamed at me once because she thought I was burning a candle. It wasn’t even lit, it was just sitting at my desk. Apparently, the smell of Vanilla Cinnamon offends her. I had to put it in a drawer to get her to stop bitching about it.”

  “She’s such a shrew. What kind of lunatic complains about Vanilla Cinnamon? I should get …”

  But I’m not thinking straight, and I stop myself. I’m about to say that I should get Adam to eat her, which would be a mistake.

  “… I should get a new job is what I should do.”

  Staci pours some coffee into a mug she’s carrying, her own personal one that reads, “Positive Attracts Positive” on the side. Which doesn’t make sense. Positive attracts negative in the real world, but I suspect it’s an advertising thing. She probably only carries it to show she’s upbeat and chipper, and that she never misses an opportunity to promote herself.

  “So how was your weekend?” Staci asks, not really waiting for an answer. “Oh my God, Darcy called. We’re going out for sushi this Tuesday. I’m super excited. I’m hoping he sees it as a date-date, and not a networking type of thing. Of course, he is a great contact no matter …”

  “I met a guy,” I say, practically cutting her off.

  I’m not sure why I say it. I can’t really tell her about Adam, not his true nature, anyway. Who knows, it might endanger her life. But on a certain level, I must be desperate to dish.

  “Oh really? Where did you meet him?” Staci says, intrigued.

  “At Downtown Pub. He was that guy at the end of the bar I was eye-fucking.”

  “You were eying someone at the bar?” she says, full of surprise. “I didn’t even know.”

  “Oh, I thought I was being obvious. That’s why I left in such a hurry, but he was gone by then. But the weird thing is, I ran into him on the roof of my building, of all places.”

  “The roof of your building? Sounds stalkery. Does he live there?”

  “No. It turns out he works for the company that owns the place. And he goes up there because he loves the view so much, like me.”

  “It is a nice view. So is he … what? A maintenance guy?”

  “No, not a maintenance guy,” I say, in a slightly bitchy tone. As if I have to prove that Adam is something special, which is easy enough to do. “He’s some finance executive who handles the company’s investments.”

  Staci hears hints of finance and money, and she’s instantly excited.

  “Oh. Well, dish! What’s he like?”

  I wonder how I can describe Adam, especially in a way that won’t terrify Staci. But I realize there’s so much deliciousness to him, it will be easy to impress her while still leaving out the fangs.

  “He’s hot. And super successful. And really, really hot. This guy is so smoking hot I practically have second degree burns.”

  “How successful is super successful? I mean, I’m sure he makes a good salary from being an executive.”

  “I don’t know. It must be some huge conglomerate with a real estate division. And it sounds like he’s one of the partners or something. He offered to buy me an island. Or have his company take over the agency so I could run it. And let me tell you something, he didn’t sound like he was joking around. Can you believe that?”

  “Wow …”

  Staci’s eyes widen ever so slightly, and a wave of emotions crosses her face, not the least of which is fear. But she quickly collects herself.”

  “I don’t know. It sounds like he was laying it on a bit thick. Are you sure this guy wasn’t bullshitting you about this company?”

  “It wouldn’t matter if this guy was a plumber. He was so cute. He had this dark, wavy hair and piercing eyes. And a body like he spent half his life in the gym. Seriously drool-worthy. The only problem was …”

  “What?”

  “Well, you’re right. The whole throwing money around. And the rooftop thing. It was kind of creepy. Stalkery, like you said. He reminded me of that movie about the Wall Street guy who goes around chopping up women.”

  “Oh my God, was he Christian Bale hot?”

  “He was Christian Bale and every other hot movie star combined hot. Like you could not even imagine. You would have pushed me into traffic to get at this guy.”

  “Yum,” she says, staring off, dreamily. “Are you sure you don’t want to reconsider? You could meet him somewhere public. And bring mace.”

  Or maybe a wooden stake. But meeting him somewhere public is not such a bad idea. At least there would be people around. I can’t believe I’m actually considering it. But I also can’t get the subtle curve of Adam’s lips out of my mind.

  “It doesn’t really matter. I can’t. I didn’t take down his number.”

  “Oh, shoot. Well, maybe you’ll see him again on the roof now that you’re going to be up there every night. Or maybe you can contact the company that owns the building and try to track him down?”

  “Maybe. But I think for now I would be better off calling the maintenance guy again, just to make sure he hurries. That way Val won’t get me fired. And I won’t have to throw myself at rich men who want to buy me islands, just so I have a place to live. I’ll call you later.”

  I drop my crappy cup of coffee into the trash bin, and head back downstairs.

  I get off on the 16th floor, and as I approach the receptionist station, I immediately spot some flowers sitting on the back counter. They’re giant long-stemmed red roses with huge bulbs, and one white rose in the center of the arrangement, and they look good at the station where the receptionist sits. The desk is basically a big slab of beige marble, with another slab of marble on the wall behind it, where the company logo is embedded, a set of giant gold letters that spell out, “CQ.” And the colors contrast nicely with the bland surface.

  As I get closer, I see that the flowers are even more stunning than I had thought, with two big, green leaves sticking out behind the roses that form a kind of backdrop. For a moment, I wonder who the lucky girl is. Probably Lilliana in Accounting, a hot Filipina who married a rich lawyer, who always brags about making her husband pamper her.

  I never get flowers, not even from Trevor after I put out. But then a wave of panic hits me, as I suddenly realize who they are for. And if there was any doubt in my mind, it disappears when the girl manning the desk, Kara, looks up at me with excitement.

  She’s a plain girl with frizzy blonde hair, fresh out of college. But with a straight perm and a few smart outfits, she’ll be working on the 18th floor in no time.

  “Oh my gosh! Meri, guess what? You have a flower delivery,” the girl says.

  Even though I know what’s going on, I’m still hit by a subtle wave of shock. Of course, they’re for me. And it’s shallow, but looking at the expensive arrangement, I can’t help but to smile.

  I pick up the vase, which is heavy. But luckily, my office is only a few feet down the hall.

  “Aren’t you even going to read the card?” Kara asks.

  “Oh, I already know who they’re from. Some guy I can’t get rid of,” I say.

  “Wow. It sucks to have such problems.”
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  “Sucks is exactly what you would say.”

  But despite my casual front, I’m dying to read what Adam wrote, and I hurry toward my office. I pass the Mail Department, and, of course, I have to listen to their taunts.

  “Woo hoo, look who has a new boyfriend.”

  “Ay, que caliente, Loca!”

  I can hear Edison’s voice calling out to me, but I choose to ignore him, as he follows me a half-step out into the hall.

  “Say, if I give you some flowers, will you go out with me, sweetheart?”

  “Not if you bought me the whole shop,” I say.

  “Aw, why you gotta be so cruel?”

  “I don’t have to be cruel at all. I’ll leave that for the guy who sent me the flowers. And trust me, you don’t want to mess with him.”

  Edison squawks unhappily, but I say it with just enough seriousness to put a bit of fear in him. And as I walk away, I can hear the sound of the other mail runners laughing at him.

  I set the flowers on the dull brown wood of my desk, the one that makes me feel like a schoolteacher. And they look out of place in my office. These flowers belong on the 18th floor, at least at one of the cubicles, and look ridiculous among the pile of invoices I have messily stacked up. Ridiculous, yet beautiful, and I’m glad they’re mine.

  I stare at the card a long time, afraid of the Pandora’s box I might be opening by touching it. The thought of reading it makes my stomach do somersaults. Yet, it also excites me to think of the dark, dangerous lover who sent them. But the smart thing would be to just throw it all away.

  Curiosity finally gets the best of me, and I snatch the small, square envelope from the flowers, including the plastic fork that held it in place. I throw that little pitchfork away, so that it won’t ruin the splendor of the gorgeous buds, and I open the card.