Friedlander maybe Savant’s assistant? I considered that diamond stud winking away in Savant’s shell-like right ear, but I didn’t get the feeling Savant was gay or even bi.
The Hell You Say
41
He continued, “We take notes. You never know what will be useful. We have a book due every nine months, see?”
“That’s got to be tough.” Surely the hundreds of thousands that he earned in royalties was some compensation.
“We don’t use it all, naturally. Some of our research material is fairly…sensitive.”
Were they blackmailing people? What was the deal here? I must have looked perplexed, because he said, “If you help me, I will help you.”
“You’ll help me with what?” Was he offering to work in the store? I wasn’t sure if I was that desperate yet.
His eyes did this shift from side to side. He whispered. “I know about your…problem…with…” His voice died out, and his lips formed soundless words, “Blade Sable.”
Blade Sable? Was this somebody I should know? Kind of sounded like a gay super hero.
“Blade Sable?” I repeated, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.
Gabriel eyed me in disbelief, then said, “Think about it, Aiden.”
“Adrien.”
“Whatever. You wouldn’t want to deal with this on your own. These people are very dangerous. Even without the Powers of Darkness.”
* * * * *
By midmorning, when no one turned up from the agency, I phoned and was informed that they had sent someone. The slightly exasperated implication was that the employee was here somewhere -- or perhaps that I had carelessly lost the employee and now wanted another one. The woman at the agency did not actually remind me that employees did not grow on trees, but I felt like she wanted to.
Luckily, it was a slow morning. I decided that it wouldn’t matter if I closed for an hour or two to meet the professor. I was entitled to lunch. Maybe a long lunch. What was the use of being the boss if you couldn’t take a long lunch once in a while?
As previously arranged, we met at Campanile on South La Brea Avenue. Recognizable by its distinctive bell tower, the building housing Campanile restaurant and La Brea Bakery was built by Charlie Chaplin back in 1929. Before the building was completed, Chaplin lost it in a divorce settlement. His loss is our gain.
The professor was seated in the green-walled garden area, with its towering glass ceiling and red-tiled floor. He was reading and sipping a glass of wine. He wore jeans and a velvet doublet over a white shirt. His long, silvery hair gleamed like sterling against the claret-colored velvet. He was a striking presence, oblivious to his surroundings.
Even without the powers of Darkness. Well, there are powers, and there are powers.
42 Josh Lanyon
I rested a hand on the chair across from him. “Professor Snowden?”
He must have been watching my approach from under his lashes, because he looked up out of his book, and without missing a beat, drawled, “Call me Guy.” He set the book aside and offered his hand. We shook. His gaze held mine a few seconds longer than politeness required.
Interesting.
I sat down across from him. “Guy, then. Thanks for meeting me.”
Guy moved his book aside. He had beautiful hands, tanned, graceful, but with long-fingered strength. I could still feel the imprint of his palm against mine.
The waitress appeared. I ordered a glass of the Clos du Bois merlot. When she was out of earshot, Guy said, “I have good news. I don’t think you’ll be…pestered any further.”
“Really?”
“I’ve spoken to the students involved -- former students, actually. It was mostly a…misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? That’s it?”
The remarkable green eyes met mine. “Er…yes.”
Maybe he was happy to let it go at that, but I wanted a little more reassurance that it was truly over.
The waitress returned with my wine. She was one of those pert waifs, flirting reflexively with us while we ordered our lunches.
The Hell You Say
41
He continued, “We take notes. You never know what will be useful. We have a book due every nine months, see?”
“That’s got to be tough.” Surely the hundreds of thousands that he earned in royalties was some compensation.
“We don’t use it all, naturally. Some of our research material is fairly…sensitive.”
Were they blackmailing people? What was the deal here? I must have looked perplexed, because he said, “If you help me, I will help you.”
“You’ll help me with what?” Was he offering to work in the store? I wasn’t sure if I was that desperate yet.
His eyes did this shift from side to side. He whispered. “I know about your…problem…with…” His voice died out, and his lips formed soundless words, “Blade Sable.”
Blade Sable? Was this somebody I should know? Kind of sounded like a gay super hero.
“Blade Sable?” I repeated, wondering if I’d heard him correctly.
Gabriel eyed me in disbelief, then said, “Think about it, Aiden.”
“Adrien.”
“Whatever. You wouldn’t want to deal with this on your own. These people are very dangerous. Even without the Powers of Darkness.”
* * * * *
By midmorning, when no one turned up from the agency, I phoned and was informed that they had sent someone. The slightly exasperated implication was that the employee was here somewhere -- or perhaps that I had carelessly lost the employee and now wanted another one. The woman at the agency did not actually remind me that employees did not grow on trees, but I felt like she wanted to.
Luckily, it was a slow morning. I decided that it wouldn’t matter if I closed for an hour or two to meet the professor. I was entitled to lunch. Maybe a long lunch. What was the use of being the boss if you couldn’t take a long lunch once in a while?
As previously arranged, we met at Campanile on South La Brea Avenue. Recognizable by its distinctive bell tower, the building housing Campanile restaurant and La Brea Bakery was built by Charlie Chaplin back in 1929. Before the building was completed, Chaplin lost it in a divorce settlement. His loss is our gain.
The professor was seated in the green-walled garden area, with its towering glass ceiling and red-tiled floor. He was reading and sipping a glass of wine. He wore jeans and a velvet doublet over a white shirt. His long, silvery hair gleamed like sterling against the claret-colored velvet. He was a striking presence, oblivious to his surroundings.
Even without the powers of Darkness. Well, there are powers, and there are powers.
42 Josh Lanyon
I rested a hand on the chair across from him. “Professor Snowden?”
He must have been watching my approach from under his lashes, because he looked up out of his book, and without missing a beat, drawled, “Call me Guy.” He set the book aside and offered his hand. We shook. His gaze held mine a few seconds longer than politeness required.
Interesting.
I sat down across from him. “Guy, then. Thanks for meeting me.”
Guy moved his book aside. He had beautiful hands, tanned, graceful, but with long-fingered strength. I could still feel the imprint of his palm against mine.
The waitress appeared. I ordered a glass of the Clos du Bois merlot. When she was out of earshot, Guy said, “I have good news. I don’t think you’ll be…pestered any further.”
“Really?”
“I’ve spoken to the students involved -- former students, actually. It was mostly a…misunderstanding.”
“A misunderstanding? That’s it?”
The remarkable green eyes met mine. “Er…yes.”
Maybe he was happy to let it go at that, but I wanted a little more reassurance that it was truly over.
The waitress returned with my wine. She was one of those pert waifs, flirting reflexively with us while we ordered our lunches.
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