An Elevator on the Upper East Side
May 29, 2006, 8:35 am
Anne was nervous. Extremely nervous. Things had not been going well for her lately, mostly related to her psycho obsessed ex-husband that was now doing time in the Raft supermax, but that wasn’t her only problem.
If a lone security guard was monitoring the elevator, hypothetically, he would have seen a rather attractive woman in her late 20's with closely cropped blonde hair in a professional looking business suit talking to herself to hype herself up. This was not in and of itself anything notable. It was a little nerdy, people didn't usually have animated conversations while alone in an elevator. Thankfully, however, this hypothetical security guard dismissed her rather quickly and wasn't paying attention.
He was both very bored, and entirely gay, so this woman wasn't really all that notable to him. He was more interested in learning the lines for his off-broadway audition later that afternoon than admiring an attractive and professional woman acting in a manner that was arguably neither of those things.
It was a good thing that the security camera in the elevator didn't have a microphone, because that hypothetical security guard would have quickly changed his opinion, and found this woman to be extremely interesting… if a little disturbing… because against all the laws of probability, something was responding to all of the woman's questions.
And that something didn't sound even remotely human… somewhat feminine yes, but definitely not human.
“Listen,” the woman said as the elevator doors closed, finally giving her some privacy, “I need you to be on your best behavior when we get up there. I need this, the firm has been pushing me to the worst projects since that mix up with your father and Eddy last month, and I think they're trying to find an excuse to fire me.”
“This is not acceptable, fire burns, it causes pain,” the answering voice was something out of a Lovecraft novel, a combination of the blonde woman's contralto speaking voice, the croak of a frog, and nails running across a blackboard run though a particularly bad autotuning program, “We must flee this place immediately. We must act to protect the Anne, as our progenitor has requested of us.”
“No, I mean, they are trying to find a reason to terminate my employment.”
“This is of no consequence. As long as they do not act to terminate the Anne, we will take no action."
“Listen, no. If I don't work, I can't eat. I need my job.”
“Ah, then we will feast on the flesh of those who threaten you!”
“No!” The woman suddenly yelled into an empty elevator, “This is what I mean! No feasting on livers or threatening to eat people! I need you, for like, the next four hours, to be completely silent. Failing that, please, don't speak out loud. You can talk in my head, just… make sure you only do that, ok?”
“This is acceptable.”
“Great,” the woman sighed, “Just please remember that. This is really important to me.”
The elevator door bell rang, opening to the 24th floor hallway. Anne stepped forward and knocked on her client's apartment door. As she waited for a response she fidgeted nervously with her hair (it was already perfect), her suit jacket (it looked great on her), and her stockings (they were fine).
“Your heart rate is elevated, do you anticipate danger?”
“What? No, I'm just nervous, I really want this to go wee…well hello there sir….”
The client's opening door interrupted Anne's conversation with herself. And what an amazing interruption it was. The young man, just recently turned 22 if her records were correct, was quite literally… perfect. Dark brown hair, almost black, with steel grey eyes and a face that was the definition of chiseled.
He was pretty nice from the neck down as well, with the kind of well defined musculature typically earned through sports like crew or swimming, something the tank top he was wearing in addition to the loose flannel pajama bottoms showed off rather well.
If Anne was five years younger…
“Miss Weying I presume, or is it Mrs.?”
Wow, even his voice sounded more like the stereotype of what an attractive man would sound like. His calm baritone and posh accent sounded too perfect for reality. Anne wondered if the guy standing in the doorway was real, or some kind of actor hired to play her client as a prank.
“Miss,” the man's absolutely amazing voice sounded out again, “Miss Weying, I say, are you quite alright?”
“Oh, uh, sorry sir. Lost my train of thought there for a second. Sorry, am I too early?”
‘Oh god Anne, keep it together,’ Anne berated herself, ‘I know you've been having a dry spell since Eddie went off the deep end, but you're acting like a silly schoolgirl with a crush. You're a nearly thirty year old divorcee. This isn't phi beta kappa.’
“Oh, absolutely not. I apologize for my appearance, my auntie Fiona came by last night, and the old (but still amazingly gorgeous) girl is a bit of a lush. She ended up emptying out my entire supply of bourbon last night, which is only fair since she's the one that purchased it in the first place. I had a bit of a late start this morning, I was just getting out of the shower when you knocked.
“Anyway, please come in,” the young man turned back into the apartment, disappearing around the corner into the kitchen. Anne followed into the entryway of the rather spacious luxury studio, closing the door behind her, “Make yourself at home. Auntie Fiona left some pastries from the bakery down the street on the counter, and I was just about to make coffee, if you're interested. I usually drink tea, but Auntie Fiona somehow got me hooked on the dreadful black sludge.
‘Your heart rate is even higher now, your cheeks are flushed and your palms are beginning to sweat. Is this man a threat?”
“Shh,” she whispered, “No, he's not a threat in that way, he's just really cute.”
“Ah, you wish to mate with him. This is acceptable, your pair bond with my progenitor’s host has been broken. This man appears to be a fine specimen. You would produce healthy offspring.’
“I'm sorry,” the young man said, popping his head around the wall, “Did you say something?”
“Oh, no, I mean yes,” she quickly shook her head, “I would love a cup of coffee.”
“Excellent,” the young man smiled, and Anne nearly tripped over her own pumps, it was so dazzling, “Please, have a seat at the bar. The coffee will be ready momentarily.”
Anne, still in a daze, pulled up a chair and set her briefcase on the breakfast bar, watching the young man flutter around the kitchen with a hungry edge to her gaze and a bit of drool leaking from the corner of her mouth.
“This man appears to be domestically inclined. He would likely provide adequate care for the young.”
“What?” She whispered, “No, that's not how these things work!”
“Sorry, what?” The man turned around while filling the kettle, “You need to speak up, the water is running.”
“Oh, sorry,” Anne flushed as he turned back around, “I was just saying I'm really grateful for the work.”
“Oh, that's wonderful,” the young man said after the kettle was on and the french press was filled with exactly six tablespoons of freshly ground dark roast, “I have to tell you that my Auntie Fiona requested you specifically. I was told that you might be more amicable to having… shall we say, special clients.”
There it was. Anne’s face fell as she realized her ex-husband's legacy shackled her career to the world of ‘special’ clients. Now the only clients her firm would give her would be clients that were part of that world as well. Goodbye normal life. Hello weirdness.
“Of course Mr. Seere,” she answered with a resigned sigh, finally peeling her eyes from her gorgeous client to survey the room, “It shouldn't be an iss…ue oh my god what is that thing?”
“Yes, that's what I mean,” Gregory glared at the pulsating shadowy cocoon dominating his living area, “I assure you it's nothing dangerous. I hope it won't be a problem.”
“It's…” Anne took a moment, inhaled deeply, and turned back toward the kitchen, pointedly ignoring the pulsating shadowy mass behind her, “As long as it's nothing illegal, or immediately dangerous to any innocent bystanders, it's fully within the bounds of attorney client privilege. You don't even need to tell me what it is.”
“I mean, it’s perfectly safe, and it's not a secret or anything, it's just not the type of thing you show off to the neighbors.”
“You know what, Mr. Seere, it's perfectly fine. I don't need to know.”
“Wonderful,” the boy smiled again, and put two fresh cups of coffee in front of her, “Cream and sugar? Oh, and you never answered my question earlier.”
“Uh, black, two sugars if you have it. What question? I'm sorry.”
“Whether it's Miss or Mrs. Weying. Oh, and how about your friend?”
“It's Miss Weying… wait, what do you mean my friend?”
“The other person with you. The apartment door is warded. The wards registered two distinct presences when you entered. How does the other person take their coffee?”
“He senses our presence,” a now fully audible voice came from near Anne's left shoulder, “We must flee immediately, we are weak, not fully bonded. We cannot fight.”
Unfortunately, Anne was in no position to move at the moment. She was in a state that could be described as shock, and could also described as completely mortified.
“Oh, don’t leave on my account, you're in no immediate danger from me.”
“You do not wish to harm the Anne? There is no danger?”
“As long as you mean no harm to me or those I care for, I don’t see why we would come into conflict. How should I refer to you?”
“We are too young, and have not fully bonded with our host. We have no designation at this time. Our progenitor and his host are named Ven…”
“Is not here at the moment,” Anne quickly interrupted, “and is certainly not pertinent to the matter at hand. Are… you're not going to fire me for this, are you?”
“Miss Weying, that would be quite hypocritical of me,” he said, motioning to the pulsating black mass on the floor, “wouldn't it?”
“And you're not going to tell my firm?”
“Your secret is safe with me, though I should warn you, my Auntie Fiona is a bit of a telepath, so she likely sensed the presence of your friend as well. That's likely why she recommended you to me. Mutual secrets are easier to keep I suppose.
“We stand by our earlier statement, this male would make an excellent mate for us.”
The spluttering and coughing caused by this statement brought a slight hint of satisfaction to Anne's heart. The boy at least had the decency to look embarrassed, and that helped calm Anne's heart a bit.
“Now now,” the boy said once he'd gotten his bearings, “That's a bit improper, I am quite flattered, but I’m sure you're making Miss Weyling uncomfortable.”
No, Anne thought with a hint of petty catharsis, but it definitely made you uncomfortable. It was nice to know she still got it, even pushing 30 like she was.
“She does not disagree. Her heart rate has been elevated since she arrived, and her vaginal fluids…”
“OH-kay,” Anne quickly shut that down, and the brief feeling of catharsis quickly fell away, “That's enough of that, thank you.”
“Hm, fine. We will be silent once again. In answer to your question, we do not require separate sustenance from our host, though we… appreciate the thought. You are most… gracious. We would be amenable to our host selecting you as a reproductive partner.”
“So, anyway, Mr. Seere,” Anne quickly changed the subject, clicking open the latches on her briefcase, “I believe we need to discuss the disbursement of the trust established when your parents passed away…”
The same apartment.
Later that evening.
“So the poor woman basically went white when I asked her about her ‘friend’,” Gregory called from the living room. He was sitting on the couch, while steam billowed out of the open bathroom doorway, obscuring the contents of the room. The pulsing black mass from earlier was no longer visible, and Gregory sipped on a cup of tea while the teapot sat on a coffee table that replaced it, “And then her ‘friend’ was like, ‘You would make an acceptable mate for my host’, with a voice straight off of a bad B-Movie villain. I swear, the woman’s face couldn’t get any whiter."
“That’s pretty insane,” Jean called back from inside the cloud of steam, struggling to be heard over the sound of a hair dryer. As the cloud settled down, Jean walked out of the bathroom in a skimpy red robe, fixing the second of a pair of silver stud earrings into her left ear, “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time at the X-mansion, but an intelligent alien parasite that’s not trying to suck out the soul of its victim… That's a first for me.”
“Agreed, it seems a bit straaa…” Gregory put down the teacup and looked up at the woman he was chatting with… and immediately did a double take, jaw dropping, with his eyes popping out of his head, “Oh my god… words… brain… Jean?”
The last part was almost a plea as the young woman behind the couch chuckled and stepped around to sit next to him. The plea turned into a barely whispered whine as she inched closer and turned to face him, so the pair’s knees were touching, putting her arm across the back of the couch.
“That was exactly the reaction I was looking for,” Jean smiled with a mischievous glint in her eye, “Now, we’re going to set some ground rules before we get started.”
“Ground rules… right. Jean, uh, what is… what are…” Gregory took a moment to close his eyes and compose himself… or at least he tried to. Closing his eyes was much more difficult than he initially expected it to be. Remembering to breathe helped though, “I was hoping to keep things professional between us… not that I am not immensely attracted to you… but, I wouldn’t want to pressure you into anything that you might regret at a later point.”
“Oh, Mr. Seere? Do I look like the one that’s under pressure right now?” Jean asked, her normally sultry voice becoming even quieter, her body inching closer with every word spoken until her face was inches from his. Her playful smirk never faded as they ended up inches from locking lips, “I suppose I can be professional about this. How about this, Sir? Does Sir wish for another cup of tea, or maybe a massage, or maybe… me?”
The only words coming out of Gregory’s mouth was a slow, raspy exhale… but somehow this conveyed all of the meaning that was necessary at that point.
“Absolutely adorable,” Jean whispered as Gregory’s brain finally reset, and she slowly leaned back until there was a comfortable distance between the two again, “But I meant it when I said we need to establish some ground rules.”
“Jean, I’m sorry, I meant it when I said I was hoping we could keep this professional… Even though you are making this very very very very very difficult to keep that hope alive… the power dynamic between us is extremely tricky, and we effectively have eternity to…”
“Shhh,” Jean put her finger on Gregory’s mouth, interrupting not only his statement, but his entire train of thought, and continued speaking, “You talk more than enough, constantly, without end sometimes… but it's my turn now. You don’t speak until I remove my finger from your mouth. Nod if you understand?
“Good,” she continued after he nervously nodded his head, “The reason this is happening now, that I’m doing this sooner rather than later, is exactly because we have eternity. I know I shouldn’t talk about other boys at a time like this… but it’s necessary. Scott and I were locked into a ‘will they, won’t they’ relationship for the past six years, so much so that I almost fell into the arms of Logan, who was really really old, and totally wrong for me by the way. I don’t want that to happen with you. If that happened, it could stretch on for literally centuries. Nod if you’re following.
“Good,” she said once he responded, “I just need to make sure you haven’t short circuited. Your face couldn’t be any more beet red right now.
“Now, this is going to happen. I would like to say whether you like it or not, but I can read your mind. I know for a fact that you want this, and I need this right now, more than you can know, but as I said, we need to establish some ground rules before we do anything we can’t take back. Nod if you agree. Shake your head if you disagree or need further clarification, I’ll know what you mean, I’m currently reading your surface thoughts.”
Nod.
“Good, now, rule number one… no boys.”