Amelia worked downtown in a supernatural security consultancy business that was initially headed up by her and two other partners, both witches. Both male. "It's why Bob left me," she'd breezily told me. "He couldn't stand my success." The business, Mystic Security, was wildly successful, but that wasn't why Bob had left her. I had given her a stern look at that comment, and she'd shrunk under my gaze. He'd left her because she'd had an affair with one of her partners.
Felix had only been eight months old when Bob packed his bags and left, and suddenly Amelia was faced with single motherhood. Up until that point, Bob had been a stay-at-home parent while Amelia worked crazy hours at in the office. Their breakup forced Amelia to take a step back from her work so she could look after Felix. Bob went back to hairdressing and moved to the other side of the city. She now worked part-time hours, which wasn't ideal, particularly given the fact she'd had to buy an aforementioned business partner out of the business when their affair predictably crashed and burned.
Having me as a live-in nanny allowed Amelia to balance having it all. She told me she would aim to work only four to five hours at the office per day, but if she went over through the week she'd take the day off on Friday.
It suited me fine. She left Felix and I to our own devices on the first Monday that rolled around, and just like that I became an au pair.
I used my time with Felix as an excuse to get out of the house and explore the city. The first week, I traipsed him everywhere in his fancy Swedish stroller. At first it was from park to park, then admiring the homes in the garden district and surrounds, and then I ventured further: to Audubon zoo, the aquarium, St Louis Cathedral—now wasn't that a place to behold? There had been a fancy wedding finishing up as we arrived. The bride looked like a princess and the cathedral a castle lifted straight from the pages of a fairy tale, with its tall spires and gleaming white façade. I was getting the real tourist experience while wearing Felix out at the same time.
Amelia had one of those little kiddie leashes, which I'd initially revolted against, but soon enough the stroller wasn't enough to contain him. The little Lamborghini on legs took to running this way and that while I tried my best to hang on and push the stroller at the same time.
And, not entirely unsurprising—I had been waiting for it after all—a process server finally caught up to me at the end of my first full week in NoLA. Felix and I were on the ferry crossing over to Canal Street. It was a young kid, cap pulled down low.
I was rooting around in my purse for some lip balm and didn't even notice when he came to a standstill in front of me. Felix's internal and external stream of constant dialogue was more or less filling up all my available brain space (far too early for me, especially considering I'd only managed time to drink half my coffee before leaving the house). So I'd just assumed the kid was begging for money.
"You Sookie?" he asked.
I immediately stiffened, my head darting back and forth searching the thin crowd of people behind him. Panic rose like bile in my throat. Was this it? Had Felipe sent a kid to off me in plain view of God and everyone? What would happen to Felix if I were attacked?
From my periphery I saw a beefy man, a twoey dressed in a black, non-descript jeans and t-shirt combo. He was a twoey with a face I'd come to recognize thanks to his intermittent presence over the last week. One of my guards, ala Pam.
From what I could tell, there were about three who worked on a day-by-day rotation. And, I'd been trying not to think about who was guarding me at night. There was always a nocturnal vampire presence out front of the house, and other than when Thalia had made that first appearance, I didn't recognize any of them.
"Yes, I'm Sookie," I said to the boy slowly, cautiously. The kid was no more than 20, pimply faced, and scrawny as a beanpole.
"Sookie Stackhouse?" he prompted.
It was then that it clicked. I sighed blandly and thrust out my open hand. My guard was rapidly closing in, but I made a shooing motion with my other hand in his direction. The guard's steps faltered and he looked startled at my acknowledgment of his presence. Well, what did he expect tailing a telepath? He did come to a standstill, though he looked ready to pounce at any second.
"Just hand it over, kid," I said to the boy. "I've been wondering when one of you would catch up to me."
I opened the letter as soon as the kid disappeared from view, and my guard retreated back to his optimal lurking position, which happened to be some feet away and starboard.
Notice of Intention to Sue was typed boldface and all caps below the letterhead of the bank's legal department. The very bank that held the mortgage for my poor burnt down bar. I scanned the letter, phrases like 'breach of contract' and 'property damage affecting loan collateral' floating out at me. I paled when I saw the sum at the bottom of the page.
414,257
Christ on a cracker.
I gave up on mine and Felix's museum plans, and as soon as we got off the ferry I hailed a cab.
"Downtown please," I told the cabbie.
Once I got Felix as non-squirmy as I could on my lap, I whipped out my cell and began map-questing my destination.
The law offices of Cataliades, Lucretius and Latour were located a hop, skip and jump away from the New Orleans Bar association and overlooked a small park, which I learned with a wistful pang was named Lafayette Square.
This area of downtown New Orleans was the center of all things government and law related. The law offices themselves comprised of the top two floors of a beautiful colonial revival building, featuring smooth terracotta-red brickwork, and a tall white pediment with matching detailed molding around the windows. Fancy. As in, 'a minute of their time would cost me my monthly wage' fancy.
I let Felix run around the park, playing ball with him till he wore himself out. I followed that up with a quick snack for him, while I nervously watched the clientele and employees come and go from the building. I strapped Felix up in the stroller and marched in, chin as high as my confidence would allow.
Four floors up, I stepped out from the elevator onto marble floors. Oh, boy. I was woefully underdressed for this. The entrance to the offices boasted a small water feature and velvet lounge suite to sit on and wait. I lifted the shoulder of my sundress, which liked to sit off the shoulder, though thankfully it was cut below the knee, all the while feeling like a fish out of water. My outfit didn't exactly scream: I fit in here.
The prim, red-lipped secretary at the frankly enormous front desk curtly informed me that Mr. Cataliades was by appointment only. His next availability was some weeks away. I gazed past her shoulders. There appeared no way to sneak in to the offices behind her. So I hemmed and hawed, tapping my fingers on the counter, deciding what to do.
I should've called ahead.
"I'm not sure he will be the best lawyer for your needs." Her eyes were trained on the distinct lack of wedding band on my ring finger before her gaze moved to stare pointedly at the baby in the stroller. I felt a flash of indignation.
"There's a more affordable law office just around the block," she said. "They deal in family law…"
"I'm not in need of a divorce," I said, my words landing harsher than I expected. She looked at me doubtfully. Anger took over and so I took a risk. "Can you please inform Mr. Cataliades that Sookie Stackhouse, his sponsee and granddaughter of Prince Niall Brigant, is here to visit with him? And if he can't see me at this moment, if he could please personally give me a call back? He has my number."
She narrowed her eyes at me but picked up the telephone, nevertheless.
Mr. Cataliades practically picked me up into a bear hug when he saw me, and kissed me on both cheeks.
"A wonderful surprise, dear Sookie!" he said and then crouched, with some difficulty considering the girth, to greet Felix. "And who might this be?"
"Felix. I'm his nanny for the moment."
Mr. C lifted his gaze to look at me with some surprise. "Here? In New Orleans?"
I nodded and smiled slightly. Mr. C returned my smile and then greeted Felix quite seriously, shaking his hand. Felix giggled and said hello.
"Come on through," he said to us, standing and then guiding me with a hand to my lower back. "We have much to catch up on. I was getting a bit peckish, so your arrival is fortuitous. I do believe it's just the right time for an early lunch."
His office was on the fifth floor and accessible through a wide set of glass and mahogany stairs that were situated in the center of the large open plan office area. All eyes were trained on me as we walked through, while Mr. C jovially greeted everyone we passed. He seemed to know all of the staff by name, and all of them treated him deferentially, with an equal measure of both respect and caution. It surprised me. My accord with Mr. C had always been based on mutual affection and friendliness, so it was strange to see people him treat otherwise.
He directed me past the stairs to a glass elevator that operated solely between the two floors of the firm. On the next level, I pushed Felix through a plushly carpeted office space with fewer desks and furnished much fancier than downstairs. We passed an impressive library and a number of private offices. Mr. C's office was at the end and looked out directly toward the park.
"Sit, sit," he said motioning to the seat directly in front of his desk. I fished out a little toy fire engine for Felix to play with. He was pretty good about going to sleep in the stroller, but only when it was moving. I hoped he'd be worn out enough to allow me to visit with Mr. C uninterrupted.
I showed Mr. C the letter and his eyes widened considerably, presumably at the sum listed. He flicked through the pages reading it all in its entirety, adjusting his narrow horn-rimmed glasses every so often.
"Do you intend to fight this?" he asked.
I shook my head. "No. I want to pay what I owe. That said, the valuation is about twenty, thirty percent higher than what it was insured for." Before the insurance policy had been erased by vampires.
He nodded slowly. "That's fine. If you're prepared to make an offer, I can assist you pro bono. I have methods of being most persuasive at the bargaining table."
I didn't attempt to imagine what that encompassed. I'd seen him snap a man's neck with his bare hands on my kitchen floor.
"Thank you. I don't currently have a lot of money to my name," I said, hands twisting in my lap. "I certainly don't have enough to pay the sum in full, but I will be able to pay majority of it at once and then the rest slowly over time. What with the money from Jason and my trust still coming from Niall, but hopefully by then…"
He looked at me over the rim of his glasses and raised his brows expectantly.
"I'm hoping some financial resolution can be sought with Felipe De Castro." The words burned as they left my mouth. If was being truly honest, I actually wanted nothing more than for Felipe to be staked and then for someone raid his treasury for me while they were at it.
Mr. Cataliades round face morphed from gentle to alarmed. "Have you attempted to contact him regarding the property fire?"
"No. No, no." I shook my head emphatically. "But I may have cajoled Eric Northman into assisting." Cajoled was certainly one way to put it. I'd screamed at him to fix the financial mess I was in that night in Pam's office.
He looked relieved to hear this and picked up his phone to call his assistant, asking to have lunch brought in for us. Mr. C then stood and walked to the copier in the corner of his office. It was at that point that I really took in the state of his work space.
Papers were piled up in stacks of miniature sky scrapers throughout the room. Some stacks had toppled and even the copier looked like it had been dragged in both recently and haphazardly, it sitting at an odd angle away from the wall with a long knotted extension lead curling around its base.
"Does your office always look like this?" I asked, twisting around in my seat. Behind me to my right was a tall book case, many of the books unshelved and laying horizontally in piles. There were further piles of books lying on the floor. A poor old peace lily stood drooping from its pot in the corner.
Mr. C sounded rather strained as he responded with, "No. I find I am currently down a paralegal. I'm working a large caseload… Things are rather stressful."
I took my water bottle and gave the plant a good drink before moving onto the shelves, shooing away Mr. C's protests. I attempted to reorder some of the mess of books.
"It occurs to me, Sookie, that perhaps I may be able to contact your great grand-father and see about releasing a lump sum from your trust fund."
My heart leaped wildly at the thought. "You think it could be possible? I thought it was impossible to contact him."
"There's no such thing as impossible where the fae are involved," he said with a faint smile. "I was the executor of his Earthly inheritance, so it may not be so difficult for me to arrange. It could solve your insolvency issue more swiftly than you expected."
I managed to put away a small stack of books as we chatted on this possibility before lunch was wheeled in—yes, wheeled in—on a hotel-style trolley by a stressed looking woman named Honey. She introduced herself, her warm hand pumping mine in a rapid, harried handshake, before she rushed back out again.
Her mind was wide open from before we'd even made skin contact, but surprisingly her inner stream of consciousness was muted, almost soothing, despite her anxious train of thought. She had a list of things to do a mile long that was growing steadily with every passing moment.
"I see why you have her," I said, settling back into my seat with a smile. I retrieved a small brightly colored lunch box from under the stroller and offered Felix a square of his avocado on rye sandwich. He fisted it happily—truck in one hand, food in another.
Mr. C nodded, moving papers on his desk to make room for the enormous lunch tray. "Her mind is quiet. She's the office manager, and a good worker, but her internal demeanor makes things most tolerable."
I poured us cups of coffee from a french press while Mr. C began lifting the lids off the multitude of trays. Lunch turned out to be a selection of cakes.
Cakes.
Well, I could certainly see how Mr. C got to the size he currently was. How does that saying go? When life gives you cake, you eat cake? I'm pretty sure it's something like that. Mr. C chose a piece of tiramisu, while I picked a sinful-looking fig and almond cake slathered in caramel drizzle.
"How are you enjoying New Orleans?"
"I'm loving it," I said honestly, between bites. "I'm not sure how long I'll be here for, but…" I trailed off, caught off guard by the direction my statement was heading. …But I have nowhere else to go.
Cognitive dissonance.
I had been considering New Orleans a temporary solution. A staycation. Like Amelia, who waited out the aftermath of Katrina in Bon Temps, waiting for her home and her city to be ready to return to. I was waiting out the aftermath of my own personal storm, albeit one of a very different variety, but once that deed was signed over to Jason, I literally had no home.
My eyes sprang with tears, filling rapidly, forcefully. How had I never thought of it that way before?
"Oh gosh…" I breathed and sat the fork down onto the plate in my lap.
I didn't belong anywhere. I had no home.
I recall a young woman several years ago proclaiming quite persuasively that she belonged to no one but herself, Mr. Cataliades thought at me.
I jolted at the shock of his internal dialogue cutting through my crowded, tumbling thoughts.
Perhaps, he continued, that could be extended to include belonging to nowhere but to yourself?
I grabbed my napkin at dabbed at the corner of my eyes.
"I'm not so sure about that," I said quietly.
He smiled kindly at me. "And perhaps, like your heart at that time, you simply need to wait and choose where your home lies."
I nodded, mute. Felix began whining so I gave him another square of sandwich. Mr. C watched on thoughtfully, but goodness knows what he was thinking. I'd already pushed my shields back into place.
I allowed myself a single, fortifying sigh, and I then picked my fork back up and ate cake. I was many things, but I was not inclined to wallow in self pity. And I was not one to roll over and let the world steam roll me. Control felt as though it were slipping from me, but it was because I'd had the rug yanked out from under my feet. I just had to find my new normal. Find a new rug to plant my feet on.
From there, the day turned out to be interesting. More than interesting—it became staggering.
Gran had a saying, I'm not entirely sure where she got it from, but she always had a proverb or fitting quote at the ready for whatever a situation called for. And one such quote came to my mind later that evening after receiving an unexpected phone call from Mr. Cataliades. She'd say: Life is God's novel. Let him write it.
After the call finished, I returned to the living room where I'd been hanging out with Amelia.
"What's wrong?" she asked. She'd been slumped back on the couch, sipping wine. We'd been watching Grey's Anatomy reruns. Though she sat up straight in her seat when she saw my expression. She placed her glass down on the wooden floor in a rush, wine nearly sloshing over the rim. Warning and fear pulsed from her mind. With her mental volume, it was as good as lights and a siren. It was a little disturbing that such the way my life currently was, any news was automatically assumed to be alarming... but this time, it really wasn't.
"That was Mr. Cataliades. He just offered me a job," I said. I heard my words and then shook my head. That wasn't quite right. "He just offered me a career."