Trifecta (71 page)

When an elevator in her own building quit there was nothing
to panic about.  Elevators and air conditioners were the bane of her existence. 
Mechanical failures happened all the time.  But a woman trapped in the elevator
did panic, and when she was finally freed she was unconscious, having fainted. 
The engineer who pried the elevator door open took one look and thought she was
dead.  Paramedics were called.  Michelle spent an hour with the woman, apologizing
on the management's behalf, in the hope that Heroshi wouldn't be sued.

A few minutes later there was an emergency call from another
building.  A lawyer had stripped all the wall paper off in his entire hallway. 
Michelle hurried to her car and drove over to the building on Kalakowa.  Drywall
plaster shards and sheets of wallpaper debris littered an entire hallway, causing
ugly chaos and hazard to anyone walking through. 

Tenants in the hallway besieged her, outraged by the mess. 
The lawyer who had caused the mess, sauntered over languidly and said the decorators
she had arranged to renovate the building were too slow.  He wanted compensation
for his own wallpaper, a hideous orange with brown flecks, which would clash terribly
with the interior design of the entire remodeling.  Michelle clenched her teeth. 
The lawyer made her feel like squeaking obscenities and running away.  Instead,
she smiled at the shyster and spent a half hour trying to rectify the situation,
pointing out that the hallway was a building 'common area' and he had no right to
change it.  Of course he had to know that, as a lawyer.  What was his problem? she
wondered.  Temporary insanity?

Later, back in her own office, Julio, her maintenance manager
ran into her office.  He was soaked, dripping water from his hair and all his clothing. 

"My God, what happened," Michelle asked, startled
to see him dripping all over the carpet.

"Broken water main.  You come."

Michelle trotted after him to the elevator and they watched
the flashing floor numbers until they reached the 22nd floor.  She just had time
to pull off her shoes as water gushed inside when the doors parted.  They waded
in.  The burst water main came from the Men's Room.  It had rapidly turned into
a flood that ran like a tidal wave down the hall of offices, ruining the carpeting
in the hallway and several offices on that floor. 

As they hurried toward the Men's Room, there was a sudden
piercing, undulating shrieking sound.

They both stopped.  "That's the fire alarm,"
Julio shouted over the noisy assault.

"Damn," Michelle said, after a moment.  She realized
the water had proceeded down through the ceiling, and into the smoke alarms, setting
them off.  Tenants started sloshing past them to evacuate into the streets. 

Several tenants greeted her, and Michelle had to tell them
that since the fire alarm was sounding, they'd have to take the stairs.  All the
elevators automatically went to the ground floor level and locked when the fire
alarms sounded.  She yelled at them to be careful, to hold on to the railing.  The
metal stairs would be slippery if they were wet.

This was turning into a nightmare.  She couldn't tell the
tenants not to evacuate until Julio was absolutely certain there wasn't a fire somewhere
in the building.

"Go shut off the main water valve," Michelle
told Julio.

"Gonna cause a stink.  Toilets won't flush, start
backing up," Julio warned as they went into the Men's bathroom.

Michelle could see why Julio had been soaked earlier. 
The main water supply pipe for the entire building was situated  underneath the
sink, behind the wall.  It had broken, torn a hole in the wall, and a geyser of
water gushed out sideways.  "Gotta do it.  It's causing too much damage to
the whole building."

"Hokay Boss," Julio said.  He flashed a smile
and they both exited the bathroom.  Michelle watched him run for the fire stairs,
and yelled after him, "And turn off that fire alarm."

The valve to shut off the building water supply was in
the lower garage.  It would be a while before Julio could get to it and stop the
flood.

Michelle went into one of the deserted offices off the
hallway and went across to a wall of windows.  She looked out at the beautiful volcanic
mountains in the distance.  The sky was a wonderful blue with puff clouds scudding. 
Down in the street, the fire department, with blaring sirens, showed up in remarkably
short order. 

Michelle ears rang with the sudden silence when the fire
alarm stopped ringing.  She hurried over to the elevators, which were now working. 

Before Michelle left the lobby to go outside and face all
the employees of the highrise building, she noticed that she had a shoe in each
hand as she reached for the front door.  She scrubbed her wet feet on the carpet,
put her shoes back on, took a deep breath and went outside. 

She stood in front of the crowd, waving her arms and shouting
above ill-tempered murmurs, to the tenants standing impatiently in the street, and
to the firemen in their helmets and yellow fireproof suits, that the building had
a major flood, not a fire. 

There were days when she hated the job she loved.

On top of everything else, a contract arrived almost at
the end of the day, with surreptitiously changed terms in the lease.  It was sent
directly to her boss for his signature.  Luckily, he had her look it over before
signing.  The mysterious 'mistakes' would have cost her company, Heroshi, hundreds
of thousands of dollars. 

Knowing that the real estate agents were trying to pull
some sneaky underhanded tricks, she called and politely informed them that there
were typographical errors in the contract.

In cutthroat big business, everyone was polite.

The thing that scared Michelle was that her boss would
sign anything she personally put in front of his nose.  His trust was awesome and
frightening.  He would also fire her if she ever made a mistake.

It took until nine that night for her to personally change
the terms of the leasing contract on her computer.  There had been meetings with
the accounting and construction departments  of the large multi-national company
she worked for.  The owners of the conglomerate were Japanese.  They had poured
money into Hawaii, buying up commercial real estate at a fantastic rate.  She had
started with one small building and was now managing six, with no end in sight. 
If she didn't goof up.

When she looked at her watch and saw it was 10:00 p.m.
she finally gave up and started cleaning her desk.  The bi-yearly financial projections
that were due at the home office in Tokyo tonight, Japan's morning, would have to
wait.  She had been too busy to get her work done.  She was also scared of making
the corporate controller in Japan, Nakamura, angry.  She decided to work on her
computer at home and have the financial projections ready to fax by morning.  If
she had a job, she thought wearily. 

Never, as a property management, had she ever had a day
like today.  It seemed like a strange scheme to bewitch all the buildings at the
same time with multiple disasters.  A conspiracy to wreck her job and ruin her career.

Before leaving the building, Michelle checked her pager
and got a new battery from the guard stationed at the front of the building.  She
was on twenty-four hour call in case there were any emergencies.

"M
ichelle!"

She was opening her mailbox in the lobby of her condominium. 
She almost dropped her briefcase.

It was the gorgeous dark man.

"Long day?"  He was moving toward her.  "Perhaps
you'd like to go out for a quick drink?"

He had on an actual cape.  It reminded her of the old Dracula
movies.  As he went to his own mailbox she could see that he was older than she
had originally supposed.  His face was almost gaunt and he had fine wrinkles radiating
from his eyes.  The black hair was beautifully glazed with silver, almost as though
it had been done in a salon for a movie part: Older vampire with perfect hair.

"Yes.  I'd like to," Michelle said without thinking
and stopped abruptly.  "I mean, no.  I don't drink.  But I would like to go
with you."

Michelle stopped talking, deciding she was blathering
like an idiot.  But he looked so incredibly handsome, and the cape was so
theatrical, she felt like she was momentarily living in a romance novel, where
the handsome haughty male takes the breath away from the innocent simpering
female and causes her heart to pitty-pat. 

"You're radiant when you smile," he said in a
matter of fact way, smiling at her.  He had perfect white teeth.

Oh, great, Michelle thought.  He talked like the hero in
one of the historical novels she had been thinking about.  Michelle decided not
to comment about her dubious radiance, but there was no awkward pause.

"I just moved into the building," he said.  "Wanted
to meet some of my neighbors."

There had been intense gossip and speculation about the
person who had bought out six tenants on the top floor and made it into one gigantic
penthouse.  It had a private elevator and a helicopter pad on the roof.  It must
be this man, Michelle thought.  The only thing missing was the European accent. 
He would have been a dead ringer for some count from a previous century.  Or an
Italian prince, with his dark coloring.

His hand reached to shake hers, "My name is Omar."

Michelle was thinking, perfect! with a kind of ironical
glee.  Omar was the perfect name for the man out of the Arabian nights, or the vampire. 
Then she glanced at his hand, as her own automatically reached out to grasp his. 
She felt herself pause unconsciously, then forced herself to take the hand.  The
fingers were so long they looked pathological.  Spider fingers.  And freezing at
that.

"You seem to know mine already, but my friends call
me Shelly," she said.  She tried not to wince.  He had given her a tiny electrical
shock, the kind you get by scuffing over carpet and then touching a doorknob.

They walked a few blocks to the Ilikai Hotel, and rode
to the top floor in a glass elevator.  As they went up, the bright lights of the
Waikiki area widened, revealing a panorama of glistening waves on the beach lit
up by a full moon. 

Michelle had seen this sight often, so she studied Omar
as he gazed at the beautiful view that even the rampant and greedy construction
in this area could not destroy.

She guessed he was in his late thirties or early forties. 
Michelle didn't mind at all.  Older men were safer.  In side view his profile showed
the thin nose to be slightly hooked.  He seemed to be quite powerful physically,
with broad shoulders, and he was very tall.  Michelle guessed he was about 6'5 or
maybe even taller, and for that reason the cape didn't seem silly, as it would have
been on a smaller man.  She thought he must have been to some formal occasion earlier. 
Capes were so unusual in Hawaii, with its tropical weather.

On the walk over Omar had asked her mainly about herself
and Michelle had not learned much about him except that his condominium in her building
was to be a summer place for him.  He had the type of old world gentlemanly air
drenched into the wealthy at a very young age.  He opened doors, walked on the outside
and took her arm at street corners.  The mannerisms seemed ingrained, as though
he had grown up in another age.  Chivalry was not totally dead when you ran into
older men sometimes.  Michelle thought it was nice and felt safe.  Except when she
glanced into his eyes.  They still seemed darkly strange. 

When she looked at him she felt as if he knew exactly what
she was thinking, and probably hiding an amused and bored smile, so she found herself
a little embarrassed and talked too rapidly, about her job, the condominium that
he had bought into, and even the evening weather, which was beautiful.  The clouds
of the daytime had blown away and the air was thick and moist and moved warmly with
the tropical breeze.  It made her feel like taking her hair out of its staid bun
and shaking it free around her shoulders.

The bar was not crowded and the host seated them at a small
table away from the dance floor.  The band was on break and many people were leaving. 
Even so, the cocktail waitress didn't seem to notice them.  Finally Omar said he
would go to the bar and get their order.  Michelle told him she wanted a Bloody
Mary without the vodka.

When Omar left the table Michelle reminded herself that
she was a powerful executive in a large corporation with hundreds of people working
for her.  She hated herself when she got fearful as she found herself in his presence. 
But she was always uncomfortable with men.  She wondered if she would ever get over
it and have a normal relationship.  She wondered if one horrible incident would
flaw her personality forever and make it impossible for her to even have normal
male friends.  Many times, alone with a man on a date, she would find herself trembling
uncontrollably.  She would have to make an excuse that she was sick so the guy would
take her home.

Omar returned, serving the drinks with a flourish that
made Michelle smile.  She pulled the celery out of her drink and started nibbling. 
Omar was making things easy, by talking himself.  She learned that he traveled extensively
and had just returned from France, where his permanent residence was located.  He
described where he lived and about his favorite walks through the city, the museums
and art galleries, and the Opera, which he evidently frequented often, while Michelle
memorized his unusual face.

Then she took a sip of her drink.

Immediately she knew it was alcoholic.  She closed her
eyes for a moment, loving the taste, the wonderful burn in her throat.  It was not
a 'slip,' imbibing in alcohol when you have been abstinent for some time and intend
to resume the abstinence.  She had not consciously drunk a beverage knowing it contained
alcohol, and something dark and careless in her mind whispered, You didn't mean
to do it, so go ahead.  Get out of your head and enjoy.  Go on and have a ball!

Another part of Michelle was outraged.  She jumped up so
quickly that she bumped into the small table, knocking it over.  Both drinks spilled
into Omar's lap. 

In that moment, Michelle was not sorry the drinks splashed
on his perfect suit.  She had told him she did not drink, had made it absolutely
clear in fact, and he had gone and got her a drink with vodka in it.  It was outrageous
and unbelievable.

"That drink has alcohol in it," Michelle said
angrily, trying to control herself, not yell in a public place.  She turned on her
heel and started to walk away. 

Suddenly her wrist felt like it was in a vice, stopping
her before she had taken a second step.  Omar held her arm so tightly it was impossible
to move.  She didn't want to struggle with him and felt herself starting to panic,
as she always did with men.  She was trembling, but stayed still.  She had no choice.

"I thought I got exactly what you wanted," Omar's
voice said caressingly.

And had he ever!  But did he know it?  She searched his
face, oblivious to the people in the room who had turned to see what the commotion
was about.

He was studying her, Michelle decided.  His eyes were contemplating
her reactions like they were feeding off her.  She thought she saw triumph in the
eyes.  She thought she saw lust.  And she thought she saw surprise.

"I'm sorry," Omar murmured softly, eyelids now
lowered, almost covering his eyes, hiding intent.  "I'll get a replacement. 
The bartender misunderstood.  Please forgive me."  He looked so contrite Michelle
decided her first impression had been wrong.  He let go and her wrist felt numb. 

Michelle suddenly felt guilty for ruining his suit and
making a spectacle with a man so polite he probably viewed the whole scene as humiliating. 
He was being nice, had made a mistake, and she was acting like a child.

Two waitresses hurried over and a man at the next table
was picking their table up.  Omar started wiping his pants with tiny cocktail napkins.

"I'm sorry too," Michelle said.  "I get
sick when I drink alcohol."

As the drinks were replaced, Michelle thought that he couldn't
have known or understood what drinking had been to her; that simply saying that
alcohol made her sick was a gigantic understatement.  How she had passionately loved
it and had also been its slave.  She could blame it on that black time after she
had been hurt, but Michelle knew better. 

She remembered the debilitating hangovers, throwing up,
the headaches and the trembling that she could not stop.  She remembered the times
when she would have done anything for a drink.  Even drive drunk to get it.  But
the blackouts were the worse thing, having no recollection of what she had done
or said; trying to piece together a time of total blankness, which she knew was
brain damage.  She had told herself fiercely that she had her reasons, but there
was no reason good enough for being that self destructive.

Omar was patting her arm.  "There's no problem.  A
little dry cleaning...everything will be fine as new." 

He was letting her know that it didn't matter that his
suit was ruined.  Each pat caused one of those funny electrical shocks.