Leslie and I talk for – what seems to be – a good two hours. Eventually I find an old legal pad and a pencil and start making notes. And things are even worse than I initially suspected.
Jesus and the other saints, along with everyone else, are locked. Every soul entering Heaven gets locked automatically – although in Jesus’ case, it was necessary. His time on Earth left him with post-traumatic-stress-disorder (and seriously, who can blame him?) so it was better than hearing him scream all the time.
Michael rules with an iron fist. There have been attempts to over-throw him before, but none of them have been successful. Most of the angels either learned to tow the line or left.
God isn’t even here. He’s established a new Heaven for the Crab Nebula and resides there now.
There are three shifts per Heaven-day and two days of long swing-shifts to make up the extra. A Heaven-shift is approximately six Earth days. A Heaven day is approximately eighteen Earth days.
All of the managers are men and suck-up to Michael to one degree or another. They may not like it (and several of them do) but none of them are going to rock the boat again.
Brian and Johan are among the likers.
Lovely.
There are hushed conversations all over the office among the women, but most of it is resigned. Breaks are limited to three per shift and ten-Heaven-minutes each.
From the conversions I can do in my head right now, that’s twenty-seconds.
I am seriously screwed.
Warren and a few others – Blake among them – are more sympathetic to changes. Not that Michael will approve any changes.
I smile and take notes and thank her for her time and guide her out the door.
“One last thing, Leslie,” I touch her shoulder briefly, “Michael runs everything from the doorway back. But who runs things up-front?”
“I don’t know,” she tells me with lowered eyes again, “None of us are allowed up there.”
Another one to add to my list of unanswered questions and scared-as-crap thoughts.
“If Brian gives you any grief over being gone so long, please have him comes see me,” I tell her, “I’d say to have him call me, but I don’t know my extension yet.”
When she leaves, I dig around some in my desk and make notes about what I’ll need. Then I explore this wing – which I’m the only occupant of. There are a few more offices, a conference room that looks like the last time it was used was during the New Deal and one very nasty bathroom.
I’m a little surprised about the bathroom, actually.
When I get back from my exploration, Warren is waiting for me.
“Hello, Warren,” I greet him, “Do you have a few minutes?”
“Um, not really,” he replies, checking his watch, “Here’th your copy of your athignment.”
“Thank you,” I smile and put it on my desk, “There seems to be a couple of things that we haven’t thought of, though. I’ll need a key to my desk, my office door, the supply room and the door to this wing,” I tell him.
“Uh,” he glances around.
“You were told not to give those to me, I’m assuming?” I ask him, sitting on my desk.
“Thort of,” he nods, “Michael wath hoping you wouldn’t notith.”
“But I have,” I tell him, “And my assignment says all the rights and authorities therein. So tell Michael that I insist upon those keys ASAP. Now, where is the copier located?”
“There’th a mimeograph mathine in the theno pool,” he tells me.
I only know what a mimeograph machine is from watching reruns of old movies. I have no idea how to operate one. Another internal sigh.
“And the R and D budget is?” I probe.
“You’d have to athk Dwight in Accounting that,” Warren tells me.
“So it’s zero,” I surmise.
“Clothe to it,” Warren blushes a bit.
“Well, don’t worry about that for now,” I smile and hop off the desk, “Leslie said that I’m on the day shift around here. How do I get home once that’s over?”
“Oh – um,” he pauses and searches in another folder for a piece of paper, “Here are the directhionth to the thuttle,” he says.
“Thank you, Warren,” I smile again and can’t help but notice the tips of his ears growing pink at my attention, “You’ve been a real help. If Michael gives you any trouble over those keys, you just let me know and I’ll talk to him directly. Ok?”
“Thure thing, Mith Thaint,” he says.
“Please, Warren, call me Claire,” I tell him nicely. “So you can pronounce it” my snarky side says, but I shush it.
“Claire,” he nods and blushes a bit more, “Ith there anything elthe?”
“No – not at the moment. Thank you for all of your help,” I guide him out and fall into my chair once he’s gone. I scribble on my note pad furiously, but I’m not terribly worried about it being found.
First of all, my handwriting is – and always has been – crap. Secondly, I’m writing in banking terms, not in actual facts. I don’t think that anyone outside of banking could make sense of things like, “under-performing assets” or “equity-capital.”
I sniff myself and realize that my deodorant has stopped working. Not surprising, considering the huge time-difference. I flip the paper over and start jotting some more notes.
And then I settle back and read my contract and groan.
My contract has been written in Heaven-time, not in Earth-time. So I will spend six days up here and twelve on Earth for – I really wish I had a calculator – a little over a year – if my mental calculations are correct.
I am to follow the dress code – which has to have been written by Michael, “Female employees will wear at all times dress, skirts or shorts no lower than five inches below the hip-bone. Shirts, blouses or other upper-garments will show at all times at least one inch of cleavage and/or one inch of midriff. Shoes must have heels of three inches or more and be worn at all times.”
I snort, “Like to see you wear three-inch heels for six days straight, asshole,” I think.
“Personal business is allowed only during allotted break times,” it goes on.
There are over a hundred reasons why I should protest this job in just the agreement alone. I haven’t even read – nor do I want to read – the official employee handbook. I scribble more notes about things to bring with me and start yawning. Apparently I’ve already been up for over 24 hours and my body is telling me it’s done.
“Claire?” I feel someone shaking me and open my eyes regretfully. Apparently I fell asleep where I was, because the page that I was writing on clings to my face for a moment while I lift my head. There’s a drool-stain there when it falls back on the desk.
Great. Way to impress, Miss SVP.
I blink and focus and see Clark standing before me. He doesn’t look happy.
“Come on, Claire-Beth,” he tells me, “Your shift is over.”
“So soon?” I respond, wiping my cheek and trying to focus. I pick up the note-pad and stand up.
“By your appearance,” me assesses me, wrinkling his nose, “And odor, I would say that it’s past-time. I didn’t bring your things, knowing how Heaven-time works. We can sort it out back in Miami.”
Clark and I land in the hotel room. I open my eyes once he gives me the ok and look around.
“I’m freaking starving,” I tell him, grabbing the room service menu, “And dying of thirst.”
“I imagine so,” he chuckles, “And, if I might be so brash as to point out, you don’t smell too good either. Go take a shower and get cleaned up. I’ll have food and drink and company here by the time you get out.”
“Thank you, Clark,” I nod and turn to go.
“And then we’re going to have a serious talk about what’s going on in that head of yours,” he grabs my hand, “I want to see this agreement. I’m not leading you on this time, Claire. Michael’s dangerous and you don’t want to cross him.”
“I know you’re trying to protect me, but hear me out, ok?” I ask, “Give me forty-five minutes.”
As soon as I’m out of the bathroom, Drake clasps me to him, “Don’t ever freaking do that to me again,” he demands right before he kisses me long and hard.
“I could say the same thing to you,” I tell him when he lets me come up for a breath.
“Please tell me you’re not going back?” he asks me.
“I have to,” I answer, “I’ve never been to Hell-proper, but it can’t be that much worse than what I’ve seen. I can’t let this go, Drake.”
He sighs and looks at me with sad eyes, “There’s nothing I can say to change your mind, is there?”
“No,” I smile at him, “But you could try later tonight. Right now I’m starved.”
Inside the living area, there are several groaning carts of food and several people waiting around for me to come out. Jill, Jojo, Jamie, Father Jonas, Moira, Clark and – surprisingly – Darius, Matt and Rick.
“Hello all,” I drag the nearest cart over to the only empty seat and dig in, “Forgive my manners, but I haven’t eaten in six days.”
“Where is your assignment, Claire?” Clark demands and I pull it out of the pocket of my sundress.
“No, no, absolutely not,” Clark mutters as he reads. When he’s done, Moira rips it out of his hands and reads it herself, without comment, before passing it along.
I keep eating. Best to let everyone know everything up front before I start my arguments why I want to stay.
Besides, the potato salad is really, really good.
Drake is the last one to read it. By this time, I’ve pulled the other cart over and am just finishing the last slice of deep-dish, meat-loaded pizza. With red pepper flakes.
I’ve also gone through twelve 24-oz bottles of chilled water.
“All right,” I sigh and pat my groaning stomach after wiping my lips with my napkin, “Let’s hear it.”
They all start shouting at once and I stick my thumb and forefinger in my mouth and do my hail-a-cab whistle, “One at a time, please,” I remind them, “Father Jonas, you first.”
“I love you like a daughter, you know that,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “But this is foolhardy to say the least. Besides the physically-taxing toll it will take on you, it is obvious that you – along with every other female there – are little more than a harem. I cannot allow it. I promised your father that I would watch out for you and I would be breaking my promise if I were to allow you to return.”
I listen and nod and jot down a few notes but don’t react. I have a lot more objections to get through. Most of them will overlap and I’d rather address them all at once.
“Thank you, Father,” I smile at him, “Clark?”
“It’s an impossible situation, Claire,” he tells me, “There have been others who have tried and failed. Others with much more experience than you. I’m not saying that you aren’t smart – you are. But you have no idea how long that whole regime has been ingrained. You could spend centuries there and never change things. The first whiff that Michael gets that you’re trying to upset the balance? You’ll be locked and shut down for good.”
I take notes and keep listening, “Moira?”
“I just don’t understand why you would want to bang your head against a wall there when you’ve already done so much good here, Claire,” she tsks, “You’ll be taking a huge risk for no reward. You’re a redeemer – that means that your contact should be with humans, not angels. Those who have souls.”
I scribble more and let Jill, Jojo and Jamie talk. Their thoughts echo what’s already been said, but with a heavy emphasis on how much I’m needed back in Miami and how much (unspoken with Jamie, but still there) they love me.
Matt tells me, “Don’t hack a system you can’t safely back out of,” and Rick tells me, “Don’t land a plane where you don’t think you can walk away from it.” I nod and smile at them both.
“Darius?” I ask, “What are your thoughts?”
“Do what you want to do, redeemer,” he smoothes his tie, “Having you in Heaven keeps you out of my realm for six blissful days every three weeks. And when you fail, and I have no doubt you will, it will keep you out of my hair permanently. But I would suggest you ask yourself this – you’ve escaped Lil’s clutches once, but she is persistent – if nothing else. This wouldn’t be the first time that she and Michael have teamed up,” he coughs to clear his throat and it sounds like he just said “Jesus” under his breath, “Taking you out would serve both of their purposes.”
I jot down my final notes and flip my pad back a couple of pages.
“I appreciate and understand all of your concerns,” I turn to Drake, “You’ve already told me yours and I have them noted also,” I squeeze his hand briefly, “And I agree with all of you. I’m completely out of my mind to want to go back. It’s going to be really, really hard – physically, mentally and emotionally. I’ve counted one hundred and seventeen reasons why I should walk away right now.”
“Good – then we’re all in agreement,” Clark stands.
“But,” I hold up my hand, “I also have just as many reasons to keep on with this assignment. I’ve listened to all of your concerns patiently. Please give me the same courtesy.”
I look around the room at the various sighs, eye-rolls, rosary-rubbing, shifting and general mumbling subsides, “First of all, this is my last assignment. If I refuse this one, the next might be even worse. I still don’t know who’s behind all of this, but I’m never going to find out if I don’t do this. Second, I’m going to be the model employee,” I tell them with a smile.
“Beg your pardon?” Clark raises a brow, “Are you telling us that you’re going to put up with everything there for over a year and not lose your temper once?”
Darius snorts and Rick and Matt pull their wallets out for a side-bet.
“Thanks for the vote of confidence, boys,” I tell them, “But put your wallets away. Even I’m not naïve enough to believe that’s going to happen. Yes, I probably will lose my temper. But losing it and acting on it are two entirely different things. Believe it or not, I do know how to behave myself in a corporate situation. I will give Michael absolutely no reason whatsoever for calling me out.”
Moira narrows her eyes at me, “What are you up to, Claire?” she asks me slowly.
“I promise you that I will not attempt to overthrow Michael,” I cross my heart.
Darius snorts again.
“However, Darius,” I turn to him, “I may need to call Matt a few times beforehand and while I’m there to get some advice on technical stuff. Would that be all right?”
He rolls his eyes at me, “I suppose,” he says, “If Matt is agreeable.”
“Uh – sure,” Matt shrugs.
“So you’re amiable to walking around like a hussy and letting them ogle you – or worse?” Father Jonas asks.
I give him a sly grin and turn to Jill, “In your professional opinion as an imp, Jill, how much wiggle-room is there in that dress code?”
“Loads,” she giggles, “I’ve taught you well, grasshopper.”
“There, you see?” I beam at him, “I’ll be fine.”
They all leave reluctantly. I pull Jamie aside and ask him how he’s doing.
“I honestly don’t know,” he runs his hand through his hair, “One minute I’m fine and the next I’m freaking out.”
“Welcome to the club,” I snort in my head, but don’t say it out loud, “Are you back at work yet?”
“Yeah – picking up as many shifts as I can,” he nods, “So you’re here for twelve days and then gone for six, right?”
“Yes – why?”
“So I’ll know whether it’s you or not,” he tells me with scared eyes.
“Look, Jamie,” I frown a little, “You have my number. You can call me any time. If you’re not sure then call me. And if you’ve changed your mind about wiping your memories,”
“No,” he cuts me off, “Absolutely not. I’ve been thinking about that and I really don’t think it would do any good anyway. It might actually be worse in the long-run because then I wouldn’t remember that I’m being targeted and I’d probably take the deal easier than now. I have to go,” he reaches over and gives me a kiss on the cheek, “Don’t let the assholes get you down, Claire,” he tells me with a smile and walks out.
Drake hrumphs behind me.
“Oh, stop it,” I tell him, “Until this whole thing is over, he’s going to be part of my life so you may as well get used to it. If you want to help, why don’t you fix him up with someone?”
“Already thought of it,” he chuckles, “Unfortunately, I don’t run in the right circles for him.”
“I’ll think of something,” I sigh, “Right now I have a huge back-log of work to do. Marcie’s going to kill me.”
“Actually,” his shit-eating grin is back, “You don’t.”
“What did you do?” I ask him with my hands on my hips, echoing Moira.
He steps close to me and moves my hands to his waist, “I told you I would be your gofer or banker or whatever you needed me to be,” he tells me with a smolder in his voice that has my heart speeding up, “Once we heard from you and found out where you were, Clark explained the time-difference and I knew you would be panicked when you came back about your work. So I hacked your computer and took care of your work for the last four days.”
“Drake,” I pull away, shocked, “That’s illegal and immoral and just plain wrong. You don’t have the proper certifications or an MLO number or anything. I could get fired and black-listed for this.”
“Relax,” he chuckles at me, “I only pulled submissions from my company and I made sure I was up to speed on them before I logged in. And I know everything about you, angel,” he puts my hands back on his waist and wraps his in my hair, “I know how you think. I know your fingerprints, your encryption-key and your passwords. I won’t do it again unless you ask me to,” he starts kissing below my ear, “But I am an agent of evil, baby. Legalities and ethics don’t mean much to me as long as I get what I want.”
I want to argue with him – I really do. He did the wrong thing. But he did it for me. And I have missed him. So much that his kisses make me want to whimper for more – especially when he starts flicking his tongue along my jaw-line and his hands tug my head back and he steps closer still – the bulge in his shorts brushing against my pubic bone.
“What do you want?” I breathe out, knowing full-well what his answer will be but needing to hear it anyway.
“For you to do what I told you when I asked you to come home the first time,” he growls out and plunges his tongue inside of my mouth. He pulls me tighter against his body and rocks his pelvis against mine.
That whimper just turned into a moan and I arch my back instinctually, meeting his pelvis and his need with my own.
“I freaking missed you, angel,” he huffs out after letting me breathe again, his mouth moving down my neck, “I love you so much.”
His internal dialogue, which I am always privy to when we’re this close, is far more graphic. His promises of what and how and how long he’s going to pleasure me has me moaning again.
“Drake,” I pull myself up from my hormonal overload with a great deal of effort as he’s sliding the straps of my dress down, “When was the last time you fed?”
“Are we seriously going to have this conversation now?” he chuckles and unsnaps my bra one-handed.
“I’m not – oh God,” I end off when he pulls my nipple into his mouth and starts sucking it vigorously, “I’m not trying to argue with you, but I – oh God – I need to know.”
“Denise,” he growls, switching to the other breast as his hand slides up my thigh.
“That was,” I can’t think when he does this to me, “A month ago. And you’ve done plenty of poofing and changing and – ahhh – other stuff since then.”
“I’m fine,” he growls and rubs his finger across my core outside of my panties.
“But,” my hands fist in his hair and I rock against him harder, “You shouldn’t be. Are you feeding off of me?”
He pulls back, his eyes suspicious, “No,” he tells me, “I told you I would never do that to you. What are you asking me, Claire?”
Damn it.
“I trust you, Drake, to be honest with me,” I sigh and pull my dress up to cover my breasts, “I know what you are and I know that comes with – conditions,” I step to him and kiss him briefly, “I don’t expect you to be faithful to me. I know you can’t. And I don’t want – or need – the details. But you’re telling me you haven’t fed in nearly a month and I know how much energy you’ve used. I’m sure Denise was a lovely woman, but she couldn’t have been that good. If she was – you would be a soul-sucker right now. So either you’re lying – and I don’t have any reason to believe you are – or there’s something strange going on and we really need to figure it out.”
“I’m not lying to you, angel,” he gives me his grin and slips my dress back down to my waist, “You are right and we should think about this. But I don’t want to right now,” he pulls his face back up and pushes my dress all the way to the floor while he kisses me, “Right now I want you to do what I told you I wanted four days ago.”
I wake up around three. Drake has his arm thrown over my waist and he’s drooling into my hair, but I don’t think I’ve ever been happier. I slip out of bed and grab my international phone, which is still active and, thanks to Drake, still fully-charged. Closing the door softly behind me, I pad out to the living room and dial Mona.
“Claire, darling, we were just talking about you,” she gushes when she answers, “How are you, ma petit?”
“I’m fine, Mona. How are things in Paris?” I answer.
“We’re in New York at the moment,” she giggles, “Why don’t I call you back on your American phone?”
“Let me call you,” I tell her, “Drake’s asleep and I don’t want the phone waking him up.”
“Drake, hm?” she teases and gives me their New York number. It’s three in the morning, but I have long-since stopped wondering about Mona’s hours. The woman truly does seem to be a night-owl.
I sneak back in the bedroom and switch phones, leaving Drake a note on my pillow in case he wakes up. After what we’ve just been through, if he woke up to find me gone again it would probably take him over the edge. I throw some clothes on and grab my purse and find my Jeep in the parking lot.
Once inside, I dial. Giselle answers this time.
“What are you two doing in New York?” I ask. I can hear her hit a button and put me on speaker.
“We’re house-sitting for Bishop,” Giselle answers, “And taking care of his adorable little pugs, aren’t we Winney?” she coos and I hear a puppy-bark.
Bishop never struck me as an animal lover. I always thought of him brooding alone in his penthouse, plotting the next hostile takeover or something. Actually, I realize, I don’t have the faintest idea what he does.
“Great,” I respond, “How long are you there for?”
“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Mona answers, “Isn’t that right, guys? Daddy will be back tomorrow,” she sing-songs to the dogs and laughs.
“And that was why we were thinking about you,” Gigi says, “We thought we would pop in for a quick visit before heading back.”
“That would be great,” I tell them, “But my condo is undergoing major renovations and I’m staying at a hotel right now.”
“Oh, not to worry,” Mona says, “We weren’t planning to impose on you. We know how our nightlife-loving lifestyles clash with yours.”
“Oh, ok,” I smile, “Can I ask you ladies something? Something personal?”
“Of course,” Gigi answers, “Ask away.”
“What is the longest time either of you has gone without feeding?” I ask.
“Well, that’s certainly an interesting question,” Mona answers with a question in her own voice, “Why do you want to know? Do you have a bi tied up somewhere that you want to torture or something?”
“No,” I chuckle at her, “My,” and I pause, because calling a four thousand year old man my boyfriend sounds ridiculous, but that’s all I have, “Boyfriend’s a bi and he hasn’t fed in over a month. That just seems very odd to me.”
“Is he newly-signed?” Mona asks, “Sometimes the new ones try to deny it.”
“No, he’s quite old,” I explain.
“Of course it all depends on your activity and whatnot,” Gigi continues, “For me personally, I think the longest I ever went was a couple of weeks. That was during the war – very difficult to find good men to seduce when there are Nazis swarming all over. What about you, Mona?”
“I suppose a couple of weeks as well,” Mona agrees, “But it’s all up to the individual. If he’s truly old and is careful with his energy, then a month doesn’t seem too far-fetched.”
“But he’s not,” I tell them, “He poofs and shifts all the time. Even when I warn him about it, he says not to worry and he’s fine.”
“He’s probably just trying to spare your feelings, Claire,” Gigi tells me.
“But he is fine,” I sigh, “I’ve checked his levels several times and he’s still topped-off.”
“Then what are you worried about?” Mona chuckles at me, “Don’t go borrowing trouble, my dear. When he needs to feed he will know. The need becomes stronger and stronger until you can’t do anything but comply.”
“And what if you don’t?” I ask in a small voice, “I know you won’t die, but what exactly does happen?”
“You go on a feeding frenzy,” Mona tells me, “Until the need is sated, you lose all reason and kill your victims – usually violently. Jack the Ripper was likely a bi that went too long.”
“Oh,” I sigh again.
“What was his name again?” Mona asks me, “Blake?”
“Drake,” I answer, “Drake Sebastian.”
“Bastien?” Gigi exclaims, “Bastien Drake? Could it be? I haven’t seen him in ages.”
Honestly, I have no idea what Drake’s real name is or how many pseudonyms he’s gone by in the past four thousand years.
“I suppose anything’s possible,” I tell her, “You’d have to ask him, though. So, when do you think you two will be here?”
“Probably Monday mid-morning,” Mona answers, “Is that all right with you?”
“That’s fine,” I smile, “I do have another assignment, but I’ll be free this week. Actually, you two can help me with it if you want to.”
“Oh?” I can see Mona’s brow arching from here, “Pray tell.”
“Well, my last assignment is in Heaven,” I start out.
Silence. I even have to check my phone to make sure we’re still connected.
“Hello?” I ask.
“Heaven?” Mona asks softly, “Why would you agree to that?”
“Not you too,” I groan.
“No, no,” she leaps in, “I’m sure you’ll be fine. It’s just – surprising.”
“Why?” I ask her, “It would seem like a logical progression to me.”
“Well, yes,” Gigi answers, “But your assignments have all been on Earth previously. Heaven – and Hell, for that matter – are, ah, different realities.”
“Kind of got that,” I tell them, “Have you ever been to Hell-proper?”
“A couple of times,” they both tell me, “Time passes faster there than on Earth,” Gigi adds.
“It’s opposite in Heaven,” I respond, “I’m on shift-work there. Six days on and twelve off.”
“Sounds horrible,” Gigi laughs, but there’s a mocking tone to it, “Again, why would you subject yourself to it? And – more importantly – what do you want from us?”
“Ok, here’s my plan,” I tell them, “You can’t tell anyone about this – got it? Lil’s in cahoots with Michael and who knows who is in who’s pocket.”
“We’re in,” they chorus and we all start laughing.
I wake Drake up at six, already changed into my running clothes. I don’t want to admit how much I’ve missed it.
“Hey, baby,” I kiss his shoulder, “Ready for our run?”
“Mmmm,” he grumbles and tugs me on top of him, “I could think of much more pleasant ways to start the day,” he runs his hands up my abdomen, “I’ll give you a cardiovascular workout you won’t forget.”
“I know,” I kiss his forehead, “But that’s the goal at the end of this run. The only reason I’m doing this. So come on – the coffee’s ready and I have a ton of things to do today.”
I climb off of him and pull him to standing. Somehow – and I really don’t know how – I’ve never actually seen him fully-naked. I’ve seen parts – and all of them have been spectacular. But right now, in this moment, I take in everything that is my Drake and my mouth waters.
His hair isn’t perfect. It sticks up and out and there’s a huge flat-spot over his right ear. His face is still sleep-puffy and he yawns full-mouthed. Like a housecat, and it makes me smile. His morning-wood is prominent, but it’s his drowsy, human-like appearance that has me the most captivated. The sheet-imprints on his cheek and chest. The difference between the cool skin of his arms and chest and the hot skin of his pelvis and legs. The red markings. The way he shifts and creaks and cracks when he stretches his arms over his head and I see that sensitive skin of his upper underarm for the first time.
I could spend forever with this man and never get tired him.
It’s not just my mouth that waters this time, but I push those thoughts away, “Ready?” I ask him.
“Is the coffee the good stuff?” he mumbles and yawns again, showing me all of his teeth.
“Yes, baby,” I laugh at him, “Kenyan A-A and fresh-ground.”
We do fifteen miles and thirty minutes of core. He grumbles until mile six and I laugh at him. For once, it’s not me hating the run. On the way back, we run past my condo and Drake stops me, “Come see it,” he tells me, “It’s ready for your decision.”
The rubble has been cleared away out back. By by-laws, the fence has to stay in place but there are huge signs stating “Replace” all along the perimeter. We step inside the building itself and I feel like I’ve been transported back in time. It’s a skeleton with only two-by-fours and headers.
“Well, at least it’s finally clean,” I remark, wondering about all of my furniture and art and things that made it my home.
“Come upstairs,” he grabs my hand and tugs me up. The stairs are also temporary, slapped-together structures and I’m starting to regret coming in.
But once on the landing, Drake starts pointing out features, “Right here is the entrance to your bedroom,” he smiles, “There’s a door to your bathroom here and another to your closet here. Both of them adjoin your room,” he takes my hand and leads me through his imaginary opening, “Your bedroom is smaller by a bit, but that’s to create an office-nook here,” he smiles and points, “And expand your closet so the downstairs rooms won’t be so full.”
“Two doors so I have an escape route for the next demon-attack, huh?” I snort and he chuckles.
“What do you think? I can show you the architect’s drawings when we get back,” he tells me with a grin.
“The bathroom should be bigger,” I muse, “For two people. Maybe to there,” I point.
“That will eat into your closet space,” he says.
“I’ve been thinking about downgrading anyway,” I shrug, “All this schlepping around and then losing everything has taught me the value of living lighter. Besides, I’ll have to make room for some of your stuff.”
“Are you?” he grabs my hands and searches my face, “Are you asking me to move in with you?” His eyes are twinkling and he’s grinning.
“Well, I am still your custodian,” I tell him, “It would be a lot easier to keep track of you when I know where you are.”
“And you assumed I didn’t already have a home?” he asks, chuckling, “That I spent my free time beach-combing and slept wherever I could?”
Heat paints my face. I never really thought about where Drake stayed before, and I did assume that he was now homeless.
“I guess,” I stare at the plywood below my running shoes, “With the transfer and everything, I guess I thought that you had broken your lease when you left.”
Drake snorts with laughter. My ears could light a candle right now – they’re that hot.
“Look at me,” he tilts my chin up, “I’m not adverse to living with you. In fact, I was going to ask you to come stay with me the night you disappeared. Since Jill’s doing better, and it looks like Clark and Moira seem to be sticking around for now, and you and Jojo have things patched up and since it looks like Morton might actually have a brain cell or two, what do you think? I know you’re really tired of living in hotels.”
“I don’t want to inconvenience you,” I tell him.
“Angel, having you in my bed every night is the biggest convenience I can think of,” he grins and kisses me, “There’s plenty of room. Why don’t we finish and get cleaned up and I’ll take you to see it?”
Drake drives my Jeep across the Julia Tuttle Causeway and up Aiton Road to the exclusive homes on North Bay Road in Miami Beach. The commission on the sale of just one of these places would be enough to have any real estate agent retire very well-off.
And I am kicking myself right now.
Yes, I remember Drake telling me he was rich, but honestly, he never acts like it. He’s happy having beer and pizza and watching DVD’s with me. He slept on a pull-out couch in Jill’s living room, for pity sakes.
He cleaned out my Jeep with his bare hands.
He doesn’t dress rich. Yes, his clothes fit him very well and obviously aren’t from Wal-Mart, but – except for that tux – I’ve never seen him dress like Bishop. Or even Baron.
He pulls into a gated drive (they’re all gated) and punches in some numbers, “The code is 1115,” he tells me as the gates start to slide back.
“That’s my birthday,” I remark, watching the scene unfold before me.
“I know,” he chuckles and pulls through. The house is spectacular. Miami, in general, has a lot of Spanish architecture and pastel colors – nods to the very-Spanish roots of Florida. That’s changing, due to money and influences from all over. But even though I’m not a huge fan of ice cream-colors, I do appreciate the Spanish influence of adobe, rounded doors and terra cotta roof tiles. There’s plenty of that on the house.
At the same time, Drake’s house is very modern. There are huge windows and jutting angles and overhangs that make it a mash-up of Frank Lloyd Wright and Frida Kahlo. But it works and I adore it immediately.
The door opens and a man with a shaved-head, more tattoos than I can count and a sneer the size of Texas steps out, “‘Ya hadda’ come home now, huh?” he glares at Drake, “Ya gave me fifteen minutes notice. My buddies are already on der way.”
Drake laughs and shuts the Jeep off, throwing the keys on the dashboard, “Claire, meet Keith,” he flips Keith off, “Chief Property Manager and General Pain in my Ass,” he chuckles and helps me out.
Keith is human, huge and I can’t decide if his accent is Bronx or Brooklyn, but it is definitely New York.
“Hello, Keith,” I smile and give him my hand, “Claire Saint, pleased to meet you.”
“Dis is Claire?” he asks Drake, “You shoulda’ given me more time. Ida’ had something more presentable for da lady.”
I resist the Guys and Dolls Adelaide, “Charmed, I’m sure,” nasally reply, “I’m not a fancy person, Keith. I’m sure whatever you’ve managed is fine.”
“Have the Jeep taken to the garage and wiped down,” Drake tells him, “And put the bags in my room. Is it poker or pool tonight?”
“Pool,” Keith snorts, “Poker is on Wednesdays. Ya’ think youda’ gotten dat by now.”
Drake flips him off again and leads me inside, “Welcome to Casa Drake,” he chuckles and lets me take it in.
There’s a huge, sprawling living room in front of me – sunken – with seating for at least seventy and a kitchen the size of my whole condo tucked behind the stairs. Most of it is in shadow, but I do spy a flat-screen that I couldn’t in my wildest-dreams stretch across gracing the left-wall. Directly across are huge windows that give an uninhibited-view of the bay between Miami Beach and Miami-proper. He leads me to the view and I glance down, seeing a yacht moored on a private dock.
“So,” I start, quite overwhelmed by it all, “When I asked you to set up something romantic and special for Moira and Clark – you didn’t have to reach too far, did you?”
“No,” he chuckles and pulls me closer, “It was just a phone call. I have a very good staff and I pay them very well. They are used to my – idiosyncrasies,” he laughs again, “I know it’s over the top, but I really want you to feel welcome here. You’ll meet the rest of the staff later, but Keith is the one running the place – even though I’m technically in charge. So anything you want – ask him.”
“What did you just say?” I ask him, feeling the synapses of my brain fire off a huge “You IDIOT!” to me.
“That Keith runs things?” Drake looks at me confused, “Is everything all right, angel?”
“Yes,” I laugh and throw my arms around him, “Everything is just fine. Now, where is this pool table?”