One Night Burns (The Vampires of Livix, #1) (6 page)

“Ok.” I turned the computer system on. It booted up off the network server, pretty quickly. I sat down and rummaged through the recent notes on the changes being proposed. Pretty amazing actually. The United States system of documenting the first inventor proved challenging and difficult while the rest of the world followed first filer protocols. First filer became an advantage to large corporations since they could spend money on immediately getting a patent while a lone inventor working in his basement often didn’t have the money to file. The risk became a big sly corporation scoops up the idea and patents work that an independent inventor spent twenty years developing and the inventor is locked out with no recourse to his claim. Startup and small companies, like Marilyn hiring me, provided most job growth in an economy.

I poked around the Internet further but didn’t find any more useful information. Or at least more insightful information than I extrapolated from the first few sites. A lot of chatter. Some worried lawyers and some happy corporations but with worried law staffers as the first filer method meant less work and possible unemployment for them. I logged into the three main law library web sites. For a subscription fee and a lawyer group membership you had electronic access to the whole US law library. Nothing useful in the case files since they covered the patent system created by Jefferson and Franklin at the founding of this country; not the brave new one.

I made some notes for Marilyn, and notes for myself to study some of the foreign systems to see what games get played in mature first filer systems so I know what to watch out for when I’m doing patents. In my note to Marilyn I added she should check with contacts she knew in England, France, Japan, or even Brazil as they might yield ideas since they operate under that system.

I logged into the server and checked my email. I needed to finish some filing of completed work plus client questions. So I spent time drafting responses and putting the data in the correct server sub-folders so we could retrieve them later when necessary, glad I did all that filing when I first worked here so I knew where everything should go.

I found something interesting as I moved files around. A patent filed for this manufacturer or research center called “Vermilion Genomics” on a blood study; had Garin’s bank name on some of the submission paperwork. What is the Bank of Draydon doing on a research patent? Banks might loan a company money but they didn’t get involved with what the company did, generally. Even if the research company floundered, the bank’s involvement would be superficial and focus on payables, receivables, and cash flow to ensure continued payment of the mortgages and other financing obligations.

I pulled out Garin’s and held it carefully by its sharp edges like holding onto a razor blade. Should I call him? He wouldn’t know about the patent stuff – usually too wide of a business with too many people to expect Garin to know anything.

“Marilyn, what’s this patent on Vermilion Genomics?”

“Some blood enhancer they came up with,” Marilyn stopped typing, “I didn’t understand the science they spouted but I got them to focus on what could be patentable, what they could claim, or at least how they could structure their technology when they do come back to us for the formal patent process.”

“Was a banker involved in the meetings?”

“They are working with a bank. Negative cash flow now. That’s why they aren’t in here writing patents. But they can pull me in to help get set up to do the patents for free. I’m not concerned. They have a lot of patent work to do but they are still working out their solution so what they think they might patent today will change tomorrow when they solve the chemistry.” Marilyn went back to her keyboard, “Prudent for them. And I keep in there coaching so it will save time for us later when they are actually ready.”

“Ok, thanks.” I said. I put his card in my purse but then impulsively retrieved it and dialed his number.

“Bank of Draydon, Garin speaking,” he answered flatly.

“Hi, it’s me.”

“The best call all morning,” he said, I sensed him grinning on the other side of the phone line.

“Thanks for keeping my car from being ticketed.”

“Sure. I’m glad I remembered.”

“I’m calling regarding a patent that our client, Vermilion Genomics, has with the law firm. I thought it odd the Bank of Draydon was listed on the paperwork. Gave me a good excuse to call you,” I grinned on my side of the line.

“The Bank has helped them out. Other than seeing some lousy financial summaries at our quarterly report-outs, which is not surprising given that business, I haven’t followed them too closely. Our specialists with training in Biology, Genetics, and Chemistry are involved. They are probably too involved, like you think for a bank, but it’s an advanced research program with military applications – so not the broad commercial safety net that something like a cancer or a sexual dysfunction drug has in a consumer market. Is there a problem or something I can get back to them?”

“Oh, no, thought I might call you.” I idly turned my chair around stretching the handset cord around myself and the chair. “– and realized I hadn’t given you my phone number. In case a patent issue needed discussing, you know.”

“Is it this phone number you called on?”

“No. This is my shared office phone.”

I gave him my cell number while I unraveled myself from the phone cord. I heard him tapping the number into his phone and he said, “Hey, I have to go. I’m glad you called. I wasn’t sure how you’d be after the storm last night.”

“I’m all right. And thanks about the parking meter.”

“Sure. Bye.”

I scanned the waiting room after returning the phone to its cradle. I felt a little goofy. Maybe I shouldn’t have called.

Marilyn interrupted my self absorption, “Smooth. Met a new boy?” She stood in the doorway.

“Yes. We met at the coffee shop a few weeks ago. He works at the bank financing Vermilion.”

Marilyn looked over the top of her reading glasses, “Is he cute?”

“Yes.” I grinned.

-:- Five -:-

I sat sideways on the couch in my apartment. My feet rested on the middle cushion with my toes curled into a blanket while pillows spilled in a tumble behind my back. I read my latest graphic novel. The sun smeared golden warm hues across the wall. I think that’s why I got distracted from my reading. Comfortable and a little drowsy from the heat. It could be better if I had a little bowl of salty chips on the floor. I imagined my hand casually reaching in and retrieving a piece or two at a time. I pined for them. Caramel kept invading that snacking corner of my mind. Like caramel apples with peanut bits. I’d have to research if any salty caramel potato chips existed. Perhaps improve them with gooey chocolate drizzles. Hmmmm.

I turned another page.

My phone rang. I reached over my head and retrieved it from the side table.

“Hi.” I set my graphic novel on the floor where I might have put those chips.

“It’s me. I wanted to see what you scheduled for Saturday?”

“It’s pretty open.” My mom wanted me to visit but I didn’t really want to drive out there. My phone call would be easier with a real excuse.

He asked, “I thought we could go to the Victorian Festival.”

“Sure, that sounds like fun.” Traffic gets crazy around town so I usually avoided it but with a date the prospect became much more interesting.

“Do you have any costumes?”

I smiled remembering, “I was a kid the last time I went dressed up. The little old ladies pelted us with candy. So too long ago to have a costume still.” I mentally ran through my clothing inventory in my head including the pieces I either borrowed from my Mom or she gave me because she had tired of them. “I think I have a skirt and a top I can convert.” I’ll need some magic. I might have a scarf I could use as a shawl. “Yeah, I can probably do it. Pick me up in the morning?”

“How about ten thirty?”

“That’s good. See you then.”

I opened my closet. Well … I pushed the door open a little wider. It rattled on the slider track. My secret area of disorganization spewed toward me. Everyone forgives my closet since they have a similar secret cavern of disarray in their own bedroom. I rummaged around. I found a pair of long heeled boots in the back and tossed them out by the bed. Across the bed I laid a black full length skirt with folds suggesting something old. Hopefully it looked older than the nineteen seventies or eighties. I found a few scarves I could wind around my hips under the top of the skirt to make it flair out along with a nightgown and a slip that gave the suggestion of petticoats. An antique-white blouse with heavily tooled stitching and crocheted lace seemed to work as a top.

I played with my hair in the mirror. I swept it up and down. I twisted it and put in a quick loose braid to see how it might look if I went to that trouble. I tried combs and pins and spinning it using chop-sticks to hold through it and wondered if a French braid might be good. I’d need help with that and not authentic either. I poked in my jewelry box and nothing inspiring revealed itself. But a basic plan formed and something could pop into my subconscious overnight. I scrubbed my fingers through my hair removing the biggest snarls for morning.

I slipped under the cool bed sheets and pulled a pillow close with a book for my Friday night. But I didn’t mind as I later fell asleep looking forward to tomorrow.

-:- Six -:-

I stood in front of my large living room window watching the street. A weekend morning television show churned in flashes of colors and sound in the background. The show spent more time on their flashy logo screen wipes and “stay tuned this up next” self advertising than they actually did with the real stories. They finally allowed their guest to talk up their fabulous part in a fantastic new movie to fulfill their role in the movie’s PR program ahead of a nationwide launch next week.

Garin’s car stopped by the curb and he stepped out. I hit the power button on the television remote and grabbed my things. He wore black shoes, charcoal knickers with cream socks and suspenders that stretched tight over his slightly ballooning cream shirt and a black racing hat. His hair seemed curly and shined with some sort of hair gel that I could see out of the sides of the hat. He looked authentic leaning against the passenger fender while he retrieved his non-period cell phone.

I had already exited my apartment door and took to the building’s stairs when my phone rang. I let it ring in my little purse as I pushed open the building entrance to meet him on the walk. “I’m not getting the phone because I made my purse with some odds and ends of lace and handkerchiefs and ribbon and it’s knotted together.” I transformed it into a fancy pouch purse I saw pictured somewhere, maybe a Steam-punk magazine at my friend Bethany’s.

He canceled his call and my phone stopped ringing. He tipped his hat, “You look nice.” Curls and waves in his hair looked styled like an old photograph.

“These old things?” I twirled like a little girl and giggled.

“Do you have a hat?”

“No.” I rolled my hair up in a tight bun and put a black web scrunchy around it with a pair of long hairpins.

“Milady, you’ll catch the heat exhaustion without a hat.” he clicked his heals and tipped his head.

“I had nothing that goes with the rest of this.”

“Come, come milady,” he popped the trunk and pulled out several wide Victorian style hats that had laid carefully flat on the clean carpet. “I retrieved these from storage.”

“You must really get into the festival to put it in long term storage.”

“No, we have some authentic vintage pieces. You know.”

“Oh, yeah. Sorry.”

“Certain members of the family love reliving the old days in old clothes. You should see the 1960’s closet. The 1950’s has some dresses worn in movies or by a few movie stars for awards shows. My mother collected such things for a while. Though the 1970’s clothes are strangely absent for some reason.”

“You’ll have to invite me over to play dress up.”

“My mother would like that.” He held the hats out to me, “Which hat for you?”

“The black one matches the best.” I admired our reflections mirrored in the car window. His reflection shown as clear as mine – so much for the vampires and mirrors legend.

He leaned in, “There’s a rumor that three vampires originally founded Livix and that’s why we celebrate a Victorian Festival.”

“Oh my, such gossip! Rhett – you devil,” I did my best Scarlet imitation, snapping open my fancy folding Japanese fan and brushing my fluttering eyes with a light breeze while I curled a sly smile at him.

“But that’s not all.”

“What do you mean?” The morning sun warmed everything enough I saw the wisdom in the offered hat becoming as practical as stylish.

“Would you like to wear some authentic vintage pearls?”

“Yes.” My hand fell to my chest like a fine lady, “That would go well.”

He opened an old leather folder lined with aged silk that clung to the leather with delicate stitching. He removed an antique strand of matched pearls with a small cross at the clasp. “They’re a little lumpy since these are natural pearls from before pearl culturing. Matching a strand this long and overall uniform color and size took time.”

“These are pretty old then.” I cautiously reached a single finger out to touch them gently, when I realized how I must look stroking the pearls like a kitten, I stopped.

“A gift from a friend to one of my ancestors years ago. But no one ever wore them. Not sure why. Surprising it lasted this long.”

“Why surprising? These are nice and if mine they would get worn for special occasions,” not for a casual festival.