42nd & Lex (16 page)

“I’m
sorry I woke you up. I’m not used to someone else being here yet, I was
probably making a lot of noise.”

“No,
it wasn’t you. It was the sun.” I muse at how ironic that must sound coming
from a human to a vampire, then I remember it’s just folklore.

“Nah, there is actually some truth in the
tale,” Lucan affirms. “We try to avoid high doses. Not because it kills us, but
because we are all so fair skinned and sunburns are really unpleasant.” I can’t
tell if he is kidding, but it sounds plausible. “Hungry?” He smiles, giving
nothing away as he turns back towards the kitchen.

“Mmm. Hmm. Just give me a second in the
bathroom,” I say shuffling across the room, my feet catching a chill on the
floor.

On the table are a dozen white roses in a
vase and two place settings of china in a delicate Art Nouveau rose pattern
with and a gold band along the edges. They must be over a hundred years old, like
something my grandmother’s mother would have brought over from the Old Country.
It probably had come from the Old Country, only it was probably Lucan who had
brought it over.

“Wow. You’ve been busy.” I smile at him and
swat his butt. It is like hitting a brick wall, but in a good way. He amps me
in return as he pulls out a chair for me. I feel underdressed in my ratty
t-shirt and sweat pants for such a lavish table setting. The food smells
delicious and my stomach reminds me that we did not eat the night before. Lucan
brings over a platter of bacon and French toast sprinkled with powdered sugar
and raspberries. As always, he’s made enough for an army. He piles the French
toast and bacon on my plate with a heavy silver serving fork. I don’t even
object to the large helping. I am starving and it looks perfect, like something
out of a magazine. He places a few slices of the toast on his plate and a pile
of bacon before returning the platter to the kitchen counter. 

“You
know you don’t have to eat in front of me, Lucan,” I remind him again. 

He looks sheepish. “I know. Sometimes I
really miss human food, especially meat, so I eat it. Consequences be damned!”

“Does it taste the same to you? I mean as it
did before.” I would assume it tasted bad, sort of to remind him not to eat it.
But  what do I know..the Enclave has a restaurant.

“It probably tastes better since my senses
are so much more acute, but I could just be making that up. It’s been so long
since I was…well, since I tasted it as you do. Plus, I never had anything like
this growing up in Ireland.”

“Huh. Are there any vampire food critics
then, if things taste so much better?” I wonder aloud.

“Yup, there are a few.”

“Wow. Who?” I ask through a mouthful of
French toast. “Mmm, sorry. Linds and I like to read the restaurant reviews in
the Post and then try the restaurant.”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” he
replies. “So what are you going to do today?”

“I’m not sure. I’m meeting Sarah at seven o’
clock at my place. I don’t have to be there until about six-ish to get ready. I
mean,
we
don’t have to be there until six-ish.” I am still perturbed
that Lucan has to tag along on my dinner even if I can appreciate the fact that
it is probably safer that way. I’d like to think I am a seasoned New Yorker
capable of handling myself. I wasn’t really in danger from other New Yorkers though.

“I have some business to take care of at the
Enclave this morning, you could come with me.”

I am unsure if he really wants me to come to
the Enclave or if he is just afraid to leave me alone. “I probably should go
home early and do laundry and clean my disaster zone of an apartment, take out
the trash before it starts to smell.”

“I can send someone over to take care of all
that.”

“Lucan. I can’t accept that. I’m not used to
having people to do things for me. You just can’t spend money on me like that at
every turn. I only agreed to the Evora because it seemed to make you happy. I’m
really a simple person not used to lavishness,” I motion around the room to
illustrate my point. “You’ve seen how I live. It’s not because I can’t afford
better. It’s because I don’t see the point of it.” He looks shocked, hurt even.

“I didn’t mean to insult you. I just thought
it would be nice if you didn’t have to worry with all that this weekend and we
could spend more time together.”

“You can’t keep me prisoner here either,” I
mutter. I know he wants me safe and frankly, I am concerned for my safety as
well. I am not about to be locked up for the rest of my life, only going
between the 30
^th
and 68
^th
floors of the Chrysler Building,
never seeing the outside world again without Lucan tailing me. Lucan’s eyes dim
and he folds into himself a bit. Instantly I feel bad.

“Sorry,” he says. “I didn’t mean anything by
all this, Abri. It’s just that I’ve been waiting for you for a long time—” He doesn’t
finish his thought.

“It’s okay. I didn’t mean anything by it
either. I’m just fiercely independent as my mother says.” Admittedly, I
overreacted a little to his offer of help. It is too soon to tell on the
protective streak. I hope it is concern and not possessiveness that has him
wanting to tail me.

“Finish your breakfast. I know what we can
do. Have you ever seen the observation deck?”

“No! I haven’t. You can’t. Well, normal
people can’t go up there. Oh, Lucan! You have no idea how much I want to see
this. I tried sneaking up there once but it was locked.” Lucan has found
something only he can give and it doesn’t cost a thing. Something I can’t
resist, the Chrysler. I begin to eat my French toast in double time. “By the
way, this is the best French toast I’ve ever had. And these dishes, are they
old?” I realize that wolfing down my food is incredibly rude so I put my fork
down and chew slowly. 

“Mmm. Hmm.” This time Lucan has a mouth full
of food. “I bought them at the 1900 World’s Fair in Paris. I only have these
two place setting left after all these years and a few serving pieces. I move a
lot, or at least I used to. I’m glad you like the French toast. I picked up
that skill in Paris too.” I figure that last part isn’t entirely true, but it
makes for a good story. 

“You can make this for me any time, love,” I
wink. Oh! That is the first time I have called him that.

“Any time you wish,” he smiles.

Mark and Serge pulled up to the run-down
office building in Queens around nine. Mark, as a rule, was leery of attorneys,
especially ones that insisted on meeting on Saturdays in run-down office
buildings in Queens. Serge had suggested this particular man as an attorney who
could “appreciate Mark’s unique situation,” which Mark assumed meant he was
vampire. The name on the door read
Virgil Hicks, Esquire, By Appointment
Only.
That didn’t seem like a very vampire-like name—then again neither did
Mark Ainsworth.

 He knew that Sarah’s lawyer was in
Manhattan. Probably with a high dollar, high power firm. Hopefully Mr. Hicks’
office arrangements were about frugality and not a reflection on his ability to
make a profit. Mark was beginning to think about Abri Cole when Serge pushed
him through the door and into the cramped waiting area.

There was a small desk with a phone and an
ancient computer, a sagging leather couch, and two dirty wing backed chairs on
either side of a rather dusty fake fichus. A small bell sat on the desk next to
a sign that said “Ring for Receptionist.” Mark tapped the bell and turned
towards the unpleasant seating arrangements to wait. Serge was pacing back and forth
in the tiny room making Mark nervous. 

“You can leave if you want. I’m not a child
and besides, this is human stuff.”

“Imbecile, I’m not here because I want to
be. I’m here because you
need
me to be here to talk to Virgil.” He must
be vampire then. “So you don’t do anything stupid.”

The door to the reception area opened and a
tall, blond-haired girl in her early twenties walked out with a clipboard in her
hands. She was dressed in a short, tight black dress and the highest heels that
Mark had ever seen. Her hair was curled and swept up into an elaborate style.
All of this was better suited to an evening on the town than a lawyer’s office
on Saturday morning. She looked at Mark and Serge with some disdain before
speaking.

“Good Morning, Mr. Ainsworth. Mr. Hicks is
expecting you. I just need you to fill this out first. I trust you brought your
papers with you?” She thrust the clipboard at Mark before perching herself on
the chair behind the small desk. Mark nodded and sat back down on the saggy
couch to look at what she'd handed him.

“Let me.” Serge took the clipboard and began
filling out the requested information. Mark didn’t argue. The receptionist
stared at them out of the corner of her eye while she pretended to be engrossed
in an old
People
magazine.

Once Serge finished, he handed the clipboard
back to the blond woman and she buzzed Mr. Hicks to announce Mark. A gruff
voice mumbled what sounded like an approval over the speaker. The receptionist mouthed
 the words “First door on the right.” And motioned for them to go through door
she had come out of.

Virgil Hicks was a large, sweaty man of
about sixty or so years. He wore a light tan suit that looked out of place in
the Manhattan winter. His tie had a dark stain on it that looked like it had been
there for a while. Gravy? Barbeque sauce? Blood? Mr. Hicks mopped his forehead
with a folded over hanky and motioned for Serge and Mark to take the two chairs
in front of his massive desk. The chair groaned under Mr. Hick’s weight as he
shifted himself to face them more directly.  

“How can I help you gentlemen?” Mr. Hicks
breathed heavily over the desk in a slow southern drawl. Mark wondered what Mr.
Hicks was doing before they came in that had made him so exasperated. Probably the
blonde-haired woman out front. Mark was about to think on how cliché this whole
experience was when Serge interrupted his steadiest train of thought in weeks
to answer Mr. Hicks’ question.

“My friend here is in need of a divorce
lawyer,” Serge answered. His tone was that of impatience, as always. “His wife
has hired a large downtown firm to handle the proceedings.”  

“I see,” Mr. Hicks said, sitting back in his
chair a bit. “Tell me son, do you have many assets she could be after? Investments,
property,”—he leaned forward a bit for this one—“liquid assets?” Mr. Hicks was
concerned about how he would be paid not about the division of the marital
estate. If his wife had hired a big firm, there was obviously money to be spent.
Even Mark could figure that out.

“I can pay you if that’s what you’re
inquiring of, Mr. Hicks. As for what my wife is after, I cannot say exactly. That’s
why I would be hiring you. Suffice it to say, there are assets that even my
wife does not know about.”

Something snapped in Mark. Maybe it was the
thought of Sarah taking his money, or maybe the thought of Mr. Hicks taking it,
but Mark was his shrewd, businessman self again, if only for a minute. 

Mark’s father and grandfather had been in
the oil business in Texas during times when that was a very lucrative career
move. They had smartly weathered the financial storms in America by leaving
Texas and heading to the Middle East. As the only male heir, he had inherited
it all when they passed away. His grandfather of natural causes in the
mid-1990s and his father a few years ago from a massive heart attack. Mark had
vowed to take care of his mother and grandmother in the manner that they had
become accustomed, but even that was but a drop in the bucket of his wealth. Sarah
knew he was rich, but she did not know the full extent of his worldly dealings.
Mark had investments in more countries than he could list thanks to his father
and grandfather. Thankfully, most of them were in trusts and corporations
untouchable by Sarah and her attorney.  

In spite of all the money, Mark’s father had
insisted he go to college and then afterwards, earn a wage on his own. Mark
settled on architecture as a major and had worked for a rather large Manhattan
firm before Serge came into the picture. A job that, on its own, could support Sarah
in the lavish style she preferred. Sarah and Mark had met in a fine arts class
that was required for both their majors in college. She had been so beautiful…   

Mr. Hicks shifted in his chair again; the
groan of the springs broke Mark’s reverie. “Well then, let’s get some of the
particulars out of the way. Did you bring your papers?”

Mark pulled the papers the process server
thrust on him yesterday from his jacket pocket and handed them across the desk
to Mr. Hicks. The lawyer pulled a pair of reading glasses out of his shirt
pocket and settled them on his nose. After flipping through the papers, he put the
glasses on top of his head.

“Well son,” he began. “She certainly wants
her fair share of it now doesn’t she?” Mr. Hicks was turning out to be a
no-nonsense, in-your-face kinda guy and Mark liked that. “Now tell me how we
got to this point. You two have only been married a few years.”

Mark recounted the story of moving to New
York and his demanding job. He hesitated when the story reached the part that would
introduce Serge into the picture. “Mr. Hicks, I haven’t been myself as of late.
I think that’s why she’s divorcing me. I’m just not sure how to put it all into
words.”

“You’re a vampire, son.” Mr. Hicks was,
again, straight to the point.

“Actually, hal—" Serge cut him off with
a kick to the ankle.

“You’ve handled these types of cases before,
have you not?” Serge interjected. 

“On occasion, when the need arises.” Mr. Hicks
looked Mark and Serge over. He could tell something was wrong, but experience
with vampires told him not to question them too hard. He knew how his bread was
buttered, as they say. Vampires generally had money and money was what he was
interested in when it came right down to it. “Does your wife know?”