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I can't believe my palms are sweaty.
It's just a stupid door.
Eric's finding a parking spot and coming up soon. I can't let him see me be chicken like this. It's only Oberon's apartment. The worse I could find is that all his fish had died from starvation; or there could be a dead cat, dead puppy.
"Snap yourself out of this Sookie!" I muttered to myself.
I couldn't let the irrational guilt of Oberon's death keep me from opening a goddamn door. Maybe I was just afraid of what I'd find. Oberon's apartment was above a convenience store in Cedar Springs. The landlord, Mr. Wong, who was also the owner of the convenience store (surprise, surprise), was relieved that I had come to get Oberon's things. Mr. Wong was about to pack his things and put them into boxes since Oberon hadn't been back for over a month and his bond had just about run out. When I probed his brain to see if he could offer any insight as to what kind of person Oberon was, everything running through Mr. Wong's head was in Chinese, and a few images of a quiet Oberon coming up and down the stairs. There wasn't any hostility coming from Mr. Wong's thoughts, but that's all I got.
The first thing that happened when I finally opened door was that I sneezed. The apartment was covered with dust! I sneezed some more when I opened the barred windows and disturbed more dust, but I got a good look at the apartment.
It was quite the anti-climax.
The apartment was old with rickety taps and old stained sinks, but more or less clean and very tidy. Actually Spartan would've been a better description. There was no personality to be seen in any of the things there. No photographs, magazines or books, just about a weeks worth of newspapers neatly stacked in a corner and dated about a month ago. All Oberon had in the fridge was two bottles of beer and a jar of peanut butter. If I hadn't already spoken to Mr. Wong I would've thought that Oberon had already moved out.
The apartment had only one bedroom and I went past it, homing in on the medicine cabinet in the bathroom. I've never been one to be oh-so-curious about what's in a guy's medicine cabinet. Maybe it's because I've never been able to make it past the first date with most humans and I've been dating vampires who don't need to use the bathroom. Not that Oberon had anything that would enlighten me in his medicine cabinet anyway. There were no prescription drugs, so we couldn't even follow up with a doctor on his history. Just some pain killers, dental floss, band aids, pimple cream, face wash and some antiseptic. I grabbed it up and threw it into a plastic bin liner I found in the kitchen to throw away and headed off into the bedroom.
The bed was a whitewood double with white bed sheets. There was a lamp and an alarm clock by the bed, again, not a single personal item. I opened the closet in my last ditch attempt to find anything that could tell me about Oberon and all that was in there were three pairs of jeans and some sweaters. I pulled them out and laid them out onto the bed to see if Eric would want to take them with him. After all, it would be a perfect fit. The only things I found of interest were five t-shirts from various clubs and bars. One had the 'security' stitched at the front beneath the a logo and name of the Double Axe Bar and another one that also had the word 'security' on it but this was ironed on in large font at the back; this was from the Curvy Cats strip club.
"I guess you're a bouncer Oberon," I said out loud.
It was the only thing I found out about the man, who in a sense I married yesterday, after rifling through his whole apartment. I couldn't help feeling that this was intentional on Oberon's part. Anyone would have to put in considerable effort not to leave any traces of personality in their apartment. Nothing that engaged any personal interest or memoirs of anyone they knew could be found here. I felt that this was just a place where Oberon resided but was not his home, like he was hiding himself from his own home. I was contemplating the implications of all this when Eric arrived.
"Welcome to the home of the most boring man in Dallas!" I exclaimed and felt stupid about being all apprehensive about coming here. I had worked myself up over nothing.
"So I guess you didn't find anything interesting about Oberon."
"Nothing! How could someone live like this? Not a single photo or personal effect throughout the whole apartment! Oh except this." I tossed Eric the bottle of Head and Shoulders from the plastic bag of stuff to throw away. "You might have dandruff."
Eric caught it and grinned "It's more or less what I expect from a former felon. This apartment may not seem to have a lot of personal effects to you. But even this-" Eric said as he tossed the bottle of shampoo back to me "-is a luxury item when you had been incarcerated. I'm actually quite surprised he's gotten back on his feet so well. He's living by himself in his own apartment after having only been out a little over a year."
"I think he's like holding down five jobs or something. He's got about five work t-shirts from different bars and clubs." I motioned Eric to follow me into bedroom and showed him the shirts.
"I think you're right that this is the most boring man in Dallas. You can't get more cliché than an ex-con being a bouncer."
I slapped Eric in the chest and laughed. I hope that he was right. The simpler Oberon was, the less hassle we would have about his life.
"So how long are you going to be? I've actually parked a few blocks away in Oak Lawn. Since Jimmy wouldn't recognize me anymore I can't just park anywhere I want around here and be sure my car would still be there when I return. We shouldn't loiter around here too long."
"Who's Jimmy?"
"Ah, you didn't get to meet him last time. He was my local contact who I borrowed the car from when we were in town."
The guy with the Cadillac that had the safety lock feature disabled. I nearly died because of what that asshole does with his cars. Dubious character at best.
"You know we could get things done a lot faster if you'd help me put everything in the kitchen into a bag, while I clean up here. Do you want to keep any of the clothes?"
"I have plenty back in Shreveport," Eric answered dismissively, "I don't see why you'd even bother packing it up. Let the landlord throw it away."
"No! This stuff is perfectly fine. We can donate it to Goodwill. I remember seeing one a block or two away from here." I pulled another bin liner out of the packet and handed it to him. Eric rolled his eyes and headed towards the kitchen while I folded everything into a satchel I found on top of the closet. After some ruckus in the kitchen I heard the TV go on in the living room.
"Lover! I think you'd want to see this."
I walked out into the living room to see Eric sitting on the love seat watching the news. My mind went blank with the image on the screen. The picture behind the anchorman was of an extremely handsome figure, dressed in an impeccable business suit walking down a flight of stairs with two bodyguards at his flank. His dark brown hair was tied neatly in a ponytail so taut, that his hair almost looked short and slicked back, but there was no mistaking the marvelous physique and gorgeous features. It was Claude.
Across the picture in large bold yellow letters were 'EXOTIC DRUGS?'
Eric turned the volume up and I was finally able to pay attention to what the news reporter was saying.
"…the aftermath of losing both board members of the Brie Pharmaceuticals in a mysterious plane crash has been a twisted descent into a long and complicated family legacy. Brie Pharmaceuticals, the largest family owned and the last private pharmaceutical company was pioneered by Niall Brigant and his son Dillon Brigant was his successor. However, tragedy struck in late January of this year when father and son took off for a hunting trip on their single engine airplane, only to lose contact 30 minutes into the flight. The plane was never found. In a twist of fate, the largest private pharmaceutical company in the United States is left without an heir. In accordance to Dillon Brigant's will, next in succession was his eldest daughter Claudine who, in a tragic incident, also died from complications with her pregnancy only days preceding her own grandfather's death. Left next in succession is her twin brother Claude. Not only is Claude owner of the successful strip club Hooligans, we have found that he himself is an exotic dancer who still participates on the weekly roster. Now after a bizarre series of events, Claude is majority shareholder of one of the most powerful drug companies in the world. We will take a short break and return to this story, please stay tuned for our next report on a mysterious form of leprosy affecting..."
I heard my phone ring in my bag and it distracted me from processing what I just heard on the news.
As I fished it out of my purse my eyes rested back onto the TV screen and I saw a series of pictures of Claude in lewd poses, (obviously from the Hooligan's website) flashing across the screen and then-
"Lover! Is that you?" Eric jerked as he doubled over cackling.
Holy shit! The photo I posed for with Claude for the romance novel cover contest in all its suggestive glory was on TV for all of America to see.
My cheeks burned. I'm not ashamed of what I did. I kind of think that I'd looked good, but having my picture exposed in front of the whole nation in a scandalous piece of news is more than I'd bargained for when I agreed to take those pictures with Claude. It left a very sour taste at the back of my tongue.
I walked back to bedroom to get away from the noise from the TV and Eric's chuckling to answer my phone.
"Hello." I could hear the venom in my own voice in my greeting.
"I take it you watched the news."
"Claude?"
"The one and only."
Claude may be my only living relative apart from Jason, but we don't have a relationship that's closer than the one I have with Oberon's lamp shade. I'm not sure Claude is even capable of having any kind of sociable interaction with anyone he's not interested in for having sex. And now, he doesn't even have Claudine to rein him in…
"What's up?" I said, not letting my mind roam to the subject of Claudine.
"I suppose you don't want to take control of grandfather's company?"
"What? No! What are you talking about? Why would I want to do that?"
"Oh I don't know. I just don't want to do it and I was hoping to get you to agree to sit here and take up space in the office. It's sooooo boring. I'm not even allowed to wear what I want and it's wasting all the time I've spent at the gym!"
I smirked at the image of Claude clad to the nines sitting in his office with no-one around to admire him or his body. It must be a living hell.
"Why don't you just quit? There must be plenty of people you could hire to do the job right?"
"I can't," Claude answered dejectedly, "It's stipulated in the company trust that shares could only be passed and bought or sold to blood relations and it obviously has to be one of us on this side of the universe. That's why I asked you."
"You can't be serious about that! C'mon Claude pull the other one." I shuddered at the thought of the media onslaught if a simple barmaid from Louisiana became the Chairman of an international pharmaceutical company. If they were doing this to Claude, whom I'm sure graduated from college at some time or another, whose only fault is that he runs a strip club, he is getting the exposure worthy of a pop star. I can't imagine what they'd do to little ol' me. I can just see all the psychiatric reports about me when I was young making headlines like: "Cuckoo CEO can't be cured by her own drugs." Or something of the like. No way Jose, I'm going anywhere near that bombshell.
"Thanks but no thanks Claude, but why does it have to stay within the family like that?"
"Well there's that secret department that no-one but the CEO and the people who work in it know about, that still has to manufacture the invisible gloves and other things to help us with iron sensitivity. We can't just shut it down or that would be a death sentence to all of us here. So it's either you or me cousin."
I didn't think Claude was really serious about asking me to go and replace him, though I was positive he didn't want the job. I thought in that self centered soul was someone who was lonely and in his own rude and obtuse way, this was Claude reaching out to me. Suddenly I felt sorry for him so I asked, "How're doing Claude? How are you adjusting?"
"I'm ok. It's not all downside. I get to pick my own bodyguards, driver, gardener… you get the picture and..." Ding Dong. It was the doorbell.
"…private jet and things like that aren't half bad…"
I heard muffled voices at the door and I got bad feeling. So I padded out to the living room and I heard someone ask Eric if he was Oberon Matthews.
"…he is pretty nice but he's not really my type…"
It was a courier messenger at the door in dressed in bike shorts, tight t-shirt and aero dynamic helmet. I caught a snippet of the messenger's thought and before I could stop him. Eric answered the fatal question.
"Yes, I'm Oberon."
It was too late. There was nothing I could do.
"Claude, I've got to call you back." I said absently as I braced myself for disaster.
The messenger looked up and with a most indifferent and nonchalant smile he said.
"Mr. Matthews. You've been served."
A/N: And down the rabbit hole we go...
Thanks again to Murgatroid for taking the time to beta this, you're just awesome!. What do you guys think Oberon is on trouble for? There's going to be a fight scene in the next chapter, who do you think it's going to be between and over what?
Until then...