The Meridian Gamble (5 page)

And I decide to throw Staci a bone.

“I’ll tell you what, why don’t we all
do this again sometime? Just tell Staci what day works for you and she’ll let
me know.”

This will force Darcy to see her
once more. And when he calls to set up a double date, I’ll get someone else to
fill in. Maybe Sally Kadjikian, the girl who works in the cubicle next to
Staci’s. That tramp will go out with anyone.

“Sounds great,” Jack says.

And before I can turn away, they’re
already deep in conversation again, as though I’m not there, and I just shake
my head.

Somewhat nervously, I head back
toward the bar, the more appealing end of it, and make my sad push through the
people crammed around it. The room seems like a sea of fake tits and clothes
from thrift stores that are worn ironically. But when I finally get closer to
the far end, he’s suddenly gone. My face drops. I make my way to his stool,
just to see if maybe his drink is there and he’s taken a bathroom break. But
his glass has been removed, and his seat is empty. A guy with thick glasses and
a lip ring quickly moves into his spot.

I scan the crowd to see if he’s
still here somewhere, but I can’t find him anywhere. Did I misread the signals?
Maybe he saw me coming back and did a runner?

I figure it
must be fate, telling me that he wasn’t right for me. And it doesn’t take much
for my inner coward to take control. I quickly exit from the bar, and slink
down into a nearby subway tunnel to make my escape.

I rush home to salvage what’s left
of my Friday night. When I get out of the subway a few blocks from my
apartment, I grab a vanilla latte from the local Starbucks. It’s one of the
things I love about my building, that there’s a coffeehouse practically
downstairs, and I do most of my writing there. I go upstairs and unlock the
door of my home, and throw my things down on the sofa, the one with a white
denim slipcover that I paid too much for, that’s surrounded by cheap furniture.
In my bedroom, I gratefully pull off my work clothes, and slip into a pair of
grungy sweats and a T-shirt, and put on some sandals. And I run up to the roof
of my building, my favorite place in the world.

When I get up to the top, I drink
in what is one of the most spectacular views of New York I’ve ever seen. I sip
my latte and breathe a sigh of relief.

This is pure bliss to me, to lean
against the ledge and allow the city to clear my mind. It feels like a place
where I can escape all the headaches and negativity … as if my life is so
difficult. I meditate here, letting the vastness of the metropolis that
surrounds me take away all my worries, and when I get in the zone, I feel like
I can see and feel the energy in the air.

And other times, I just like to
stare at the windows that light up the night sky and imagine what the lives are
like that unfold within them. And there’s one tower in the skyline in
particular that draws my attention, the Omnicom building that’s only a few
blocks away.

It’s hypnotic, really. The building
is particularly tall and seems higher than the others around it, even though
New York is filled with soaring skyscrapers. But this one has an odd shape;
it’s mirrored, like many of the others, but the roof isn’t flat. At about
halfway up, the top floors become progressively smaller, giving it a pyramid
shape, and they slope to a point in an asymmetrical way, just off center. I’m
not even sure if there’s enough room for a helicopter pad or a rooftop at all,
as it just seems to come to a point. The entire effect makes it look like a
jagged crystal stabbing up into the night sky.

I don’t know why, but I like to
imagine there are dark secrets inside, that they’re using the odd structure to
channel strange energy from the universe.

And what kind of name is Omnicom? What
could they possibly do in there? Make rocket ship parts? Work on biological
weapons? Since I’m looking for a new job anyway, I’ve thought about infiltrating
their headquarters under the guise of turning in an application, just to see
what it looks like inside. It might even be good to get some experience
interviewing. Even though I work in HR, I’m terrible at job interviews, and
have only ever gotten new positions by starting as a temp. But my plan seems
like an awful lot of work for such a small reward, and I somehow doubt I’ll get
up the nerve to see what’s inside.

So instead, I just sip on my latte.

I’m almost completely alone on my
roof tonight. It’s slow, for a Friday. A short distance away, there’s a yuppie
couple enjoying a bottle of wine. They sit on some ratty wicker furniture
someone dragged up here that rests under a string of lights. There isn’t much
else on the roof right now, just the furniture and a few plants in pots where a
woman is trying to grow an herb garden. There are rumors that the management
company wants to renovate the roof, build a plush patio and maybe a gym. I hope
they don’t, though. I like it the way it is now, filthy gravel and all. The
less people attracted to my sanctuary, the better.

As much as I enjoy being up here,
for some reason, the solitude isn’t quite bringing me peace of mind tonight. The
nagging thoughts that bounce about in my mind are particularly persistent.

I feel like a loser, like I don’t
know what I’m doing with my life.

Maybe it was all that talk about
marketing campaigns, and networking with people from Drexler Wexler. But I
really need to get my act together. I need to figure out exactly what I’m going
to do with my career. But maybe Staci is right, maybe I’ve waited too long to
move ahead in advertising. Even worse, seeing that guy in the bar upset me,
somehow. My last relationship, if that’s what you can call what I had with
Trevor, didn’t end well. I can’t help but to wonder if I’m ever going to meet
someone, or if I’ll just grow old alone with some cats.

There’s a low wall that goes around
the edge of the building, and I peek over it, to the busy traffic below. I can
see couples walking along, out on dates, and other people scurrying to God only
knows where. And the struggle of it all seems just a bit depressing.

And an odd thought goes through my
mind. Maybe I should just leap over the edge, and see what happens the next
time around.

I step back, unnerved. It seems
strange that I would think that, since I’m not really self-destructive in
nature, even at my worst. And I’m not really sure I believe in reincarnation,
other than my thoughts about Staci being Marjorie. But in that moment, I felt
convinced that it was all real, that I could come back again if I really
wanted.

“Don’t jump.”

It’s a man’s voice, coming from
behind me. Oh God, someone is about to ruin my peace. I immediately think of
some middle-aged jerk who will invite me to dinner with his wife, and then ask
for a blow job the next time we’re alone in the laundry room. But the voice
sounds familiar. And as I turn around, my world begins to spin, to the degree
that it almost becomes surreal.

The hottie from the bar is standing
behind me, like something from a dream. I can hardly believe it. And as
impossible as it seems, he looks even better when I can see him at his full
height, and I realize that he’s just tall enough to stare down into my eyes in
a sexy way. But suddenly, I feel scared.

This isn’t right. He shouldn’t be
here on my roof. Did he follow me? Is he stalking me? My body begins to tremble
with nervousness, and I feel like an idiot, because I can’t tell if it’s that
I’m alone with an attractive man, or that I’m scared.

I shouldn’t be thinking about how
cute he is. I should be worrying about whether or not he’s a serial killer.

“You. Weren’t you just …”

My voice cracks for a moment, and I
can’t speak.

“That horrible bar,” he says,
saving me. “You were hanging out with those two douche bags, trying to get a
drink.”

And he smiles, no doubt remembering
my not so subtle offer to sleep with him.

“Yeah. I … Oh God, they were
awful.“

I shake my head.

“I’m sorry, but … I’m confused. Do
you live here?”

But that’s impossible. I would have
noticed him before. In fact, I would have sensed such a slab of incredible
hotness from miles away.

“No, I don’t live here, but I come
up here every once in a while. It’s peaceful, and I love the view. My company
owns the property. That’s how I know the combination for the front door.”

“Your company? As in, ‘your’s’
your’s? Don’t tell me you’re my landlord?”

He laughs.

“No, I’m more of a cog in the
corporate structure.”

“So … you’re what? The building
manager?”

“No,” he says, laughing again. “I
manage the company’s investments. So you’d better not throw yourself over the
edge. The bad publicity might drive down the value of the property.”

I shake my head and laugh.

“How touching that you care.”

“I do care, actually,” he says,
moving just a bit closer. “Because I would have to jump off to save you.”

“And do you think you could move
that fast?”

“I am pretty fast,” he says, again
with the cocky grin.

“But what good would that do? How
could you save me?”

“I would have to cushion your fall
with my body, of course. If that’s what it took.”

And I get an image of falling on
top of him that’s momentarily delightful. He reminds me of Superman, saving
Lois Lane from a fall, which turns me on. I’ve always loved the idea of a
super-powered alien coming to my rescue, sharing his secrets with me, even if
the fantasy won’t win me the feminist of the year award. And he’s that kind of
hot, like Superman.

But this is a strange conversation.

“So what about you? Why are you
lurking around on rooftops?” he says.

“I like to come up here to clear my
mind.”

“And what are you trying to clear
from your mind?”

“Oh, you know. The usual stuff. Mostly
my crappy job.”

“And what is it that you do?”

I back up a half step, to survey my
surroundings. I don’t really know what to make of this guy, or how much I
should tell him. His story about working for the company sounds fake, but that
isn’t the type of thing you make up, it’s too easy to prove. Unless he’s
planning on killing me. And aren’t some serial killers extremely good-looking? Isn’t
that how they draw in their victims?

From the corner of my eye, I can
see the yuppie couple still there, drinking their wine. I figure I can call out
to them for help, if he is a lunatic. Maybe it won’t kill me to give him a few
more moments of my time.

“I work at an advertising agency. Creative
Quorum.”

He steps up next to me, also
putting his hands on the ledge, to stare out at New York. Yet he doesn’t stand
too close, taking care not to invade my space any more than he has.

“That doesn’t sound so bad,” he
says. “Isn’t advertising a fun, exciting field?”

“It’s exciting if you get to do
anything creative. But I’m in Administration. I spend most of my time
babysitting the mailroom and managing the receptionist pool. And trust me,
that’s anything but fun.”

“Well, what is it that you would
do, if you could do anything you wanted?”

“I would work on the creative side,
maybe design the TV spots.”

“Well, that’s an easy fix. Why
don’t I have my company buy your agency, and we’ll put you in charge? Then you
can design all the spots you want.”

“Yeah, and I can fire all the
douche bags. And I’ll only hire cool people who won’t try to hold me back.”

I laugh, but when I look back at
him, he’s only smiling at me, gently. And his eyes seem to sparkle with
mischief. Is this guy serious? He certainly doesn’t seem to be cracking up with
me, but I decide to play it off like it’s all a big joke.

“You know what? I’ve changed my
mind. If I could have any job I wanted, I would choose no job at all. I would
just live on a tropical island, away from all of humanity. And write.”

“Well, if you won’t let me buy your
agency, then I’m guessing you won’t let me buy you a tropical island either. But
maybe you’ll let me take you to dinner, instead?”

“Oh, you’re not taking me to
dinner,” I say, playfully. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It’s Adam,” he says.

“I’m Meri. Short for Meridian,” I
say.

“Interesting name, for an
interesting girl. It’s nice to officially meet you, Meridian,” Adam says.

He offers his hand, and when I take
it and my own is wrapped in his firm grasp, I feel it … that magic spark of
attraction. I like to go with my gut reaction when meeting new people,
especially when shaking hands. There’s nothing worse than a cold and clammy
grasp that gives you a creepy vibe. But Adam’s hand is nice, and I don’t recoil
from his touch. I feel comfortable with him, like I can trust him. And I almost
regret pulling away.

He just can’t be a serial killer, I
think. There’s no way. But there is still a dangerous edge to him that I can’t
quite describe. Maybe it’s all his talk about buying me things.

“So tell me, Adam. Are you always
this aggressive with women you’re stalking on rooftops?”

“Sometimes,” he says with a smile. “But
there’s nothing wrong with being aggressive. Not when you know what you want.”

“Asking if you can buy me an
island? Or my agency? Don’t you think that makes you sound …”

“Like a douche bag? Like the ones
from the bar?”

I smile.

“I wasn’t going to say it. But it
does make you sound like you’re looking for another notch on your belt.”

“You’re not the type of woman who
winds up a notch on some guy’s belt.”

I laugh, thinking of Trevor, and
the runner he pulled on me.

“Tell that to the last guy I
dated.”

Anger flashes across Adam’s face. Now
that scares me just a bit.

“Why? What did he do to you? Did he
hurt you?”