At Wit's End (3 page)

He finished his coffee and started typing. When he hit Send it was with a small feeling of relief and satisfaction.

Marie checked the time and decided the bedroom could wait. She turned the vacuum off and shoved it into the closet. A timer went off in the kitchen and s
he hurried in to take the canapés out of the oven. She had an appointment with Susan Collins about catering a dinner party. The woman’s in-laws were coming into town and she desperately wanted to wow them. Seeing as she couldn’t cook worth a damn, she did the right thing and contacted Marie.

Marie had
prepared a varied selection of appetizers so Susan could sample some of what she had to offer. With a quick peek she decided they needed just a tad longer in the oven. She reset the timer and, once again, cursed Michael to perdition.

Week one after receiving her loan was supposed to be spent moving the company into the new digs, not scrambling to impress a client in the hopes they’d write her a deposit check so she could cover rent and a few standard groceries. Her stomach twisted and Marie wondered if she was developing an ulcer. She shook it off
and forced herself to concentrate on the task at hand. Planning Michael’s demise was something best done in the ridiculous amount of free time she now had on her hands and not when she was trying to keep an upbeat mood for a consultation.

Mumbling about the many different ways a man could be castrated, she went around the room and lit the candles she had set around the apartment. She liked their look and scent and knew it wouldn’t alter the aromas or tastes of the dishes she had prepared. She hit switches and gave the living room mood lighting. She plugged her iPod into the stereo and selected
“Susan’s Mix”, something she had compiled with Susan’s party specifically in mind. Light classical music began playing through the apartment and she was glad she’d gone with the surround sound.

Marie firmly believed catering parties wasn’t just about the food. Everything should be taken into account and planned out accordingly. She liked to have candles or other special lighting set up with well-planned music all with the aim of perfect ambiance. This evening was her opportunity to give Susan a taste of it. Hopefully she’d be impressed enough to write out a check.

The timer went off and she went back to the kitchen. Everything looked perfect and she turned down the temperature on the oven and propped the door open slightly. Susan would be here any minute and she wanted to make sure what should be hot would be.

The bottle of Riesling in the refrigerator taunted her slightly. If she’d had time she wo
uld have opened the bottle and sampled it before Susan arrived. Unfortunately the timing hadn’t worked out that way and, upon reflection, she didn’t want Susan seeing an already open bottle with some gone. That wouldn’t set the right impression.

Which reminded her to grab the wine glasses from the top cabinet and check them for spots. The dishwasher in this apartment was abysmal and she didn’t always remember to check before putting them away.
With a small sigh she quickly ran hot water and let the steam build in the glasses. She used a lint free towel to wipe away the spots and considered it perfect.

Another check of the time and she knew Susan was running late. She huffed out a small breath, checked the appetizers once more and went to her laptop. If she loaded her email she knew the door would buzz
. It was the usual way of things.

She scrolled through the multitude of messages that had come in since she had last checked this morning. She had no desire to purchase Viagra through a Canadian pharmacy and, really, did she
seem like the type of person who needed or wanted to meet hot and barely legal girls online? Marie certainly didn’t think so. Most of the messages were spam and, with barely a thought, she deleted the entire page’s worth.

Briefly she wondered if she’d hear from the guy Robert had told her about. Somehow she doubt
ed it. Besides, what could be done? The money was gone, probably already spent.

Petty revenge was tempting in its own right but Marie really wasn’t that kind of person. Or was she? If she saw Michael today wouldn’t she be the first in line t
o, at the very least, slap him?

The doorbell distracted her from that train of thought and she quickly went to the door, double-checked Susan was on the other side and buzzed her in.
With her professional face on Marie went to the elevator and began the process of wowing the client.

An hour later Marie had a
pad full of notes and ideas with a hefty deposit check tucked into the pages. Because Susan wanted to have her in-laws believe she had prepared the dinner Marie wouldn’t need to call in any favours for servers or a bartender. Small blessings.

She changed into comfortable clothes, blew out the candles and poured herself another glass of wine.
She propped her feet on the coffee table and went online. She wanted to update C U There’s website and she hadn’t checked for messages today. Now seemed to be as good a time as any.

The crisp white wine was exactly what the doctor ordered. Susan had liked it also and Marie made a note to pick up a few of the bottles for Susan’s dinner party. Marie cocked a brow when she saw she had a new message through C U There’s site. She opened it and was thrilled to note it was for another consultation.

Apparently Brad Witson had been out of town for several months. He had just gotten back to the States and he wanted to throw a semi-formal party to announce his return. Having learned her lesson Marie went to a search engine and dug into what she could about Brad Witson’s life.

She checked the dates on the results that came up and realized he must have been out of town for most of the past year. She found that interesting and wondered how he’d heard of her business. She would make a point to ask him that. Her eyes widened as she began reading the results that had come up.

Brad Witson had been a wunderkind in the business world for several years. His name came up repeatedly in finance articles. Everything he touched seemed to turn to gold, the Kid Midas of Wall Street. Then one day nothing. He completely disappeared. There were a few “Where’s Wit?” articles and it appeared that question hadn’t been answered.

It would be soon, Marie knew. Her natural curiosity had her wondering why he’d left and where he had been. If it was somewhere interesting culturally perhaps she could use it as a theme for hi
s party.

There was a tab that offered images and she selected it. While the page loaded she refilled her wi
ne with what was left in the bottle. When she sat back down and looked at the screen she gave an involuntary gasp.

Surely somewhere the gods were laughing. Not only had they given him the ability to make money at the drop of a hat but the man was hot in the way that any woman with a pulse could appreciate.

“My God, he could model underwear,” she muttered and scrolled down the page. Lo and behold she found images that actually did show him modelling a very fashionable designer’s line of boxer briefs. He looked younger in those pictures and she gathered he’d modelled in college. Marie swallowed heavily and wondered how on earth she’d ever get through the consultation without ripping his clothes off.

She toggled back to the message he’d sent and sent back a reply with her cell phone number. She wondered what his voice would sound like when he called and knew she was being ridiculous. She hadn’t had a high school crush since, well, high school. She’d have to get over this or she’d embarrass herself no end when they met.

“Good night, Brad,” she whispered to the screen. She blew the image a kiss and took her tipsy butt off to bed.

The fitness room was empty except for Marie. Her schedule had always been different from most of the people who lived in the building so she wasn’t surprised. She relished having time alone to force her body into her version of submission and on days when she had a slight wine hangover she was particularly brutal.

“If you’re going to play, you’ve got to pay,” she panted and checked the time left on the machine. She was on the treadmill at a speed that was a near jog and had been for what felt like forever. She had about 10 minutes left in the cycle and she turned up the volume on her music.

“Punish the body, punish the mind,” she groaned and wiped sweat from her brow. She thought it smelled like Riesling, winced and debated adding another 15 minutes to the machine but, really, she was being masochistic enough, was she not?

The SmartPhone sitting on the shelf of the treadmill lit up and started dancing toward the edge. “Oh, thank you, whoever you are.” She quickly cancelled the rest of the cycle and turned the music to a tolerable level.
She double-checked the incoming call and swiped her finger across the screen to answer it.

“Thank you for calling C U There Party Planning. This is Marie, how may I help you?” It would have been the perfect tone had she not been panting.

“Hello, Marie, how are you today?” The voice was smooth, young, well-modulated and definitely cultured.

“I’m doing fine, thank you for asking. And yourself?”

“Just great. My name is Brad Witson. We’ve exchanged emails about an event I’d like to plan.”

“Of course, Mr Witson. Thank you for calling.” Marie was finally getting her breath back. Then she flashed onto the image of him in those revealing boxer briefs and nearly lost it again. “I understand you have specific requirements?”

“Indeed. I’m preparing to host an event at my home. I’ve spoken with a few caterers and have asked them to write up proposals.” He listed several companies that Marie was familiar with. They were all high end and ultimately she hoped C U There would develop the same clientele. “I’d like you to put some ideas together and then we’ll meet to discuss it.”

“I have a few questions before I’m able to do that, including the date of the event and any theme you may have in mind.”

Wit’s mind went blank. He’d been making this up as he went along and realized his cover story wasn’t as thorough as it probably should have been. Next she’d ask about a guest list and, honestly, he didn’t have one. He scrambled. “I intend to have the event within the next month. I assume that gives you enough time?”

Marie nodded to the phone. “A month will be more than sufficient. When would you like to get together to discuss my proposals?”

“Will three days be enough time? I’m afraid I have several meetings scheduled and that’s my only available time. We’ll meet at CoffeeBot and, if you’re selected, I’ll bring you here to begin putting those plans into effect.” Wit winced. His ability to lie smoothly hadn’t left him while he’d been on the islands apparently.

He wondered what else would come back to him now that he’d returned to New York. There were four that never would. Before his mind could travel down the dark path that reminded him his friends now resided underground he listened to her response.

“I’m afraid I’m not aware of CoffeeBot’s location. If you’ll text or email me the address I’ll be happy to meet you in three days.” Marie pulled up her calendar, winced at all the empty squares that she’d hoped to have filled with appointments, and added their tentative meeting.

“It’s a welcome home party,” he told her. Brad wondered if he’d actually have to throw the party at this rate. “So, for a theme, do what comes naturally.”

“If I may ask, where had you been travelling? I can plan dishes accordingly.”

Wit cleared his throat.
“Think Jamaica, the British Virgin Islands, like that.”

“It sounds like that would have been a fantastic vacation,” she replied. Ideas began swirling through her head and she immediately discarded anything that involved tiki torches.

“One would think,” he said cryptically. “I’ll see you in three days.” After he’d disconnected the call Wit crawled into bed. He couldn’t believe how draining it could be to talk on a phone. He wondered briefly if he’d come home too soon. His liver informed him otherwise and he drifted into a deep sleep.

The coffee shop was dim and it took a few minutes for Marie’s eyes to adjust from the bright of the afternoon sunshine. Something mellow was playing on the overhead speakers and she recognized it as Dave Matthews Band once she heard Dave’s mournful wail.

There was a mishmash of furniture as though the building had been stocked from garage sales. Ther
e were laptops set up on the lopsided tables and several people were using them. Most were college kids from what Marie could tell but there were a few closer to her own age. Animated conversations were happening in the corners where people posed in overstuffed beanbag chairs.

Marie made her way to an empty table and booted up her laptop. When a sullen server came by she requested a black cup of coffee and scanned the news pages, cleared out her email and tried to distract her wandering mind.

Would he like her ideas? Would they finish this meeting early enough for her to get home and finish the preparations for Susan’s dinner? She mentally kicked herself for not putting Susan’s party into her calendar and then shrugged it off. Nothing to be done about it now and she’d find a way to make it work.

Wit’s brain couldn’t let go of the code. There were a few niggling details left to fix and the algorithm would be a thing of beauty. Byte420 had one of those details under his competent fingers and Wit hoped he’d finish soon. He’d like to walk through the world without feeling like he was in The Matrix sometime soon. Assuming that was possible.