SNAP: The World Unfolds

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

It was good to be home.  Surrounded by familiar things, I put off unpacking and climbed into bed.  The castle was luxurious, the New York apartment was decorated and comfortable, but sinking into my sheets, my down pillows, was like being hugged by my mother.  They say we react to smells we don’t even identify, and these subtle scents were mine.

The sun woke me.  I hadn’t been waked like this for more than a week.   I’d chosen a white gauzy fabric that let in sun all day long for my drapes.

It was just after 8 a.m.  I started coffee and flipped on the morning TV news shows.  Nothing spectacular had happened over night.  Still unrest in the Middle East, troops still in Iraq and Afghanistan, still squabbles in Congress.

I’d stayed in touch while in New York so didn’t expect much when I opened my email and was rewarded with an announcement that Jean-Louis would attend this afternoon’s content meeting.  That had caused quite a stir, with several people chiming in to say they’d be there, too.

OK, I decided, I’d better get myself back in SNAP mode.  Back in the bedroom, I dumped my luggage.  Separated things for the cleaners, things for the wash, put away soaps, lotions, cosmetics.  

After a long shower that loosened all the travel kinks, I pulled out a pencil-slim skirt, an oversized thin-knit silk and cotton sweater, a wide belt and stiletto heels.  My work uniform was ready, with the addition of a chunky necklace, a hobo bag and my briefcase.  Comin’ into Los Angeles, like the song said.

It was a slightly different homecoming when I opened my front door.  There was Carlos.  He reached out to take my briefcase.  “What are you doing here?” I could feel my voice raising and I tamped it back down.

“I’m going to be your driver and bodyguard now,” he almost smiled.  “The Baron and Jean-Louis arranged it.  I’ll be with you 24/7, even in the office.  Well, not right in your office, but I have a cubicle.”

Hmmm, I should have expected this.  After the guy accosting me in the hallway in New York, they weren’t taking any chances.  And truth to tell, I did feel safer when the demons were around.

So, Carlos and I headed off to work.

He parked on the second floor of the garage, escorted me to the staff elevator, rode up with me, escorted me to my office, nodding to people along the way, and left me to go to a cubicle about 20 feet away.

Jazz came in with a sheaf of papers and messages, her eyes like saucers.

“What happened to you,” she was stymied because she usually had an in with the office changes and gossip.  I wasn’t sure how much she knew and how much to tell her.

“I had a good night’s sleep.” I shrugged.  “Why?”

Her mouth opened, closed, made a fish face.  “You look different...I don’t know, fancier, thinner, happier?  You’re sort of glowing.

“And what’s with the bodyguard?  He looks like the kind that trails around and protects the Baron and his crowd.  And all the town car drivers we use.”

“What do you know about the bodyguards?”  If she didn’t know they were demons, I’d have to talk to Jean-Louis.  I sure didn’t want to blurt out something beyond her need to know.

“I know we get them from some agency,” Jazz wrinkled her nose in thought.  “I can’t remember the name, ordering cars isn’t usually my job. I think the Ice Princesses do that for the company.  They’re always big—buffed—and dress in black.  I’ve always thought they were European, maybe Eastern European, I don’t know why.”

“You’re right, I think they’re from Eastern Europe, too.  They were all over the place at the Baron’s and drove us back and forth to the airport.”

“OK, the Baron’s.  What happened?  Is it as fabulous as I’ve heard?  How did your clothes measure up?”

“You get gold stars for hooking me up with the personal shoppers, Jazz.  Most of the other women were dressed as though they’d shopped in Paris or New York, but I was turning a few heads, too.  I met a couple of producers from here, Bruce Johanssen and Rick Almdale.  They seemed like nice guys, A-list and important if the Baron invited them for a house party.  We need to get all their contact info and keep tabs on them. 

“As for the rest, it’s amazing.  It’s really a castle in the Hungarian woods.  The food was wonderful, we watched the French and German SNAP episodes, the grounds are manicured and I had a personal maid who laid my clothes out and helped me dress.”

Jazz was frowning.  “Oh, I don’t know if I’d like that.  It’s a little more personal than I’m used to.”  Her voice got dreamy, “I’d like to experience it once, though.  And how was Jean-Louis?”

Now we were where she really wanted to be. Jazz wasn’t a SNAP employee for nothing—she could smell an item from miles away.

“He was fine.  We had some good, long talks.” Remembering his glimmer as he leaned over me made my knees weak and I sat.

“Now, what’s on tap for today?  I saw the email that Jean-Louis will be at the content meeting this afternoon.”

Like flipping a switch, Jazz was back to her professional mode.  “Yes.  Chaz, Carola and Mina are back, too, so there’ll be a full complement for the meeting.  One of the items will be going over possible newbies.  The hunting crews have five girls they’ve followed and put together portfolios on.”

“Will they have them ready for the meeting?”

“The money is yes.  One of the IT guys has been working editing and packaging clips.  Rumor is that’s why Jean-Louis is here.  You know his ‘top and bottom’ routine.”

I couldn’t completely suppress my grin.  “I do know it.  And he’ll make quick work of any he decides are the bottom.”

Jazz smiled back and whirled out of my office saying, “I’ll get the contacts for Bruce Johannsen and Rick Almdale and put them in all your contact files.  And welcome home.”

I sank back in my chair and closed my eyes.  My desk was clear thanks to Jazz, and the agenda for the content meeting was set, so I had time to make some calls and chat with Carola.  This might be awkward.  I’d shown angst and vulnerability during our last meeting and now we were back in the supervisor/employee roles...at least on the surface.  Could I face her and carry out my role knowing that she was really part of the family that owned SNAP?  And that, in reality, I worked for her?