Authors: Michael Malflic
Nadrea
was aware, very aware of who she was and how she affected others around her. Most people questioned their looks and their ability, modesty was not part of her. She had always been pretty, so unlike most everyone, she never for one second doubted it, not a cruel ex-lover’s comments, or a lack of praise from others ever made her question her abilities and worth. She had the ability to lead otherwise decent people completely astray. When she moved her scent was sweet, much like one would imagine a faint sense of sulfur that would follow the devil. Yes, her scent was sweet, but there was something more to it than flowers, or musk or even vanilla. Her scent was more like the sweet lingering smell of candy mixed with sex. In truth her scent was made for her and it was rose oils and flower extracts mixed with vanilla and cinnamon.
She was the type that if life were like the movies righteous men would renounce Satan at her site and proclaim her as evil, a minion of hell but life was not that. Unlike the movies, men and women are drawn to her body, enthralled in her conversations, aroused by her sensuality, and they would drown in the deep dark seduction of
Nadrea’s
eyes. She could read people and play between their words and her intentions. She was direct without a purpose and at times was like a cat playing with its’ prey before leaving it in shambles proudly on someone’s door step. If nothing else she was as calculated as anything. Often, “Fuck you” “It’s their problem” or “I’m sorry did you mistake me for God cause I don’t give a fuck” were her responses to questions about the greater good, the only greater good she cared about was her own wants and desires at everyone else’s expense.
Somewhere between her ginger salad and her second piece of tuna, but before her first piece of salmon Tiffany walked up. As the group assured their server that the food was not only correct, but actually edible
Nadrea’s
hair showed just the slightest hint of amber as the bright midday light dances through it. A lingering glance from Tiffany was all she needed to begin a dialog, not out of kindness or interest but out of potential. Her lunch companions thought she was just being polite, a moment of idle social interaction, it was after all a fairly common human trait. This of course was certainly not the case, she was on the hunt. As the meal wore on she continued to eat in the predictable and prescribed manner. It’s always the same, the same food, eaten in the same
order,
it’s more like a ritual than a meal. Salad, 2 pieces of tuna, one piece of salmon,
then
one tuna, one salmon the last tuna and then the 4 pieces of spicy crab roll. As she consumed the last piece of tuna and during the time she began to reach for the first piece of spicy crab roll her companions excused themselves and headed back to work. The check was taken care of as
Nadrea
sat alone drinking in the cool calm air of the restaurant, basking in the clear bright light of day that caressed her soft white skin.
“May I take these?” Tiffany asked before bussing the others now empty plates. Plates that not fifteen minutes before were filled with raw fish & rice. Now there were only traces left of things, a smear of Wasabi here, a small pile of ginger there, the occasional grain of rice and the intermittent drop of low sodium soy sauce.
“Of course love”. Now one’s family or even an older lady calling someone love or dear is one thing, a waitress in a blue collar joint calling a man honey is another, but this was something altogether different, this was most certainly an advance. Subtle, not threatening, words said for reaction. With that Tiffany focuses an easy gaze and a gentle, soft wide friendly smile and so the dialogue continued. “I’ve been here a fair amount, but haven’t noticed you before.”
Nadrea
pressed.
“I pick up a few nights and the occasional day here and there for extra party money.” Tiffany says casting her line “The boys can’t always buy all the drinks.”
“What do you do you do when you’re not here picking up party money?”
“Waitress, hostess, nothing too serious.”
Tiffany replied.
“So where do you party?”
Tiffany began shuffling through her mind a list of cool yet socially acceptable answers, after all this is a patron at one of her places of employment. “Mostly at dance clubs, techno, bass and drum, the occasional dub step concert, anywhere there’s a decent groove and a group of my friends,” a safe not too incriminating answer. The idle prattle continued on about friends and origins. In truth Tiffany was a waitress, now in certain cultures, particularly a few European ones where being a waiter was considered a respectable and dignified profession. Here with rare exception of the very best four and five star establishments it was considered a job, often over looked and under appreciated by the very people they serve. It was usually a source of income until other things could be found, or a way to help a struggling working class family pay the bills. Rarely except in the top establishments was it considered even by those working there anything more than a
job.
At the end the conversation turned to a simple invite to stop back by the restaurant on Wednesday night.
Nadrea
explained “I have a few tables in the private section reserved for special friends, and the blatant invite that Friday night there is a wonderful theme party at an exclusive club, tempting her with “if you happen to stop by I’ll have your name on the list.”
“Ok, what info do you need?”
“None, I’ll tell them Tiffany, cute brunette with bright green eyes and friends” Tiffany took one last lingering glimpse at
Nadrea
, her bright green youthful eyes swimming aimlessly in the deep dark brown of her counterpart.
“Or you could give them this.”
Nadrea
handed her a business card sized piece of paper with an invite to the Friday night outing inscribed on the one side, but it was no ordinary piece of paper, a dull matte black linen, that had frayed and soft wavy edges and a raised shiny dark grey embossed “
N
”.”
With that
Nadrea
stood up finished her water placed her napkin in a heap on the table and moved toward the door, her hair flowing gently behind her as she opened the door and the warm breeze flowed in, she stepped out
into the sunshine her body clad in a boring brooks brothers lady’s suit and shoes that had just a little bit of an edgy look to them, not so much so as to be out of place but not at all the school
marm
type. As the door shut behind her you could sense something subtle about her scent still lingering in the otherwise benign air.
Vincent still found himself in the valley, scouring reports, dissecting statements, market share data, and projections. It was about that the time when he began asking questions. Soft and gentle subtler variations on questions previously ask, looking for new information, a slip of the tongue, a hidden inconstancy. For those he was there to see it appeared that all was going well, nothing too strenuous, or terrible, nothing unexpected by them as he continued making his inquiries, making notes, referring to documents and occasionally following up for additional detail or clarification. He would soon excuse himself to prepare for his next meeting not in the private office they had provided him but in the secluded privacy of his own hotel suite, one could not be too careful, the phone could be tapped, there could be listening devices or pin sized camera hidden in the office, watching his movements, trying to decipher his notes and document he would linger over. So they correct or prepare responses for any areas he might have objection to. After he arrived back at his hotel his hosts busied themselves with preparing for the next meeting, one between Vincent and their investors, a small first stage venture fund. Back in his room his eyes moved from one spec sheet to the next, from a few pages of printed out source code to another set of printed out source code, code that perhaps looked all too familiar, from the schematics of a specialized chip set and custom green board and back to the pages of code.
Vincent wraps his meetings with the venture cap firm that had done the first round of funding. Dinner invitations are exchanged and he declines, stating that he has enjoyed the day but needed some time to collect his thoughts and prepare. He headed toward the car and climbs into the backseat, the driver doesn’t even try to get out and get the door. “Where to sir?”
, the
driver Chris asked.
“No where until you stop calling me sir and start calling me Vince.”
Chris his 20 something driver now a bit flustered “OK where to Vince?”
Vincent laughing heartily responds heartily “Well it’s been a suck ass day. Do you have a bed time?” Vincent asked
with out
pausing long enough for anyone to actually form a response let alone a slightly befuddled kid. “All work and no play
makes
Jack a dull boy”, he said in his best Jack Nicholson impression that sounded nothing like him.
“To the hotel I need to change.” So Chris points the black Lincoln toward Mission College Boulevard, sure the hotel was a chain but it had a real gym, after a day like the one he just had he needed to head to the gym.
“Look man, I need to be at the office by 9:00am and at the airport by 10:00, I’m not going to need to go out to night.”
The car comes to a stop in front of the long covered walkway.
“Ok Vince I’ll be here by 8:15”
“Thanks” and with that Vincent faded into the distance of the long walkway into the hotel. A quick workout and a few calls back east for status and input from the team there on the deal. Around 6:45 Deb arrives, she is an old familiar friend. They go back more than a few years to the very first week of college, meeting at a
Terps
football game in the student section. They were never officially a couple but over the years they had spent more than their fair share of time together. He was a geek and she was a free spirit who ekes out a meager living on the fringe of the main stream San Francisco Art world. Deb is wearing a flowing purple crushed velvet skirt, crinkled white blouse. “Nice look Hippie” as he hugs her
“Thanks, I’ve got some tofu in my purse for you” she responded continuing on “Noodles in Palo work?”
Pausing
“ I
was thinking drinks at the Fault Line and then maybe noodles in Palo. OK?”
As the two old friends headed towards her tired old white Toyota
Corrola
.
Vincent in a black pin stripe suit and white checked shirt.
Debs naturally dark red hair has a few purple and light blue highlights adorning the sides and back. Maybe, as most children will tell you usually means no, unless the issue continues to be raised, but 7 minutes later the couple finds themselves being seated at the overly crowded noisy micro brew. California in general, in particular Northern California, is a bit of an anomaly, the kind of place where a good micro brew can have a high end eclectic menu and an absolutely amazing wine list. Vincent orders one glass of Pale Ale and then moves on to his standard cola to accompany his Tie Chicken Skewers and Vegan Garlic Mushroom Caps. Deb orders a Sauvignon Blanc and a Caesar Salad. It’s funny how people come to know each other, without it ever being spoken the two had lost any fleeting intention of wondering up to Palo for Soba Noodles.
When they met, Deb was more the all American Girl, more of a preppy and a cheerleader than anything, her fashion sense at the time was more towards the Country Club set. Her legs while thin had always had enough not only tone but strength in them to have an alluring athletic shape, they hadn’t changed. Her
face still
soft and smooth and round, hair despite the odd color additions still soft and flowing, her look as fresh as it was the day they met. She had however evolved from young and preppy to sensuous and stylish. Vincent on the other hand had changed his body. He was no longer the odd lanky kid but a man of power and strength. Other than that he hadn’t changed much, sure his suits cost a lot more but his jeans were always still Levi’s he had gone from boat shoes, to loafers to Steve Maddens for his casual footwear. If there was a past he thought of them as nothing more than just very close friends, not ever stopping to think that she may or may not view their past in the same way. Vincent on his third diet coke and Deb on her second bottle of water as the meal was ending. While they had caught up on work, and art and fashion they hadn’t yet taken the time to catch up on life. “I’m Tom-less now”, she began. Tom
was a jerk in his mind, Deb was sweet and soft,
Tom
didn’t appreciate that. Tom was rigid and structured, she was flowing and free.
“I’m sorry to hear that” he replied.
“No, it’s ok. It
’
s been a while now”, she said confidently then she started reminiscing about both of their pasts, remembering fondly one person or another. He just listened, for him they were in the past but she seemed so happy recalling other times they had had together. As time wore on, “So are you seeing anyone Vince?” Looking for the right answer deciding that she knew him far too well, “Always looking for Miss last night.” Neither of them was surprised by the answer. It came to a point beyond annoying for the waiter they kept holding his table during the entire evening and drinking water and Soda but it was now far too late and time for the establishment to close. They headed to the parking lot where she stepped through a maze of open spots wandering and swaying.
While her serendipitous route was more meandering than efficient Deb talked with her hands and ever present over exaggerated gestures.
All the while he’s leaning back onto the hood of her car just listening, she still seemed so hopeful, like her dreams hadn’t slipped beyond her grasp, and thinking all the while how beautiful she was. As the door of the Fault Line was locked and the last of the staff wondered out to leave, the cool evening air finally convinced them to get in the car and head back toward the hotel. Where she continued to talk, and he continued to listen, they sat there by the valet. “It’s late why don’t you stay?” he offered.