(Pamela’s world in a little more detail)
She knew she had just given Luke an out. to be honest, she didn’t like people anymore. Most times she wanted to be left alone with her own pain and pity.
But Luke, for his part, didn’t leave, Instead, he gently changed the subject. “How do you know Lynn?”
“She’s just a friend,” Pamela looked at his golden drink and wished she had another of her own. “Look,” she said finally, getting up, “I know you’re trying to make small talk, to try and win over the wallflower of the party, but–”
“Hey!” Lynn’s voice permeated the serenity of the room, and stopped her usual speech. Lynn and her boyfriend Maximillian stood at the doorway, his arm around Lynn’s waist. “I thought you left,” Lynn said, smiling at her and Luke.
“I was just leaving,” said Pamela.
“Wait,” said Luke, jumping down from the table. “Call me.” Pamela waited as he took out his wallet and fished out a business card. She glanced at the logo, one of the biggest modeling agencies in New York. She pocketed the card. “It’s my office, but they’ll get a hold of me for you.”
“Right,” she said, pushing by Lynn and Maximillian.
“We can have lunch soon, okay, Pam?”
Pamela waved absently as she headed to the font door. She ducked in the closet and gathered her coat. After she put on her not-so-stylish ski hat, she left the apartment. She glanced out the window. It was dark, and the vampires–the cops and the leeches–would be out in full force.
The Noctornals, as they were called, included vampires, shifters of all stripes, and spirits with anchors. All of these creatures were now legalized in most of the New England states, except for Maine, New York and California, those bastions of liberal America, had also legalized the existence of the Nocturnals, with California even allowing active spirits to live on their own in empty buildings. Some people were angry at that and moved toward the middle of America.
Pamela exited the building and saw a girl trying to be a leech’s midnight snack. The word “whore: included these types of girls. The girl smiled at Pamela, who looked beyond her into the darkness beyond. She wasn’t going to walk the six blocks back to her apartment in this.
Pamela stood at the curb to hail a taxi. Snow was in the air. The curb was sanded until it got to the gutter, where it was a slushy puddle of ice, and water. The taxi pulled up just past the gutter. She stepped over the slush and climbed into the taxi.
She gave her address to the driver and sat back in the vinyl seat. She rummaged in her purse to pull out the fare, knowing how much it was in advance, holding it loosely in her hand. It was expensive to keep taking taxis, but it was at least safer. She couldn’t trust the night anymore.
She smoothed her itchy face with her hand. It was a constant reminder of her tryst with Troy Billings, who turned into a 300 pound mass of bear when he didn’t get his way. Oh, she got money from the civil suit, but he got only “shifter management classes” and a “mentor.”
So now she lived in the Bronx, displaced from her modeling job and working as a secretary at the non-profit. She lived with two other models, friends from way back. Ashly was going to SUNY for a poli-sci degree, and Rachel was doing everything she could to stave off the inevitable body sag.
Pamela got out of the cab, paying the driver, and unlocked the door to her apartment house. The hallways was dark. She’d have to replace the bulk knowing Old Man Schwartz would probably take it out of their security. She trudged up the stairs, the neon from the building next door lighting it in dim green, red, blue, green red, blue. She got to the top of the stairs and paused at the landing.
