The Vampire

Xmas

Chapter 1

Maspero

Blues and zydeco. Chicory coffee and hot, sugary beignets. Bourbon Street and Hurricanes and ghosts and history; beautiful courtyards. Gumbo and jambalaya. What was there not to love about New Orleans?

Daydreaming had been Jason Sterling’s means of getting through the work day ever since impending layoffs had been announced in January. This was his first job since college and he only had two years working at Media dot Com; unless his previous tenure as student intern for one year counted, which it likely would not, he was sure to be one of those to be let go. By the end of March, everyone would know where they stood.

Jason had already started being careful with his money. He had been sharing an apartment and suspected he would have to move back in with his parents until he could find work again. He wasn’t looking forward to that.

But before he plunged into the unemployment pool, he wanted to take a trip somewhere. A final fling. Who knew when he might get the chance to travel again any time soon? The idea of spending money now was risky. But the idea of an adventure helped lift his spirits and lessen his anxiety, helped him to feel optimistic; he rationalized if he could manage to do this then maybe everything would work out okay somehow.

New Orleans was shaping up as his first choice. He wanted to travel to so many places, but he had not seen and done half of what he had wanted to when he had spent two days in New Orleans on a high school trip. Now New Orleans in particular called out to him.

He had first been introduced to New Orleans and its mysterious and unique charm by one of his favorite authors, Anne Rice. Her first vampire book had totally captivated him. There seemed to be so much to recommend the city, and not just the promise of vampires; real or not, she had made them real for him. But there was also history and the many haunted places, the beautiful architecture, great food and an appreciation of the good things in life. Paris, London, Venice, Egypt and Tahiti—all of these would have to wait. It was going to be New Orleans.

He’d almost gotten there a few times since high school. Plans to go to Mardi Gras always fell through. He and his girlfriend had talked about going. Ex-girlfriend, now. They had broken up a few weeks ago after a two-year relationship.

I need this trip. Jason sighed. I need to have something fun and exciting to look forward to. I can take my ghost hunting equipment. Maybe make it a long weekend, if I can afford it.

The plan was to hang onto the job as long as he could. His birthday was in mid-March. Once he knew where things stood, he would plan his trip. If it all played out the way he thought it would, he would be celebrating his twenty-third birthday with a Hurricane in hand at Pat O’Brien’s.

His last day at work was March 15. On the 16th, he left the cold of Minnesota on a flight south. While in the air, literally and figuratively, Jason considered his future. Did he want to stay in the same field? He was a media analyst, making 32K. With more experience and probably more education he could eventually make as much as 60K. He liked the work, but the job market was tight. Should he stay in Minnesota? He liked the idea of living in Boston. He had gotten his BA in Media and Communications at Boston University. But the cost of living there was pretty high.

He missed Carly suddenly. She should be at my side right now, he sighed. But he could admit to himself he was glad their relationship was over. I think I just miss the idea of her, of having someone, he thought. He still wasn’t quite sure what had gone wrong between them.

At first they seemed to share so much: similar taste in books, movies, travel plans, even political views. Of course, there were differences. His passion for ghost investigations and going to paranormal-themed conferences was one of them. And then there was his involvement in the goth sub-culture. She had been accepting enough of his passion for the darker aesthetics, of his longish hair, preference for black clothes, his ear piercings…at first.

They had known each other only casually in high school; they had hung out with different crowds. She was the popular kid, while he hung out with the artistic, weird, and unusual types.

He had left Minnesota to go to college and found a goth scene in Boston he could identify with. Those were his happiest years. Club ManRay was like a second home.

An internship in Boston had not led to a full time job as he had hoped so he had returned to Minnesota where the job competition was a little less intense. He took some post-grad courses, then the second internship, which had gotten him his present job.

After returning home, he couldn’t be part of the crowd. A lot of his friends, especially the arty types he had hung out with, had moved away. Those who were still around now had disappointingly settled into a routine which revolved around beer and weekly poker games, sports, worry about bills and mortgages, kids and the next Disney vacation. Jason didn’t fit in and he didn’t want to.

When he ran into Carly one evening at the movies with a group of her friends, they had started talking and she had asked him out to a movie the next week. That was how their relationship began. Then, over time, she had become less and less tolerant of his gothic tendencies, or his punk phase, as she referred to it. As if it were something she needed to wait for him to outgrow. Perhaps as an act of defiance he had added a wide streak of blue to his nearly black hair. She had not been amused. And when he showed up at her house for a date one evening, after he had gotten a fourth ear piercing and his blue black hair was now slightly shorter and definitely spiked in a more punk fashion, she reacted as if he had gotten a tall Mohawk and gone tribal.

She shook her head. Well, I don’t know, Jason…it is kind of extreme, and well, sort of gay.

He had laughed a little then, running his hand through the soft but stiff-looking spikes. It’s just a little different. I really like it. And we both know I’m not gay.

In time other differences became apparent.

Jason craved a life that would challenge him in positive ways. He had always felt he was not destined for a boring, mundane, normal existence. Though he was close to his family, he always saw himself living somewhere apart. Carly felt just the opposite: All of my family lives here. I don’t see any reason to move somewhere else. This is where I belong. My life is just the way I want it. But he was happy and comfortable with his choices too.

When she declined to see the same kinds of movies they had once enjoyed together he knew it was she who had changed. They no longer fit together. And he finally realized if she couldn’t accept him the way he was then what was the point? Sadly, it was just over. No recriminations, just a mutual acceptance of the situation.

Still, the romantic in him clung to the idea of a relationship based on mutual acceptance of each other’s quirks and interests. I just have to find someone who is as weird as I am. Or at least someone who can accept me as I am. Right now he had other concerns. Like how he was going to live and pay the rent. Romance would have to wait, indefinitely.

Before he left on his trip, he updated his resume and sent some out to prospective employers. He hoped to come home to find positive responses. At least that was what he told himself he should expect. He tried to remain hopeful.

At school he would have taken a degree in parapsychology, if one had been offered. But having that degree and being gainfully employed did not always go hand in hand. He had enjoyed his courses in sociology, psych, English lit. and film studies. He had gravitated to a job that seemed to include many of those interests, and now he was unemployed in that field. He felt unsure of his future now.

It was a very pleasant 62 degrees when he arrived in New Orleans, perfect weather for him. His hotel in the French Quarter was a little pricey, but centrally located. As soon as he dropped off his luggage at the room, he headed for the streets to look around.

By the time he had walked to Jackson Square, he had probably taken more than sixty photos of all the things that had caught his eye. For a while, he sat and looked out over Decatur Street and St. Louis Cathedral, watching people and checking out the local artists work hanging up along the Square. He started planning his own adventures as he watched horse-drawn carriages whisk tourists past him. He walked up the steps to look out over the levee at the boat traffic on the Mississippi. His body resonated with the sounds of the loud horn from the steamboat Natchez as it came into port then lingered over his first café au lait and hot beignets, drenched in powdered sugar, at the Café du Monde. He felt more alive in those first hours in New Orleans than he had in a very long time. The city welcomed him as if he had at long last come home.

His joy was momentarily overshadowed as a dark cloud found him and hovered overhead. Looking for a new job—just the thought of that whole process—depressed him. His recent job had been in a rather laid back work environment with not a lot of direct public contact. He had been able to wear some of his gothic accessories; his casually spiked hair was not a problem. Still, he suspected he was on the fringe of acceptability there, and probably well over the line at other businesses. He was going to miss that freedom to be able to express his true self as he ventured out into the unknowns of the workplace again.

Okay; enough of this. He was not going to allow himself to dwell on that. Not right now. Plenty of time for that later. I want to be in the here and now and totally enjoy myself in the moment. He decided he would take one of the walking tours to orient himself to the French Quarter and beyond, and then see where fate would lead him.

Everywhere held sights and sounds to delight him. Various music styles filled the air, as aromas of different cooking smells and unknown spices enticed him. The ambience of the French Quarter lifted his spirits. People seemed genuinely friendly.

He chose a cemetery and garden district tour for late that afternoon, and then signed on for a ghost tour for the evening. He visited the Gallier House and got caught up in thinking about the lives lived there. He walked about as if in a dream, at once real and totally unlike anything he had ever experienced. He paused to peer into lushly exotic courtyards, imagining what it would be like to spend time in such peaceful oasis. He enjoyed a Szaerac and then a View Carre 75, and was starting to feel the effects of the alcohol when he realized he hadn’t eaten yet. He had a fully satisfying meal at Bubba Gump’s, and sampled a drink called Fleur de Lis, charmed by the fun ambience of the movie-related décor, an indulgence of his passion for cinema. He found that evening’s ghost tour to be highly entertaining and informative. At the end of the night he took a different route back to his hotel, just to experience all the craziness Bourbon Street had to offer. He already felt as comfortable as if he had been in town for several days.

I’m not ever leaving here, he thought, getting somewhat teary eyed, even as he laughed at himself for getting so emotional. Life was good. He had made the right choice in coming to New Orleans. This is what a vacation should be.

When he got back to the hotel, he found he needed to crank up the room’s air conditioning, then took a shower, and quickly fell into blissful asleep.

The next morning, March 18th, was his birthday. He intended to make his way to Pat O’Brien’s later to celebrate with a Hurricane. He was sure this was going to be a memorable day and he felt ready for new and different experiences. He didn’t care if what he did was considered typical tourist stuff or not. He wanted to see and do it all.

He got an early start with what turned out to be one of the best breakfasts ever at the Camellia Grill, a small quirky place on Chartres. He wandered into various shops around the Quarter, looking over all of the interestingly weird souvenirs. He remembered to gather some post cards to send to his sister Carrie, and would send some to himself as well, noting the date, what he was doing or planned to do that day. He regarded these as brief journal entries, a memory to enjoy when he returned, feeling only slightly self-conscious about the sentimental side of him he was reluctant to show to others.

His day was filled with pleasant surprises and tasty new food experiences, including his first praline; freshly made and still warm, it almost melted in his mouth. He found the Maspero Café to be a great place for lunch. He ate fresh fruit at the French Market and then bought small silver jewelry items there as well as T-shirts and several elaborate but inexpensive decorative masks. Later he browsed in a voodoo shop then checked out antique shops on Royal Street. He ended up buying a few more silly and scandalous trinkets and souvenirs for himself and family. Finally he was exhausted from all of the walking and decided to go back to his hotel to drop off his purchases and take a nap. Later, feeling refreshed, he headed out for the evening where, in the space of a few hours, he had joined in a Cajun two-step, enjoyed rowdy piano tunes at Pat O’Brien’s after drinking two Hurricanes, watched a street performer walk barefoot on broken glass on Bourbon Street, listened to sad soulful tunes in one bar and then heard some lively Zydeco, which he termed feel good music at another bar to round out his night.

He climbed into bed happy and exhausted, thinking how this had been the best birthday of his life. This couldn’t get any better. I should make it a point to be here every year on my birthday.

His next morning began at the Camellia Grill again; he loved the atmosphere and camaraderie of the place. Out of all the many good places to eat he already had some favorites. He finished his breakfast and dashed out to catch the Natchez for a paddlewheel boat ride on the Mississippi. As he waited to board, he witnessed a second line parade: people following musicians in a sad, then happy remembrance of someone who had passed. The mournful, slow tribute deeply touched him. Someone’s ashes were being taken to be distributed into the river. People know how to live here, he thought. They know exactly what the most important thing is; and whether it’s a good time or a sad one, they do it right.

Later that afternoon he spent a pleasant hour listening to Yes Ma’am, a street band performing near Royal Street. They became an instant favorite and he bought one of their CD’s. He discovered the meaning of lagniappe and was delighted with the custom of receiving a little something extra with some of his purchases. That evening he splurged on dinner at Arnaud’s and then sampled local cocktail specialties at several bars before taking a Vampire walking tour to finish up the evening. He found the Vampire tour to be rather too theatrical, but some of the stories were intriguing enough to follow up on when he got a chance to do so.

He slept in the next morning, waking up a little late to try to find breakfast close by, and decided he would return to a new favorite, the Maspero Café, for lunch instead, with no definite plans yet for the rest of the day.

It was 11:45 by the time he entered the café, just after they had opened. He expected the lunch crowd would be filling up the place soon.

The first thought he had when he entered was the place was not quite open yet. He saw absolutely no one at first. And then just one person, a man standing at the bar, with his back to the door, caught his eye. Slowly the man turned in Jason’s direction.

Jason stared, wondering if he should say something, or leave, or stand there and wait. The man was tall, thin, dressed in a dark gray business suit, narrow red tie. His neatly groomed, longish dark hair brushed his shoulders. He gazed toward the doorway as if expecting someone. Jason suddenly felt self-conscious about staring and glanced away. Then he blinked several times and looked all around him in amazement: the place was busy and nearly full of customers. In fact there weren’t any open tables. He shook his head, feeling as if he probably wasn’t fully awake yet. The place had seemed quiet and empty a moment ago.

Jason stood and waited. People started coming in and waiting behind him. A young couple got up from their table suddenly and headed for the door, moving quickly past Jason. It appeared they had not even ordered yet; their table was still clean.

Jason caught the eye of one of the servers; she nodded at the empty table and he moved toward it, taking the seat that faced the bar. The server arrived a few minutes later with ice water and a menu.

I’m starved, Jason thought. Hungry enough to eat a whole muffaletta. I’m going to need coffee too, to wake me up. Maybe a glass of wine also. Why not? So what if it’s not quite noon— I’m on vacation.

He took in his surroundings again now as he waited for the server to return. He loved the exposed brick and wood beams; the comfortable informality of the place; the big open windows, perfect for watching the crowds and traffic moving along busy Decatur Street.

He took a look at the menu. The food was good, plentiful and easy on the budget. There were the expected gumbo and seafood dishes; jambalaya and etouffe. But they had burgers, fries and salads as well. He intended to try local specialties everywhere he went.

As he sat and waited to order, he began to feel as if someone was staring at him. He took a casual look around him but no one seemed to be paying him any attention.

He glanced at the people passing by on the street for a while then reached for the glass of water and took a long drink. The server returned and to his surprise he heard himself order the large chef salad instead of the big muffaletta sandwich he had wanted. He paused after he had said it; he could feel his puzzled expression and was suddenly unsure of himself. A moment ago he had been certain of exactly what he wanted. He glanced around the room, distracted again by the feeling someone was watching him. And again, no one seemed to be paying any notice. He wasn’t usually this self-conscious. Instead of correcting the order, he requested coffee and a glass of Pinot Grigio.

He felt a little stunned at what had just happened. I like salad…but it was not even on my mind to order that.

The server brought him the glass of wine. Jason took a sip and used that motion as an excuse to gaze discreetly around the room, still feeling eyes upon him. The only person even facing in his direction now was the guy at the bar. And he didn’t seem to be paying any attention to Jason. I must really be tired from last night. He shrugged.

He occupied himself by gazing out the window across the room until the salad arrived, a huge one, with bacon and chicken on top. It really did look good, and he had no real choice now but to eat it. He speared a forkful, and as he brought it to his mouth he felt it acutely: someone was definitely observing him. It almost made him too self-conscious to eat. Jason laid down his forkful of food, and looked toward the bar. Nothing suspicious there. He shrugged it off again with a big sigh.

Jason resumed his meal, absorbed in his own thoughts, absently alternating sips of water and then the wine. He glanced through a tourist brochure he had stuffed into his pocket. He was enjoying the meal, but was still wondering why he wasn’t eating the muffaletta he had wanted originally.

There. He felt it again now. Someone was definitely paying close attention to him. Without intending to, he stared at the man who had his back to him now at the bar. He glanced away and took another sip of his wine and a moment later sipped the coffee. When he glanced up again the young guy at the bar was looking, not at him exactly, but in his general direction.

Curious now, Jason took in more details about him. He was good looking; actually quite good looking in that effortless way some people seemed to have. Wearing a suit did not make him appear older—he looked to be in his early twenties, maybe, if not younger. He could be a model or a professional entertainer of some kind. Maybe even someone famous. But he did not look familiar. Jason took another sip of his wine. When he glanced up, he involuntarily looked toward the man at the bar again. He had a gut feeling this was the person who had been staring at him. He took another big forkful of the salad. No way he would be able to finish all of this; it was daunting. So what if I couldn’t finish the whole muffaletta at one sitting either… I’d rather take that back to the hotel to eat later than a salad I could get any—

The guy from the bar appeared beside his table, holding a glass of red wine.

I have been waiting for someone… The stranger paused, waiting for Jason to finish a quick sip of his water. …may I share this table while I wait?

Jason’s immediate instinct was to say no. Which wasn’t like him at all. He was often accommodating to strangers. But the dining area had no other empty seats then, except one bar stool available, way in the dark corner by the kitchen entrance. The man had been standing at the bar.

Jason couldn’t account for why he felt so uncomfortable.

The stranger’s voice was pleasant, unexpectedly soft, yet able to be heard over the din of the busy dining room. In fact, he had just a slight Southern accent, combined with something else…European maybe? Jason found himself nodding, as if he were remote controlled. Nearly a subconscious gesture.

The stranger pulled the one empty chair away from the table, at least a foot or more away, and then gracefully sat. He seemed to deliberately distance himself from Jason and his gaze went elsewhere. Well, good, Jason thought, maybe he is at least a little uncomfortable too.

Jason glanced up at the stranger as he took another bite of the salad. The man was not looking at him, and yet Jason felt as if he was being studied just the same. And he felt sure of it now: this person had been observing him, no matter where else he had seemed to be looking.

However much his appearance—and it was decidedly gothy today—might draw attention, it was never Jason’s intention to do so. He was out of his comfort zone being the focus of attention in any situation. Now, something cold and clinical about the way he was being observed added to his discomfort. He had never felt so probed, so acutely aware of another person’s attention before. He lost his appetite suddenly. He wanted to down the rest of the wine, get his check and leave. He glanced up, looking for his server.

What brings you to New Orleans? the soft voice inquired.

Jason looked up at him in surprise.

The way the stranger had said New Orleans told Jason he was definitely local. Is it so obvious I’m a tourist? Then he remembered the tourist brochure, now sitting in plain sight.

Vacation.

What sort of work do you do? The soft voice made no attempt to disguise the directness of the question.

Media analyst, Jason heard himself reply. Why am I being so honest? I could have told him anything. Actually he was still learning his trade. Not a full-fledged analyst yet. He took a sip of his wine and gazed out the windows at the crowds moving along Decatur Street.

I cannot place your accent. Softly spoken; a silken voice.

Jason returned his gaze to the stranger. What is he up to? What does he want, really? That low, soft voice, nearly seductive. It brought to mind an ad campaign, one of many Jason had studied in his school curriculum: If you want someone’s attention…whisper, the product had invited. Well, whatever this stranger wanted, Jason was not willing to give it to him.

Minnesota. he answered. I don’t have an accent.

I would have guessed New England, perhaps.

I attended Boston University.

Did you take a degree there?

Jason nodded. Bachelor’s. He frowned as he glanced at people ambling by on Decatur. Then he took another sip of wine. He was probably making too much of this encounter. People were just very nice here, friendly. He should be used to it now. Everywhere he went, in fact, people always found him approachable. He was always the one people asked directions of, even if other people were close by. He was the one with whom they always wanted to stop and chat. He rarely felt like reciprocating. Suddenly, though, at this moment, he did feel like it.

And what kind of work do you do? he asked of the stranger. His tone sounded more direct than it might have been usually. He was suddenly curious.

The stranger’s eyes flickered for a moment. He seemed to be considering his reply.

Business. Investments. Real estate. Mostly, though, I am at leisure.

Vague and evasive. Something about his speech and his manner seemed to belie his youthful appearance. And your home is in New Orleans, Jason stated. He really did not buy for one second that this guy was a businessman. And he wondered why he thought that.

The stranger stared impassively at him for several moments. Have I managed to disrupt his calm and collected demeanor? Jason glanced around again for the server. Time to go now.

There is a residence in Boston, the stranger replied. His direct stare made Jason swallow. The stranger’s eyes kept drawing his attention and now Jason realized why. It wasn’t just the intensity of the gaze: it was the almost unnatural shade of deep violet. Even for someone accustomed to seeing exotic special FX lenses and extreme eye makeup within the goth community, Jason found these eyes rather unusual. No one’s eyes could look like that naturally, he thought. He has to be wearing contacts. But what an unusual color to choose. The man’s dark, nearly black hair and his very pale complexion probably made his eyes, the color at least, more prominent.

And so what brings you back to New Orleans? Jason asked him. He really was curious now. The stranger managed to maintain an air of detachment while at the same time seeming very focused on Jason. Jason wondered if this perception was correct; he wanted to ask more questions now.

He caught a hint of amusement around the stranger’s eyes in his otherwise serious expression.

I am looking to make an investment.

In what area? Though he was somewhat curious, Jason thought it sounded like he was just feigning interest.

Actually, I am looking for a personal assistant to work for me in Boston. There was a long pause as they sat looking at each other. It is difficult to find exactly the right person.

Hmmm. Jason reflected for a moment. He felt removed from the situation. As objective as someone doing a casual interview on a topic that held only fleeting interest.

And just who would be the right person? he asked. And why, he wondered, would an assistant be needed for a twenty-something businessman, who is mostly at leisure?

The stranger picked up his wine glass and held it to his lips. His downcast, unusual eyes reflected for a moment in the deep red of the wine before he took a sip, then he slowly and deliberately placed the glass back onto the table. He crossed his legs casually as one arm draped languidly off the armrest of the chair, all of this barely taking moments before he answered. Someone like yourself, perhaps.

So. There it was. Out in the open. The seductive, low voice. The smoldering gaze, and the personal questions. Or…am I just reading too much into this? For a moment, Jason reflected on his own appearance today: his dark hair had a tousled, just rolled out of bed look—carefully crafted, of course. He was wearing slim black jeans, a form fitting plain black T-shirt. He looked trim and possibly a little taller than his six feet. Black boots; silver and black leather wrist bands, several on one wrist; one small pierced earring: a tiny fleur de lis he had recently bought. He must be giving off at least a somewhat gothy vibe. He probably looked even paler than usual, thanks to the Minnesota winter. If he was sending out goth signals, that was okay; or he could just be attracting general weirdness today.

Jason had taken up his wine glass and sipped it slowly as he reflected on the stranger’s appearance, quickly observing other details now. The stranger wore several different wrist bands, not unlike his own. Braided black leather; a narrow silver cuff; one a smooth black leather with a small fleur de lis set into the band. Jason got a distinctly gothic vibe from this guy. Definitely. Incongruous details for someone who was passing himself off as a businessman, never mind the business suit. Jason didn’t like to judge others so quickly. But the silky sheen of his long hair added to the impression too, falling as it did in full casual waves to his shoulders, more rock musician than not. The personal questions and the attention paid to Jason sent mixed signals. Was he setting off someone’s gaydar? Jason very quickly sized up the stranger again but with a fresh viewpoint. That could be it. Jason had been told he was very good looking, but he had never really flattered himself that it was true. Guys had hit on him before and he had politely told them he wasn’t interested. Just because he was heterosexual did not mean he was homophobic. Sometimes it mystified him he could appeal to both men and women. Jason did not know what to make of this guy. And there was something about the way the stranger moved: a fluid smoothness. One second the wine glass could be poised at the stranger’s lips, or the stem of the glass held by the slender pale fingers at waist height when the glass had been on the table a mere moment ago. Jason’s attention was very focused but he never caught the actual movement. It was a little disorienting. Jason set his own wine glass down with a small, nervous laugh.

I’m sure I would not be a good assistant for anyone.

You are fond of the Boston area, are you not?

Well, yes, but…

Had you any thoughts of returning there?

Just the other day, Jason could have said. But he did not. The stranger had an almost quaint turn of phrase. It seemed genuine and not an affectation. And it somehow had the effect of making him seem older.

I had been considering…relocating… Jason began, and wondered why he had been honest enough to say so. Because this is just a stranger, whom I will never see again. So it doesn’t matter.

To Boston, the stranger stated.

I’m sure I would not be interested, Jason replied, shaking his head, but thanks.

The stranger regarded him silently for several moments.

Where is that server? Jason glanced around. She was clearing a table across the room with her back to him now. The stranger seemed calm, composed, patient. Jason focused on the server, the other patrons, the people passing by outside, but all the while he had a heightened awareness of the stranger sitting three feet away.

The stranger languidly reached into an inner pocket of his jacket and removed a small silver case covered with elaborately swirled etching. Jason silently admired and coveted it. The stranger snapped it open with one hand and used one finger to slide out an ivory business card with a black border. He replaced the silver case and then removed a shiny black fountain pen from his pocket. Jason had never actually seen anyone use a fountain pen before.

This is my attorney in New Orleans, the stranger said as he wrote and then turned the card over and wrote something on the back. This is my offer. He leaned toward Jason, slid the card across the table, and quickly withdrew.

Jason had suddenly felt a little light headed when the stranger had moved toward him, and blamed it on the wine he had probably drunk too quickly. Jason picked up the card and read: James Genier, Esquire, Genier & Genier, Attorneys at Law. There was an 800-number, and what appeared to be a local number, and a PO Box. Jason turned the card over and read the flourished but neatly inked: L. Augere and under that a dollar amount. Jason’s eyes widened as he read the figure: it was 28K more than he had been making at his job.

What would someone have to do for that kind of money? Jason asked, his eyes still on the card as he suppressed an urge to laugh. Get rid of the bodies?

He glanced up briefly and witnessed the stranger looking at him intently. He returned his attention to the business card.

At the verbal response No he quickly looked up again; his smile faded slowly as he noted the solemn, humorless expression. Not one for a little levity.

I just really don’t think I would be interested.

I think you will find it is the better of several other offers, the stranger replied confidently. You might wish to give it consideration.

Actually I just need to—

Why? The stranger’s statement interrupted.

Jason had been about to say get back to Minnesota. But he hadn’t really wanted to say that; he really did not want to go back. There wasn’t now, and still might not be any time soon, anything waiting for him there. The stranger’s comment seemed less an arrogant one and more like an acknowledgement of Jason’s anxiety and uncertainty about his future.

In the very next moment the server approached and the stranger was already standing. A $20 bill was lying on the table and Jason hadn’t seen the stranger put it there. When he glanced up at the server a moment later, the stranger was already at the exit. Jason looked to the server with a questioning expression as if for validation she might have witnessed any of what he had, or seemed to have, seen. She gave no sign of having noticed anything unusual. When he glanced toward the door again a moment later the stranger was nowhere to be seen.

The server asked if he needed anything else, and Jason shook his head, and then asked for the check. As she presented it to him, he noticed the glass of red wine, still full, on the table. Jason had seen the man sipping the wine, several times, but the glass looked untouched. Had he ordered another…? Jason shook his head. The server had not been back to the table until just now.

Jason collected the change the server brought him and absently pocketed the business card with it as he stood up to leave the restaurant. I’m really hungry, he thought, missing the irony of leaving the restaurant with half of a large tasty salad left untouched.

****

After he exited the restaurant, Laurent Augere walked several blocks and then placed a call on his cell phone.

I spoke to him today.

That’s good, James Genier replied. Does he seem inclined to accept the offer?

Not yet.

Shall we begin?

Yes.

Do you have the information for me?

Of course. Augere provided what was needed.

Very good. I’ll get started with this right now, unless there something you need me to do first?

Place a call to the real estate people. I will need to find a residence in Boston. Very soon. Hopefully one needing only minimal renovations. Augere sighed. Though I am certain that will be unlikely.

I will tell them to make this a priority. They will need to know what kind of timeframe we are looking at. You know it could take a month at least, maybe a lot longer, just to find something.

Yes. Understood. Actually, I may have a possible location in mind.

Genier hesitated for several moments. Okay….well…we can give you whatever assistance is needed. Will you be staying on here?

No. I will need to be available in Boston. I will make the arrangements.

I see…I’ll be in touch then, and let you know how things progress on this end.

****

Jason spent the rest of his morning on a pleasant tour of the Audubon Zoo. Afterward he rode the St. Charles streetcar to the end of the line and back to Canal Street. Then there was jambalaya for an early dinner, followed by his new addiction: beignets and café au lait. By the time he arrived for his vampire walking tour that evening, the encounter with the mysterious stranger was long forgotten. He finished up the night listening to live music in clubs along Frenchman Street, and then took a cab back to his hotel. He had forgotten he meant to stop at an absinthe bar on the way back. He had never had a chance to try it before and he was determined it would happen on this trip. There’s always tomorrow, he thought, as he entered his hotel room and then turned on the TV. A local visitor’s channel he liked displayed views of the city and ideas of things to do. He watched for a while and then climbed into bed after a hot shower. He watched TV for a while longer, taking note of more things to see and do, before finally reaching to turn off the bedside lamp to go to sleep. That was the first time he noticed the red message indicator on the phone was blinking.

He stared at it for several moments. It had to be a mistake. No one even knew he was here, except family, and he doubted they even knew the name of his hotel. He called down to the desk.

Yes sir. A fax arrived for you this afternoon.

A fax? Jason repeated. There must be a mistake.

It is for Jason Sterling. You are the only person registered with that name. She paused. Would you like me to send it up to your room, sir?

Yes, okay, sure. he answered, not feeling at all sure. He was baffled.

Several minutes later he was holding a five-page document from the law firm of Genier & Genier.

The first page outlined the job description, which, though detailed, still managed to appear rather vague. The second page stipulated that all of the stringent criteria must be met, and a detailed list followed, with the advisement this was not a comprehensive list. The third page mentioned the salary and benefits: a retirement plan; housing provided; financial services; life, health, dental and vision insurance was included. Again, this would be contingent upon meeting all of the criteria, submitting to a background check and a physical exam, as well as other testing. There was a substantial confidentiality agreement, which was to be signed and strictly adhered to. The fourth page stipulated further qualifications such as having a driver’s license, have or be able to obtain a passport; having no physical limitations; no dependents. The last page provided contact information for the Genier law firm which was basically the same information on the business card.

He stared at the last page of the document, and then glanced at each of the pages again. Then he froze. A cold chill the length of his body started at the top of his head.

He was absolutely certain he had never told that stranger his name. Nor, he realized now, the chill passing through him again, had he ever mentioned the name of the hotel where he was staying. Jason immediately called down to the front desk. They assured him they did not nor would not give out any information about him or even confirm he was a guest there. It appeared to him, however, it was already too late.

Was this guy stalking me? How long had he been following me? And why me? Jason’s apprehension bordered on fear. He decided he should call the police. He had to report this…but what crime am I going to report exactly? That I received a fax? From an attorney? And that it concerns what appears to be a legitimate job offer?

Okay, so it wasn’t exactly a crime yet. But this was definitely some kind of scam. Jason had seen movies like this…some poor sap lured into some crazy, too good to be true setup, and left to take the fall for some horrible crime. Oh, no, they won’t! Jason dropped the pages into the wastebasket, and made sure his door was double locked before climbing into bed. He got absorbed in an old black and white movie on TV. He was tired but it was still a while before he finally fell asleep, with the TV still on.

The next morning, on his way out the door to get breakfast, he impulsively retrieved the pages from the wastebasket. He felt a little nervous walking around now, and kept looking around to see if he was being followed.

He had walked in the direction of the Ursulines Convent, intrigued about the place and wanting to check it out further in the daytime after learning about it on the previous night’s vampire tour. On the way there he discovered the Croissant D’Or café, where he stopped for breakfast. He started to calm a little by the second cup of coffee. He made a plan to research the names Genier and Augere and then determine what steps to take next. He returned to the hotel, forgetting about the intended convent visit, and made use of the hotel’s business center.

He looked up the names Augere—he couldn’t recall a first name—and Genier on the internet. There was no mention of anyone by the name Augere; nothing in the past century seemed relevant to the person he sought. However, it turned out the Geniers were an old, well-respected family whose professional presence in New Orleans predated the opening of Tulane Law School, as well as the Civil War, as far back as the 1840s at least. Subsequent generations of Geniers had graduated from Tulane Law School as well as other prestigious schools across the country.

There was brief mention, in some very old records, of transactions between a member of the Augere family and those of the Geniers; so it appeared the two families were well acquainted and linked, historically at least, going back a very long time. The Geniers had arrived from Europe by way of Boston. It seemed there had been attorneys in the Genier family for at least 170 years. Jason was impressed. But he remained wary.

Why me? he wondered again. What do I have that they want? If it was all some kind of scam, as he still suspected, they were going to a lot of trouble to appear legitimate. Which suggested to Jason a very complicated scam. He laughed nervously. Make sure you don’t get drunk and end up losing a kidney, he told himself.

Jason decided to call the local number. He was not at all interested in the job. Anything that looks too good to be true, always is. But he needed to know how they got his name, and what they were up to.

A young woman answered, asked who was calling and then transferred the call.

Hello, Mr. Sterling. This is James Genier. A pleasant sounding voice; slight Southern accent, smoothly enunciated, professional tone. He pronounced his name Zhen-yay. How may I help you?

I want to know how you got my name, and why. Jason hoped he sounded angry but with a touch of restraint.

There was a brief pause.

I believe I can answer your questions. Would you prefer to meet in person? Perhaps in the lobby of your hotel? An invitation to a business lunch, if you like.

I don’t really need to meet these people in person, Jason thought. What would be the point of that? What would he say to them? Then he thought about having to see that stranger again…hmmm. A public place. Well…that seemed harmless enough.

When? Jason asked.

At your convenience.

Right now then. Jason did not want them to have any extra time to try to pull something.

I believe that will work for me. I can be there within 30 minutes or so.

Fine. Jason answered. He had wasted much of the morning already. He would get lunch—at their expense—and confront both of them. Then he would be free to enjoy the rest of the day. He wanted to put this craziness behind him and continue to savor the rest of his time in New Orleans.

Exactly 30 minutes later, Jason was approached in his hotel lobby by a trim, handsome man of average height, possibly in his forties, dressed in an expensively tailored tan suit with a silky looking white shirt and a dark golden brown tie. His light brown hair , worn fashionably long, came to rest neatly past his collar. He had intense dark blue eyes and a friendly demeanor.

Hello, Mr. Sterling. he said, extending his hand in greeting. Everything about him: his appearance, gracious manner and professional attitude—put Jason at ease. Exactly what you would expect from a con man. Jason kept his guard up. He completed a formal handshake but said nothing to the man.

Jason glanced around the lobby. There was no sign of the other stranger.

Where is he? Jason asked.

James Genier appeared puzzled for a moment.

Oh… Mr. Augere? He pronounced the name oh-zhair. He left for Boston this morning.

Jason was surprised at his reaction to hearing that. Against his better judgment, he had wanted to get another look at him. Their meeting had been so brief, and so strange, and he was hoping to get some answers. Suddenly Jason lost what little interest he might have had for this meeting. He wanted to leave now and forget about it. The disappointment he felt surprised him and made him feel uncomfortable. This man in front of him now had some connection to that other. And Jason needed to know more. He couldn’t leave.

Look, I’m sure I am just wasting your time and mine. I just want to know how you have information about me.

I do understand your concern, Mr. Genier said. Shall we sit there? He nodded toward a table in the restaurant a few feet away. It’s more private.

Jason hesitated. Maybe this was the only way he was going to get answers. As they entered the restaurant, no less than three people greeted James Genier, either by first or last name, formally or informally; they definitely knew him here.

A waiter approached their table. Usual seafood bisque and salad today or the shrimp remoulade this time, sir?

I have a family thing at Galatoire’s later tonight, so I can’t overdo it…but I will have the shrimp beignet BLT, and you know what I like on the side. Plus a Chardonnay.

Very good. And how is your wife? Feeling better I hope.

Yes, thanks, Paul. Turned out to be just a sinus thing.

The waiter nodded.

And for you, sir?

I’ll have exactly the same, Jason answered him.

Excellent. I’ll be right back with the wine.

Doesn’t mean anything, A waiter could be set up to give the illusion of respectability. To put the mark at ease. I hope I don’t have to worry about something being slipped into my wine.

To answer your questions then, Mr. Genier began. "I should first say Mr. Augere is our client; practically our only client; but he is also our business associate. My brother and I run our firm, along with other members of our family. Mr. Augere does have his own way of doing things sometimes.

"I can assure you the job offer is legitimate, provided the applicant meets all of the extensive criteria. Mr. Augere no doubt neglected to mention that to you. We do handle many of his business concerns, but he does find it useful to retain a personal assistant.

"Mr. Augere described you to me. He mentioned you are from Minnesota and that you might be looking for a job in the Boston area.

I checked online into the most recent resume postings, intending to work backward from there—and there you were: Jason Sterling, from Minnesota, with a Bachelor of Arts degree from Boston University, posting for a position in the Boston area. With that information, I had only to determine where you were staying. Many tourists who are new to the city choose well known hotels in the French Quarter. I thought I would try several of those first—and found you at the Monteleone. I simply called and stated I had a fax to send you, which suggested to them I already knew you were staying there, and the fact they accepted the fax confirmed to me you were.

Jason was a little stunned at how easy—and legal—it had all been.

So—then, he hasn’t been stalking me?

Genier was surprised. Mr. Augere? No.

The wine glasses were set before them. After the wine was poured, Jason took a sip with a thoughtful expression.

He seems very… Jason paused, trying to find words that would describe his perception, without sounding rude or unflattering.

Eccentric? Genier offered.

We could start there, Jason said.

Genier laughed. He is quite an unusual creature.

Who offers a job to someone they have just met and barely spoken to?

He is a very perceptive and intuitive person. It is surprising what people reveal about themselves, both verbally and non-verbally, without realizing it. He is able to pick up even subtle things that would amaze you.

Jason recalled that sense of being studied; that penetrating gaze that had left him feeling transparent; probed and dissected, nakedly vulnerable. The feeling was stronger now, in retrospect, than he had allowed himself to acknowledge at the time. As if he had unwittingly, and uncomfortably, given away personal things about himself to that stranger. He remembered the sense of wanting to get away, of wanting to avoid further scrutiny.

It was a little creepy, Jason acknowledged.

Genier nodded. But evidently he sensed qualities in you that make you suitable as an assistant to him. He is very particular. He knows what he wants.

Even though I told him I wasn’t interested, Jason pointed out.

Genier laughed gently and nodded. He told me you tend to vacillate and ruminate. You like to look at situations from all angles before making decisions. You are careful, deliberate, thorough. You don’t accept anything at face value. You are always a little mistrustful —of everything. That skepticism and suspicion usually works to protect you. There may be times, however, your desire for something blinds you and you are not as careful as you would be otherwise. Genier shrugged. Like most of us, I suppose. It is just something to be aware of. He believes, in the end, you do invariably make the decision that is exactly right for you.

Jason just stared at him. Who ARE these people?

The food arrived and they ate in silence for several moments. The presentation of the food and the combined tastes and textures felt like a part of the seduction, and Jason was feeling pleasantly lured. Maybe I am just being manipulated. He took a bite of a large shrimp, and savored the crusted beignet that clung to it. It was heavenly. I don’t vacillate…do I? No. I don’t think I do. Maybe…sometimes.

Is he always so sure of himself? Jason asked after a sip of wine.

More sure of others. He already believes you will meet all of the criteria. That’s probably why he didn’t mention it to you.

Yes. I glanced at that list.

That list is far from complete; it was meant to provide a general overview.

Jason shrugged. It hardly matters. Since I’m not really interested.

I can tell him we’ve met then. And discussed it. That you gave it some consideration, and you declined. Or perhaps I can tell him you did not meet all of the criteria. And then the matter is settled. We can just enjoy lunch now. No further obligation. Agreed?

Jason felt like he was being challenged.

He nodded. He trusted his instincts, and right now they were telling him Mr. Genier was decent and sincere—well, for a lawyer, anyway. But he couldn’t consider this crazy offer. Could he?

I’m sorry you had to come here for nothing. We could have done this over the phone, Jason said, taking a bite of the remoulade. Oh…I have got to have more of this… Jason enviously eyed the extra remoulade on Genier’s plate.

No harm. I sometimes stop here for lunch.

There were a few moments of silence. The food and the wine was so good, neither spoke for a while. I bet this meal cost plenty too, Jason thought.

What kind of work does he do, exactly? What kind of business—? He felt he had a right to ask. He assumed their stories would match.

He owns property; he has numerous investments. Very diversified. He is quite an astute businessman, in some respects…

He seems quite young; it is hard to believe…I thought maybe he had inherited money. If he’s wealthy, I mean.

Well, he does not have to work, per se. But he never takes things for granted. He believes it is better to continue earning money, just in case.

Then, really, if you—and he—can manage all of his business affairs, then why does he even need a personal assistant?

What he really seems to need is someone to act as a buffer—between himself and—everything. Genier noted Jason’s puzzled expression. There are some things he does not deal with very well. He is something of a technophobe. And he sometimes needs someone to drive him places.

He doesn’t drive?

He drives. Genier sighed with a nod. He has a license. He just doesn’t think speed limits apply to him, and he has a big problem with authority figures. I just prefer that he doesn’t drive.

Jason smiled. It was sounding less like any kind of scam. Genier seemed genuine, and had been willing to share personal information about Augere. But Jason remained guarded. Still looking for the tiny crack in the too smooth veneer. Still, there might not be any harm in going along for a little while. He could always turn back; he could always say no.

Jason savored a few more bites of the excellent lunch.

I suppose, as long as it doesn’t obligate me in any way, we could go over some of the criteria. I doubt I will pass all of it anyway. Jason shrugged.

You don’t have to do this now—you don’t have to earn your lunch, Genier assured him.

Jason shrugged again. I don’t see the harm.

You know—I did not bring the full list with me; I did not think we would get to it, frankly. I can call my office and have the pages faxed to me here.

Jason nodded. Genier placed a phone call.

They were just finishing their leisurely lunch when a hotel employee delivered several pages to their table.

Thanks, Jerry. How was your vacation? Genier asked.

You were right Mr. G; the villas were the way to go. We’re going back again next year.

Genier smiled at him and Jerry retreated from the room.

Okay. Well, as to the health screen: there would be a physical exam; blood samples. You would have to have no significant health issues. Nonsmoker. No serious allergies; no seizure, cardiac, or respiratory disorders; non-diabetic, no prosthetics, no handicap. Are we good so far?

Jason nodded.

No addictions to any substances, drugs, legal or otherwise; no dependence of any kind. No gambling, porn, video game addiction—

Ah. Could you define—addiction there, more, uh specifically?

Spending five hours a day or more devoted to any of the above mentioned activities—

Okay, I’m good then. Room to spare.

Genier laughed. "I’ve wondered if we should include internet addiction in general. But then no one would ever meet the criteria.

No personal nor family history of mental illness; no debilitating phobias…shall I continue?

Still good. Jason nodded.

Personal life: single, with no dependents. No serious financial concerns. No past or current legal issues. Current driver’s license with clean driving record. Must have or be able to obtain a passport.

Genier glanced up at him.

Jason nodded. Still good. I didn’t realize I was so vanilla, he mused.

No extreme religious nor political views, especially any that could interfere with the job responsibilities. I realize this is a grey area, Genier stated, but it is reviewed on an individual basis. So if there were any concerns, better to be up front about them now, than to face dismissal later.

Jason nodded. I don’t have a personal agenda to push on anyone.

Shall I continue, then? Genier asked, and received a nod.

Damn, they are thorough.

Sexuality is not an issue but we do prefer someone who is at least open minded; and homophobic is not acceptable.

Jason raised an eyebrow. Oh…is he…?

It’s just that living in the same house with another man, traveling together—some people could feel uncomfortable with that arrangement, or have concerns as to appearances.

Oh, I see. Well, I’m not—for what it’s worth. And other people’s orientation—not a problem for me.

All right, then.