Waking up the next morning after meeting with Jessie the petite pixie tried to tell herself that the meeting had just been another figment of her imagination. It had been easy to do so, after all, she'd dreamed of him more than once in the long years following the destruction of Hawaii. She'd gone about her daily routine as if nothing was wrong, even if her mind tried to scream at her that she was being stupid. It wasn't until later in the afternoon, when putting on the apron she'd worn the night before that she found the card. There! Tangible proof that she had not gone crazy, that she had not dreamed or imagined him walking into the hookah, and that he had really been there. She remembered the word he'd said to her, 'Call' and she slumped down in a chair, flipping the card over and over between her nimble, gloved fingers. Her heart beat painfully in her chest as she contemplated the card. Why did this one person affect her so? Was it madness? Or just a crush she could never get over? Whatever it was, or wasn't, what could she do about it now? Well, she couldn't hide, that much was for sure. Whatever had happened in the past, he was here now, and even though he hadn't stayed long, it was apparent that he wanted to see her, to talk to her again, or he wouldn't have left the card at all.
It was still early, too early for the likes of a vampire to but up, but she lifted the handle of the phone from the cradle, using one of the land lines in the hookah to call the hotel. When someone answered, she asked for the room number he had written on the back, knowing full well that it was likely there would be no response. As the tiny goth girl had suspected, after a few rings the line was buzzed back to the front desk, and a clerk picked it up telling her no one was answering, and offering to take a message. Taking a deep breath, she left her message, not knowing who might all be staying in the room with him, she made herself very specific, "Yes, next time you see the man with the pompadour, hopefully before he leaves for the night, please give him this number and tell him that if he wants to know where someone can swim with sea turtles, he will call back." Lori didn't leave her name, but she did leave the number to her cell and then hung up the phone. The ball was in his court now, and she would wait to hear from him.
-- Edited by LORISSA MCDERMOTT on Thursday 3rd of March 2011 06:11:05 AM
=After the legalization of vampires a market had opened economically for all kinds of new businesses. Some airlines had gone vamp friendly, and the hotel industry was especially ripe for the picking with vampire hotels springing up all over the country. The swank places were heavily secured both against sunlight and the intruding presence of possible activists, and for the undead it was the only way to travel. Since New Orleans had been the home of Anne Rice and a huge wanna be vampire subculture for years they had been one of the first cities to jump on the bandwagon. The hotel that Jessie was staying at was the first vampire hotel in the United States, not exactly historic since it had been converted in 1998, but still a landmark of the changing times.=
=When he woke that night he went about a tried and true routine, showering, getting dressed, ordering up a little 'snack' from room service, and then greasing back his hair quickly with a black fine tooth comb. The entire enterprise didn't take very long so it was still just a little after sunset when he headed down to the lobby and ended up being stopped by one of the men at the front desk who said there had been a message for him. His lips wavered in an unsure crooked smile and he nodded his thanks to the man before taking hold of the small slip of paper with Lori's number on it. There was a bank of phones at the West end of the lobby so he headed there first to try to call her back.=
=The phone on her end rang and rang with no answer and after waiting an embarassingly long time he realized that either the number he'd been given was wrong or she wasn't at home. Slowly hanging up the phone on it's receiver he sat there in the old fashioned oak wood phone booth to think about whether he ought to try different numbers, not trusting the desk mans hand writing one bit. Finally though he figured that he might simply have better luck by going back to the Hookah. She obviously worked there and maybe, if her boss was feeling generous, she would be able to take a long break and go for a walk. Mind made up he folded the slip of paper and as he stood slipped it into the pack pocket of his dark denim jeans. If she wasn't at the Hookah then he'd try the number again later. Sounded like a good plan to him.=
