Chapter Two
The black limo pulled up in front of the sad little shanty that I called home. I was surprised to see Abraham, dressed in a splendid slim-fit tuxedo, step out of the driver’s side door, greeting me with his trademark smile.
“You’re my chauffeur for the evening?” I asked.
“Indeed,” he said, opening the backseat door for me like a true gentleman. “I’m a jack of all trades: restaurant owner, respected socialite, and for this evening, your personal driver.”
“Well if anyone’s to drive me to my potential career suicide, I’m glad it’s you,” I said. Since this morning, I’ve had some issues with my confidence.
It went missing.
I was as jittery as a pornstar in church. I blamed Calisto and her “make or break” line that echoed in my mind over and over again.
If they like you, they can make your career. You can have your pick headlining Vienna, the Metropolitan Opera, or Carnegie Hall.
That was a lot of pressure placed on one single night. What if I screwed it up?
When I was a child, my worst fear was having rotten produce tossed at me after a poor piano recital, which was absurd thinking about it now. Who brought tomatoes and lettuce to piano recitals in the first place?
The more plausible scenario was that someone would hate my music and spread the word of how shitty my performance was to the musical mavens and crush my dreams of selling out concert halls.
I’d rather have the tomatoes.
The thought of failing tonight made me want to drop to the sidewalk and curl up into a fetal position.
“You shouldn’t doubt your talents,” Abraham said as I entered the limo.
He closed the door behind me. As he entered the driver’s seat, he continued to cheer me on. “You’re one extraordinary pianist. I’m sure you’ll have no problems captivating this crowd.”
However, his words escaped my ears as my attention was focused on some disturbing details inside the limo. The first thing I noticed was that the rear windows were tinted black from the inside, restricting any view to the world outside. Also there was a partition between the front seats and the back, which separated me physically from Abraham.
I felt claustrophobic and feared that I was a prisoner in this luxurious motorized prison.
“Hey Abraham, not to sound ungrateful for the ride, but to be honest the lack of natural light is freaking me out a bit,” I said.
“I do apologize for that,” Abraham replied th rough a speaker in the roof. “Did Calisto inform you that tonight’s event is a very private affair?”
“She did,” I replied.
“Unfortunately the location of the celebration must be kept secret as well,” Abraham said. “You will notice that there is no cell phone reception available in the limo either. I do understand how this may all be a bit unnerving and if you wish, I can inform Calisto that you’ve changed your mind about tonight’s performance. I’m sure she can find a suitable replacement.”
Common sense should have told me to leave the vehicle, head back up to my apartment, and find a less shady way to make some cash. But I was a desperate girl and the potential to make ten thousand dollars for one night’s work was way too good of an opportunity to pass up. I was flat broke once more after paying my tuition with the tips from China White and still needed to cover rent. Common sense had gone fishin g tonight. I’d listen to it when I wasn’t down to my last nickel.
“Can I trust that you won’t kidnap me and sell me to some European sex-slave ring Abraham?”
“On the soul of my daughter, our organization will not harm you in any way, shape, or form,” Abraham said without hesitation.
“Well then, let’s get this party started,” I said.
“Excellent. I do believe that tonight’s event should open many doors for you in the near future.”
The limo began to move as I held my breath and prayed that I was making a good decision. Over the past four years, I had a tendency to m ake poor ones, and it was only in hindsight that I realized what an idiot I was at times. I wondered if this was going to be one of those instances.
The quietness of the car ride made me nervous so I decided to start some conversation.
“You have a daughter?” I asked. I had read up about Abraham after the gig last Saturday and there was never any mention in old news articles about his family.
“I had a daughter,” Abraham replied. I could hear the sadness in his voice and immediately felt bad for asking. I decided to change the subject.
“There are some wild stories about you on the internet. Are there any truths to them?”
Abraham chuckled. “Like all competitive business owners, I became a victim of slander,” he replied. “When the China White first opened, it was considered one of the premier dining establishments in the city. My chefs, flown from all parts of Asia, were instructed not only to create food but also to create art. My restaurant was the talk of the town and I worked very hard to maintain that sense of grandeur for the China White. Of course, success has its price and I soon discovered the mean spirit of competitive business. I was accused of many things: participating in wild male orgies in the back of my kitchen while patrons feasted on their suckling pig. Apparently I also practiced pagan voodoo and sacrificed virgin blood to demon gods, and probably much worse.”
“That’s so juvenile. Is everyone still in high school?” I remarked.
“Sadly in life, progress in money and power leads to regression in common sense and decency,” Abraham sighed. “It’s a flaw in this little thing that we do. I was hit with these ridiculous accusations, which I took great offense to—not because I was accused of being a homosexual Satanist—but because I took immense pride running a spotless, sanitary kitchen. I would never allow a single drop of body fluid to defile the sanctity of my restaurant’s cooking space.
“So I went to war, fighting against the issue that offended me the most—having a dirty kitchen. As for being a gay Satanist, I couldn’t care less. Call me a homosexual demon worshipper if you want, just don’t insult my spotless kitchen.”
“A true gay and religious activist,” I laughed.
“There are much worse things people can read about me,” Abraham said, in almost a whisper.
I decided not to press him on it.
“It seems like you folks love your stories,” I said. “Calisto created one about me, being some virtuous girl who uses her Golden Virgin powers to create beautiful music.”
“Storytelling is a very powerful skill,” Abraham said. “Empires are built and destroyed from the simplest of tales that seep through people’s ears and entrench themselves inside a person’s heart.”
“What’s the difference between stories and lies?” I asked.
There was a long pause. “Stories serve a higher purpose,” he finally replied.
“Are you sure about that one?” I asked.
There was another long pause. “No.”
Well this topic wore out its course; onto another one.
“Tell me about the guests at this exclusive event,” I said.
“It’s a secret,” Abraham replied, a hint of amusement in his voice.
“Well when I get there, I’ll see the guests anyways. What’s the harm in giving me a little spoiler?”
“Did Calisto not share with you the details of tonight’s events?”
“Nothing much, except for that it was top secret.”
“Perhaps that’s for the best. I wouldn’t want to spoil anything for you either. It makes things more exciting that way.”
“Who are you people?” I boldly asked. “I’m almost convinced you guys are twinkling vampires with all your secrets.”
Abraham made no reply.
“You’re not vampires are you?” I asked.
There was still no reply. Suddenly I began to panic. Oh God, what if they were some crazy sect of blood suckers, ready to feast on my not-so-virgin blood, transforming me into one of their kind? Call me odd if you will, but vampires didn’t do it for me. I found their pasty white demeanor creepy as hell.
“I want to suck your blood,” Abraham’s voice echoed through the speaker in a cheesy Transylvanian voice, followed by a hardy laugh.
“You jerk!” I shouted. “You scared the hell out of me for a second.”
“Not to sound insulting but aren’t you too old to believe in monsters?” Abraham asked.
I sighed. “Well you can’t blame me for being paranoid. Everything about this event is so secretive. For all I know, this could be some kind of serial killer soiree.”
“As I said before, I swear on my daughter’s soul that no physical harm will come to you tonight,” Abraham said. “There is no hidden agenda aside from you blessing us with your beautiful music.”
At that point, I should have sat back and relaxed, but I was too inquisitive in nature. I continued on with my questions.
“Is this organization of yours legal?” I asked.
“Do you have skeletons in your closet?” Abraham asked me.
“Well yes,” I said. “Doesn’t everyone?”
“As does our group,” Abraham replied. “One collective skeleton buried six feet under.” There was finality in his voice that told me yet another topic of discussion was over.
I felt like a terrible conversationalist along with the gnawing suspicions that I was into something way over my head.
The remainder of the drive was in silence, though at one point Abraham did ask me if I enjoyed Jazz music. I told him I did and all of a sudden, the eclectic sounds of Miles Davis filled the limo, which, along with the champagne I discovered in the icebox, calmed me a little.
Eventually the limo rolled into a stop and I felt my composure under attack as my nerves melted into puddles of overwhelming anxiety.
Abraham exited the limo and opened the rear door for me.
“We’re here Aria,” he said with a pleasant smile. “Tonight your life is going to change forever.”
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